Helen’s face twitched as she tried not to laugh. Hadn’t Effie not long said she’d never give Richard Gladstone another slice of cake? ‘That’s very kind of you. I intend to dust off my bicycle; that should get me home a little quicker. I wonder what I’ll find at the group?’ she said, feeling a little thread of excitement at the thought of doing something different with her day. Which reminded her . . . ‘Effie, would you give me a hand taking my husband’s trunk up to my room? Mother keeps reminding me the hall is not the place to store it, and now my stepfather is moaning too. At least then I can unpack it in private and decide what to do with the contents. I don’t know exactly what the porter has packed, and I’m not looking forward to it; but I do need to get it done.’

  ‘Of course I will, Miss Helen. You really have no idea what’s inside?’

  Helen shrugged, shaking her head. ‘I suppose it must be clothing from the wardrobe and other personal effects. John’s mother asked at the funeral about a few family heirlooms that were on his desk, so I wrote to the porter asking for them to be boxed up and sent to her. I’ve not heard any more, so I assume that’s been done. But really, that’s enough about me. Before we go and deal with the trunk, why don’t you tell me something about your life before you arrived here to work for us?’

  ‘There’s not much to tell really, Miss. I was born and brought up in the Edmonton area. That’s over North London way,’ she added, seeing Helen’s questioning look. ‘Later I moved to Stepney, when I got married. We was quite happy there, but after my old man went off to do his bit in the army and the girls’ school told us mums we should be considering sending the kiddies away from London for their safety – well, it made me start thinking about our future. I don’t know; do you think it’s wrong of me to hope for a bit more out of life?’

  ‘No, of course not. We should all keep looking ahead, especially now that we have this horrible war to contend with. Why, parents should never lose sight of what’s best for their children.’

  ‘Thank you, Miss. It seems like more than six months ago I packed their little cases and walked them to the school to join their classmates. Do you know they was all labelled? It reminded me of the butcher when he labels the weight of the chickens for Christmas.’ She giggled. ‘Silly of me, eh?’

  Helen smiled. ‘It must have been a sight to behold, all those children waiting to set off on their adventures. I did see photographs in the papers at the time and I believe there was something on Pathé News about it at the cinema. It made me thankful I didn’t have any children myself to say goodbye to.’

  ‘You were never blessed then, Miss? I mean, you and your husband didn’t . . .’

  Helen blushed slightly. ‘No, you could say we weren’t blessed; but then, we were only married a couple of years. Who knows what might have happened in the future? Tell me what happened next,’ she said, bringing the subject back to Effie’s children.

  ‘Well, Miss, I received a letter from the kids to say they’d arrived. They wrote the name of the town – it was somewhere called Chard. Have you heard of it?’

  ‘I know of the area, but I’ve never visited. I’m led to believe Somerset is a beautiful county.’

  ‘Yes, Miss, in the short time that it was hinted where the children would go, I took myself off to the lending library and looked in an encyclopaedia. It was the lovely countryside and the threats of bombing back in London that had me decide to move away and find myself a job in the country as well. Knowing the girls would be away for a while, as would my husband, my plan was to find a little home to rent and make cosy for when my family returned to me. Now, well, I don’t know what to do. I feel such a failure.’

  Helen admired Effie’s plans for her family’s future, although she did wonder why the woman had chosen to settle down so close to an airfield. When John was alive, he’d remarked that he thought it reckless of Helen’s mother to stay in the Biggin Hill area as ‘anything could happen’ with the airfield being so nearby. The memory of those words caused a shiver to run through her, but she pulled herself together and tried to focus on Effie’s dilemma. ‘Please don’t feel you have failed. After all, you have Dorothy and Jane living here with you, so you know they’re safe. That’s the most important job you have. It wasn’t your fault they were sent back. I’m sure we can come up with something, if we put our heads together.’

  ‘That’s good of you, Miss; but what about your mother? I’m not sure your father will want youngsters under his feet, either.’

  ‘He’s not my father,’ Helen snapped back before apologizing. ‘I’m sorry – it’s just that he doesn’t feel like a father to me. He married my mother when I was eleven years old. I was sent away to boarding school and I’ve not had much to do with him since then.’ She glanced down into her lap. ‘When I finished school I took a secretarial course, then went to work in London.’

