by Lily Baxter
‘Because I typed a report saying so.’ Sheila eyed her curiously. ‘Didn’t you know? I thought you two were practically inseparable.’
‘There’s a war on, Sheila. We weren’t there for our health.’
‘I didn’t mean to put my foot in it.’ Sheila paid for her tea and was about to walk away when Elsie caught her by the sleeve.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. I’m still a bit tired after my travels. Do you know where she’s staying?’
‘As a matter of fact, I do. Of course, I can’t tell you as it’s all hush-hush.’
‘But she’s working at the rue Saint-Roch. You can tell me that much.’
‘Yes. I don’t suppose I’m giving too much away by telling you that.’ She leaned nearer, lowering her voice. ‘You won’t tell anyone that I told you.’
‘And where is she staying? Come on, Sheila, you’ve gone this far so a little more information can’t hurt.’
Sheila was obviously desperate to impart the news. She looked round nervously and took a deep breath. ‘She’s staying with a family called Bellaire in the rue de l’Echelle. That’s all I can remember, but for God’s sake don’t let on that I told you.’
‘Of course not. Thanks.’ Elsie took her tray and carried it to a table near the window. She sat down and sipped her tea.
Her initial feeling of relief that Marianne was safe was tempered by a sudden and irrational feeling of anger. She had been worrying unnecessarily all these months. Marianne had come through unscathed, and was probably enjoying the relative freedom of working in the rue Saint-Roch as well as a comfortable billet with Henri’s family. She had somehow managed to extricate herself from a situation that could have been her downfall. How typical of Marianne, Elsie thought with a reluctant smile. She had played a dangerous game and had won.
Elsie nibbled the Chelsea bun, but it was as stale as it looked and she left it on her plate. It was time to return home to Cromwell Road. She would use Felicia’s telephone and ring the military hospital to find out how Guy was progressing. Perhaps they would discharge him and allow him to return to his rented rooms in London. She longed to hear his voice again. It was only now that she realised how close they had become during their escape from occupied Belgium. She could tell Guy everything, knowing that he would understand. She left a threepenny bit under the plate for the overworked waitress and stood up. Sheila waved to her as she left the canteen and Elsie acknowledged her with a vague smile. Soon things would be back to normal, whatever normality was these days.
She did not get much information from the hospital near Harwich. All they would say was that Guy was being kept in for a few days. She replaced the receiver and went to join Felicia in the drawing room.
Felicia looked up from writing copious notes in an exercise book. ‘Any news?’
‘They won’t say when he’s being discharged. I can’t understand it, because his wounds had healed and he was able to walk quite well, although he’ll probably always have a limp.’
‘I’m sure they know what they’re doing, darling.’ Felicia frowned and chewed the end of her pencil. ‘Planning these touring shows takes longer every year. I hope to God this will be the last Christmas we have to do one. Each time we’ve done a tour the poor blighters look thinner, filthier and more worn down by the damned war. Most of them are just boys. It’s heartbreaking.’
Elsie stifled a sigh and sank down on a chair by the window, gazing out into the rain. Getting back to a semblance of normality was not going to be easy. She was wishing that she could have spoken to Guy when she realised that the telephone was ringing.
‘Answer that, will you, darling?’ Felicia said with a vague wave of her hand. ‘If it’s for me, tell them I’ll ring back later. I really have to finish this before I go to bed.’
Elsie stood up and made her way to the side table. She picked up the receiver. ‘Hello.’
‘Elsie, is that you?’
Her breath hitched in her throat. ‘They told me you couldn’t come to the phone. Guy. They said you were being kept in hospital.’
‘I’m not supposed to be speaking to you now, but I had to tell you that I’m being transferred to an army camp up north. I don’t know exactly where.’
‘But that’s not fair,’ she protested angrily. ‘You should be convalescent.’
‘I’m perfectly fit for a desk job. I should think myself lucky that I’m not being sent back to France, but all I can think about is you, darling.’
The term of endearment made her heart do a funny little flip, and she was suddenly breathless. ‘I miss you too, Guy.’
