The teacher evacuees, p.18
The Teacher Evacuees, page 18
She’d had a letter from Louis yesterday. A nice, big fat one she’d already read three times. Mindful of the censor, he’d only written about his everyday doings but he’d included a salutation and sign-off that brought a blush to her cheeks and flutter to her heart.
‘If you have a moment for a word?’ Miss Hetty stopped Victoria with a brief touch to her arm.
‘Of course.’ It was easy to think of and address Miss Adelaide as Miss Addie. However, in Victoria’s mind, tall, white-haired Henrietta Grainger remained Miss Grainger. As such, any request she made was the Hazelbury equivalent of a royal command.
‘In the drawing room, if you please.’ Like her sister, Miss Hetty wore a dark-patterned day-dress with an elaborate lace collar, making Victoria even more conscious of her quilted blue dressing gown and matching slippers. ‘No, Lady.’ Miss Hetty shut the drawing room door on the dog and gestured to Victoria to sit on one of the sofas.
‘The blackout? I could take it down now, at least one of the windows.’ Victoria squinted through the gloom. Miss Hetty’s manner often made Victoria feel like a schoolgirl summoned into the presence of a stern headmistress.
Miss Hetty gave a gracious nod as she sat in an armchair upholstered in the same green fabric as the sofa.
‘There, that’s better, isn’t it? Such a beautiful sunrise.’ With the tall, narrow window freed from its black covering, rosy rays of dawn spilled through the glass panes. Silver dew coated the garden in front of the manor, now also dug up for growing vegetables, and tendrils of mist draped the hedgerow by the gate.
‘I’ve seen many sunrises. I doubt this one is any more memorable than the others. Nevertheless, we’re here to see it and these days more than ever that is by no means guaranteed.’ Miss Hetty’s voice was curt.
Victoria’s mouth went dry and she folded her hands in her lap to stop herself fiddling with a loose thread on her dressing gown.
‘Addie and I had a letter from Louis in yesterday’s post. I gather you had one as well.’ Although the same blue as her nephew’s, Miss Hetty’s eyes currently held none of Louis’s warmth.
‘I did.’ Which Miss Hetty already knew since the letter had been at Victoria’s place in the dining room when she’d come down for dinner.
‘I understand my great-nephew has…’ She paused and only then did Victoria spot a faint tremble in the other woman’s hands. ‘Certain feelings for you. Feelings which you seemingly return.’
‘Yes, I do.’ Louis had written to his great-aunts as he’d promised. She’d had no reason to doubt him.
‘Although the world is sadly much changed since I was a girl, certain conventions, at least in our family, have not.’ Miss Hetty’s eyes drilled into Victoria and she forced herself not to flinch. ‘Louis is a fine man and I… we… thought he’d be settled long before now. My sister and I worry over him. We’d hoped… well, a young man in London has certain temptations, doesn’t he? Sowing wild oats, as the expression goes.’
‘I wouldn’t know.’ Victoria clenched her hands tighter. What was Miss Hetty getting at?
‘Although we can’t fault Louis for bestowing his affections, such as they may be, on you… I hope you recognise that he also has certain responsibilities not only to his family and country but Hazelbury. This house will be his one day, you know.’ Miss Hetty sat ramrod straight and, in the shadows, the strong lines of her face reminded Victoria of one of the stone effigies she’d seen of a seventeenth-century Grainger in the village church.
‘I didn’t know, not about the house I mean.’ She should have suspected, though. The Misses Grainger didn’t have other close family.
Miss Hetty gave another regal nod. ‘While I have no particular fault to find with you, you must also realise that affections given in wartime are, by their very nature, often transitory. Furthermore, you are from Canada and will presumably return there when the conflict is over, regardless of whether we or the Nazis prevail.’
‘I… I hadn’t thought that far ahead.’ Victoria’s voice cracked. Where was one of Nell’s endless cups of tea when she needed it? ‘But there is no formal understanding between Louis and me.’ Now she sounded like one of Jane Austen’s heroines.
