The teacher evacuees, p.9
The Teacher Evacuees, page 9
‘You’re like a… spy?’ Victoria stumbled over what had always seemed to her a traitorous word. ‘But you’re an officer in the Royal Navy.’ If one were to believe the papers, there were spies in all walks of life. However, Victoria had never considered that might also include those serving in the armed forces. Yet why couldn’t they be as duplicitous as anyone else? Her stomach curled into a tight knot.
‘As I said, I’m in intelligence work. Despite what you saw in the woods, most of what I do is collect and analyse information that might be useful to my superiors. In the process, I help to identify and neutralise threats to this country and its allies. Do you believe me?’
‘I suppose so but… I…’ She stopped, unsure. Louis was convincing and he’d almost, but not quite, convinced Victoria too. She still had questions, though. Ones he likely couldn’t answer. Doubts as well. She only had his word that he was working in intelligence, and thanks to Roy, her former fiancé, she’d already learned that both words and appearances could be deceiving. ‘I promise I won’t tell anyone what I saw this afternoon or about your work either.’ Unless Louis or someone else gave her a good reason not to keep her word. Although Victoria considered herself a person of integrity, in certain circumstances concealing a secret could be more harmful than telling the truth.
‘I appreciate your discretion but that’s not all.’ Louis hesitated. ‘I know I’m asking a great deal and I’ll have to clear it with my commanding officer, of course, but if he agrees I’d like you to help us.’
‘Me? Help you how?’ Victoria clutched the strap of her satchel. ‘I’m a teacher. I don’t know anything about how the government or armed forces intelligence work.’
‘That’s precisely why and how you can be of use. Nobody would suspect you because you’re ordinary.’
She flinched as if he’d struck her. ‘Ordinary.’ That was how Roy had described her when he’d broken their engagement. He had wanted someone more exciting, more glamorous and prettier who stood out in a crowd. Someone like Letitia who had beauty and grace, and who would be the perfect wife for a man who not only had his sights set on rising to the top of the legal profession, but also had political ambitions far beyond their small-town world.
‘What? Being “ordinary” is a good thing. I didn’t mean to offend you.’ Louis took off his cap and raked a hand through his hair.
Victoria put her own hand to her head, all of a sudden remembering that she’d taken off her hat in the woods and hadn’t put it back on again. Her windblown hair tumbled around her shoulders and she couldn’t tidy it because in their dash across fields and footpaths, she’d lost the hair grips tucked into her palm. ‘It’s fine. I…’ She swallowed a sob.
‘You’re lovely, Victoria, exactly as you are and don’t let anyone make you think otherwise.’ He dug in his pocket and passed her a clean handkerchief.
‘Thank you.’ She sniffed and patted her eyes. ‘If I were to help you, what would I do?’ She had to deflect this conversation. It was bad enough that she’d broken down in front of Louis, but if he ever learned the truth she’d never be able to face him again. She had let everyone, including her parents, believe ending her engagement had been her decision as much as Roy’s. It had been the only way to hold on to some semblance of dignity and pride. Victoria wasn’t about to share that secret now, especially with Louis whom she hardly knew.
‘You’d observe what’s going on in Hazelbury and the surrounding area and report back to me. If you think of it, working as a teacher makes the perfect cover. You have both a respected position in the community and reason to be involved in village life. You also have a reason to be part of the lives of those fostering your evacuated pupils.’
‘I do, but I’m not involved in much here yet because I haven’t had time. I go to church, and Mrs Russell invited me to join the choir, but I’m only attending my first W.I. meeting next month.’ To get to know the women serving as her pupils’ foster-mothers rather than at Mrs Meldrum’s pointed insistence. ‘If we’re still here then, Beatrice, Nell and I have also talked about putting on a small play in the summer term to bring the Londoners and villagers together. Beatrice is keen on amateur dramatics, and Nell’s a wonderful seamstress.’
‘That’s exactly what we need.’ Louis’s eyes shone. ‘You’d simply go about your everyday life but keeping your eyes and ears open for anything that seemed the least bit unusual or out of order. Even a hunch that something wasn’t quite right. I’d want to hear everything as you saw it.’
