We'll meet again

Suspicions

THERE WAS GREAT EXCITEMENT in the Poldowns over the arrival of the French refugees. People welcomed them. They were our allies, escaping from German tyranny and eager to come over to us and help with the war effort.

I wished they had arrived somewhere else and not on our coast, for I could see what effect the advent of the lover whom she had left not long before was having on Dorabella. She was deeply disconcerted, though he was nonchalant enough, as though meeting up with a past passion was an ordinary event for him.

Gordon Lewyth helped in his practical way. He found out where Jacques could join General De Gaulle’s headquarters and very soon Jacques left us. Simone remained. She wanted to do some work and Gordon was looking round to find something for her.

By this time people were feeling they should all be doing something since, as the weeks passed, the situation was becoming more menacing. The Germans were now dropping bombs on England and London was attacked with particular ferocity. We all knew, even if the Prime Minister had not told us, that the enemy was attempting to destroy our air defense as a prelude to an invasion of our island.

We must be prepared.

I was seeing Mrs. Jermyn frequently, and we found a great deal of comfort in each other’s society. We shared our mourning for Jowan, as no one else could, and we both refused to believe that he was dead.

I used to go and sit with her while we had tea served by her maid, Morwenna, just as we always had, although the cakes now were made without butter and the tea was weak; but when we spoke of Jowan, it was as though he were somewhere over there and would come home to us in time. Mrs. Jermyn was not given to self-pity. She just kept herself—and me—convinced that he would come home one day.

When she heard about the arrival of Jacques and his sister, she invited them to come and see her, for she remembered that Jacques had come over for a painting holiday before the war.

She also asked Dorabella, who declined on the pretext of a previous engagement, for, of course, she did not want to be in the company of Jacques any more than was necessary.

We talked, of course, about the situation. Mrs. Jermyn understood why they did not want to live in France with Pétain, who had not only surrendered but was actually helping the enemy. She saw that the only thing they could do was come and join the noble de Gaulle.

“And you, my dear,” she said to Simone, “they tell me that you want to do something. What sort of thing?”

Simone replied that she would do anything needed to help. Perhaps she could go and make munitions somewhere. “Mr. Lewyth … he is very kind. Is he not, Jacques?” she said.

Jacques replied that Mr. Lewyth was a man of much knowledge and indeed he was kind.

“How do you feel about going on the land?” asked Mrs. Jermyn.

“The land?” said Simone. “What is this land?”

“It’s working on the farms. As so many men are going off to fight, girls are being recruited now. I heard they are shaping up very well. What of you?”

“On the farm …” She lifted her eyebrows and looked at Jacques.

“Would it be here … in these parts?” he asked.

“I think so. I know our manager, Mr. Yeo, is looking for someone to replace one of the men who has just been called up.”

Jacques said: “To work here … on this estate … on Jermyn’s … that would be very good, would it not, Simone?”

“Well, yes. If I can do … this land. I must have means to live … we could bring very little with us, you understand?”

“But of course. I tell you what we shall do. When we have had our tea, I shall send for Mr. Yeo. He was a little skeptical about landgirls, I’m afraid, but naturally he would be, wouldn’t he, Violetta? We will talk to him and then decide.”

“Soon it will not be for us to decide,” I said. “They are talking about calling up the women as well as the men. They will draft them into suitable occupations, I expect.”

“Well, Mademoiselle,” said Mrs. Jermyn to Simone, “you must see Mr. Yeo.”

It was amazing how well it worked out. Mr. Yeo was sure he could find a place for Simone and shortly after the Dubois had arrived on our shores Jacques had joined the Free French Army and Simone was working on the Jermyn estate.

Dorabella had admitted to me that she was relieved because Jacques was not staying in the neighborhood.

“Did you fear that he might revive your passion?” I asked.

I was alarmed because she did not answer immediately. She seemed as though she were going to confide something. Then I saw the look in her eyes. No use trying to explain to Violetta. She would never understand.

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.”

“Scarcely that,” I replied. “There’s a lot of activity in the air and then the continual watch for invasion.”

“Ah yes, that’s true, but where could one get away from this ghastly war? You and the young ladies, and Mrs. Jermyn, of course, have helped a great deal.”

