The setting sun had turned the sky into a blaze of gold, rose and indigo when the group of WAAFs and pilots left RAF Amberton and made their way to the village. All the Czechs from Brimstone squadron were present with Alex, and several of the WAAFs vied for their attention. Much to May’s surprise, Jess didn’t walk with Milan; neither did he attempt to single her out. Instead, Milan ignored all attempts by the other WAAFs to lure him to their side and walked with Jiří. He looked unusually sombre, but then again, anyone would look sombre compared to Jiří’s capering enthusiasm.
Jess sparkled even more brightly than the frost clinging to the hedgerows. She began the walk arm in arm with one of the pilots May didn’t know so well – she thought his name was Petr. Petr seemed to be struck dumb by his good fortune and did little but gaze at her adoringly while she spoke. Eventually, though, she joined May. ‘This was such a good idea,’ Jess said. ‘If the villagers ain’t eating out of the Czech’s ’ands by the time we’ve finished, there’s no ’ope for ’em.’
‘Let’s hope they have a better opinion of us WAAFs, too.’
‘You, maybe. I’m a lost cause.’ So saying, Jess blew a kiss over her shoulder at Petr, who promptly tripped and stumbled into Jiří.
‘Jess?’ May hesitated, unsure how to put it.
‘That’s me.’
‘Doesn’t Milan… I mean, I thought you and he were—’
‘Oh, don’t fret about Milan. He knows what we ’ad was nothing more than a bit of fun.’
Had. Was. Jess made it sound as though her relationship with Milan was in the past. May shot her an anxious glance. She’d never been able to work out how serious Jess was about Milan, but even if her pain was only a tiny fraction of May’s pain over Peter, she wouldn’t wish that on her. She opened her mouth, but Jess cut in before she could say anything. ‘Shame we can’t use lanterns. Doesn’t feel like proper carol singing without ’em. But it would give the ARP warden a fit.’
With the mood Jess was in, May had no doubt she could have persuaded even the strictest warden that several blazing lanterns were well within regulation, so she was glad Jess hadn’t thought of them earlier. It was also clear that whatever it was that had happened between Jess and Milan, Jess was determined not to speak of it. May gave up for now. Maybe there would be more chance when they were back at High Chalk House.
The narrow tree-lined lane ran into Amberton High Street. The first houses were a huddle of flint cottages with thatched roofs. The last rays of the setting sun shone upon the criss-crossed tape stuck to the windows and the white paint on the kerbstones. There should have been golden light spilling out of the windows and Christmas trees with twinkling lights, just like a Christmas card scene. But this was carol singing in the blackout, so there were no lights or candles to welcome them. All the residents had done what they could to decorate for Christmas, and every door was hung with pretty wreaths of holly, ivy and mistletoe. The singers arranged themselves outside the middle gate and opened their music books. At church that morning, the vicar had insisted upon loaning May a set of hymn books when he’d learned of their plans. May had been grateful for them during the rehearsal earlier, for although they had chosen hymns familiar to all the singers, few of them could remember the words.
They opened with ‘Good King Wenceslas,’ the men singing the part of the king and the women singing the page’s lines. When the group had decided upon the carols, it seemed the natural choice, with the subject being King Wenceslas, or Saint Václav, as he was known in Czechoslovakia. May couldn’t think of a more fitting way to celebrate the season: an English carol written about a Czech man. As they sang, doors opened, and the occupants emerged to stand on the steps, listening to the rousing tune with beaming faces.
The next carol was ‘Come, All Ye Shepherds’. When May had seen a note in the hymn book, indicating that it was a traditional Czech tune, she had given a cry of joy. Yet another perfect choice. As they sang the joyful, lilting melody, it suddenly didn’t matter that there were no Christmas trees visible, no colourful lights twinkling like stars. She could lose herself in the moment, take pleasure in the smiles of the listeners, see them swaying to the music, some humming along, and knowing they, like her, had forgotten their troubles for this short while. The setting sun gilded the treetops, giving all the light they needed.
The last carol they had chosen was ‘Silent Night.’ A great hush fell over the assembled listeners as they sang the opening bars. May wondered if their thoughts had strayed in the same direction as hers. She couldn’t help thinking of all the men, women and children across Europe who would be singing the same song. Different languages, and on different sides of the conflict, but all singing about the birth of the same baby. How many of those singing this Christmas would still be around next year? Tears pricked May’s eyelids, and her voice quavered. She had to break off for a moment and clear her throat before she could join in with the second verse. The scene shimmered through a haze of unshed tears, and she could see others unashamedly wiping their eyes.
