They had hardly spoken since Germany. Sophie realised she had hardly spoken to anyone, just as she had hardly eaten. It was as if her life was fading as they left the world she’d known for the past five years.
‘I . . . I hadn’t thought . . .’ she began. There was so much she wanted to ask him, so much to say. But of course Jones was not travelling to Australia with them. She had grown so used to the four of them being together in the past month that she had not remembered, in these past shocked and seasick weeks, that his home was with Nigel. ‘How will you get back to England?’
‘Sail to Dover tomorrow, then perhaps catch the train. Though I expect Nigel will be waiting for me with the car at the docks. I’ll wire him as soon as I see your ship sail.’
‘I expect he will be there too.’ She managed, somehow, to find her dignity, to find herself. She was Sophie Higgs, and she was going home. Home was the place where you belonged, after agonies like war. ‘I will write to him,’ she added, ‘though he won’t get the letter for a couple of months. I’ll have to wait till we arrive in Cape Town to post it.’ She owed James Lorrimer a long letter too. ‘Jones, I have no words to thank you.’
He nodded. He didn’t say no thanks were needed.
‘Give Nigel my love. Tell him . . . tell him everything. Tell him he was right, and that I know he was right. Tell him I send my love to Miss Lily. And that Green is extraordinary and a darling.’
‘She is,’ said Jones.
She looked at him sharply. But Jones had chosen England; Green had chosen Australia — had not even returned to Shillings after the war. Perhaps one day, Green would tell her why.
And, finally, Sophie had grown up enough not to press, if Green did not wish to tell her.
‘Jones . . .’ Suddenly she found herself hugging him, as if he were an uncle or a father. He kissed her forehead before he stepped away.
She forced back tears. ‘I could never in a thousand years have imagined that when you opened the door for me that first time at Shillings . . .’
He laughed. ‘If Nigel can be Miss Lily, I can be a butler. It’s a comfortable role, you know. So many certainties. If only the world could be organised like a well-run household.’
‘They should make you head of the League of Nations.’
He smiled and gave her a half-salute. ‘Goodbye, Sophie.’ It was the first time he had used her Christian name. ‘I very much hope we meet again, and not just for Nigel’s sake.’
‘We will. Though it may not be for a few years. And thank you, again.’
Chapter 21
A ship is always an adventure. Not invariably a good one.
I advise tipping the purser well the day you board and then not again until you disembark, so he knows he must please you for a good gratuity.
Miss Lily, 1914
The ship was small and squat, her funnel black with soot: a freighter that carried only twenty-five passengers in acceptable luxury. A sailor dressed in a waiter’s black trousers, jacket and white shirt showed the three women to their staterooms, facing the upper deck, each still with the label Officers above the door.
‘There has been a mistake,’ said Green quietly. ‘I am sorry, Miss Higgs. I will see the purser at once about getting a room below.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Sophie. ‘You told me you sometimes travelled first class with Miss Lily.’
‘Only in the east, or where no one might notice. This means I will be expected to dine with you as well!’
‘Excellent.’ Sophie looked at Georgina for her reaction. The other woman nodded, looking preoccupied.
‘Excuse me,’ she said quietly. ‘There is something I must see to.’ She walked quickly down the corridor.
‘Jones has arranged this,’ said Green resignedly, watching the porter carrying her suitcase to her room. ‘And probably Lily. Miss Lily, I mean,’ she added hurriedly.
Sophie looked at her curiously. ‘Did you call her Lily?’
‘We grew up together on the estate,’ said Green simply. ‘Playmates. It would not have done for the younger son of an earl to play with a groom’s son, but Nigel’s parents probably saw no harm in his friendship with a girl. It was not as if I would ever be remotely marriageable for the younger son of an earl. I trained as a lady’s maid with his mother and then, when she died, and Miss Lily . . . appeared . . . I worked for Lily. No one asked too many questions at Shillings, not back then, anyway, when people took loyalty for granted and never travelled beyond the next village. It might be different now. It probably is.’