We were silent for a while, and then I said: “I told you my fiancé was … over there?”

“Yes,” he said.

“It is some months since Dunkirk now … do you think …?”

“One can never be sure. Some of them were taken prisoner. Others may be on the run. There are some good brave people over there. They hated this patched-up peace and are working underground. I believe they help people get across the borders into neutral territory … Switzerland, for instance. The lucky ones could manage to get home … in time.”

“What of the soldiers who were taken prisoner?”

“Even the Germans should respect the rules of war and must treat prisoners according to them. But it would mean waiting until the war is over …”

“Do you think it is possible for people to escape?”

“Everything is possible.”

“Do you really believe it is reasonable to go on hoping? Please tell me the truth.”

He said solemnly: “Yes, I think it is reasonable to hope. How can we know what is happening over there?”

I did feel a little comforted after that, and I had a conviction that somewhere Jowan was alive and that he would come back.

I could not sleep that night. I kept thinking of Jowan in some prisoner-of-war camp in France … in Belgium … in Germany. It could be in any of those countries. Or perhaps he had escaped capture. Perhaps he was in hiding with some French people who were looking after him and would get him to Switzerland.

And as I lay there, I saw a sudden light flash across the sky. I got out of bed and looked out to sea. It was dark, but as I stood there I saw a beam of light. It flashed and was gone in a moment.

In view of the invasion fears, I felt I could not dismiss this lightly. At the same time, I remembered the laughter we had aroused through our shoal of fish which we had thought was an invading force. I was cautious.

I slipped on some clothes and went out. Everything was still. I could see nothing as far out as the horizon. I waited a while and went back to bed, but not to sleep. I had definitely seen those flashes.

When I went down to breakfast I saw Gordon and told him that I had seen flashes of light during the night.

“Strange,” he said. “Could have been lightning. I don’t think any invading force would flash lights to warn us of their arrival.”

“No. That’s why I did not raise the alarm. I did not want to appear ridiculous again. It was all quiet, so I just returned to bed.”

“It was almost certain to have been lightning.”

But it seemed that others had seen the lights. We were still keeping our watch on the cliffs, though it seemed less likely now that the Germans would try to invade.

We were, according to reports, showing a strong resistance in the air, and the battle which must be won before a landing was attempted was not yet over. Unlike the French, the British had shown they were determined to fight, no matter at what cost to themselves.

All the same, we had to be on the alert.

There was a great deal of talk about the lights.

Naturally there were exaggerations that the lights were signals and there was the inevitable conclusion that there were traitors amongst us who were sending messages to the enemy across the sea.

Charley came home from school one day with a bruised face and a black eye.

Nanny Crabtree seized on him.

“Fighting again!” she cried. “You’ll get really hurt one of these days, young fellow. I tell you, I won’t have it. What was this all about?”

Charley looked stubborn. “Knocked me ’ead on a post,” he said sullenly.

“Don’t give me that,” said Nanny Crabtree. “You’ve been having a scrap, that’s what.”

She showed extreme displeasure, but Charley refused to talk and he was in disgrace. I was surprised to detect how much he cared; but he put on that defiant, almost insolent, look which always maddened Nanny Crabtree.

“I can’t do with a child that gives me that look,” she explained. “He says nothing … just looks at you as though he knows it all and you know nothing. And what can you do? All he’s done is look. And another thing, I can’t stand a child who lies. Walked into a post, my foot!”

Poor Charley, I was sorry for him. However indifferent his parents had been, they were still his family and there did not seem to be anyone else but Aunt Lil, for whom he obviously had little respect or affection. All he had was his little brother, and I was deeply touched by the protective care he bestowed on him. I liked Charley and I hated to see him on bad terms with Nanny Crabtree.

At the same time, I was visiting Mrs. Pardell now and then. She had been a good friend to us at the time of Dorabella’s return and I knew she was pleased when I called on her, though her nature prevented her from showing this pleasure.

She was fiercely patriotic and was constantly knitting sweaters and balaclavas for the troops; she also worked a few hours a week with the Red Cross.