‘A hunch?’ She paused and then leaned towards Louis. ‘You remember you once asked me about Walter Clarke? The one at Upper Yarrow Farm. His brother Frank is at Lower Yarrow.’
Louis nodded and leaned even closer to Victoria until their foreheads almost touched.
‘Well, the day I went up there to get Wilf, Walter Clarke asked me about you and it struck me as odd, is all. I can’t put my finger on why, but since then I’ve seen him in the village a few times and there’s something about him I don’t trust.’ Victoria exhaled. ‘It likely sounds ridiculous but—’
‘No, it doesn’t.’ Louis grinned and then sobered. ‘I can’t tell you more but when it comes to Walter you’re not wrong. Keep him in your sights but don’t let him suspect you have more than a passing interest in what he might be up to. Make a mental note of what might be any unusual comings and goings at his farm or in the village. Nothing is too small or insignificant.’
The village was easy but how was she supposed to monitor Upper Yarrow Farm? With Wilf no longer living there, it wasn’t as if she could drop by, but perhaps through the W.I.… ‘Mrs Clarke, Walter’s wife, seems friendly enough. If she’s a member of the W.I., I could maybe find a reason to visit.’
‘Exactly.’ Louis’s smile warmed Victoria. It held approval, excitement and something else that made her heart skip a beat and her palms tingle. ‘I knew I could count on you. We’ll work well together, you’ll see.’
‘But you said your commanding officer had to give his approval.’ What had she got herself into?
Louis hadn’t actually said he wasn’t a spy, but since Victoria’s only knowledge of spies came from books and Hollywood films, was working in intelligence much different? And why did Louis want her to watch Walter Clarke? Was Walter involved in some kind of espionage too? Victoria already had her own doubts about the man, but only because from her few interactions with him he seemed unpleasant and not be trusted. But – she was trying to be fair – being unpleasant and untrustworthy was a far cry from being a spy. It was all too confusing. And if she hadn’t decided to walk home through the woods, she’d never have been caught up in any of it.
‘My CO’s approval is a formality.’ Louis shrugged and his smile broadened. ‘You want to do your bit, don’t you?’
‘Of course.’ However, apart from teaching, Victoria had expected that ‘bit’ to be knitting socks, learning how to grow vegetables and keeping up morale – not dangerous work tracking down possible Nazi sympathisers and German informers.
Or, as part of that work, spending more time with Louis who might be dangerous in a quite different way.
Chapter Fourteen
Tonight was Victoria’s first W.I. meeting and now she had a hidden agenda. On Wednesday evening in the second week of December she glanced around Hazelbury’s village hall, decorated with the red and green paper chains the children had made out of newspaper and painted. In a nod to the season, Beatrice had taken down her autumn squirrel frieze and, using the other side of the brown paper roll, drawn one featuring robins, holly and more squirrels. The latter were dressed in cloaks and bonnets much like those worn by animals in Beatrix Potter’s stories.
In the middle of a row, Victoria shifted her chair in a futile attempt to get closer to the fire while Mrs Meldrum, Miss Grainger, Beatrice and several other women chatted behind the table ordinarily used as the teacher’s desk. Cocooned by the blackout and thanks to the decorations, the room looked cosy even if it didn’t feel so warm. It was also filled almost to capacity with women of all ages, shapes and sizes from what must be both the village proper and surrounding area.
‘It’s good we came early.’ At Victoria’s left, Nell spoke into her ear. ‘Otherwise, we’d have been at the back near the door.’ She shivered and rubbed her gloved hands together. ‘Nippy, isn’t it?’
Victoria nodded. Nowadays, she was always cold, despite wearing a knitted vest during the day and bed socks at night, both of which her mother had sent in her most recent parcel. But was it only the weather or her nerves as well that made her perpetually chilled? So far, she hadn’t spotted anything out of the ordinary but she hadn’t yet found a reason to visit Walter Clarke’s farm, either. Still, Mrs Clarke was at tonight’s meeting and Victoria had made it her mission to speak with her.