‘And your friendship continued,’ suggested Sophie, suddenly liking her enormously.
Green smiled. ‘Only in private.’
‘But you didn’t go back after the war? Excuse me if I am trespassing on something private.’
Evidently she was. Green’s relaxed smile vanished. ‘If you’re wondering if there was anything between me and Nigel except friendship, there never has been. If you will excuse me, Miss Sophie, I will see to your things.’
The rooms were large and full of light, facing the sea, not the deck. Heavy mahogany furniture, a wide bed with a pink silk quilt; curtains drawn to give privacy to the occupants from those passengers who passed their windows on the narrow deck. Her wardrobe was already half filled with gowns. It seemed their trunks had arrived. And, thank goodness, the ship felt steadier than the yacht. Already her queasiness was diminishing.
She let Green unpin her hat, then knocked on Georgina’s door.
‘Come in!’
Sophie opened the door — no one locked doors at sea it was as much an unpardonable lapse of manners as locking one’s door when visiting a private house. The room was the twin of her own. ‘There are champagne and canapés in the dining room,’ she began. ‘Or would you rather —’
She stopped, at another knock on the door. She expected the waiter again or perhaps a stewardess. Instead it opened to reveal a woman in the brown silk of a well-to-do farmer’s wife, a boy of about four in a sailor’s suit holding her hand, looking scared but with his chin held high.
Georgina was already in tears. ‘Timmy,’ she whispered.
The boy ran to her, his arms locked around his mother’s waist. She held him as if she would never let him go.
Nor did she need to now, thought Sophie, blinking her own tears away. Timothy was home.
And Georgina trusted her.
Chapter 22
Lettuce must be folded, never cut, but conveying a large leaf of lettuce to your mouth is ungainly. The secret is to fold it with your knife into a tiny parcel on your fork.
Miss Lily 1914
She could feel the change as the engines beat deep inside the ship, the water washed along their hull. A sea change, she thought, suddenly understanding the term.
For her world was suddenly different. This was not the world of war, of love and espionage and confusion. Nor was it yet home, which would have changed, as she had changed too. This was a place apart, timeless, only this small ship and its contents, the sky and sea, at least until they reached Cape Town.
Such a different ship from the vast luxurious one that had brought her to Europe. She had been a child then, unformed. Yet then she had dressed herself and now she stood as Green efficiently wrapped her in pale green silk lounging pyjamas with matching scarves, the latest fashion for afternoon strolling.
‘Will you join me on deck?’ She smiled at Green’s hesitation. ‘No one here knows you’re working as my maid, not out of uniform and in first class. I hope you will eat with me — I’d much prefer that to the stuffed shirts at the captain’s table. We can we have a table to ourselves. Georgina will want to eat with Timothy.’
‘Children eat earlier,’ said Green.
‘A table for three, then.’
‘Are you sure, Miss Sophie?’
‘Yes. If you call me Sophie. And I can’t keep calling you Green in public.’
‘Lily calls me Greenie.’
‘May I?’
Green . . . or Green
ie . . . nodded.
It was cool on deck. A steward brought thin cups of hot beef bouillon and cracker biscuits. Sophie ate and drank. Her seasickness had vanished.
They did not talk at first. There was too much to talk about; it would take a lifetime, perhaps, to speak of what had happened in the past couple of weeks, and much else too. A maid and mistress’s relationship is often longer and closer than one between spouses, thought Sophie. Greenie fiddled with a box-like gadget, hanging from a strap around her neck, like binoculars. ‘A camera,’ said Greenie. ‘Jones bought it for me.’ Was there a faint blush? ‘I thought I’d try to take a photograph of Gibraltar from the sea, but I’ve no idea if I’m doing it correctly.’
‘There’ll be somewhere to develop films in Cape Town,’ said Sophie idly.
‘I think I’ll wait and set up my own darkroom when we get to Sydney. If you have no objection,’ she added hurriedly.