She gave me a glass of her home-brewed wine and, as we sat talking, she mentioned the lights which had been seen flashing out to sea.

I said: “Mr. Lewyth thinks they were probably lightning.”

“That could be,” she agreed. “And yet again it might not.”

“If it were not, what was it?”

She pressed her lips tightly together and said: “Well, I suppose there could have been something out there … a submarine, or something like that … something out of sight that could get in close … and someone on land could be sending out messages.”

“I suppose that is possible …”

“They’re up to all sorts of things nowadays. There’s some funny people about. The lights were out your way. You ought to remember that, so you could keep a special guard.”

“But…” I began.

“Well,” she went on, “you’ve got that German girl up there. Can’t be too careful these days.”

“You can’t mean …”

“Well, she’s a German. You can’t trust any of them. Little Hitlers, the lot of them.”

“Gretchen!” I cried. “Oh, but that’s absurd. She hates Hitler and his regime. He has ruined the lives of her family.”

“Well, that’s as may be, but once a German always a German.”

I knew from the past that once Mrs. Pardell had made up her mind, there was no changing it. I was deeply disturbed, for I guessed she was not the only one who would be suspicious of Gretchen. Her accent betrayed her and since the flashing lights episode, which as had been observed, had come from Tregarland’s way, they would say: That German woman is there.

After that I was aware of people’s attitude towards Gretchen when we went into the Poldowns together. Sly looks were cast her way.

This was ridiculous. I could only hope that Gretchen was not aware of it. But I could see there was an inevitability about it. The people wanted to suspect someone, and naturally they looked to Gretchen.

This was confirmed when I made the discovery through Bert Trimmell.

I came across him one day, sitting on a stile near the home farm. He had been doing some little job Gordon had given him. Both boys liked to work on the farm, particularly among the animals.

He looked mournful, even near to tears. I paused and said: “Hello, Bert. What’s wrong?”

He hesitated for a moment and then said: “Nanny Crabtree don’t like us anymore. Will she send us away?”

“Good gracious, no. She would never do that. She really does like you very much.”

“She don’t like Charley. Charley says she could send us away.”

“She would never do that. We wouldn’t let her, and she wouldn’t want to either. It’s just that she doesn’t like fighting and Charley wouldn’t tell her why he had done it when she has said he was not to.”

“Charley didn’t think he ought to tell her, did he?”

I was used to the phraseology of the boys. They would ask confirmation of facts of which one could know nothing. They were not really asking, I realized. It was just a form of speech.

“To tell her what?” I asked.

“What he was fighting about.”

“Why?”

“’Cos he didn’t think it was right, did he?”

“What didn’t he think was right?”

“To tell ’er. He said there was some things you had to keep quiet about.”

“Bert, please tell me. I promise that, if it is something which I shouldn’t be told, I won’t tell it.”

He paused for a moment, then he looked at me squarely.

“All right,” he said. “It was that boy, wasn’t it. He said there was a traitor in our ’ouse. She was a German spy and she was sending messages to them Germans out there.”

“Yes,” I said faintly.

“Well, Charley said it was a lie, didn’t he? There wasn’t no traitors in our ’ouse, and then he gave him that black eye, didn’t ’e?”

“I see. So that was what it was all about.”

“Charley didn’t ’arf give him a going over,” Bert giggled. “Charley would give him the same over again if he said anything about anybody in our ’ouse.”

“I see. Bert, I think I ought to tell Nanny Crabtree.”

“Charley won’t like it. He’ll go on at me for telling.”

“I think Charley will like it. It was a good thing he did. I am going to tell Nanny. Then I think she will like him … like him very much. Charley need not be unhappy anymore.”

Bert was silent for a moment, then he said: “All right. You’ll know, Miss.”

I went to Nanny Crabtree at once.

“Nanny,” I said. “I’ve discovered why Charley was fighting.

“The young imp,” said Nanny. “After I’d told him I’d have none of that here.”

“I think you’ll change your mind when you hear. Some boy was saying that Gretchen was a spy and was sending messages out to sea. Charley wouldn’t have that. He wouldn’t have anyone saying anything against anyone in this house.”

Nanny Crabtree’s face softened into a beatific smile.