‘Those ships colliding in Scotland yesterday were a bad business. I read in the paper there were more than a hundred men lost.’ To Victoria’s right, a middle-aged woman she recognised from church, who also hosted a pupil in the junior part of the school, chatted with her neighbour on the other side. ‘Terrible for their mums. I have to say I’d feel the same if it had been a German ship involved instead of two British ones. We’re all mothers no matter where we live or what language we speak.’ The woman clicked her tongue. ‘Alma Clarke said her Walter were up near Glasgow last weekend for a family funeral. A cousin who came over from Ireland about twenty years back. Walter’s home now but terrible journey he had what with train delays. As I said to Alma, at least he’s not one of them poor fellows at the bottom of the sea.’
‘Ladies.’ Mrs Meldrum rapped on the table to bring the meeting to order, and Victoria almost groaned in frustration. As soon as she’d heard something interesting the conversation ceased. Still, when Victoria had heard the report of the accident on the wireless, along with sorrow for the men lost, she’d also had a pang of guilty relief because Louis was safe at his desk in London.
At Mrs Meldrum’s other side, Miss Grainger bowed her head as Mrs Russell opened the meeting with a prayer.
Victoria bowed her own head, her thoughts racing. The collision of those two ships in thick fog in the sea off the Mull of Kintyre was certainly an accident – but had Walter Clarke been in Scotland for anything other than a funeral?
‘Thank you, Mrs Russell.’ In her navy-blue tweed skirt and jacket, Mrs Meldrum resembled an upholstered sofa Victoria’s parents once had in their living room. She held back a smile and tried to listen as Mrs Meldrum acknowledged the vicar’s wife and then spoke about the knitting the W.I. was doing for the Forces. ‘Our vice-president, Miss Grainger, will now speak to us on that matter.’
Miss Grainger stood. ‘Since our November meeting, many of you have made excellent progress with socks, scarves and other items for our enlisted men.’
Did her gaze linger on Victoria and Nell who, owing to their work at school, hadn’t yet completed one scarf or pair of socks between them? Must try harder. The comment Victoria had written earlier today in Ralph’s exercise book popped into her mind. When it came to war work the same could be said of her, but like Beatrice’s and Nell’s, her day extended long beyond the classroom, and she was busy from the time she woke up in the morning until she went to bed at night.
‘It has been suggested we hold a whist drive to raise funds to buy more knitting wool.’ Miss Grainger pushed her spectacles farther up her nose and checked her notes. ‘Mrs Walter Clarke, and her sister-in-law Mrs Frank Clarke, have volunteered to organise and host such an event on the Thursday evening before Christmas.’ She gestured to the two women who sat side by side several rows across from Victoria and Nell nearer Miss Adelaide and now Beatrice. ‘Please let them know if you’d like to take part. At this point, it is my pleasure to introduce tonight’s guest speaker, Retired Major Bertram from Whittleton Hall, who was one of Norfolk’s most distinguished army officers during the First World War. He will tell us about the important role of Britain’s allies in this war; after which Mrs Meldrum will announce the winner of our Christmas stocking competition and we will enjoy refreshments.’
Clapping broke out as Major Bertram, a tall, grey-haired man with a handlebar moustache, took the platform. ‘Thank you, Miss Grainger, and good evening, ladies.’ He gave them a courtly nod before, in plummy vowels, launching into a speech which while although undoubtedly worthy and important, failed to hold Victoria’s interest. Instead, her thoughts wandered.
Although she’d never played whist, she could learn. If Beatrice and Nell played, perhaps they could teach her and she could convince them to join the party. Since four players were needed for a table, maybe Miss Adelaide would make up their number. Victoria’s pulse sped up and her breath quickened. It would be a chance to do something practical that might make a real difference to the war effort beyond knitting and having a vegetable garden. For now, she’d managed to set aside her questions and vague doubts and accept that Louis was telling her the truth.
And if she were honest with herself, she wanted to help Louis too. He wasn’t only handsome and charming but honourable, kind and patriotic. She liked him, he wasn’t Roy, and he wasn’t dodgy like Walter Clarke either. Maybe if there was a dance in the village one Saturday night, they’d both be there and—
She started as amidst more applause Nell prodded her in the ribs. ‘Sorry?’ She glanced around.