  Effie nodded. ‘At least in a house this size, you don’t have to live in each other’s pockets. Where I come from, we had no choice. The house we rented was a two-up, two-down with a lavvie out the back that we shared with next door. Oh, it was clean,’ she was quick to add. ‘I was always on my knees with a scrubbing brush. But it wasn’t what I wanted for my children.’ She looked out the window to where the girls were throwing a ball back and forth. ‘I need to make some decisions,’ she said, wringing her hands together. ‘If only I knew more people in the area, I could ask about places to rent.’

  Helen’s mind went to the village shop and the postcards on the noticeboard. ‘I have an idea. Why don’t we write a card and put it in the shop? People do stop to read them. In fact, that’s how I found out about the sewing group.’

  Effie didn’t look convinced. ‘I’m not sure anyone will want to rent a place to a woman with two kids and no husband at home. Landlords can be funny about such things. Perhaps I’ll have to look for new live-in work, instead of just a house to rent?’

  ‘Oh no, don’t say that,’ Helen said. ‘I’m sure we can sort something out. Why don’t you come along with me to the sewing group tomorrow afternoon? There may be someone there who can help you. To be honest, I’m a bit nervous about walking into the hall on my own. I’m only going so as to get out of the house a little more.’

  Effie raised her eyebrows. Anyone would find it hard living under the same roof as Mrs Davis, she thought. ‘If you think it would help, then I’ll come along. The children will be going to the local school for the first time tomorrow, but after Christmas it’s closing down and moving lock, stock and barrel to Wales. That’s another problem for me to solve,’ she said, looking glum. ‘But at least I can fit in joining you for a while – as long as your mother doesn’t notice. She might well think I’m moving above my station in life, going out with you.’

  ‘Don’t worry about my mother. I’ll tell her you are helping me for the afternoon. She won’t argue if she knows I’ll be out from under her feet. She likes her peace and quiet and an orderly life. A widowed daughter was not part of her plan to climb the social ladder,’ Helen grimaced.

  Effie smiled. She liked Helen, and wondered why a young woman like her had decided to marry a man so much older. There again, perhaps it had been better than putting up with her waspish mother.

  ‘That’s a plan, then. In the meantime, let’s not give your mum any cause for complaint. Drink up your tea and we’ll get that trunk dragged upstairs and stowed in your bedroom. Do you want me to help you unpack it?’

  ‘No, it can sit in the corner out of the way until I can bring myself to go through John’s things.’ Helen glanced into the hall, where the trunk sat close to the kitchen doorway. Apart from her memories, it contained all the remaining links to her life in London. Did she even wish to revisit it?

  3

  ‘Should we have brought something with us, do you think?’ Helen asked, as they watched a woman laden with bags struggling up the path to the church hall. Without waiting for an answer, she hurried after the woman. ‘Here, let me help you,’ she said, taking one of the bags while Effie took another.

  ‘Are you here to join our little group?’ the red-faced woman asked as she put her remaining bags down on a step, pulling a bunch of keys from her pocket. ‘Let’s get inside out of this awful weather, shall we?’ She ushered them into the gloomy hall. ‘The light switch is on the left,’ she instructed Effie, who’d taken a few steps ahead and then halted, not knowing where to go in the semi-darkness. ‘Dearie me, the caretaker is supposed to open the blackout curtains each morning.’ She tutted as she pulled the drapes aside. Grey mid-morning December light filtered through the criss-cross of blast tape, casting triangles onto the wooden floor.

  Helen looked around, not feeling particularly inspired by their surroundings. She had imagined a busy sewing bee with tables heaped with coloured fabric and wool into which she could delve to start a project – to make what, she wasn’t yet sure. But perhaps the atmosphere would brighten up once more people arrived.

  ‘I’m Letitia Green, but you can call me Tish,’ the woman said, holding out her hand to Helen and Effie, who in turn introduced themselves. ‘It will be good to have fresh blood in our little circle. We certainly need it,’ she grimaced.