‘None,’ said Sophie, then realised she was returning to her father’s house. But surely he and Miss Thwaites would not mind turning one of the attics into a darkroom. Her father would probably enjoy the technical challenge.
And she would see them soon. For the first time in years she let the longing for her family, her home, her country to envelop her.
Soon.
The seagulls dived and squawked. Small grubby boys yelled and waved on the shore. She waved back. Clouds floated like small mushrooms in the sky.
The ship changed course and Gibraltar was gone.
She bathed, slowly and luxuriously with rose-scented soap, before dinner, then changed into a new creation, dark blue jacquard shot with thin silver silk threads, knee length, for the first night at sea was never formal. The purser showed her, Georgina and Greenie to a small table by the wall. She was glad not to have to make conversation with one of the officers or, even worse, the captain, though he had a kind and sensitive face, if too thin. But the captain’s table required formal manners. She needed a holiday from manners.
She glanced at the menu, suddenly ravenous, gave her order, then tore off a piece of roll, still warm and deliciously crusty, buttered it, nibbled, then asked, ‘How is Timothy?’
‘Wonderful. Incredible. Thank you. I . . . I don’t know how to thank you.’ Georgina gazed at her roll, not at Sophie, as if even meeting another person’s eyes might bring on tears of joy or relief.
The waiter slipped soup in front of them. Sophie waited till he was out of earshot. She kept her voice low. ‘I’ve been thinking. Once we are in Australia I will be extremely easy to find. If Emily tells William you have come to Australia with me, well, even if we do not both live in my family’s home, your connection with me will make you vulnerable.’
She took a mouthful of soup. Cream of mushroom. Wonderful, if a little heavy. She thrust away the echo of Dolphie’s voice, talking of wild mushrooms in the woods. ‘You will be harder to find — impossible— if you and Timothy leave the ship at Adelaide, then take the train to Melbourne. They say Melbourne is quite civilised, though I have never been there. I can arrange for a house to be rented for you under yet another name. You should be unnoticeable there, unless you go into society.’
‘I was thinking much the same,’ said Georgina quietly.
‘You could be a widow,’ said Greenie, and Sophie was glad Georgina showed no sense of affront that a maid might suggest a life for her. ‘And if I may be so bold . . . adopt an older girl, six or seven perhaps, an orphan. That way if an investigator looks for a single woman with a son Timothy’s age, they won’t take any notice of you. That is, if you do not mind the idea of taking in a stranger’s child.’
‘I think I’d like it,’ said Georgina. ‘An intelligent girl, who would like to go to university. Do archaeology perhaps. I have always been fascinated by archaeology.’
‘I am sure they’d be happy to make that a condition at the orphanage,’ said Sophie dryly. ‘Intelligent girl, between five and seven, must enjoy archaeology.’
The soup was replaced by fish, anonymous and white under a green sauce, fresh, though the fish course would be smoked later in the voyage, unless this ship kept tanks on board, as it well might, with so few passengers. She found Georgina staring at her.
‘Have I got sauce on my lip?’ she asked flippantly.
‘No. I have just never known anyone to enjoy food as much as you seem to be doing tonight. I don’t mean you are a glutton. Until tonight you’ve eaten far too little. But you seem to . . . to pay attention when you eat.’
‘Miss Lily said —’ said Sophie and Greenie together, then stopped, and laughed at each other.
‘Who is this Miss Lily? Will I ever meet her?’
‘Maybe,’ said Sophie cautiously. ‘She’s not Australian. But when you’ve been in Melbourne for a couple of years, and if no one has come looking for you, I think we can assume Emily has not betrayed your trust and we can all meet again.’ She glanced at Greenie. ‘Miss Lily might even visit us.’
‘Possible,’ said Greenie non-committedly.
Georgina twisted her napkin absent-mindedly. ‘And if an investigator does find me? Tries to snatch Timothy?’
