She nodded. Ned had done it. beautifully.
THE END
About The Author
Born in Edinburgh in 1892, Dorothy Emily Stevenson came from a distinguished Scottish family, her father being David Alan Stevenson, the lighthouse engineer, first cousin to Robert Louis Stevenson.
In 1916 she married Major James Reid Peploe (nephew to the artist Samuel Peploe). After the First World War they lived near Glasgow and brought up two sons and a daughter. Dorothy wrote her first novel in the 1920’s, and by the 1930’s was a prolific bestseller, ultimately selling more than seven million books in her career. Among her many bestselling novels was the series featuring the popular “Mrs. Tim”, the wife of a British Army officer. The author often returned to Scotland and Scottish themes in her romantic, witty and well-observed novels.
During the Second World War Dorothy Stevenson moved with her husband to Moffat in Scotland. It was here that most of her subsequent works were written. D.E. Stevenson died in Moffat in 1973.
Fiction by D.E. Stevenson
Published by Dean Street Press
Mrs. Tim Carries On (1941)
Mrs. Tim Gets a Job (1947)
Mrs. Tim Flies Home (1952)
Smouldering Fire (1935)*
Spring Magic (1942)
Other Titles
Jean Erskine’s Secret (written c. 1917, first published 2013)
Peter West (1923)
Emily Dennistoun (written c. 1920s, first published 2011)
Mrs. Tim of the Regiment (1932)*
Golden Days (1934)*
Miss Buncle’s Book (1934)
Divorced from Reality (1935, aka Miss Dean’s Dilemma, aka The Young Clementina)
Miss Buncle Married (1936)
The Empty World (1936, aka A World in Spell)
The Story of Rosabelle Shaw (1937)
The Fair Miss Fortune (written c. 1938, first published 2011)
The Baker’s Daughter (1938, aka Miss Bun the Baker’s Daughter)
Green Money (1939, aka The Green Money)
Rochester’s Wife (1940)
The English Air (1940)
Crooked Adam (1942)
Celia’s House (1943)
The Two Mrs Abbotts (1943)
Listening Valley (1944)
The Four Graces (1946)
Kate Hardy (1947)
Young Mrs Savage (1948)
Vittoria Cottage (1949)
Music in the Hills (1950)
Winter and Rough Weather (1951, aka Shoulder the Sky)
Five Windows (1953)
Charlotte Fairlie (1954, aka The Enchanted Isle, aka Blow the Wind Southerly)
Amberwell (1955)
Summerhills (1956)
The Tall Stranger (1957)
Anna and Her Daughters (1958)
Still Glides the Stream (1959)
The Musgraves (1960)
Bel Lamington (1961)
Fletcher’s End (1962)
The Blue Sapphire (1963)
Katherine Wentworth (1964)
Katherine’s Marriage (1965, aka The Marriage of Katherine)
The House on the Cliff (1966)
Sarah Morris Remembers (1967)
Sarah’s Cottage (1968)
Gerald and Elizabeth (1969)
House of the Deer (1970)
Portrait of Saskia (collection of early writings, published 2011)
Found in the Attic (collection of early writings, published 2013)
* see Explanatory Notes
Explanatory Notes
MRS. TIM
Mrs. Tim of the Regiment, the first appearance of Mrs. Tim in the literary world, was published by Jonathan Cape in 1932. That edition, however, contained only the first half of the book currently available from Bloomsbury under the same title. The second half was originally published, as Golden Days, by Herbert Jenkins in 1934. Together, those two books contain Mrs. Tim’s diaries for the first six months of the same year.
Subsequently, D.E. Stevenson regained the rights to the two books, and her new publisher, Collins, reissued them in the U.K. as a single volume under the title Mrs. Tim (1941), reprinted several times as late as 1992. In the U.S., however, the combined book appeared as Mrs. Tim of the Regiment, and has generally retained that title, though a 1973 reprint used the title Mrs. Tim Christie. Adding to the confusion, large print and audiobook editions of Golden Days have also appeared in recent years.
Fortunately no such title confusions exist with the subsequent Mrs. Tim titles—Mrs. Tim Carries On (1941), Mrs. Tim Gets a Job (1947), and Mrs. Tim Flies Home (1952)—and Dean Street Press is delighted to make these long-out-of-print volumes of the series available again, along with two more of Stevenson’s most loved novels, Smouldering Fire (1935) and Spring Magic (1942).