“And he had a fight with this boy because of that? Silly lad. Why didn’t he tell me?”

“He seemed to have some idea that you wouldn’t like it to be mentioned.”

“Well, well, what would you do with them then?”

“So it was rather a noble act,” I said.

“What goes on in their minds, bless ’em. I’m going to give him my sweet ration, that’s what.”

I put my arms round her and hugged her. Nanny loved sweet things and her sweet ration was rather important to her.

After that, Charley knew he was forgiven.

I said to Nanny: “I am so pleased. It shows, doesn’t it, that he thinks of Tregarland as his home?”

“More of a home than he had back with those parents of his. And that Aunt Lil. I don’t much like the sound of her.”

“Yes,” I said. “He feels he has to defend us all. It means, Nanny, that he looks on this now as his home.”

We had a caller at the Priory. He drove over one afternoon when I happened to be in the gardens getting some flowers for one of the rooms, so I heard the car arrive and went to see who it was.

A tall, pleasant-looking man in the uniform of a captain alighted from the car.

“I wonder if I could see Mrs. Jermyn,” he asked me. “My name is Brent.”

“I am sure you can. Do come in.”

I took him to a sitting room on the ground floor and asked one of the maids to tell Mrs. Jermyn that we had a visitor.

“A lovely place you have here,” he said. “Highly suitable for your convalescent home. It is that I have come to see you about really.”

“We have had visits from the authorities and from the hospital. That was when we started.”

“Yes, I know, and everyone is delighted about what you are doing. I’m actually an army doctor. My captain’s rank is complimentary. I thought you might allow me to call occasionally to see the men who are here. Many of them, although they are physically well enough to leave hospital, have suffered grueling experiences and need special care.”

Mrs. Jermyn arrived. They shook hands and he said: “I’m James Brent—attached to the medical staff. I have been explaining to Miss …”

“Denver,” I supplied.

He smiled. “… to Miss Denver that we want to keep an eye on some of the men. They have been through some shattering ordeals and we want to make sure they’re all right. I was hoping you wouldn’t mind if I called from time to time … just to see that all’s well. There are one or two who have given us cause for anxiety.”

“But, of course, you are welcome at any time,” said Mrs. Jermyn.

“We think you are doing a wonderful job here. Those few weeks of recuperation are just what the men need.”

Mrs. Jermyn smiled with pleasure.

“It seems such a small thing to do at such a time.”

“It is all the small things which add up. I was saying to Miss Denver here what a lovely place you have. Ideal for the rest these men deserve and need. I suppose you have always lived here, Mrs. Jermyn.”

“Oh yes. It’s the ancestral home. I came here when I married. The family has been here for three hundred years. It belongs to my grandson. He …”

“He was with the forces,” I heard myself say. “We were hoping he would come back from Dunkirk …”

“Miss Denver is his fiancée,” said Mrs. Jermyn quietly. “We feel …”

“There are a lot of our men over there,” he said quickly. “Quite a few of them were taken prisoner.”

“It is the not knowing …” began Mrs. Jermyn.

“I am very sorry. But it does not do to give up hope.”

“That is what we tell each other,” I said.

“And you are helping in this enterprise, Miss Denver. If you could hear what some of the men are saying about you all, you would feel it was very rewarding. And you have several helpers, I believe?”

“Oh, the servants have thrown themselves wholeheartedly into the project, haven’t they, Violetta?” said Mrs. Jermyn.

“Indeed yes.”

“And you have other young ladies here to help you?”

“I have three helpers,” said Mrs. Jermyn.

“I should like to meet them and express my appreciation.”

Mrs. Jermyn looked at me. “They would be around somewhere, wouldn’t they?”

“Yes,” I said. “I’ll ask Morwenna to bring them. I am sure they would be delighted to meet you, Captain Brent. They will so enjoy hearing that the men have been happy here.”

“Just tell me a little about them first, would you?”

“There is my sister, Mrs. Tregarland. She is a widow. She was married to young Mr. Tregarland. It’s the big house just along the cliff. She has a young child and we are twins actually. We have been together most of our lives.”

He nodded, smiling. “And there is another young lady, I believe.”

