Then she said: “Oh no, nothing of the sort.”

But I continued to feel a little uneasy. I feared that, though she knew him for a philanderer and an inconstant lover, she was still attracted by him.

I was very glad that he had gone away.

The war news was becoming more and more depressing. It was heart-rending to hear of the terrible damage that was being inflicted on London. There were rumors of barges being constructed on the other side of the Channel in preparation for invasion.

It was amazing how people steeled themselves for the worst. I think what we dreaded most was to have the enemy on our soil. As a result, there was a general feeling of kindness towards each other. It was noticeable. The awareness of what could happen to us made us tolerant and want to help others.

We heard stories of the heroism of the people of London. Many of them had already sent their children away from home and now they faced bombardment with stoicism flavored by grim humor.

It was indeed a strange time to live and I knew that I should never forget it through all the days left to me.

And still there was no news of Jowan.

I was having tea with Mrs. Jermyn one day when she said: “Your family used to run that place in Essex. They made it into a hospital during the first war.”

“That’s so. It was my grandmother and my mother helped too. She has often told us about it.”

“I was thinking of this place. Not exactly as a hospital, but lots of those men will need somewhere to get over their illnesses and operations. I thought … with all this space, we could have some of them here. It would give them a rest … a sort of convalescent home. What do you think?”

“Would it be too much for you?” I remembered when I had first met her she had seemed almost an invalid.

“I should have people to help. I thought about you.”

“But, of course!” I cried. “I have been wondering what I could do to help. They say that soon we shall all be called up.”

“My dear,” she said, “I should find it hard if you went away. It is so helpful for me to talk to you. You know how I feel. You understand …”

She meant that we were the two who loved Jowan and we had to keep the belief that he would come back alive. We helped each other in that.

I said: “It seems an excellent idea. There are several bedrooms. It would make a wonderful convalescent home.”

“So I thought. We could get your mother to give us a few hints of how they ran their place.”

“She would be delighted to help.”

“You and I together could run the place. And perhaps your sister would like to help.”

“I am sure she would. It is a wonderful idea.”

We talked excitedly. It took our minds from the fear of what might come—and chiefly from what might have happened to Jowan.

How grateful I was for all that had to be done in the next few weeks! I was constantly at Jermyn’s Priory. The authorities came to look at the place and we were in touch with the hospital in Poldown. It seemed that the idea of a convalescent home for the war-wounded was very acceptable.

The rooms were made ready and we were expecting the first arrivals. There were several servants at Jermyn’s and these would stay and help with the running of the place instead of going into factories or on the land, as so many of them would be called upon to do. There was no doubt that running Jermyn’s Priory in this way was considered to be essential war work.

In the midst of this something very tragic occurred.

I was leaving the house on my way to Jermyn’s, where I now went each day, when Gordon opened the door of his study and asked me to come in for a moment.

He was very grave.

“It’s bad news,” he said. “The boys’ parents, Mr. and Mrs. Trimmell … their house has been hit. It happened last night.”

“Oh no … and … ?”

He nodded. “Both parents killed instantly.”

“How terrible! Those poor boys. What will become of them?”

“They’ll stay here for a while … well, as long as they want to. Is it not tragic? Mother and father … gone like that. Apparently the father was home on leave from the navy … so both were there.”

“The boys will have to be told,” I said.

He looked at me helplessly. “It’s what I dread. How can I, Violetta? I thought you would know how to do it better than I.”

I was silent, thinking of the boys, how best to break the news to them. It was going to be difficult. But I could see that Gordon would not be the best one to do it.

I pondered. I said I thought I would speak to Charley first and then we could tell Bert afterwards. Charley was a shrewd boy. I always felt he was far older than his years. There were times when it seemed as though I were talking to a young man of eighteen; at others he would seem just like a child. He would have need of his maturity now.

I went up to the nursery where I was greeted with vociferous pleasure by Tristan, while Hildegarde, who always imitated Tristan, also showed her delight in my arrival.

I told Nanny Crabtree what had happened.

Her face creased with tenderness.

“The poor mites,” she cried. “I wish I had that Hitler here. I’d give him a dose of the medicine he’s giving to little children.”

I arranged with her that when the boys came home from school Charley should be told I wanted to see him. I would break the news to him and with his help tell Bert—or perhaps it would be better for him to do it alone.

I felt sick at heart when he came and still could not decide what was the best way to tell him.

His face was bright with expectancy, and I heard myself say hesitatingly: “Charley, there’s something I have to tell you …”

I paused. “Yes, Miss,” he said.

I bit my lip and turned away. Then I stammered: “Something has happened. It’s very sad. You know London has been badly bombed?”

He stared at me. “Is it my mum … or Aunt Lil … or someone like that?”

I said: “Charley, it is your father and mother. Your father was home on leave …”

He stood very still; he had turned very pale and then the color rushed into his cheeks.

“Charley, you know how dreadful this war is …”

He nodded. “Does Bert know?” he asked. “’Course he don’t. You told me first.”

“Yes. I thought you would know how best to tell him.”

He nodded.

“Charley, we’re all very sorry.”

