CHAPTER THREE

As the taxi-cab drew up outside Priscilla's house in Holland Park, Andrew Dene and Douglas Partridge, Priscilla's husband, rushed down the steps to help Will Beale from the motor car.

‘Careful, son, just lean on us,' said Dene.

‘We've got you,' added Douglas, wrapping his one arm around the young man. Douglas had suffered an amputation after his wounding on the Western Front during the Great War.

Maisie could see Will trying to speak, but as he looked from one man to the other, it was clear he was overwhelmed.

Priscilla stood at the top of the steps, with the housekeeper – who went by the name of Mrs R – beside her, holding the door open.

‘Come on in, Will – we've made up the best room in the house for you,' said Priscilla.

‘I'm sorry to bother you, Mrs Partridge,' said Will, stuttering his words. ‘I won't stay long, I p-promise.' 57

‘Young man, you will remain in this house until I'm ready to allow you to cross my threshold again, so let that be the end of it,' said Priscilla. ‘Now then, let's get you settled.'

Maisie waited in the high-ceilinged drawing room until Priscilla and Douglas joined her, seating themselves on the sofa.

‘Mrs R has made one of her egg custards,' said Priscilla. ‘She maintains it would be best for a poor digestive system, and who is anyone to argue with Mrs R? Fortunately, I brought some fresh eggs home from Kent. She told me you can only buy them one at a time in the shops now, and that's if you're lucky. We almost had to put an armed guard alongside the chicken run. Brilliant idea though, keeping hens at the cottage.'

‘Thank you both very much for your help. Will needs to recuperate, and I think the worry of his parents in close proximity would have been too much at this point.'

‘Maisie, they should be told soon,' said Douglas. He rested his arm along the back of the sofa; his wife moved towards him. ‘I cannot imagine one of our boys being in that same situation and us not knowing where they were.'

‘I know and I will speak to Billy and Doreen as soon as Will is a little more at ease with the thought of seeing them. It'll only be a day or two, I'm sure. But if he's adamant, I know if I'm to respect his parents, it will mean breaking a promise to Will – and then just hoping it all comes right.'

‘It'll come right,' said Priscilla. ‘In fact, perhaps you should have a word with Will now he's settled. We've had our ups and downs with the boys – our men, as we keep reminding ourselves – so we know how tricky it is. It hasn't been easy with Tim, not since his exploits at Dunkirk and losing an arm – "like father, like son," as the saying 58goes. Thank goodness you were able to get hold of Andrew when we saw the state Tim came home in. Andrew Dene really is a most wonderful physician.'

‘Do I hear you talking about me?' Andrew Dene entered the drawing room.

Maisie came to her feet, and the two old friends greeted each other with a kiss to the cheek before taking their seats in armchairs set on either side of the cold fireplace.

‘I can't thank you enough, Andrew,' said Maisie.

‘I was working at our London clinic today, so it was easy to come over – but let's sit down and talk about Will. By the way, when did he become Will instead of Billy?'

‘Before he went out to Singapore,' said Maisie. ‘Apparently he decided he didn't want to be a chip off the old block any more.'

Andrew Dene gave a half-smile. ‘He's a chip off the old block whether he likes it or not. I remember his father—' He looked at Douglas and Priscilla. ‘Did Maisie tell you? I treated Billy at All Saints' Convalescent Home in Hastings, after he returned from the last war. Shell-shock, leg wounds and gas inhalation. Nasty triad of symptoms. Poor man kept saying that everything was alright, when it clearly wasn't. Now, Will's condition is miserable – Maisie, you will have seen the external scars on his body – but the first thing he said to me was "I'll be right as rain soon, I don't want to be a burden."'

‘I hope you told him he is staying exactly where he is until he's as fit as a fiddle.'