‘Major Bertram wants to meet you.’ Nell gave Victoria another nudge. ‘Miss Grainger or Mrs Meldrum must have told him you’re from Canada so you’re one of those allies he talked about.’
‘Oh, of course.’ Victoria stood and smiled to greet the major when Miss Grainger, accompanied by Miss Adelaide and Beatrice, drew her forwards to introduce them, nodding and answering his questions patiently and politely. ‘My father was a surgeon in the last war. Yes, my parents were born in London and came to Canada as small children so I have British ancestry. Canadians are happy to pitch in with the war effort and help Britain in her hour of need.’
Goodness, she sounded like a recruiting poster – but the major was the kind of person who naturally inspired such talk. While her family and many other Canadians hadn’t wanted another war, now that they were in it, they didn’t have much choice in supporting Britain.
‘Yes, I’m a teacher.’ She smiled harder. ‘Our evacuees have settled in well here, thank you.’
‘Good, good.’ The major clapped his hands, as big as small hams. ‘That’s the spirit. Come next summer you must bring your pupils to Whittleton Hall. Won’t likely be able to spare the petrol but I’ll send several wagons. By that time I should have some land girls about the place. I expect the children would enjoy seeing the animals and going up our tower. Make a day of it. Mrs Bertram would be delighted to have young people running about again. My wife was born in Canada so I’m certain she would enjoy meeting you. We’ll lay on refreshments, assuming there’s still any to be had.’
‘Thank you, that’s most kind.’ There was nothing else for Victoria to say because it had all been decided without any input from her. Still, if they were here then, it would be lovely for the children, and her as well. Except for that day in Cromer with Louis, she’d hardly seen anything of Norfolk, and Whittleton Hall wasn’t far.
‘Most kind indeed.’ The Misses Grainger, Nell and Beatrice all murmured while nodding agreement like the animated bobbing wooden monkey toys a distant cousin had once given Victoria and her sisters.
As the major was drawn aside by Mrs Meldrum, Victoria made her way through the small groups of women clustered around the tea urn and plotted her next move. Where could Alma Clarke have got to? The meeting hadn’t ended yet so unless she’d left early… no, there she was, near one of the blacked-out windows.
‘Mrs Clarke.’ Victoria reached her after evading several foster-mums who undoubtedly wanted her help in resolving yet more problems related to their evacuees. ‘I’ll be with you in a moment.’ She waved away an especially persistent mother. ‘I need to have a word with Mrs Clarke first. Sorry about that.’ She turned back to Alma. ‘For the whist drive—’
‘Oh, would you be willing to help? I’d be ever so grateful. Walter says he won’t have no truck with whist drives and the like at Upper Yarrow so Olive, Frank’s wife, is hosting it at their farm.’ Her shoulders slumped. ‘I only want to do my part.’
‘We all do and I’m happy to help.’ As she told her pupils, Victoria needed to keep an open mind and not jump to conclusions.
‘Olive and me could use help making sandwiches and such but…’ Her head darted from side to side like a sparrow pecking for crumbs. ‘That’s not what’s truly worrying me. It’s my youngest lad, our Jimmy. He needs help with his reading, on the quiet like.’
‘But Jimmy’s not one of my pupils. Surely the local schoolmistress, Mrs Mann, can work with him and—’
‘She could, but Walter won’t hear of it. You now, Walter seems to have taken a real shine to you. He says you remind him of his young sister. We lost our Florrie to the ’flu in 1918. Only a little lass she were then.’
‘I’m sorry about Florrie, but…’ Victoria hesitated. Mrs Mann, Hazelbury’s schoolmistress, was a middle-aged widow who’d made it clear that she had her own what she called ‘educational methods’. Apart from having to share the schoolhouse with Beatrice and Nell, what the London pupils and teachers did was none of her concern. Yet, despite likely being seen as interfering and ruffling feathers, Victoria had to take that risk for the greater good.
‘I can try to help Jimmy, I suppose. Shall I come up to the farm for eleven on Saturday morning?’
‘Thank you, that would be fine.’ Mrs Clarke straightened, less sparrow-like and more a fierce mother bear protecting her cub. ‘I’ll see you on Saturday, Miss McKaye.’