SMOULDERING FIRE
Smouldering Fire was first published in the U.K. in 1935 and in the U.S. in 1938. Until now, those were the only complete editions of the book. All later reprints, both hardcover and paperback, have been heavily abridged, with entire chapters as well as occasional passages throughout the novel cut from the text. For our new edition, Dean Street Press has followed the text of the first U.K. edition, and we are proud to be producing the first complete, unabridged edition of Smouldering Fire in eighty years.
FURROWED MIDDLEBROW
FM1. A Footman for the Peacock (1940) ... RACHEL FERGUSON
FM2. Evenfield (1942) ... RACHEL FERGUSON
FM3. A Harp in Lowndes Square (1936) ... RACHEL FERGUSON
FM4. A Chelsea Concerto (1959) ... FRANCES FAVIELL
FM5. The Dancing Bear (1954) ... FRANCES FAVIELL
FM6. A House on the Rhine (1955) ... FRANCES FAVIELL
FM7. Thalia (1957) ... FRANCES FAVIELL
FM8. The Fledgeling (1958) ... FRANCES FAVIELL
FM9. Bewildering Cares (1940) ... WINIFRED PECK
FM10. Tom Tiddler’s Ground (1941) ... URSULA ORANGE
FM11. Begin Again (1936) ... URSULA ORANGE
FM12. Company in the Evening (1944) ... URSULA ORANGE
FM13. The Late Mrs Prioleau (1946) ... MONICA TINDALL
FM14. Bramton Wick (1952) ... ELIZABETH FAIR
FM15. Landscape in Sunlight (1953) ... ELIZABETH FAIR
FM16. The Native Heath (1954) ... ELIZABETH FAIR
FM17. Seaview House (1955) ... ELIZABETH FAIR
FM18. A Winter Away (1957) ... ELIZABETH FAIR
FM19. The Mingham Air (1960) ... ELIZABETH FAIR
FM20. The Lark (1922) ... E. NESBIT
FM21. Smouldering Fire (1935) ... D.E. STEVENSON
FM22. Spring Magic (1942) ... D.E. STEVENSON
FM23. Mrs. Tim Carries On (1941) ... D.E. STEVENSON
FM24. Mrs. Tim Gets a Job (1947) ... D.E. STEVENSON
FM25. Mrs. Tim Flies Home (1952) ... D.E. STEVENSON
FM26. Alice (1950) ... ELIZABETH ELIOT
FM27. Henry (1950) ... ELIZABETH ELIOT
FM28. Mrs. Martell (1953) ... ELIZABETH ELIOT
FM29. Cecil (1962) ... ELIZABETH ELIOT
D.E. Stevenson
Mrs. Tim Carries On
There is so much War News in News Bulletins, in Newspapers, and so much talk about the war that I do not intend to write about it in my diary. Indeed my diary is a sort of escape from the war . . . though it is almost impossible to escape from the anxieties which it brings.
Bestselling author D.E. Stevenson’s charming fictional alter-ego, Hester Christie—or “Mrs Tim” as she is affectionately known to friends of her military husband—was first introduced to readers in Mrs Tim of the Regiment, published in 1932. In 1941, Stevenson brought Mrs Tim back in this delightful sequel, to lift spirits and boost morale in the early days of World War II.
With her husband stationed in France, Hester finds plenty to keep her busy on the Home Front. From her first air raid and a harrowing but hilarious false alarm about a German invasion, to volunteering at the regiment’s “Comforts Depot,” guiding the romantic destinies of her pretty house-gue
st and an injured soldier, and making a flying visit to a blacked-out, slightly bedraggled London with its fighting spirit intact, Mrs Tim does indeed carry on—in inimitable style.
Mrs Tim returns in two subsequent novels, Mrs. Tim Gets a Job (1947) and Mrs. Tim Flies Home (1952), all back in print for the first time in decades from Furrowed Middlebrow and Dean Street Press. Our new editions feature an introduction by Alexander McCall Smith.