‘You might have to put a lock on the door, Priscilla.' Dene turned to Maisie. ‘Maisie, I would like him to talk about what has come to pass. There's no rush, but perhaps at a later date he would do well to literally dump out all the terrors and then dump them again – a 59prescription of talking was shown to be somewhat successful with neurasthenia patients during the last war, and this man must get those memories out of his head and into a … into a confession, is one way to look at it. He will never forget what happened to him, but he has the burden of guilt that attends a survivor when so many of his fellow soldiers perished.' The doctor rubbed his chin. ‘You know, I've seen a few other men, prisoners of the Japanese who have now been repatriated, and all are having similar problems with assimilation – yes, they are happy to be home, often very jokey and "hail fellow, well met" with everyone they encounter, but then the deep veil of terror descends. They're trying not to let their families have a window into the hell they left behind, but the wives, mothers, fathers – and children – aren't stupid. Will's experiences are compounded by growing up in a household with a father who suffered shell-shock.'

‘I know Billy and Doreen did their best to protect their children,' said Maisie. ‘I am sure he heard his father's night terrors, and of course, there was little Lizzie dying and Doreen's breakdown.'

‘So all of that is now on Will's shoulders?' asked Priscilla, reaching for her silver cigarette case. She took out a cigarette and tapped it on the engraved case. ‘It's a wonder the country got through anything since the last war, let alone the bloody Blitz, the bombing and the doodlebug rockets.'

‘But that's the thing, Pris – we haven't come through it, not really,' said Douglas. ‘I know Andrew sees a lot in the hospitals, but in my line working for the press, I've been talking to a good number of people – let's just say in "high places". We all know what's going on, that housewives are still queueing in the streets for food rations, and even those have tightened up because supplies are being sent to liberated countries. Imports are either slow or stuck at the docks half 60the time because we don't have the manpower to unload them, or the dockers are on strike because they can't earn overtime by working on a Sunday. We've a generation of children who are behind at school, many of them leaving even earlier than fourteen so they can try to earn a living to help out the family. And look at the housing disaster. Thousands of homes with a big hole where a roof used to be, and that's before you even look at the mounds of rubble on every street and the enormous number of homeless. I spoke to a soldier the other day who said he had been looking forward to coming home until he got here. He said, "Britain is like a battlefield."'

There was silence for a few moments, broken by Priscilla, who blew a smoke circle before speaking. ‘Well, we've just all got to bloody get on with it – or we'll sink – and do what we can for those who, unlike us, don't have a roof over their heads.'

Andrew looked at Maisie and raised an eyebrow.

‘Regarding Will,' said Maisie, knowing that Dene found Priscilla's forthright manner difficult. ‘I'll have a word with him, and I'll think of what to do about getting him to talk to someone in due course. I know this seems strange, given all you've said, Andrew, but I've started to wonder if the person most qualified might be his father. The conversation could help both of them, and might have a positive effect on the way they look upon each other and what the future holds for them as father and son.'

‘You could be right,' said Dene. ‘But in the meantime, he has to be built up physically – that will help.' He smiled at Maisie, then turned to Priscilla and Douglas. ‘We were both students of the Dr Maurice Blanche way of thinking, weren't we, Maisie? We were taught that healing the body is a huge element in healing the mind, and vice versa, unfashionable as his teaching was at the time. Can you 61imagine how my professors in medical school reacted when I quoted something Maurice had taught me? Especially with me being the poor scholarship boy from Bermondsey!' He shook his head. ‘Anyway, Will should keep to a good, simple diet, which is thankfully just as well considering the food-supply question. It should be as nourishing as possible. Not too much raw food – for example, if you bring apples back from Kent, get Mrs R to stew them. Steamed greens, carrots and other vegetables, if you can get them. His constitution needs soft foods, but not mashed to oblivion. I will write a prescription for something to help him sleep so he can get sufficient rest without nightmares, but on no account is the medicine to be left where he can find it.' He turned to Priscilla. ‘Let your Mrs R know to administer once a day at night in a hot drink of some sort.' He came to his feet. ‘I'll visit again in a couple of days. Maisie, I take it you're going back to Chelstone.'