“That is Mrs. Denver.”

“Oh? She is related to you?”

“Well, it is a little difficult to explain. She married … a sort of adopted brother. My mother took him when he was a baby and he was brought up mainly by my grandparents.”

“Would they be the people who made such an excellent job of turning their home into a hospital during the last war?”

“Yes. Marchlands, my grandparents’ home. Briefly, my mother was at school in Belgium in 1914 and she found a baby who had lost its foster parents. She brought him to England. He took our name of Denver. Mrs. Denver is his wife.”

“Is it true that she is German?”

“Yes. She is Jewish. Her parents and brothers may be dead. We don’t know where they are. They were persecuted by the Nazis.”

“That’s very sad, and she is helping here now?”

“She is of great help,” said Mrs. Jermyn. “Tell Morwenna to bring them here if she can find them, Violetta. Then they can meet Captain Brent.”

I did so. Dorabella was the first to arrive.

“Dorabella,” I said. “This is Captain Brent. He has come to see some of the men here. Captain Brent, my sister Mrs. Tregarland.”

They shook hands and I saw Dorabella’s eyes brighten. Captain Brent was, I supposed, attractive, and she was as susceptible as ever.

He told her how much the men enjoyed their time with us and what good it had done them.

“So our efforts are not in vain,” she said lightly.

“Far … far from it.”

Gretchen had come in. She looked slightly flustered and a shade fearful. She had been uneasy since she had been aware of people’s suspicions, and her accent became more pronounced when she was nervous.

“Captain Brent has been paying us some nice compliments,” said Mrs. Jermyn. “He wants to compliment all those who have been taking part in our venture.”

“That is goot,” she said.

“It must be hard work looking after all these men.”

“We enjoy it,” I said.

“Are you staying near here, Captain Brent?” asked Dorabella.

“For a while. I move around, you see.”

“I see. And I understand you will be visiting us now and then to make sure everything is going well.”

“That’s the idea. It will be a great pleasure for me.”

“And for us,” said Dorabella.

The days passed quickly. Summer had gone and November was approaching. Captain Brent had paid several visits to the Priory, and I knew Dorabella enjoyed these.

One morning Gordon came to breakfast when I was there. He was working very hard and we saw little of each other. He was short-handed and was very much concerned with what was now known as the Home Guard. The Prime Minister had thought this a more appropriate title than the Local Defence Volunteers.

Gordon said that he had a spare few hours during the day and he proposed to go into Bodmin. He wondered if I could take the time off to accompany him. He wanted to look at a couple of bicycles which he proposed to get for Charley and Bert.

“They have done so many little jobs on the estate and they are so keen,” he said. “They really have been a help and they need some way of getting round the country. I think this would suit them very well.”

“It is an excellent idea!” I cried. “They will be delighted.”

He looked at me rather pleadingly. “I see so little of you nowadays,” he said.

“We are all very busy. When do you propose to go to Bodmin?”

“Tomorrow … or the next day.”

“I’ll tell Mrs. Jermyn and I’ll see if I can shift some of my duties.”

The next day we set out.

Gordon made this journey frequently to visit his mother, and I was wondering whether he was thinking of her as we drove along. I supposed he could not fail to.

I felt I had never really known Gordon. From the first moment when I had come to Tregarland, he had aroused certain misgivings in me, but he had behaved admirably always. The prosperity of Tregarland’s was due to him and his mother could not have had a more devoted son.

On arriving in the town, the first thing we did was find the bicycles. I was so pleased that he had thought of this, for I could imagine the joy on the boys’ faces when they saw them. It was a very kind and thoughtful gesture on Gordon’s part.

We decided to stow the bicycles in the car and have lunch. There was an old inn Gordon knew on the edge of the moor; it was not far and after that we should have to go back.

I had gone to an inn on the moor once with Jowan, and I was not sure whether I hoped it would be the same one or not. Memories could be painful, and yet I felt a constant urge to go back into the past.

The place Gordon and I lunched at was called the “Inn on the Moor” and it was quite new to me. There were not many people in the dining room and we found a secluded table.