‘I’d give anything to be with you now, but it’s not going to happen.’
‘You will take care of yourself, won’t you?’
‘I’m more concerned about you, Elsie. How are things?’
‘Awfully strange. I feel as if I’m in limbo, but I’m fine. You mustn’t worry about me.’ She clutched the receiver even more tightly as the pips shrieked in her ear.
‘I have to go, darling. I’m leaving right away.’
‘Oh, Guy …’
‘The teashop,’ he said urgently. ‘When all this is over we’ll meet …’ The line went dead.
Elsie stood for a moment, gazing at the telephone as if trying to will it to reconnect, but the dialling tone buzzed irritably until she replaced the receiver. Tears ran unchecked down her cheeks.
‘Was that your friend from the War Office?’
‘It was Guy.’
Felicia turned her head to give Elsie a searching look. ‘If he’s jilted you I’ll have something to say to that young man.’
A reluctant gurgle of laughter rose to Elsie’s lip and she dashed her hand across her eyes. ‘Nothing like that, Felicia. He’s been posted a long way from here. Heaven alone knows when I’ll see him again.’
‘Wartime romances seldom last, darling. Be thankful that you haven’t committed yourself.’
‘It’s not like that.’
‘If you say so, Elsie.’ Felicia stared at her, frowning. ‘You look exhausted, darling. You really ought to rest. Why not take a few days’ compassionate leave and go down to Dorset? I’m sure it can be arranged.’
‘But I’m to start back in Room 40 tomorrow.’
‘A phone call to my friend Edith Lomax will fix that. I’ll say that you need time to rest and recuperate, and as I’m in loco parentis my word is law. I’ll tell Edith so in no uncertain terms. A few days in the country and you’ll be a new woman.’
‘I didn’t know you knew her, Felicia.’
‘You’d be surprised at the number of friends I have in high places, darling.’
Felicia’s confidence in her own abilities was severely dented when Edith Lomax told her not to interfere in government business. In a way Elsie was relieved to be back at work. There was no real reason for her to return to Sutton Darcy. Tan Cottage was no longer her home and the manor house had merely been her place of employment. If Marianne had returned to England things would be different, but she was in the relative safety of the rue Saint-Roch and no doubt enjoying the luxury of the Bellaires’ apartment. Perhaps Henri was there too? The idea did not thrill her as it would have done not so long ago. It came as a shock to realise that she no longer cared for him. Perhaps it had always been an illusion, but whatever the explanation she was no longer under his spell, although she still cared for him as a friend. She went back to work safe in the knowledge that as a translator she was still doing something for the war effort. It might not be as challenging as being a secret agent, but she felt she had had enough excitement to last a lifetime.
Elsie prepared to spend Christmas alone in the flat except for Gerda, who had nowhere else to go. Felicia was in Flanders and Anthea, who had been posted to East Anglia, had decided to return home to Yorkshire to spend time with her family. At first this decision puzzled Elsie. Anthea always said she had come to London in order to escape from her troublesome relations, but Gerda explained that Tubby McAvoy had been kille
d in action and that Anthea had taken it badly. Elsie sat down immediately and attempted to write a letter of condolence to Anthea, but her vision was blurred by tears as memories of good-natured, fun-loving Tubby came flooding back, and it took several attempts to compose just a few lines.
Her dressing table, which also served as a desk, was piled high with letters from Guy. They arrived once a week with unfailing regularity, and were filled with amusing anecdotes of life in camp somewhere in England. They always ended with the hope that he would see her soon. She missed him more than she would have thought possible, but there was little chance of his being granted leave and she knew she must be patient, but it was far from easy.
On Christmas Eve Gerda persuaded Elsie to accompany her to the church hall in Hackney where the annual party for the Belgian refugees was being held. They travelled by bus and arrived to find the proceedings in full swing. Mrs Johnson rushed up to Elsie, kissed her on the cheek and thrust a glass of warm beer into her hand. ‘We thought you’d abandoned us, love. Where have you been all this time?’