‘Yes, a bit later on.'

‘Good, I'll telephone tomorrow. And do apprise Will's parents of the situation – I don't want two more patients from the same family suffering mental anguish because they don't know where their son is.'

Following Dene's departure, Maisie went to Will Beale's bedroom, knocked on the door and entered. Though it had been painted in a cool yellow shade in recent years, Maisie knew it had once been Tom's room. She remembered Priscilla complaining that it was never worth painting her sons' bedrooms, because the bouncing of a football against the wall seemed to create a distinct pattern of chaos. Will was lying in bed, staring out of the window, his arms tucked under the thick eiderdown. For a second or two Maisie said nothing, an image in her mind of the first time she had seen 62Billy's children. The two boys – ‘young Billy' and Bobby flanked their mother and little sister Lizzie in her pushchair. Doreen had come to the office knowing Billy would be out that morning. She wanted to talk to his employer because she was worried about her husband and the lingering shell-shock from the Great War that seemed to be pulling him into a darkness where she could not reach him. Maisie remembered the boy staring at his mother, moving closer and linking his arm through hers as if to protect her. Both boys had their father's unruly fair hair, with fringes that were cut at a slant as if Doreen had taken the scissors and started at one side, then snipped away from the eyes towards the hairline. It seemed that once she had embarked upon the task, she became fearful her hand might slip and blind them with the pointed scissors. And Maisie remembered their sweet young sister, Lizzie, with her blond curls and easy smile. Her sudden death from diphtheria had devastated her family.

‘Feeling a little more settled, Will?' said Maisie, as she pulled a chair next to the bed and took his hand.

He turned his head. ‘Thank you, Miss Dobbs. If I had enough strength, I'd leave – I don't want to put out your friends, sleeping in their house, eating their food.'

‘I found your ration book, so they have it and that will help – but to be honest, there's no inconvenience.'

He turned towards the window again, as if looking out at the sky soothed him. ‘You know, Miss Dobbs, up here, staring out of that window and seeing the birds and that treetop there, still standing, you'd never think there had been a war.' He paused, taking a breath. ‘When you're on the street, all you can hear is the flapping of tarpaulins on the top of houses with no roofs and no windows, no 63nothing – and people are living there because there's nowhere else to go, and compensation means another government office to deal with, but there's not enough people to … to look after the people. And no one can leave a broken-down house because the looters will take everything.'

‘The peace seems harder than the war, doesn't it?'

‘It does, Miss Dobbs. When I was a prisoner, I made myself keep on going, you know, when I wanted to survive, just to show the Japs they couldn't get the better of me, even if they did their best to almost kill me. And I mean "almost". Sometimes they'd beat you and stop before you were dead. Coming near to being finished off is terrible, a stinking no-man's-land of not knowing what will happen and being in pain so terrible it starts not to hurt any more.' He sighed. ‘But I don't know if I can keep going now.'

‘You can, Will – I've known you a long time, and I know you can keep going.'

Maisie allowed silence to descend.

‘I watched them hack my best mate with a machete until he died,' he whispered.

‘It's a terrible picture to carry with you, Will.'

Another silence before Maisie spoke again.

‘Will, I want to ask you a question or two about the youngsters at the mansion.'

‘It's a wonder that place wasn't requisitioned – and it still had coal in the cellar! Who has any coal now? They kept that on the Q.T., your friends, didn't they?'

‘To be honest, I don't think it occurred to anyone that it was there, and it is a miracle no one took it.'

‘Some people are lucky like that, aren't they? You know, to not 64have things occur to them on account of being rich.' He shook his head. ‘When I went for my demob suit, they told me what to expect in London because they didn't want soldiers too shocked when they got home. Right chatty they were, about everything going on, so by the time I put on that suit, it felt as if it had bricks sewn into the shoulders and in the pockets, all filled with these miserable heavy things that had happened, and they were laughing about it, saying we just all had to carry on.'

