Secrets of Nanreath Hall (28 page)

September 1941

A
re you certain you're all right? I can phone Mrs. Willits and let her know I'll be delayed,” Anna suggested.

She stood with Tilly in the main hall awaiting Mr. Gough. He'd agreed to give Anna and Sophie a lift to the train station when he went to pick up supplies from the depot.

“Are you mad? I'll have the room to myself for four whole days. The thought of so much privacy makes me positively giddy. Besides, someone needs to see to Sophie on the trip to London. The way she's been sleepwalking, she's liable to get on the wrong train or ride past her station to the end of the line.”

“Right, but if you wanted to talk, if you were upset about anything at all, you know I'd be there for you, don't you?”

Confusion colored Tilly's expression. “Uh . . . of course. But I'm
not
upset, and if we don't stop talking, you're going to miss your
train.” She chivied Anna toward the door. “Go before Matron changes her mind and decides to keep you here.”

“Right. Well, then I suppose I'll see you in a few days. Enjoy the room.”

She hoisted her bag onto her shoulder and headed for the door.

“Anna?”

She turned back.

Tilly gave her a wistful smile. “Thank you. You're a good friend.”

Outside, Sophie stood on the sweep, bag in hand. She had traded her VAD uniform for a simple frock, making her seem fragile and childlike while her dark hair accentuated the tragic pallor of her face and heightened the emptiness of her large blue eyes.

Anna smiled brightly. “Ready to push off then? Mr. Gough's probably waiting for us.”

Sophie nodded and followed Anna around the side of the house to a row of Nissen huts set up as supply sheds where Hugh leaned against a cherry-red sports car parked between two Bedford cargo lorries and an old Ford motorcar. “Let's get a move on, ladies. I've traded in my trusty steed for this beauty.”

“I thought Mr. Gough was driving us to the station.”

“You're not taking the train. I've decided to drive you to London myself. I've been hoarding petrol coupons like gold. I've enough to get us there and back with a gallon or two to spare.”

“That's awfully nice of you, Hugh, but if you're doing this on my account, it's not necessary,” Sophie said, though the slight breathy tremor in her voice belied her brave words. “I won't shatter from a little rough usage.”

“Rubbish. I'm acting out of pure self-interest. The car's been under a canvas in our stables for months. Thought she needed an outing, and London seemed the perfect destination.”

“What about Tilly?” Anna asked.

“What
about
Tilly?” Hugh replied. “If she's hoping to cadge a ride as well, she's out of luck. It'll be a squeeze already with the three of us plus luggage.”

“I just thought you might want to hang about here in case she needs you.”

He gave Anna an odd look of confusion. “I'm probably the last person Tilly needs—or wants, for that matter. Stop stalling, Trenowyth. I won't run you into a ditch if that's what you're worried about.” He helped them stow their luggage. “Come on. Pile in. We need to get on the road if we're to make London by tomorrow morning.”

“What happens tomorrow morning?”

He smiled mysteriously and held the door as they smashed themselves into the passenger seat.

“Wait! Don't go!” Lady Boxley appeared at the top of the steps beneath the portico, waving a handkerchief.

Hugh muttered under his breath, but it was Anna she approached, handing her a picnic hamper. “It's a bottle of good claret, a sturdy wool blanket, and the last of the biscuits made with our butter and sugar ration. Should you be forced to take refuge in one of those hellish shelters, you'll at least be comfortable.” Surprised, Anna accepted the bag from Lady Boxley. “I don't like you going off to who knows where in search of answers. Seems to me as if you've learned more than you need to know about that horrid man and his wicked ways.”

“He was my father.”

“A father is the man who makes you the person you are, not the man who simply makes you. Remember that, Miss Trenowyth.”

Should she? Dare she? Anna pressed a swift kiss to Lady Boxley's cheek. “I'll be careful.”

Lady Boxley didn't smile exactly, but her permanent scowl lines definitely softened. Then she turned to Hugh. “Take care and drive with some sense, Hugh. Nothing's lost by going at a sedate and measured pace.”

Sliding behind the wheel, he started the car with a sputter, a cough, and a roar. Lady Boxley retreated to the portico to wave them off. “If Mother had her way, we'd be making the royal progress at a sedate ten miles per hour, time enough for the common folk to tug their forelocks,” he muttered.