Yet again, Elsie smiled and said it was a long story, and with that Mrs Johnson had to be satisfied. She bustled off to get her husband, leaving Elsie to chat with some of the refugees she had worked with in the past, while Gerda went to join the friends she had made since coming to England. It was only later, when Elsie was talking to the vicar, that she remembered her promise to Valentine. ‘I know this is a long shot, but have you ever had anything to do with two brothers, Jens and Yannick Peeters?’
He sipped his beer, frowning thoughtfully. ‘As a matter of fact I do remember them because they arrived unaccompanied. The youngest must have been twelve or thirteen and the older boy about sixteen. They came over in the first wave of refugees, and I can’t remember exactly where we placed them, but I have a feeling it was on a farm in Hampshire. I’ll have a record of it somewhere.’
‘That’s fantastic,’ Elsie said eagerly. ‘I can’t tell you the details but their mother is a very brave woman. I promised her that I would try to contact them and give them her love.’
He shook his head. ‘It’s been a terrible time, but at least we’ve been able to help a few of the poor souls to keep going until they can return home.’ He glanced at Gerda who was dancing energetically with another girl. ‘There’s a success story, thanks to your friend Miss Wilby. She’s found places for many of our Belgian guests with her friends and colleagues.’
‘She’s been very good to me.’ Elsie avoided meeting his gaze, staring into the amber liquid in her glass. The talk of love and loss had reminded her sharply of her own bereavement. The pain of losing her mother was a constant ache that never completely went away.
‘You look sad, Elsie.’
She looked up into Joe’s kindly face and she was suddenly close to tears. ‘I was thinking of my mother. She died at the beginning of the war.’
‘I’m sorry, my dear.’
She forced her lips into a smile. ‘So many people have lost loved ones. I’d like to do this small thing for Valentine, if it’s at all possible.’
He put his glass down and took her by the arm. ‘Come to my office. I’ll look up the records for the Peeters brothers.’
In the quiet of the small, cluttered office, Joe rifled through the chaotic filing system contained in several cardboard boxes. He pulled files and leafed through them. ‘I’m sure the details are here somewhere.’ He shot her a sideways glance. ‘I’d love to know what you were doing in Belgium, or is it classified information?’
‘I’m afraid so, but when all this is over perhaps I can tell you then.’
‘I can only imagine what you must have gone through.’
‘What I did was nothing compared to the sacrifice of others.’
‘In my book you’re a heroine, Elsie Mead. I’m proud to know you.’
She clapped her hands to her hot cheeks. ‘Now you’ve embarrassed me, Joe. I did what I was told, most of the time anyway.’
‘You’re too modest, my dear.’ He selected a sheet of paper with a grunt of satisfaction. ‘The good news is that I’ve found the farm where the Peeters brothers were sent.’ He scribbled the address on the back of an envelope and handed it to her. ‘Merry Christmas, Elsie. I hope and pray that 1918 will see the end of this terrible war and Europe will start to heal its wounds.’
Gerda had been invited to spend Christmas Day with a Belgian family who had rooms in Hackney, which left Elsie to spend the day alone in the flat. With her corned beef sandwich in one hand, she leafed through the train timetable that Felicia kept by the telephone. It was a humble Christmas lunch, but she knew that it was probably much better fare than the troops were having in the trenches. The truce that had happened in the first Christmas of the war had never been repeated, and the use of poison gas had hardened attitudes on both sides. Elsie had wept when she read accounts of the suffering caused by the evil new weapon, which killed indiscriminately or left the survivors with terrible after-effects. She wondered how many of the boys she had grown up with had survived the carnage. She could still remember them on that hot summer’s day, marching off to war, singing at the tops of their voices. How many of them were singing now? It was a sobering thought and she realised that she had lost her appetite. She put her sandwich down, half eaten, and made a note of the train times to Southampton. Tomorrow she would set off for the farm where Valentine’s sons had been billeted. It was the least she could do for a brave woman who risked her life daily to relieve the suffering of others. But for Valentine Guy would not have survived, and she must have been instrumental in getting Marianne back to the comparative safety of Paris. Valentine was the real heroine of the war as far as Elsie was concerned.