‘I know, Will – but Mary, Jim, Archie and—'

‘That quiet girl. What's her name? Grace? Gracie? I heard them saying something about her not talking much because she was trained to be like that, on account of being a message carrier and knowing where dead letterboxes were.'

‘Really?'

‘When they first let it slip about "serving" in the war, I thought they were having me on, telling tales and all that. But now I don't think they were.'

‘Did they say anything else about their past?'

‘Not much, really, though they talked in the room when they thought I was sleeping – you see, I had my eyes closed a lot of the time because it felt like my eyelids had a weight on them. I could hardly keep them open. It was strange though, because I heard them say they had to use every bit of what they were trained to do to keep themselves safe. And they're definitely afraid of the police – I just knew that.'

‘Did they say why?' She took his hand. ‘Will, I'm sorry to press you when you're so tired, but I want to do what I can for them – I think they're in trouble, and any information is useful.'

‘That's alright. They tried to get me going again, bless 'em, but I 65reckon they need all the help they can get.'

‘Will—'

‘It was something I heard that one called Archie say – it made me wonder if someone, somewhere, thinks they killed someone. They seem tough, like little villains, but I reckon they're really scared.'

Maisie took a deep breath. ‘Will, there's one more thing—'

He turned to her, pulling away his hand to wipe the tears streaming across his temples. ‘Miss Dobbs, I know what you want to say, so I'll start the ball rolling. Can you tell my mum and dad where I am? Tell them I'm safe, and could you try to explain to them … explain that … explain—'

‘Don't worry, Will – I'll let them know you're safe, in good hands, and that you'll be ready to see them soon. Perhaps in a day or two – how does that sound?'

‘Thank you, Miss Dobbs.'

‘You rest now, Will.'

Maisie stepped away towards the door. Looking back at Will Beale, tucked into a bed with fresh linen sheets and the low autumn sun shining through the window, she watched as he turned his head to stare at the sky above, his eyes slowly closing as he listed into sleep.

On her way to Pimlico, to the flat she had purchased so many years ago, but which had been empty since the most recent tenant had moved on, Maisie considered a recent conversation at the bedside of another ailing man. Unlike Will Beale, there was nothing Maisie could have done to save the confidant she had come to regard as a much-loved uncle, even though in earlier days she suspected he did not approve of her or his wife's enthusiasm for her education, which amounted to the support of a young woman of lower class, a maid no 66less. Yet Maisie had consulted him regarding a number of her cases, and his deep connections in the more shadowed realms of government had helped her on many an occasion. In short, Lord Julian Compton had softened over the years, embracing her as his daughter-in-law when he saw how much his son, James, loved her, and later, after James was killed, Julian became a stalwart figure in her life and a beloved grandfather to her adopted daughter, Anna. He welcomed her new American husband into the family, to the point where she thought Mark had filled some of the ache in Julian's heart, lifting the sadness at losing his son.

A week or so before Lord Julian died, Lady Rowan had decreed that only a ‘good rest' would see off the bad cold he was unable to shake, though it was a rest that would soon become a slide into his final hours as the onset of pneumonia undermined his grip on life. Julian had asked to see Maisie during those troubling days, and upon receiving the telephone call from Lady Rowan, without delay she ran from her Dower House home, across the lawns to the manor house.

‘Maisie, so kind of you to come.' Julian pressed his hand to his chest as a racking cough punctuated his words.

Maisie reached for the pot of warm honey and ginger tisane set on a side table and poured a glass, holding it to his lips.

Julian lifted his head. ‘Thank you, my dear.'

Maisie waited, watching as Julian once more placed a loose-skinned hand on his chest. How many wars had he fought? She knew he had once been an army officer, long before the Boer War, and had served with the War Office from the grim days in August 1914, when no one quite believed there would be all out war, yet young men rushed to enlist for king and country, under the impression that they 67would experience the glory of seeing off the Hun from poor little Belgium and then be home by Christmas.