He put her into gear and they were spitting stones in the gravel sweep before roaring down the avenue, wind slapping their faces and stealing any ability for conversation.

The drive to London took two days with an overnight stop outside Newbury. Sophie and Anna shared a tiny hotel room while Hugh bunked in his car, afraid someone might siphon off his precious petrol. Dinner was fish and chips from one of the ubiquitous British restaurants washed down with hot strong cups of tea to warm the chill from their fingers and loosen their wind-stiffened faces. Breakfast was more tea and buttered toast eaten on the fly before they bundled back into the car for the remainder of the trip.

Sophie's presence made questioning Hugh about Tilly impossible, and Hugh's presence made discussion with Sophie out of the question, though it was doubtful she'd have been much help. She barely spoke, her face set, her eyes distant. She bore all the personality and warmth of a marble statue. Anna hoped Sophie's parents would be able to break the frozen look of bewildered shock from her face. All her attempts had failed utterly.

By the time they entered London, Anna was ready to forgo the splash and glamour of Hugh's sports car for the relative comfort and warmth of the bus. They dropped Sophie first. Birds fluttered in the trees along the wide terraced Kensington street, and
an almost prewar serenity pervaded. Nurses pushed prams, a spit and polished bobby walked his beat, and women in heels and hats emerged from taxis with shopping bags in hand.

Sophie's parents met them at the door, both wearing worn and anxious faces. They murmured pleasantries, and Sir Edmund shook Hugh's hand. “Damn ugly business this. But I want to thank you for getting her safely home to us, Melcombe. Had she been here in the first place rather than gallivanting about in Cornwall, we could have helped her from the start rather than hearing everything secondhand.”

“Has she said anything?” Lady Kinsale asked. She was a nervous, harried-looking woman, though it was obvious where Sophie got her pretty, dark looks.

“Not much,” Anna answered.

“We'll take it from here,” Sir Edmund broke in. “A good long rest is what she needs. She's done her bit. None can say different, but it's time she was home where proper young ladies should be.” It might have been Anna's imagination, but she felt certain Sir Edmund cocked her a disapproving glance as he said this.

“Really, Pater,” Sophie argued. “It's not the Dark Ages. And I'm an adult. Not some little girl who needs a nanny to take care of her.”

“I don't care how old you are, you're my daughter.”

“A change of scene perhaps,” Lady Kinsale broke in, as if used to smoothing over arguments between her husband and her daughter. “A nice trip to the country for some fresh air. My sister lives in Hastings by the sea.”

“I don't want a change of scene or country air,” Sophie argued. “I need to be busy. I want to find work here in the city, something useful.”

“You don't know what you want, my dear. You're all done in over this business with Charles. A few weeks of rest at your aunt's will do
you a world of good. You'll see. Your cousins will be happy to have the company.”

“Mater, please.” Sophie looked on the point of collapse.

“We'll discuss it over dinner.” Sir Edmund's tone brooked no argument.

Hugh and Anna each offered Sophie one last hug before they left the quiet, elegant house. “And I thought my mother was bad. No wonder Sophie joined the VAD.”

Anna tried to smile, but her last sight of Sophie nearly prostrate in her chair, pale as a snowdrop, her eyes wide and lost, haunted her.

“She'll be all right now, won't she?” she asked as Hugh shoveled the traveling rug across Anna's knees. It was September but every inch of her ached with the cold of the road.

“I hope so.” Hugh shook his head. “Charlie Douglas was a damn good chap. A bloody waste, if you ask me.”

He peeled away from the curb, and for the next half hour Anna held on for dear life as he wove with a race driver's reckless disregard for human life and property through the increasingly crowded streets. As they headed east, the city was a maze of roped-off areas that even Hugh had to respect. Their pace slowed, the snazzy roadster turning heads and eliciting whistles and shouts from passing pedestrians now that it was less than a cherry-red blur leaving catastrophe in its wake. Anna noticed Hugh's smile grow wider with each complimentary yell and every little boy who chased after them screaming for a ride. They'd gained a tail of them by the time they arrived at the narrow three-story brick house in South Hornchurch where Mrs. Willits lived with her youngest daughter, Ginny, in a third-floor flat.