Due to the war, it was difficult for the host to find dishes with which to feed his guests, and instead of the traditional roast beef, such a feature of the past, there was meat roll. The meat was conspicuously invisible, but it was tasty enough with beans and vegetables to supplement the beef, and there were roast potatoes as well. We drank cider with the meal.

Gordon talked about the Home Guard and the difficulties of running the estate in wartime, but I guessed his mind was on other matters.

He said: “I am glad you are here, Violetta. I’ve always had a feeling that you might go back to your parents’ home.”

“I want to be here. If there is news of Jowan, it would come to his grandmother first, I suppose, so I should know at once. Then Dorabella is here … and Tristan, of course. And now there is work for me to do here.”

“We’ve been through some bad times, Violetta.”

“We have indeed. Gordon, how is your mother? Is there any change?”

“No … not really. Some days she is better than others. I think she will not change. And if she did recover her sanity, she would remember what she had done … and what she had tried to do to that child. It doesn’t really bear thinking of.”

His hand was lying on the table and I reached over and touched it. His grasped mine firmly.

“You understand, Violetta. You more than any.”

“I should not have mentioned it.”

“It makes no difference. It is there all the time, whether one mentions it or not.”

“And you come here regularly. We should have gone to another town … not Bodmin.”

“Well, this is the nearest and we must not let these things affect us. They are part of one’s life.”

He changed the subject. “What do you think of Captain Brent?”

“Oh … a charming man.”

“I mean this business of visiting men at the Priory?”

“Well, I suppose they feel it is necessary. They have been through terrible experiences and the doctors are not sure whether or not they need some psychiatric treatment.”

“I think there is something else.”

“Such as what?”

“I think we may be under suspicion.”

“Suspicion?”

“Those lights were said to be flashing out to sea. It is very possible that they were lightning, but they were noticed and rumors have grown up. Everything, however remote, would have to be investigated. Think of the position we are in! Hitler has been shown that our air forces are not to be lightly set aside and invasion does not seem imminent, as it did some little time ago, and this would not be the time of year to attempt such an undertaking. But we must still be watchful.”

“You are saying that they suspect someone in our neighborhood of sending signals to the enemy?”

“I suppose it’s a possibility.”

“What message could they send?”

“All sorts of information could be useful to the enemy. Positions of factories … news about shipping …”

“How could someone here know about shipping?”

“It might be someone who is in touch with others. There must be spies all over the country … planted before the war, some of them. That sort of thing goes on, you know.”

“It sounds fantastic.”

“We live in fantastic times. The idea has come to me that Captain Brent is here to watch. I saw him on the cliffs the other day. He was looking at the countryside through his binoculars. I can’t help feeling that his mission is not merely looking after those wounded soldiers, but something else as well.”

“But why look for trouble at the Priory?”

“I wondered … because of Gretchen, perhaps.”

“Oh, no, that’s absurd. Gretchen helping people who have behaved so badly to her own family!”

“The fact that she is German is bound to make her a suspicious character in the eyes of some people.”

“You know about Charley and his fight?”

He did not, so I told him.

He said: “There. You see what I mean.”

“Poor Gretchen. It’s hard on her. I hope she does not realize all this.”

“I thought I would talk to you about it. It’s as well to be aware of what is going on.”

“Gordon, suppose there is someone sending signals … someone close to us. I know it is not Gretchen … but who … ?”

“Well, if someone is sending messages, and there will always be wild rumors in wartime, we must do our best to find out who. It is not easy to send out messages across the water, as has been seen. We must watch for anything unusual. I think we should not talk about it openly. Perhaps it is better not to say anything of this to Gretchen. Let her stay well out of it. You might have a word with Dorabella. Depend upon it, I shall be on the watch.”

We were silent for a while before he said: “Violetta, you are still hoping?”

“I can only hope. What else is there?”

“It is a long time now …”

“Gordon, do you think we shall ever know?”

“If we don’t, you will have to accept the fact then …”

“That he is dead? I could not do that. I must hope until I know …”

“It could go on and on …”

“The war, you mean?”

“This not knowing.”

“I don’t want to look too far ahead.”