‘Of course there isn’t. In the regrettable absence of his mother and father, Louis would, of course, make any such intentions known to my sister and myself first.’ Miss Hetty sat even straighter. ‘You may be a colonial but at least you come from a respectable family. Not one like Beatrice’s but still…’ Her voice trailed off. ‘Addie is a romantic but, like me, Louis is more sensible. He would not be swayed by just any pretty face and despite her many virtues, Nell is… well…’
‘A modest, kind, intelligent and hardworking young woman,’ Victoria couldn’t stop herself from adding.
‘Indeed, for her class.’ Miss Hetty exhaled. ‘Louis knows his responsibilities and will make up his own mind but I would not want either of you to be hurt.’ Now her tone was magnanimous. ‘I presume he told you about his erstwhile fiancée?’
‘He mentioned her name but that was all.’ Victoria’s fingernails dug into her palms. ‘He would never be indiscreet.’
‘Evelyn is recently widowed. She and Louis move in the same London circles so you never know, do you?’
‘No.’ Anger sparked hot and sharp and Victoria bit her lip. She couldn’t let her temper get the better of her, not if she didn’t want to have to find a new billet.
‘Good. We understand each other, then?’ Miss Hetty rose.
Victoria stumbled to her feet. ‘Perfectly.’
‘Oh, and one more thing.’ Aunt Hetty stopped partway to the door. ‘I suspect that you may be involved in this cloak-and-dagger business with Louis. I don’t know the details, of course, but do be careful, won’t you? I expect he’s warned you to trust no one? One can’t be too careful.’
Then, without waiting for Victoria to respond, Miss Hetty swept out of the drawing room, as much as anyone in an old-fashioned day-dress could be said to sweep.
Victoria stood in the middle of the room twisting her dressing gown cord as Nell burst in, followed by Lady.
‘What on earth was she talking to you about? Your tea is likely cold now. I’ll make you another cup straight away. Breakfast is almost ready as well. Beatrice and I made it because Miss Addie… Victoria?’ Nell came closer. ‘What’s wrong? You’re pale. Are you coming down with something?’
‘No and nothing’s wrong.’ Or perhaps everything. She manufactured a smile and bent to pat the dog.
She’d be polite to Miss Grainger, of course. Victoria could no longer even try to think of her as Miss Hetty. And she wouldn’t tell Louis about this conversation. He loved and respected his great-aunts and Victoria wouldn’t come between him and them.
But what Henrietta Grainger had said was yet another reminder that Victoria had to be mindful in giving her trust. Perhaps even to Louis most of all.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Sitting on picnic rugs and shaded by one of the ancient oaks that dotted the grounds of Whittleton Hall, Victoria, Beatrice and Nell watched all but their youngest pupils play a rounders match. It was Wednesday in the first week of July and the day of the school visit Major Bertram had first proposed to Victoria last autumn. From riding in the horse-drawn carts which Major Bertram had sent to collect the children and teachers to bring them the short distance from Hazelbury to their arrival, picnic lunch and time for games – it had all gone more smoothly than Victoria had dared hope.
Albert swung his bat, hit the ball with a resounding crack and took off at a run around the pitch Major Bertram had set out earlier.
‘Yes, keep going.’ Victoria sprang to her feet and cheered him on. ‘That’s it. Good lad. What?’ She glanced at Beatrice and Nell’s amused expressions.
‘We didn’t know you were such a keen sporting fan, that’s all.’ Nell took several plums grown in the hall’s kitchen garden from the hamper Mrs Bertram’s cook had packed for them.
‘I used to play baseball with my sisters and cousins at home. It’s similar to rounders.’ Her mind drifted back to those lazy summer days of her childhood and youth. ‘Each year, we’d have a family competition. I was the pitcher, somewhat like you’d call the bowler, for one of the teams. We usually won. It was good fun.’
‘Sounds it.’ Beatrice passed around a plate of arrowroot biscuits. ‘I used to watch my brothers play cricket. Except for tennis and horse riding, my mother didn’t approve of girls taking part in sport.’ She shook her head. ‘I always fancied playing hockey.’
‘I never played sport at all,’ Nell said and stared at her hands. ‘Unless you count running round after my younger sisters.’
‘Miss Hetty told me that when she was a girl they often had tennis parties at Hazelbury Manor. She showed me photographs,’ Beatrice said. ‘It seems that in her day she was an exceptional player. There was even talk of Wimbledon, but her father wouldn’t hear of it.’