‘Maisie, there are elements of the government's work that have become a burden to me.'

‘Julian?' Maisie frowned, unsure of her place. Was this well-connected man about to confess something untoward? Might he be searching for words of solace from her? There was something about his tone that unsettled Maisie – and she realised it was because he had always been so strong, so resolute, even as he grew to old age.

He coughed again, but seemed determined. ‘People do things in a time of war that they would never even consider when the world is at peace. Men in power make decisions in the moment, and they are not always for the best.'

Maisie felt even more uneasy. Should she ask if Julian would like to speak to a man of the cloth? Was he searching for atonement in his final days?

Julian smiled. ‘Don't panic, Maisie. I'm not going quite yet – but I wanted to talk to someone who might understand, so I thought of you because I am completely aware of your exploits in Gibraltar, in Spain, and indeed, when you least wanted to be involved, in Munich. I kept abreast of your assignments even when you had no idea I was watching through the eyes of my informers – and I have never been less than very impressed. You asked for my assistance on a few of your cases – you might not have guessed, but you helped me to keep my hand in the game.'

‘You were always more than helpful, for which I am ever grateful.'

‘But this is something else. It's to do with the children.'

‘Anna? Margaret Rose? Which children, Julian?'

‘No, others – the children we pulled in to work with the civilian army.' 68

‘Civ—?'

‘It was to fight the Germans after the invasion.'

‘But Hitler didn't invade, Julian.' Maisie wondered if Julian had become confused, if sickness had altered his recollections of the war. But there was something in his eyes, the old sparkle had not yet faltered, and his mind was as sharp as ever.

‘Maisie, he came so close. The French had one of the best armies in the world and it took only six weeks for France to fall. Look at Poland, the Netherlands, Belgium – his next stop was us. We had to prepare for the most devastating outcome, so we trained a civilian army.'

‘And your part?'

‘Kent was considered to be the front-line county. Hitler's army would have landed here first, so the powers that be thought—' He began coughing again, so once more Maisie held the glass of tisane for him to sip. He took another shallow breath, and continued. ‘It was thought civilian units could be trained in what they call "guerrilla warfare," and many of those civilians were twelve, thirteen, fourteen, though at the time, we didn't think of them as children – they were all potential soldiers. And you know Churchill was all for underground armies – he learnt that in Africa.' He coughed again, but waved away the offer of more tea. As he continued, she leant forward, straining to hear. ‘The civilian army comprised housewives, the postman, the butcher, baker, the local vicar – even nuns! They were trained in all manner of tasks, from the very worst – though the men and women of God drew the line at killing – to gathering intelligence, delivering messages and, yes, even the young were trained to defend themselves. And in time it wasn't limited to Kent – these local units were suitably educated across the 69country and deployed to do their bit when action was called for, though of course there was an emphasis on the vulnerable coastal areas.'

‘Lord Julian.' Maisie stared at the man she knew was dying. ‘Why are you telling me this? I don't doubt this is the truth – but why are you telling me?'

Julian attempted a wry smile. ‘You've signed the Official Secrets Act, haven't you? Mind you, it wouldn't matter if you hadn't – every British subject is bound by it anyway.'

‘But—'

‘But you should know. You must know, Maisie, because … because …'

Julian had started coughing again, but this time could not stop. Maisie reached for the bell-pull at the side of the bed, and the nurse rushed into the room to help her raise Julian and rub his back. Rowan came soon after.

‘I'll do that, Maisie. Julian wouldn't want you to see him like this – go on, we can manage. The doctor will be here soon.'

Maisie knew she had been dismissed, that Rowan was protecting her husband's dignity as his passing approached.

