Audrey was becoming accustomed to the mile-long walk into the village. Williams, their driver, had joined the Auxiliary Fire Service in London, and no one else at Wellingford knew how to drive except Father, who refused to serve as chauffeur. Audrey wished Williams had taught her to drive before he left, the way he’d taught Eve. Perhaps she should buy a bicycle.
“Thank you, Robbins. Is that the London paper?” she asked, seeing it tucked under his arm.
“Yes, Miss Audrey. However, you may not wish to read it today. Rather gruesome news, I’m afraid.”
She steeled herself as she reached for it. “Thank you for the warning, but I would like to see it, just the same. I’m afraid one must get used to gruesome news. I’ll take it to Father when I’m finished.”
Reports of atrocities in Poland horrified Audrey and were another reason she’d fled to the safety of Wellingford. Nazi airplanes mowed down civilians like wheat as they fled Warsaw. And Alfie, who was always on her heart, was somewhere in Belgium. “The Maginot Line will hold,” he’d assured her. “It’s impossible for the Nazis to get past it.”
Audrey sat on the hall bench and unfolded the paper. The British ocean liner Athenia had been torpedoed on its way to Canada with 1,400 passengers on board. A civilian ocean liner! She lowered the newspaper to her lap. Envisioning the horror those people must have endured would fuel her fears. It was bad enough that she carried the nagging, aching fear for Alfie with her, day and night. Especially at night.
She refolded the paper and took it into her father’s study. He stood in front of the window, staring out at the formal gardens. “Here’s the London paper,” she said. “The news isn’t good, I’m afraid.” He didn’t turn or acknowledge her, so she laid it on his desk. “I heard airplanes flying over today—they were ours, thankfully. But it reminded me to speak with you about putting in an Anderson shelter. Shall I ask the gardener to choose a good spot for it, perhaps behind the house?”
“Waste of time. I won’t use it.”
“Perhaps for the servants’ sakes, Father. It might give them peace of mind to know there’s a safe shelter from the bombs.” She waited. Should she tell him she wanted it for herself as much as for the servants?
“I won’t have my gardens dug up for nothing. The servants can huddle in the wine cellar if it makes them feel better.”
She let the matter drop and went to change her clothes to meet the train in the village.
It was warm for September, and Audrey arrived at the station weary and overheated, her feet blistered from the long walk. She wondered again about buying a bicycle. A large crowd gathered to meet the train, every woman in town, it seemed, young and old, waiting to house evacuated children. When the train finally steamed into the station, the ruckus was like nothing she’d ever heard before. The older children emerged from the cars shouting and brawling, the little ones wailing for their mothers. Hundreds of children poured from the train and milled around the platform like a nest of ants that had been disturbed. The village billeting officer waded into the melee, trying in vain to restore order, but the children were having none of it, thrilled to run free after the long ride from London. Audrey waited in the shade beneath the station’s overhanging roof as the officials gradually herded the children into groups and sent them off to area cottages and farms. There seemed to be a great crowd of them left over. The officer turned to Audrey. “The rest are yours, Miss Clarkson. We’ve assigned thirty children to Wellingford Hall along with their teacher, Miss Bristol.”
“Thirty! But . . . but we don’t have enough beds! Or food! We’re only prepared for half as many.”
“Come now, Miss Clarkson. It’s your patriotic duty for the war effort. Everyone in the village is boarding children, and you can see for yourself how small some of their cottages are. Wellingford Hall is enormous in comparison. It shouldn’t be a hardship to find a few empty bedrooms.” The man’s disdain for Audrey’s family was clear. She knew it was caused in great measure by Mother’s obvious disdain for the villagers. She had long ignored her responsibilities as lady of the manor. Audrey tried to make up for that lack, but she was still a long way from being accepted, much less admired, by the local people.
She surveyed the swirling, simpering mob that was hers for the duration. Thirty of them! Nothing in her experience had equipped her for this task. She drew a breath, remembering how Eve had once taught her to be brave, remembering the scratchy tickle of dead beetles in her hand. “Very well. Would you please let Mr. Grayson know we’re ready to leave? He agreed to drive us to Wellingford in his wagon.”
The wagon wasn’t large enough for thirty children, so the oldest ones followed behind with their teacher while Audrey rode on the seat beside the driver. The novelty of country life proved a huge distraction for the older boys, and rather than keeping up with the wagon, they climbed trees and scampered over fences, scaring a flock of sheep and stampeding the dozing cattle. Audrey had no idea how to restore order. She decided to leave the wandering ones to their teacher and attend to a crying toddler in the wagon behind her. Audrey pulled the girl onto her lap, making shushing noises to soothe her. “We’re nearly there, little one. It’s just a short ride, now. Goodness, you must be hungry.” Would there be enough food to feed thirty children? And where would they all sleep?
The child on her lap continued to fuss in spite of Audrey’s efforts, crying in a steady, high-pitched whine that scraped Audrey’s nerves. She couldn’t bring herself to use her own handkerchief to wipe the girl’s running nose. She smelled as though she needed a bath and had grains of rice in her greasy hair. One of the grains hopped.
Head lice!
It required all of Audrey’s willpower not to toss the girl off the wagon. She shivered with dread for the rest of the journey, her skin crawling as the girl perched awkwardly on her lap. “Drive around to the back of Wellingford Hall, please,” she told Mr. Grayson. If only his horse would gallop down the lane instead of this slow, leisurely plodding.
Audrey scrambled down from the seat as soon as the wagon halted and set the infested child on the ground. The other children jumped down as well, hooting with delight as they scattered in all directions across the estate. Mrs. Smith and two chambermaids came out to welcome them, and they looked appalled as they viewed the invasion. Audrey hurried over to them. “We have to bathe these children and douse them for lice. We can’t allow them inside until we do.”
“There are so many!” Mrs. Smith said. “How will we manage?”
“This isn’t even all of them. The rest are following on foot.” Audrey fought to control the panic clogging her throat. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. She had imagined a few clean, orderly children boarding in her beautiful home, not this rabble. “Send one of the maids into the village for soap and . . . and for whatever else the chemist recommends. Their clothing will be contaminated, as well. And probably everything in their satchels.”
“But the laundresses don’t come until next week, Miss Audrey.”
“Will you beg them to come sooner? I’ll pay whatever they ask.”
“What will the children wear in the meantime?”