Victoria busied herself with packing up the hamper. Her talk with Miss Grainger still stung. She’d tried to hide her distress from Beatrice and Nell and avoid Miss Grainger as much she could, so on the surface life went on as usual at home.
‘Miss Addie’s such a pet, but Miss Hetty still scares me. It’s as if she always expects me to do something wrong,’ Nell said.
‘Her manner can be off-putting, but she’s not as bad as you may think, truly. Her bark’s worse than her bite.’ Beatrice stood and went to referee a dispute between two of her juniors.
Beatrice was entitled to her opinion, but it was no surprise that she was chummier with Miss Grainger than Victoria and Nell. Although from different generations, the two of them came from the same world, one which had its own rules and expectations learned in childhood. And one which, despite the so-called equalisation of social classes with the war, people like Victoria and Nell would forever be excluded from.
‘It’s been lovely to have a break, but duty calls.’ Victoria stood as well. ‘I must go and see how Mrs Bertram and Ivy are getting on with my smallest infants. When I left them on the terrace, Mrs Bertram had brought out the toy cars her boys used to play with and, for the girls, a dolls house. She also had some of them playing hopscotch. It was sweet.’
‘There are times when I envy you your infants.’ Nell laugh was rueful. ‘I had to dissuade some of my boys from playing hide-and-seek earlier. That lot are likely to hide with the intention of not being found. We’d have to call out a search party.’
‘The infants have their moments, but I wouldn’t trade them. Even the new arrivals are settling.’ Those new London children who either hadn’t been evacuated last September or who’d returned home within a few weeks reminded Victoria how far she and the longstanding evacuees had come in ten months. ‘Yesterday, I overheard Albert telling two of the new boys not to trample a patch of wildflowers behind the village hall. Quite outraged he was. He gave them a brief lesson about the importance of wildflower seeds.’
‘Children listen more than we may think. Little sponges, they are.’ Nell turned at a piercing wail from the rounders game. ‘Arthur, mind how you swing that bat. Watch for anyone behind you. Did you fall and scrape your knee, Lizzie?’
As Nell and Beatrice restored order and, in Nell’s case, administered minor first aid, Victoria walked along the hall’s drive to the house. Much grander than Hazelbury Manor, Whittleton Hall was an elegant red-brick house that dated from Tudor times. With turrets on each side at the front, its mullioned windows sparkled in the afternoon sun, and the only reminder of the modern era was the roomy black saloon car parked by the stable block.
As Victoria neared the massive front entrance and adjacent fish pond, Major Bertram came out through the open doorway, followed by a white-haired butler carrying a valise.
‘I won’t be a moment, Sir.’ The butler, whom Victoria had spotted when they’d arrived, buttoned his uniform coat.
Children’s laughter rang out and then Ivy, followed by Victoria’s infants, burst through a green door in a brick wall surrounding the kitchen garden, apparently playing a ‘follow the leader’ game.
‘Whatever is the matter, Sidney?’ Bringing up the rear of the children and holding Diana’s hand, Mrs Bertram called to her husband. ‘I’d hoped you could join us for tea. At luncheon, the boys so enjoyed your stories of India.’
‘It can’t be helped, Julia. Miss McKaye.’ Major Bertram touched his hat to her before going to speak to his wife. ‘That call was from London. No, don’t fuss. I’ll stay at the house in town.’
Surrounded by her excited pupils all talking at once, Victoria couldn’t hear what else Major and Mrs Bertram were saying but from her gestures and facial expressions, it was clear Mrs Bertram was in some distress.
‘The major was in the kitchen garden with us and then he was called indoors to the telephone.’ At Victoria’s side, Ivy handed out chalks from her apron pocket. ‘It had got too hot and sunny on the terrace so Mrs Bertram brought us to look at the vegetables and play games. There’s a flagstone path and it’s ever so nice in the shade. I didn’t do something wrong coming out here, did I? Only the children wanted to see what was on the other side of the door.’ She lowered her voice and gave Victoria a frightened look.