  ‘I thought this was a new group?’ Helen said, hoping she wasn’t going to experience being ignored by an established clique, as she had when she’d first married John and been introduced to his colleagues’ wives. She had spent most of her time watching the clock and waiting for the earliest possible opportunity to make her excuses and leave their little soirées. She’d only been really happy while working alongside John in his office, arranging his social appointments.

  ‘Yes, this is our first official meeting of the group here in the church hall. I’ve had a few get-togethers at home, but I wanted to do something more worthwhile. Not just for the war effort, but to boost the morale of the women who live in the area,’ Tish added, looking pleased with herself.

  ‘I’m really not sure sitting in a draughty church hall knitting socks for the troops is going to boost anyone’s morale,’ Effie huffed, obviously not much taken with her first impression of Tish. ‘Do you want me to sort the kitchen out and get the kettle on?’ she added, peering through an open doorway. Beyond it was a long room that ran the length of the side of the hall and contained a sink, a large gas stove and a table.

  ‘Here, take this bag – you should find everything you require. I plan to carry everything for our tea breaks rather than leave it in the kitchen cupboard; the Boy Scouts pinch anything that’s not nailed down. I dare not leave the biscuit tin here, either, because the verger’s partial to a nibble.’

  Helen couldn’t help but giggle. ‘You seem to know the ins and outs of the people who use this hall,’ she said, taking a heavy bag from Tish and passing it to Effie.

  ‘So true,’ the woman said. ‘I’m married to the job.’

  Helen looked at her, confused.

  ‘My husband is the vicar,’ Tish said, with an expression that suggested this should have been obvious.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry – I ought to have remembered your name after our conversation yesterday,’ Helen apologized. ‘I’m Helen Wentworth, and the lady out there sorting out the kitchen is Effie King, my mother’s housekeeper.’

  ‘Oh, so you’re the lady who made the telephone call yesterday? I’m sorry I couldn’t speak for long. We had representatives from the Mothers’ Union visiting with my husband and things were getting quite fraught. You have no idea how territorial some of these ladies can be over the preparation of the church flowers.’

  Helen wasn’t sure what to make of Tish. In the few minutes she’d known her, she’d got the impression that the vicar’s wife was someone who called a spade a spade. ‘I’m not sure how much use I’ll be. It would take me so long to knit a pair of socks, the war would be over by the time I’d cast off. As for my sewing skills – well, I can just about manage to turn up a hem on a frock and replace a loose button. However, I look forward to coming to the meetings, if only to get out of the house,’ she smiled.

  ‘I’ve heard about you, of course; you’re the MP’s widow. It must have been a terrible shock to you to lose your husband like that,’ Tish said, patting her hand. ‘I’m pleased you’ve come back to live with your mother. If we haven’t got family at times like this, what do we have?’

  Helen only smiled, unable to think of a reply. There was a glint in Tish’s eye that might have been irony, and it made her wonder if the woman might have crossed paths with Hillary at some point.

  ‘And don’t worry about your sewing skills today. This is a “let’s get to know each other” meeting – and we have a special guest.’

  ‘That does sound interesting,’ Helen said, wondering what she’d let herself in for.

  ‘Oh, yes. Our speaker is Elizabeth Donnington, and she’s going to tell us all about her quilts.’

  Helen groaned inwardly. As far as she was concerned, a quilt was something to hide under when she was feeling miserable, and she had done a lot of that lately. She wished she was at home right now, snuggled in with a good book and a cup of cocoa. Thoughts of home reminded her that Inspector Gladstone would be there to interview her later, so at least she had an excuse to hurry away if things became too boring here. ‘Wonderful. Now, is there anything I can do to help?’

  Tish looked at her watch. ‘Good grief, the hordes will be descending on us within ten minutes and the seats haven’t been put out. Would you be a dear . . .? I’ll have a quick word with Effie about using the right cups and saucers.’

  Helen was only too happy to have something to do, and she set to pulling stacks of metal chairs from behind a curtain next to the stage at one end of the hall. ‘Er – Tish, will your speaker be up on the stage?’ she called out.

  ‘Yes; just two chairs behind the small table, please. She’s going to work near the audience so we can have a close look at her quilts.’