“She admirably preserves her lightness of touch, with a tinge of melancholy added, which perfectly suits the mood of 1940.” Glasgow Herald
“This is not merely a war book to which cheerfulness keeps breaking in, it is a book of cheerfulness from which the war cannot be kept out . . . Major Tim’s amazing escape from Dunkirk is high drama superbly handled, and her word pictures are both lifelike and lively.” Manchester Evening News
FM23
TUESDAY 27TH FEBRUARY
Having said good-bye to Tim at the station and watched the train disappear from view I drive home in an extremely dejected condition. Discover Grace ensconced in the big armchair in front of the fire and am obliged to postpone the “good cry” which I had promised myself.
Grace says, “Well, has Tim gone? You aren’t worrying, are you, Hester? There’s absolutely nothing doing in France—nothing except concert parties.”
Reply brightly and untruthfully that of course I am not worrying.
Grace says, that’s all right then. She was afraid I might be, and Jack said she was to tell me that he knows where the 1st Battalion is and it’s miles away from the front, and that, as a matter of fact, Tim will be much safer there than he would be at home. When asked to explain how this is possible, Grace replies that there are more people killed in the streets by buses and things than have been killed in France in the war, and Jack says that once Hitler starts bombing in earnest he’s certain to drop some on the barracks. He knows exactly where the barracks are. Grace thinks that we really ought to move further away from the barracks in case a bomb, intended for the barracks, falls upon us by mistake.
I ask where she proposes to find a house, and she replies that that is the trouble, of course. Donford is simply crammed with people who have no reason to be here so the people who are obliged to be here cannot find houses to suit them. She adds that she wishes she and Jack could find a house in the country so that they could keep a dog for Ian—and perhaps a pony—but she sees no prospect of it at present.
I point out that it will be some time before Ian can enjoy a pony, and Grace admits that this is true. “It is really more on account of the bombs,” says Grace earnestly. “I don’t mind about myself of course, but I am rather anxious about Ian.”
As Ian is not yet born but is due to make his appearance shortly, I feel bound to play the part of comforter and I assure Grace that it is common knowledge that the Anti-Aircraft Defences of Donford are most efficient.
“Oh!” exclaims Grace. “That reminds me—I want you to come to dinner tonight, Hester.”
It is very kind of Grace, but I feel that a quiet evening at home is more in keeping with my mood, and I am about to refuse the invitation as tactfully as possible when the drawing room door bursts open and Betty rushes in.
“Hullo!” exclaims Betty. “Has Daddy gone? Did you see him off? Do you think he has got to France yet? Will he have started killing Germans?”
“No,” says Grace firmly. “Daddy won’t see any Germans for months.”
“Why?” enquires Betty with interest. “I mean why has he gone at all? Why couldn’t he just stay here if he isn’t going to see any Germans?”
“He has gone to France in case the Germans attack,” declares Grace.
“Will they attack him?” asks Betty with round eyes.
“No,” replies Grace.
“Why won’t they?”
“Because he’s there—because all our troops are there.”
“But how do the Germans know . . .”
“Hester,” says Grace, gathering up her furs and groping for her gloves down the back of the chair, “Hester, you will come tonight, won’t you? I’ve asked the balloon man and I want you to come and talk to him.”
“I’ll come,” cries Betty, hopping about with excitement. “I love the balloon man. He was standing in the gutter outside Woolworth’s this morning. I like the red balloons best, don’t you? I like the sausage-shaped ones. Annie gave me a penny to buy it, but it burst before we got home.”
Grace explains that she does not mean “that horrid dirty man”; she means the officer in charge of the Balloon Barrage, Captain Baker. Betty, quite undefeated, says that she knows a man called Mr. Baker—she met him when we were staying with Mrs. Loudon at Avielochan—he’s a darling, quite bald and full of funny jokes, and she can easily come to dinner and talk to him if Grace would like her to do so.
Grace lies back in the chair and shuts her eyes and says will Betty please go away before she (Grace) goes raving mad; whereupon Betty hugs her and exclaims rapturously, “I do love you so much. I think it must be because you are so beautiful.”
Few women could resist such blandishment, and Grace immediately succumbs. “Am I really?” she enquires, opening her eyes and smiling at Betty in a fatuous manner.
“Yes,” says Betty earnestly. “Yes you are. You’re like Snow White you’re so beautiful, and Mrs. Benson is like the Wicked Queen who tried to poison her.”