‘Of course not. Major and Mrs Bertram have given us the run of their estate.’ Victoria glanced towards the house where a blonde woman in a smart summer dress and hat, and carrying a leather case, came out through the still open front door to join the Bertrams.
‘That there is Mrs Wallace, Miss Bertram she once were,’ Ivy said. ‘Lives in London but she’s home for a few days. Said she needed a rest from her war work. She’s a widow, but a right young and glamorous one, don’t you think?’
‘Indeed.’ Victoria covertly studied the woman. Mrs Wallace was around her age but that was where any similarity ended. Instinctively, Victoria smoothed her own summer dress, an old blue cotton one from before the war she’d pulled from the back of the wardrobe for its serviceability rather than style. ‘Let’s go back into the garden, children, shall we? And let’s see how softly we can speak while we do.’ She put a finger to her lips.
From where she stood with her parents, Mrs Wallace darted annoyed glances towards the infants as Victoria marshalled them back into line.
‘Oh, Miss McKaye.’ Mrs Bertram came towards them and put a hand to her windblown hair. ‘The major had a call from the War Office and he has to go to London unexpectedly. Our daughter only arrived at the weekend but she’s going with him. I’d hoped we could all have tea together but I must give you their apologies.’
‘Of course – and thank you.’ As Victoria murmured a polite response, Diana tugged on her hand. ‘What is it, dear?’
‘Mrs Wallace knows Mummy in London.’ Diana gave Victoria a sunny smile. ‘She took me upstairs and showed me her dressing table and let me try on her hat and scent. I smell like roses.’ She leaned closer so Victoria could sniff the fragrance.
‘You do.’ The car pulled up and stopped on the gravel drive and the butler-turned-chauffeur got out to open the rear doors.
Major Bertram got in followed by his daughter who gave a languid wave in her mother’s and Victoria’s general direction.
‘Oh, Evelyn, dear.’ Mrs Bertram called to her daughter. ‘When you’re back in town, don’t forget to…’
Victoria stopped in the drive, the children, Ivy and Major Bertram and whatever else Mrs Bertram said forgotten.
Evelyn. A widow. The words ricocheted in Victoria’s head like a rounders ball.
Miss Grainger had mentioned Louis’s former fiancée who was widowed and called Evelyn.
So that must mean… that Louis had once been engaged to the Bertrams’ daughter. There couldn’t be two such people in this small area, could there?
As the car whisked by, Victoria glimpsed blonde hair beneath that smart hat. And, so fleeting she almost missed it, a sharp assessing gaze through narrowed, distinctly unfriendly eyes.
* * *
‘Another letter for you from Louis.’ Two days later, on their return from school, Nell passed Victoria an envelope from a table inside the front door at Hazelbury Manor, where Marjorie sometimes left any post for them to collect. ‘Three letters and a postcard so far. Keen, isn’t he?’
‘Don’t tease.’ Victoria made a face at Nell as she took the precious letter with its ‘Opened by Censor’ stamp.
‘He’s a gentleman of the best sort, and you’re fortunate. Enjoy your happiness.’ Nell flicked through the rest of the post, setting aside several letters and a magazine for Beatrice who’d stopped at the village library on her way home.
‘He is, and I am.’ Victoria sat on one of the hall chairs to remove a pebble from her shoe. Yet, despite that happiness, the thought of Evelyn Bertram, now Wallace, nagged at her like a sore tooth. Even if she and Louis had been engaged, it was years ago and Louis would have had no reason to tell Victoria. So why had Miss Grainger implied that Louis and his former fiancée might reunite? And why was Victoria obsessing over it?
Having dealt with the pebble, she took the rest of her post from Nell and, unable to wait any longer, opened Louis’s letter and extracted the thin sheet of pale-blue paper from its envelope.
My darling Victoria.
Her cheeks warmed at the endearment.
I have good news. Whilst it’s not Hazelbury, I’ll be nearby on Thursday, 11th July. Would you be able to meet me in Cromer that evening? I’d like to take you for supper and to the cinema or dancing.
I’ll arrange for a WAAF from Whittleton to collect you at the manor after school. I’ll meet you at the railway station at half five. That should give you time to do some shopping or whatever else you fancy. Perhaps that order you mentioned from the stationer’s will have come in?