“Of course not. I want you to know that I think of you a good deal. If there is anything I can do to help …”

He was looking at me wistfully. It was unlike Gordon to display his feelings. I thought he might be telling me that, if Jowan did not return, he, Gordon, would be there to help me through my grief.

Dorabella and I had acquired a car which we used jointly. It was so useful for driving into the Poldowns when we wanted to shop. It saved carrying heavy bags over the cliffs or waiting to have goods sent. It was particularly good for driving some of the men to and from hospital, as many of them were unable to do the steep walk. We often went together, and on this occasion had taken in Jack Brayston, a young man of no more than eighteen who had to have a dressing on his leg.

We deposited him at the hospital, parked the car, and were strolling on into the town when we came face to face with Jacques Dubois.

I heard Dorabella give a start of surprise as she cried out: “Look who’s there!” She had drawn back slightly, but he had already seen us.

He advanced smiling.

“This is a delightful surprise,” he began.

Dorabella replied: “Well, this is a shopping center, you know, and we live just along the cliff. We are the ones who are surprised to see you, aren’t we, Violetta? What are you doing here?”

“Making a quick visit,” he said.

“Have you just arrived?”

“I came last night. I stay a night at the hotel … what is it? The Black Rock. I come to see my sister. This day we shall meet. I return this night.”

“Where are you living now?”

He lifted his hands and shook his head from side to side.

“I am in London … I am here … I am there … But we must talk … in the comfort, eh? Why do we not go into the hotel? We could have a glass of wine, yes?”

I looked at Dorabella. I fancied she was not entirely pleased to have this ghost from the past in her company. I left it to her to decide.

She hesitated and looked at her watch.

“We have certain things to do. I could not stay long.”

“Oh come. It would be such a disappointment. Just for a little, eh? One glass of wine?”

“Well, I suppose we have to wait for Jack,” she said. “He’s one of the soldiers staying at the Priory. We have taken him in for a dressing and will have to take him back.”

“Then you will come? That is good. You know this hotel?”

“Yes,” I said. “Is it good?”

“The views are superb,” he said.

I laughed. “Well, it is wartime,” I said. “You can’t expect haute cuisine.’”

We went into the hotel; he found a corner in the lounge and ordered a bottle of claret.

“Now,” he said, “you must tell me how life goes with you.”

“I daresay yours is more interesting,” said Dorabella.

“What is happening with the General?” I asked.

“He is very busy. He broadcasts to the French nation. His plan is to get his men together.”

“Are many coming to join him?”

“All the time.”

“You mean they escape from France and get across the Channel?”

“Some do. It is not impossible. Ah, here is our wine.” He watched while it was poured and then lifted his glass. “To you both, my friends. A speedy end to the war, eh? Then we can all be ’appy again.”

We drank and he savored the wine, implying that he did not think a great deal of it.

“It was so strange,” said Dorabella, “that you should land up on our beach. Was it really by accident or design?”

“Well, I had been to that coast, had I not? To cross the Channel where it is most narrow is best … but it is very quiet … very deserted … along this coast. It would not have been easy to slip out from Calais … from Boulogne … Dunkirk. But the quiet coast … it seemed best to try.”

“It must have been very dangerous,” I said.

“Mademoiselle Violetta, the danger was there, yes, but there was danger all around … and neither Simone nor I wished to live in France in chains.”

“I never knew until you arrived that you had a sister,” said Dorabella.

“So? For the last years we have not met often. She did not live in Paris, you see. She was with our aunt near Lyons. I see her now and then … but not much. But when she saw what was happening she came to me. She could not live in a humbled France. Nor could I … so we came together.”

“You were very brave to come in that little boat.”

“The sea was very kind to us and when I landed I rejoiced. I knew I was with friends.”

“Friends?” said Dorabella, a little tersely.

“We should always be friends,” he said, smiling smoothly.

“And you came straight to Tregarland. That was a coincidence.”

He smiled at me impishly. “I confess … I knew roughly where we were. Remember, I had come here to paint. An artist has a special eye … shall we say. There is this … this form of the rocks … exciting … fascinating.”

“It was dark when you came in.”

“I knew … just a little … and had an idea … where we were. I could hardly believe we had come in just beneath Tregarland. I thought we should be farther west … Falmouth or the Lizard perhaps. But by great good luck we were with friends.”