Anna spotted her standing in a queue of women awaiting their turn at a mobile laundry truck run by the Women's Voluntary Service, a floury apron tied over a frock in a dismal shade of brown. But
she was plump and laughing and looked completely at ease among the chattering women with their sacks of clothes.

“Anna, my pet!” Mrs. Willits enveloped her in an enormous hug. “I was worried sick for you on the road. You never know when Jerry's going to take it in his head to strike a highway.” She spotted Hugh, her face creasing into a wide, approving smile. “And this must be your fella.”

Anna blushed but Hugh laughed and accepted her hug with his usual easy charm. “Actually, I'm her cousin. Her fella's much better-looking.”

Mrs. Willits's painted eyebrows disappeared beneath her kerchief as she stepped back, smoothing her apron and tucking her hair, primping as she blushed a schoolgirl shade of pink. Anna could tell she had half a mind to curtsy. “Your lordship, sir. It's an honor to meet you.”

“The honor is mine, Mrs. Willits.”

“Imagine me hugging on an earl. The girls at Woolworths won't believe it.”

“I can't stay,” Hugh said, handing over Anna's luggage. “I've a meeting this afternoon and errands to run for my mother all day tomorrow, but I'd love to take you all to dinner tomorrow evening. What do you say? The Ritz?”

“We'd love to, your lordship,” Mrs. Willits jumped in before Anna could answer.

“I'll give you a ring.”

“Hornchurch two-oh-five-three. There's only the one phone in the house, but Mrs. Grayson the landlady's good at taking messages.”

Hugh offered one last tip of his hat as he leaped into the car, roared it into life to the delight of the swarm of schoolboys, and sped off.

“Imagine going to dinner at the Ritz with a real earl.” Mrs. Willits traded her ticket for her sack of cleaned laundry from the uniformed WVS woman on duty, and together she and Anna walked the half block to the flat. “Guess that family of yours surprised you after all, eh, ducks?”

Anna hooked Lady Boxley's satchel higher on her shoulder, smiled, and looped her arm in Mrs. Willits's. “I guess they did at that.”

T
he next morning at eight, Anna followed Ginny Willits in her smart WAAF uniform through the doors of a tall, official-looking building and down the lift to an enormous room stocked with rows and rows of shelves, each shelf containing rows and rows of boxes. Overhead bulbs shone on a set of metal tables with another three desks by the lift.

“Welcome to hell,” said a smart young woman in khaki, an open box in front of her, stacks of pages to either side.

“That's Lizzie. Ignore her. She's all giggles and butterflies.”

“My eyes are shot, my backside is spreading from all this sitting, and I'm seeing veteran pensions in my sleep.”

Anna glanced at Ginny for an explanation.

“Last fall, the War Office's repository was bombed. Over two million service records from the last war were destroyed. It's up to us along with the Ministry of Pensions to piece it all back together as best we can.”

“That could take decades,” Anna said.

“Centuries, but who's bloody counting,” Lizzie chimed in. “Meantime, we're trapped in this hole without even a proper look at the sun. We emerge like moles at night and stumble home for a few hours' kip then back we come. They should have hired miners to do this work, not us.”

“Quit your whinging,” replied Ginny. “It's not so bad. You could be on the top floor dodging bombs.”

“At least I'd see the sky once in a while. Down here, what do I see but you ruddy lot.”

“Who is he, then?” Ginny asked. “I'll see if he's among the boxes we've sorted.”

“If he's not?”

Lizzie blew a curl off her forehead and rolled her eyes. “Come back in 2041 and maybe some poor blind, pale mole girl from the future will have found him by then.”

Anna ignored Lizzie and directed her answer to Ginny. “His name was Simon Halliday. I don't know his regiment or rank or anything really. I do know he died during the Battle of the Somme in September 1916.”

“Right. That might narrow it down a bit.”

Ginny left Anna at the table where she sat at a desk and watched Lizzie and the others quietly working through the piles of crumbling, discolored pages. The only sounds seemed to be the scratch of pens, the shuffling of paper, and the steady mind-numbing tick of the wall clock. At ten thirty the clank of the lift signaled the arrival of a tea cart, which the girls descended upon with speed and excitement.