‘We’ll make sure neither of you are alone. A secure house, and a car with lockable doors. You will need a chauffeur and a housekeeper, possibly a married couple. A gardener too, and a tutor for Timothy. I’ll ask my father to discreetly make sure they know you must both be protected at all times.’ Her mouth twisted. ‘Sadly there may be as many unemployed men with combat experience looking for work in Australia as in England. I don’t think finding people to defend you will be a problem. And with a good car and a capable chauffeur you can drive all the way to Thuringa, if all else fails. Your husband might guess you are there, but we can make very, very sure he cannot get to you at Thuringa.’
‘But the law . . .’
‘He will have to prove Mrs Wattle is his wife. How can he do that in a strange country, where a dozen friends will swear she grew up with them, went to school with them? The constables at Thuringa will be . . . accommodating. I suspect my father is also on good terms with the police commissioner in Sydney. Business often requires it.’
‘But William is an aristocrat.’
‘And we are the colonies. A title is revered, but the police know which side their bread is buttered . . . and who may provide the jam. You will be safe,’ said Sophie firmly. ‘I promise.’
‘And I do too,’ said Greenie quietly.
A tear ran down Georgina’s face. She politely ignored it, took a bite of fish, swallowed it. ‘My friends call me Giggs,’ she said. ‘I’d like you to call me that, if you don’t mind. Both of you.’
‘Giggs?’
‘For Giggles. I was Giggles. Emily,’ said Georgina with satisfaction, ‘was Podge.’
‘Excellent,’ said Sophie. ‘Though I had better not refer to her that way for a few years, in case she decides to get revenge.’
‘Did you have a nickname?’
‘Not till I went to France. Soapy.’
Georgina raised her wine glass. ‘To Soapy, Greenie and Giggs!’
‘And may the world deal justly with us,’ said Greenie. ‘Or we’ll kneecap them from behind.’
Sophie suspected she was not joking. The waiter brought roast pork. And caviar, cheese, chocolate ice cream and fruits to follow. Delicious. All of it was wonderful.
And she was going home.
Chapter 23
I wish I could tell you love lasts forever. It does not.
Miss Lily, 1914
JUNE 1919
HANNELORE
It was good to sit in the sunlight, sipping Helga’s mix of wine and milk and woodruff. The swans ducked and wriggled in the lake, not at all as graceful as the swans Miss Lily urged them to emulate, so many years ago.
Dolphie sat next to her, in his Freikorps uniform, though he would exchange it soon for civilian clothes and a new position in the promised government.
‘Sophie should be on her way home now,’ she said. ‘I wonder if sh
e left from Naples, or went back to France or England.’
Dolphie did not reply.
‘I have been thinking. You were right to say what you did. Sophie would not have left us if she thought we needed her. But she would not have been happy here, no matter how much we wished it. You said what you had to say, to make her leave.’
Again, he said nothing.
‘I need to apologise to you.’
‘There is nothing to apologise for.’ He looked at the swans, not at her. Only she, who knew him well, saw the sorrow in his face. Yes, this uncle of hers would always do his duty, at whatever cost to himself.
‘Do you think she believed us, about Ypres?’ she asked at last.
Dolphie smiled wryly. ‘Not for a moment.’
Chapter 24
To keep the nails clean, and the cuticles soft, press them into the flesh of half a squeezed lemon, twice a week, then rinse with rose water.
Miss Lily, 1914
The sea turned from blue to green and became an ocean. The sky grew grey and the ocean did too, and white wave tops danced about the ship. Yet this time Sophie did not feel seasick.
She and Green had the deck mostly to themselves, as icy drips of spray and rain splattered the awning. But the deck chairs were sheltered, and the air smelled of salt and baking pastries, not of putrefying wounds or cordite, the ever-present stink of the big guns, which had still not vanished from Europe.
Georgina spent most of her time on the lower deck with Timothy and the other children on board — nine of them, four near Timothy’s age, including two boys. The mother of three of the youngsters in first class had sailed to England when their father volunteered, to be nearer to him on leave, only to find that he had been transferred to Palestine. He had been shipped back to Australia months before, but it had been harder for her to find a civilian ship. It had been four years since she or their children had seen him.
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