“It was certainly very clever of you,” I said.

“Oh no, Mademoiselle. Just luck. It comes to us in life sometimes, you know.”

“Have you seen Simone?” I asked.

“Not yet. I have heard that she is very happy here. The people, she says, are very kind and she is living with this Mrs….”

“Penwear,” I said.

“Yes, Mrs. Penwear, who thinks she is a very brave young lady to leave her country and come to fight for freedom.”

“She seems to be liking working on the land.”

“Simone will adapt herself to whatever must be done.”

“Has she ever done any kind of work like this before?”

“They had a small estate in France … my uncle and aunt, I mean. It may be that she learned something of the kind there. More wine?”

“No thanks,” said Dorabella, and added: “By the way, did you ever hear what happened with that wine merchant?”

“Wine merchant?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

“We read in the newspaper, just as we were leaving, that Georges Mansard was found murdered. It would be the same man, wouldn’t it?”

“Who was that?” I asked.

“He was a friend of Jacques. He used to come to the studio to sell his wine. That was what reminded me, when you asked us to have more wine.”

“I remember now,” said Jacques. “Yes … it was robbery. I had warned him not to walk about with so much cash in his pockets. He was not, as you would say, discreet. I said to him, ‘Mon ami, one day you will be set upon by thieves.’ And it was so.”

“Did they ever find the ones who did it?”

Jacques lifted his shoulders. “It was in that street …”

“Something about a monkey, wasn’t it?” said Dorabella.

“The Rue de Singe. Not a very good place to be late at night.”

“I am sorry,” said Dorabella. “I liked him.”

“Oh yes … he was charming. But, alas, he courted danger.”

“And nothing was heard of the murderer?”

“It passed away. The war was nearly upon us …”

“What a terrible way to die!” said Dorabella.

“Have you been to see Simone before?” I asked.

“This will be our first meeting since we came. It will be so good to see her and to hear from her own lips that she is well and happy.”

“You are in the General’s army now then?” I asked.

“Yes … yes. But there is much to do yet. We have to get ourselves … how is it you say? In order? Much work to be done, yes, but when the time comes we shall be ready.”

“Do you think Germany will invade?”

He lifted his shoulders. “It is what they thought to do. It has changed, has it not? A little, yes? It is not so easy as they thought. They believed they would cripple Britain in the air which they must do if they invade. But they have not done this, and it is said that their losses are great. We shall see.” He lifted his glass. “But when they come … if they come … we shall be ready.”

I said, “We should be going. Jack will be ready to leave hospital now.”

We left Jacques, who said with fervor that he hoped we should meet again soon.

As we drove to the hospital, I said to Dorabella: “He has a habit of turning up unexpectedly, that man. First he arrives on the beach and then we find him strolling in Poldown.”

Dorabella agreed.

A new year had come and there had been no attempt at invasion, though there had been scares in plenty.

It had been a dreary Christmas. London had been battered with incendiary as well as high-explosive bombs. The Guildhall and eight Wren churches had been destroyed, and, although London bore the brunt of these attacks, other towns had suffered as well.

Yet the mood had lightened since the evacuation of Dunkirk. We stood alone and we had begun to feel that we were capable of doing so.

Life went on for us as usual. We had grown accustomed to being careful with food and never wasting anything that was edible. We seemed to have realized that, whatever happened, we had to go on living our lives as well as we could.

Charley and Bert Trimmell had been delighted with their bicycles. They would speed along the lanes and up and down the cliff path with the carefree abandonment of happy children. They, at least, were contented.

Spring came and went. It was June again. Soon we should be saying, it is two years since the war started and then they said it would not last until Christmas. How wrong they had proved to be!

And we were growing stronger every day.

Then came the news that, without even a declaration of war, Germany had invaded Russia.

This could mean only one thing. Hitler believed he could not make a successful invasion of Britain. What our Prime Minister had said of our airmen was true, that “never in the history of human conflict had so many owed so much to so few.” They had saved the world and now the full fury of Hitler’s attack was not turned against us only. We shared it with the Russians.

The time was passing—and still Jowan had not come home.