This statement is too near the truth to be altogether comfortable, for Mrs. Benson, the wife of the Colonel of the 1st Battalion, is daggers drawn with Grace. I change the subject hastily and we talk about other matters until Annie comes for Betty and drags her away unwillingly to bed.
“Your daughter is a most extraordinary child,” declares Grace, when the door has closed and we are once more alone. “I mean she is a most extraordinary mixture of imbecility and acumen. She’s perfectly right about Mrs. Benson—the woman would poison me if she could do it without being found out.”
“Grace, what nonsense!” I exclaim.
“I met her at Simpson’s this morning,” continues Grace, taking no notice of my interruption. “We were both trying on hats. I wish you could have seen Aunt Loo with one of those new soup-plate things perched on one eyebrow, it was a sight for the gods. But when she turned and saw me—-when she looked at me—I didn’t feel like laughing any more. It was awful, Hester. I felt a cold shudder run up my back. She hates me.”
“No, oh no, Grace!”
“She does,” declares Grace earnestly. “Perhaps nobody has ever hated you, so you haven’t experienced hatred. I hadn’t until now. It’s a terrifying thing.”
“If you would only take a little trouble to be nice to her . . .” I begin, but Grace does not listen.
“I wish she would go away,” says Grace fretfully. “Why does she stay on here now that the 1st Battalion has gone to France and Frankie with it. I could do with her house very nicely—ours will be much too small when Ian arrives.”
“Perhaps you would like this house?” I suggest, a trifle sadly, for I have suddenly realised that there is really no reason why I should remain in Donford either.
“That’s quite different,” says Grace. “Everyone likes having you here. I shall want you when Ian arrives, and the ‘comforts’ couldn’t exist without you. For Goodness’ Sake don’t get silly ideas like that into your head.”
The idea is there, and it is not really silly. Mamie Carter could run the Regimental Comforts Fund (and as a matter of fact Mamie ought to run it because her husband is commanding the Depot). I point this out to Grace, but Grace will have nothing to do with it.
“Heavens!” she exclaims in despairing accents. “You know perfectly well what would happen if Mamie were in charge, it would mean that Mrs. Benson ran it—Mamie is completely under her thumb.”
“Well then, what about Stella?” I enquire. “It ought to be someone whose husband is actually at the Depot.”
“It ought to be someone who can do it properly,” replies Grace, “and ne
ither Stella nor Mamie would be the slightest use. I shall never forget what I went through at Biddington with Mamie Carter. I found them a house and I moved them into it, and I had the nurse and the children to stay when the baby was arriving, and Mamie took it all as a matter of course. She even had the cheek to say that she wished I could have found them a house with three bathrooms!”
I agree that this was indeed the height of ingratitude.
“Herbert is a perfect saint,” says Grace thoughtfully.
This leads us to discuss the strange anomaly of marriage—why is it that selfish wives nearly always have saintly husbands, and how is it that selfish husbands are usually provided with door-mat wives?
The clock strikes seven before we know where we are and Grace gets up in a hurry and says she had no idea it was so late. She has got the flowers to do and goodness knows what else. . . . “You are coming, aren’t you?” she says persuasively as I follow her out to the gate.
“Honestly, Grace . . .”
“You must,” she declares. “Hester, you simply must come. Dinner is at eight.”
I hesitate for a moment, but I have had a long and very wearing day and I feel quite incapable of dressing up and going out to dinner. I explain this to Grace and remain deaf to her persuasions. Grace departs sorrowfully, saying that she always thought I was her friend.
I spend a solitary evening sitting by the fire, mending my stockings and writing up my diary. Have decided to keep a record of my doings while Tim is away as it will amuse him to read it when he returns.
FRIDAY 1ST MARCH
Very wet morning. Betty and I have breakfast together after which I despatch her to school, suitably clad in oilskins and Wellington boots, and hung about with her schoolbag and gas mask. As usual, when I slip the strap of the gas-mask container over my small daughter’s shoulder, I experience a horrible sinking sensation and utter a fervent prayer that this precaution, insisted upon by the Government, may be unnecessary. My own gas mask does not trouble me in the very least and I can look it in the face without a tremor; it is only Betty’s small but hideous protection which makes me feel sick.
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