She set off early next morning and caught the first train to Southampton. After an hour or so she managed to get a bus to the village, and having asked directions from the bus conductor she walked to the farm, arriving tired and muddy but determined to find Valentine’s boys. She entered the yard and was greeted by one of the farm dogs. It jumped up at her yelping excitedly and she was making a fuss of it when a young man stepped out of one of the outbuildings. He came towards her with a smile that reminded her forcibly of Valentine, and she knew she had come to the right place.
She spent a couple of hours in the warmth of the farmhouse kitchen, regaling Jens and Yannick with stories of her time in the Merchant’s House, and they listened avidly. ‘I can’t wait to go home and see my mother and Hendrick,’ Yannick said, blinking back tears. ‘I was little more than a boy when we were forced to flee from our country.’
‘We were lucky,’ Jens said firmly. ‘We have been treated like family and I always wanted to be a farmer.’
Yannick nudged his brother in the ribs. ‘And he’s engaged to the farmer’s daughter, so his future is assured.’
‘That is true,’ Jens said, grinning. ‘I will be taking my bride home to meet Mother when the war is over.’
‘She is a wonderful woman,’ Elsie said earnestly. ‘It was a privilege to work with her, and I wish I could tell you more, but all I can say is that you should be very proud of her. She’s a true heroine.’ She stood up, reaching for her handbag. ‘Now I have to leave or I’ll miss my train home.’
Jens leapt to his feet. ‘I’ll drive you to the station, miss.’
‘Thank you.’ Elsie leaned over to kiss Yannick on the cheek. ‘Give your mother my love when you return home. Tell her I’ll always remember the Merchant’s House and the time we spent with her.’
She followed Jens out of the farmhouse into the freezing cold of a winter’s day. He helped her up onto the driver’s seat of the farm cart and climbed up beside her. ‘Looks like snow,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Let’s hope the trains keep running.’
‘Thank you for that cheerful thought,’ Elsie said, chuckling. ‘I can tell that you spent a lot of time with Hendrick when you were young. You have a similar gallows humour.’
Jens shot her a puzzled look. ‘I don’t understand.’
He flicked the reins to encourage the old carthorse to go faster. ‘Of course I will, and I hope it will be soon.’
Elsie said goodbye to him when he dropped her off outside the station. It was bitterly cold and there was no fire in the waiting room. Coal, like everything else, was in short supply and had been rationed by the number of rooms a family had in its house, or so Bailey had told her grimly when she had asked for some to be sent up to the flat. But the trains were still running and eventually one arrived at the station, and although it was crowded she managed to find a seat. At least it was warm in the compartment and she had the satisfaction of knowing that she had kept her word to Valentine.
It was early evening when she arrived home. She let herself into the flat and was met by an excited Gerda. ‘I’m so glad you’re here. There’s a gentleman waiting for you in the drawing room.’
Chapter Nineteen
FOR A WILD moment Elsie thought it must be Guy who had been granted unexpected leave. She rushed into the drawing room unbuttoning her coat, and came to a sudden halt. ‘Colonel Winter.’ She could barely remember the last time she had seen Marianne’s father, but on the few occasions she had spotted him in the grounds of Darcy Hall, or striding through the village, he had always been an impressive figure with his upright military bearing and authoritative manner. His fair hair was streaked with silver as was his moustache, and his chiselled, sun-tanned features might have graced an ancient coin bearing the head of a Roman emperor. Elsie had always been in awe of Colonel James Winter and that feeling remained.
‘Elsie Mead.’ He gave her a tired smile. ‘You’ve grown up.’
She noted the lines at the corners of his startlingly blue eyes and the downturn of his lips, which had thinned with age. ‘I have, sir.’ She shrugged off her coat. ‘If you’ve come to see Marianne, I’m afraid she’s not here.’
