“Well, if you can drive this boat, you can drive a car, you know. I’ll teach you on the way back to London.”
Audrey offered a weak smile before fixing her gaze straight ahead once more. Her face was as pale as death, her knuckles white as she gripped the wheel. Eve needed to keep her talking so she wouldn’t faint. Hours had passed since they’d left London and they were both growing tired. Neither of them had eaten anything. “By the way, ‘Good show, Miss Clarkson,’” she said, imitating the naval officer’s accent.
“Thanks. My brother loves this boat. He’ll never forgive me if I sink it.”
“You won’t. You’re doing great. I knew you could do it.” The boat jolted as they hit a large wave, dashing salty spray into the wheelhouse. “Tell me about Alfie,” Eve said to distract both of them. “What have you heard from him? I write to him all the time but he rarely writes back.”
“He’s terrible at writing letters. I don’t hear much from him, either. And when I do, he just whines about all the things he misses from home and how cold and miserable he is on the Continent. Though he does mention the good French wine.”
“Alfie loves a good time,” Eve said, then wished she hadn’t, remembering Lady Rosamunde staggering home, drunk. Eve had seen Alfie in the same condition many times. Would there ever be good times again? The Nazis had goose-stepped across Europe at the speed of lightning, with no army able to stop them, including Great Britain’s.
“Where does your courage come from, Eve?” Audrey suddenly asked.
“Me?” She gave a nervous laugh, grateful that Audrey couldn’t read her mind. “I’m not courageous. I’m merely thickheaded. I just blunder ahead and do what needs to be done without thinking about it. Your problem is that you’re much smarter than me, Audrey. You overthink everything, imagining what might happen and worrying about all the things that could go wrong. You can’t help being brilliant any more than I can help being dense.”
“You aren’t dense. You’re every bit as smart as me. You’ve just lacked the advantages and opportunities I’ve had. Remember my governess, Miss Blake? She used to marvel at how quick you were to learn and how curious you always were. I consider us equals.”
“In spite of our class differences? Isn’t the system based on the notion that blue bloods are better in every way than the servant class? We’ve been told it’s useless to try to better ourselves because it’s impossible to change what we are.”
“Many people might feel that way, but I don’t. Miss Blake said the first war knocked holes in the class system because aristocrats and workingmen had to fight and die side by side for the same cause. I have a feeling this war is going to destroy the system altogether.”
Eve smiled into the darkness. “I hope you’re right. Then there might be hope for Alfie and me.” She took her gaze off the shadowy boat in front of them for a moment and looked into the distance, wondering how much time had passed since they’d left shore—three-quarters of an hour, maybe? Lightning flickered on the far horizon, followed by the faint rumble of thunder. That was all they needed, for it to start raining again. She was already wet and half-frozen. Then she realized what the faint bursts of light really were. The war. They were that close to it. She pulled her blanket around her, feeling small and vulnerable, hoping Audrey didn’t glance at the horizon.
The boat they followed appeared to be changing direction, arcing slightly to the left. “I think we might be heading inland again, Audrey. Maybe we’re almost there.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“You deserve a long, hot soak in the tub after this. Your teeth are chattering.”
“So are yours. And you’re right—we are turning back toward land. I wonder how we’ll ever see the shore in the blackout.”
“We’ll just have to trust the man who’s leading us.” For some reason, Eve thought of Granny Maud’s stories about the Good Shepherd. “A shepherd always leads his sheep; he doesn’t drive them. If they follow him, they’ll make it safely home. But if they go their own way, they’re sure to get lost.” Eve closed her eyes and prayed for Alfie. And for Audrey. If only all three of them could make it safely home.
Then, like a miracle, the clouds thinned from thick wool to filmy gauze. The gauze parted to reveal a glorious half-moon shining down. Moonlight gilded the churning waves and revealed the dark outline of the shore in the distance. “We’re going to make it, Audrey! It won’t be long now.” The scuttling clouds tried to erase the moon, but it shone through long enough to bring the flotilla into the port of Dover.
“We’re the volunteers from Folkestone,” one of the captains called to the Royal Navy officer onshore. “We have some ladies piloting that vessel, over there. Let’s get them tied up first.”
“Bring it right up here,” the officer called back. They were landing beside a wall, not a dock, with dozens of other boats only a few yards away. Eve stood, letting her blanket fall, and moved onto the deck.
“I don’t remember where reverse is,” Audrey moaned. Sailors stood above them on the wall, ready to grab the ropes. The engine sputtered, then died as Audrey struggled with the controls.
“Don’t worry about it,” Eve told her. “I’ll throw them a rope.” It took three tries, but Eve finally managed to toss it high enough for the men to catch. She felt like cheering when the boat gently bumped against the floats cushioning the wall.
“We made it!” Audrey sighed as if she’d been holding her breath the entire way. She slumped forward, resting her arms and head against the wheel. The deck rocked as two young sailors jumped down to help tie the boat fast. The other ships from the flotilla pulled in close all around them.
“Need a hand up, miss?” one of the men asked Eve.
“Let my friend go first,” she said. “But I think she needs a minute.”
“I’m all right,” Audrey said, raising her head. But it took her two tries to stand on the swaying deck. Sailors helped them climb the iron ladder to the top of the wall. Eve’s knees threatened to buckle as she stepped onto dry land. She linked arms with Audrey so they could steady each other.
“We must look like a pair of drunks,” Eve whispered.
“What’s going on with our navy that they have to send women to war?” she heard one of the seamen say. He was an older man in patched clothing, tanned and grizzled as if he’d spent his entire lifetime at sea.
“They didn’t send us,” Audrey told him, her voice surprisingly strong. “We volunteered. We couldn’t leave the men we love stranded across the channel when we happened to have a boat.”
“You must have a shilling or two to own a pleasure craft like that one,” the man replied.
“Yes. I suppose I do.”
Eve’s eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness onshore, and she realized that the shadowy figures she saw jamming the lanes and alleyways around the docks were soldiers in round tin helmets, loaded down with gear. Hundreds of men. Most sat on the ground, leaning against walls and barrels and anything else they could find. Some wore bulky, square life vests. Some smoked cigarettes, shielding the glowing tips with their helmets. Many were asleep.