  Helen set up a couple of wooden trestle tables before laying out three rows of chairs.

  ‘That looks splendid. I can see you’re going to be a great asset to the group,’ Tish remarked as she shook out a large white sheet to cover the tables. ‘Perfect,’ she announced, stepping back to check it was straight.

  Helen wondered if the praise was because the vicar’s wife had found someone young enough to do the heavy work involved in setting up a group meeting.

  The doors opened and a horde of women and excited children entered, filling the empty hall with noisy chit-chat. Effie emerged from the kitchen, looking round the newly busy space before coming over to join Helen. ‘I don’t think I’m needed; a couple of other women have taken over,’ she said, looking slightly downcast.

  ‘I hope they didn’t say anything rude to you?’ Helen was ready to be offended on her behalf.

  ‘No, not at all. It’s just . . . I’m not good with strangers and I didn’t want to step on anyone’s toes, so I slid out after saying hello.’

  Helen understood how she felt. It was better sometimes to slide away than stay and be ignored, or spoken to dismissively. There were times she could put on a brave face, but there were plenty of other times when it didn’t work. ‘Oh look, Effie,’ she said as one of the women came out of the kitchen, scanned the room and approached them.

  ‘There you are! I wanted to say thank you, but you vanished. It’s not often we arrive to a clean and tidy kitchen, I can tell you. It saves so much time, especially when I’m running late. I’m Jean Carter, I knit and do kitchen duties – I make a mean cake, too. My cohort is Ivy Brown, she’s our expert on rag rugs and tea-making. That’s why Tish delegated us to kitchen duties, bless her,’ she grinned.

  The women shook hands with Jean. ‘What’s a rag rug?’ Helen asked.

  ‘That question shows how posh you are,’ Effie chuckled. ‘We had a couple made by my mum, but I left them behind when we left the East End. Mum made ours out of old rags, and they last for years and cost hardly anything to make. I’d love to try again, especially if I need to provide a home for me and the kids.’

  ‘I’m intrigued,’ Helen said, ignoring the comment about being posh. She had never thought of herself that way, although anyone who’d met her mother might see it differently.

  Jean slipped her arm through Effie’s. ‘You must come and meet Ivy properly. She can help furnish your home, as she’s a dab hand with rags. If you don’t mind being a third pair of hands in the kitchen, it would be wonderful. We’re expecting quite a few people today as we have a speaker and there’s been a lot of interest about Tish’s new group. Let’s face it, it’s a good way to kill a few hours – even if some women ignore the orders to leave their children at home.’ She winked. ‘Would you like to join us?’ she asked Helen.

  ‘No, I’ll stay here and help Tish with the seats. If there are more coming along, we might need to pull out extra chairs.’ Helen smiled, hoping that was the case and she didn’t stand there on her own looking like a lemon.

  She needn’t have worried, because at that moment a striking woman dressed in a smart green woollen suit with a matching hat entered the hall, followed by two men carrying large suitcases. ‘You can leave them here, thank you,’ she said, indicating a space next to the trestle tables. Helen couldn’t quite place her accent. Was she American?

  ‘Helen, dear, come over and meet Elizabeth. She may need a hand displaying her quilts,’ Tish called to her, in an affected tone of voice quite unlike the one she had used earlier. After introducing the two women, she bustled off.

  ‘These are beautiful,’ Helen said, as Elizabeth passed her the quilts so that she could drape them over the tables. ‘The colours and patterns are stunning.’ She ran her fingers over one particularly eye-catching example in which all the colours of the rainbow were pieced together, and felt a stirring of interest that had deserted her since John’s death. ‘I really wouldn’t know where to start making one, but I’d love to try. You are so talented, Elizabeth.’

  Elizabeth stood up and straightened her skirt after sliding the last of the suitcases behind the table. She reached for a large shopping bag, pulling out books and leaflets. ‘Please, you must call me Lizzie. Most people do,’ she said. She stood inches taller than Helen, and with her hat and smart heeled shoes, seemed to tower over her. ‘As for where to start – just start at the beginning.’ She smiled gently.

 

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