Since that day at Lord Julian's bedside, Maisie had considered the conversation time and again. Though it came as no surprise that he had been at the forefront of any decision regarding the protection of the county given that he was a prominent landowner in Kent and his standing in the corridors of government power, she was taken aback by his confession. It was clear he had given his support to the plan for an army of civilians around the country: ordinary men, women and children who would be tasked with making the invading Nazis regret 70they had ever thought to cross the English Channel – yet it was the children about whom Lord Julian harboured regret.

As the taxi-cab arrived at the flat in Pimlico, Maisie acknowledged that when she discovered the four ‘squatters' living at Ebury Place, she knew straightaway why Julian had revealed information about a civilian army, though the lion's share of her concern became focused on Will Beale and his suffering. She considered her instinctive action to end the call with MacFarlane, stalling his attempt to discover the whereabouts of the youngsters. Maisie felt herself take deeper breaths as she faced a truth she at last understood when she witnessed Mary dispatch her friend Jim to the floor without so much as breaking her stride. Of course, Lord Julian knew they were at the house because he had arranged it, of that she had no doubt. He had, by hook or by crook, at some point facilitated a communication with four young people, that in a grand house on a well-to-do street in the middle of London's most exclusive area, they would find a place to hide in plain sight. Julian would not have informed them in person, so he would have given the task to a go-between, and knowing her former father-in-law, he would have chosen someone discreet, above all suspicion. At the same time, perhaps she was missing something obvious because, as she knew only too well, there was an element of surprise in every case. A case. Yes, against her better judgement – at a juncture when she wanted to spend more time with her husband and now ten-year-old daughter, when she wanted to be a support to her elderly father and stepmother, and to Lady Rowan, who needed her to help navigate a move away from Chelstone Manor – this was a case. She was at work. Julian knew it would be so, yet he went to his grave unable to give her more information, though she understood enough – the rest she would find out. She had a feeling that the lives of four young people depended upon what they would be 71willing to reveal to her over the next few hours.

‘Just drop me here,' said Maisie.

‘That's a very nice motor parked outside your gaff, madam, and with a chauffeur waiting. Looks like a Yank "automobile," doesn't it? Mind you, they're a bit big for our little roads.'

‘Oh, I think you can just about squeeze by,' said Maisie, handing him a little more than necessary to pay for the journey. ‘Thank you – and keep the change.'

‘Much obliged, madam. True lady, you are,' said the taxi-cab driver, who was still looking at the motor car as he pulled away from the curb.

‘Hi, honey,' said Mark, as he emerged from a door-shaped gap in the mound of sandbags stacked to protect the glass entrance. ‘I heard that – does he know you really are a lady?'

‘I'm not any more, Mark – marrying you put an end to that! Have you been here long?'

‘No – we just brought the kids in with their belongings, nothing more than a paper bag each. And those groceries. I managed to get my hands on some more candies from the embassy, so they think they've just died and gone to heaven.'

‘Good, I want them nice and sweet for me.'

‘You going to tell me what this moving around is all about?'

Maisie reached up to kiss her husband. ‘Later – give me a telephone call from the airport this evening, when I'm back at Chelstone. I'm going to see Billy, then straight home as soon as I've finished my work today.'

Mark Scott took Maisie in his arms and kissed her. ‘I don't care what the neighbours think, honey, but this is because I'll miss you.'

‘I wish you didn't have to leave so soon.' 72

They kissed again, their arms around each other for another moment.

‘I'd better be on my way.'

Maisie smiled. ‘Oh, and the neighbours – you know what they really think?'

‘What's that?'

‘That I'm taking my chances with one of those Yanks over here on the make.'

‘And long may it continue, Mrs Scott – long may it continue.'

She watched her husband step into the embassy motor car, and waved once more as the chauffeur drove away. She turned towards the archway of sandbags that were now, following years of war, beginning to leak fine sand across the path. She made a mental note to talk to the caretaker about moving them. After all, they were safe now, she thought, as she began to walk towards her next task – asking questions of four young people who were not only trained to kill, but could well have been schooled in the subtle art of deflecting an interrogation.