“If we’d’a bin there,” he said.

“You couldn’t have done anything for them, you know.”

“Why wasn’t they in one of them shelters?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps we’ll hear. I suppose sometimes the raids start before people can get there.”

He nodded again.

“This is your home now, you know, Charley. Mr. Lewyth wanted you to know that.”

He was silent for a moment, then he said: “I’d better tell Bert.”

“You’ll know how to do that.”

He looked bewildered and, on a sudden impulse, I went to him and put my arms round him. I held him tightly for a few seconds. He did not respond, but I sensed he was glad I did it.

Then he went off to tell Bert.

Nanny Crabtree was very gentle with them that night. She called Bert “My Pet” when she addressed him.

They were strange boys. I guessed their parents had never been demonstrative in their affection. I kept thinking about them throughout the evening and I could not resist going up to their rooms that night when they had gone to bed.

I looked in at Charley’s first. He was not there. Then I went into Bert’s room. Charley was on Bert’s bed, holding him in his arms. The night-light on the table beside the bed was still on.

Charley looked at me rather aggressively as I came in.

I said: “I thought I’d just look in to see how you were feeling.”

“All right,” said Charley, almost defiantly.

“And Bert?” I asked. It was clear that Bert was not “all right.”

“He couldn’t sleep,” said Charley, by way of explaining his presence. “So I just come in to talk to him.”

Bert started to cry.

Charley said: “It’s all right. This is our home now. She said so. It’s nice here. Better than Oban Street, now ain’t it?”

I sat down on the bed.

“Charley’s right,” I said. “This is your home now. There’s nothing to worry about.” I put my arms round him and, surprisingly, he turned to me. I stroked his hair.

“There,” I went on soothingly, “it is very sad, and we are all very, very sorry. But you are here now and Charley’s here with you.”

He nodded and kept close to me.

Charley lay back on the pillows.

“It’s all right, Miss,” he said. “I’ll see to him.”

I nodded, rose, and went quietly out of the room.

I saw Charley the next day. Bert was not with him. Charley seemed to feel I needed some explanation of Bert’s behavior on the previous night.

“He’ll be all right,” he said. “It wasn’t much good there. Better here. I tell Bert that. Our old man, he was always drunk and when he was he’d belt us … Bert more than me. And Mum … she was always on at us.”

“My poor Charley,” I said.

He looked at me rather scornfully and said: “I was all right and I looked after Bert. But, well, it was his home, like. He’s only little. That’s what it is with him. It was his home, see.”

I said I did see.

“It will be better here,” I assured him. “We’ll make sure of that. You like it here, don’t you?”

“It’s all right,” said Charley grudgingly.

I thought: We must make sure that it remains so. He was a good boy, Charley. I was not surprised that his little brother thought he was wonderful.

Mrs. Jermyn was forging ahead with her plan. It had not been difficult to convert the Priory into the kind of home she had visualized, and she already had half a dozen soldiers there. Some of them walked with sticks and there were others who had to be taken into the hospital in West Poldown for dressings of their wounds, so we had plenty to do. Mrs. Jermyn had taken up the project with such enthusiasm that she seemed years younger. I could not believe she was the same woman to whom Jowan had introduced me not so long ago.

Dorabella, Gretchen, and I were all working for her. Dorabella was an immediate success with the soldiers. She did them a great deal of good, I was sure, by joking with them in her mildly flirtatious way. Gretchen worked hard and I must say, so did I. We were all tremendously enthusiastic, and we had the wholehearted approval of the authorities.

Tom Yeo had immediately found work for Simone on the estate, and she was sharing a cottage with old Mrs. Penwear. It had worked out very satisfactorily, for Mrs. Penwear had been recently widowed and did not like living alone. Mr. Penwear had been retired for a few years before his death and his wife had been allowed to keep the cottage for her lifetime.

Simone seemed very pleased with life. She was clearly relieved to have left France and was eager to do all she could to bring about Hitler’s defeat. She proved to be of a friendly nature and Mrs. Penwear was obviously delighted to share her home with her.

In the evening, Simone told me, they would walk together. Mrs. Penwear liked to tell her about the people in the neighborhood. These conversations were a great help to Simone and her knowledge of English improved perceptibly. Everyone was very kind and welcoming to her. They thought she was very brave to have crossed the sea with her brother. They could all understand why she did not want to stay in her own country, and felt impelled to come over to England to work with the brave de Gaulle and help drive the enemy out of France.

Most of the soldiers who came to us stayed for two or three weeks. Many of them seemed just like boys who had been thrust into experiences of horror and were somewhat bewildered by it; but in the main they were light-hearted and prepared to enjoy life.

I remember one rather serious young man in whom I was particularly interested because he had been in the R.F.A. and had trained at Lark Hill; it occurred to me that he might have known Jowan.

He was not badly hurt. He had a leg wound and walked with a stick which he hoped in a few months he would be able to discard.

One day I found him in the gardens alone and I joined him.

I said: “You will be leaving us soon.”

“I shall always remember this place,” he told me. “It has been a happy time here. I feel so restful … away from it all.”