As the low note of the last word, peace, hung in the air, May felt it had indeed been a prayer for peace. After a pause, the singers started to turn away to head to the next group of houses, but some children dashed out, carrying handfuls of walnuts, even a few mince pies, which they shyly presented to the singers. They all protested, knowing how few treats there would be for anyone this Christmas, but the children insisted, backed up by the encouragement of the adults, who had also come out to join the children. One middle-aged woman with reddened eyes darted back into her house then returned carrying a package wrapped in newspaper. She thrust it into Jiří’s hands, saying, ‘I’d like you to have this. It was for my Sam, but now he’s…’ Her eyes filled with tears, and her mouth worked silently for a moment.
His face uncharacteristically grave, Jiří patted her shoulder. ‘You are very kind. Are you sure?’
She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed her eyes then gave him a tremulous smile. ‘Take it. I insist. You look so much like him.’ Then she hurried back to her house, her handkerchief pressed to her eyes.
Jiří called his thanks after her then unwrapped the parcel. He gave an exclamation of pleasure and held up a knitted hat and scarf for the others to see. Both were blue with bands of red and white. ‘They are in the colours of the Czechoslovakian flag,’ he said, his face beaming, as he folded his cap, put it in his pocket then pulled on the hat and scarf.
They were met with a similar reception in the other locations around the village. May’s stomach was pleasantly full of mince pies and blackberry tarts by the time they reached the other side of the village for their final performance, and she held a bunch of purple heather, tied with a white ribbon, that an elderly lady had handed to all the WAAFs. She was also a little light-headed from two glasses of sherry that she had been unable to turn down.
‘This was a marvellous idea, May.’ Jess slipped her arm through May’s, and May caught the scent of sherry in the crisp air. Her cheeks glowed with a rosy flush and she had tucked her heather into the band of her cap. ‘I haven’t seen anyone cast so much as a black look at the Czechs. Or us, come to that.’ She opened her music book, then added, ‘Of course, I expect Mrs Evans was ill-wishing us, but at least she didn’t come out to scowl at us.’
‘I wish Peggy had come out, though,’ May said. ‘I hope she’s all right.’ She couldn’t help fretting. With only a few days left before Christmas, they were running out of time to help her, especially if she and Jess would be leaving in the new year.
Jess squeezed her arm. ‘We’ll see her at the dress rehearsal. And Mrs Grey is looking out for her as well. I have every faith that between us we’ll see her in a happy home before we go anywhere.’
May wished she shared Jess’s optimism. She opened her book and glanced around, taking in the scene. Some people already stood on their doorsteps, probably having heard the singing from further away. The singers were gathered outside a long, low structure that looked as though it had once been a stable. It adjoined a cottage that stood back from the road. Then May noticed a sign attached to the front of the old stable: Amberton Printers.
May nudged Jess. ‘Doesn’t Mr Walker run Amberton Printers?’ She pointed out the sign.
Jess gave a low groan. ‘I’m sure ’e does. That must be ’is ’ouse.’ She indicated the cottage with a jerk of the head. Then she held up her book as everyone prepared to start. ‘Well, we came out to change folks’ minds about us. This will be the ultimate test.’
No one emerged from Mr Walker’s cottage while they sang, though all his neighbours came out and applauded with great enthusiasm at the end of each carol. At the end of ‘Silent Night’ the applause was more muted, mainly because many people were too busy wiping their eyes. As before, several women and children approached holding plates of treats for the singers. May saw to her dismay a very determined woman carrying a tray with a large bottle of sherry. She didn’t think she would be able to walk back to the Waafery if she drank any more, and the woman didn’t appear to be the type that would take no for an answer. Acting on impulse, May slipped into the yard to avoid her.
Jess followed. ‘Where are you going?’ Jess hissed. ‘We don’t want to bump into Mr Walker.’
May hesitated, but Mr Walker seemed the lesser of two evils at present. Then a thought struck. ‘Are the programmes ready? It would save a lot of bother if we could collect them now.’
‘Are you joking? Why see Arnold Walker when we don’t ’ave to?’
‘We’ll have to come back again if we don’t get them now. We might as well get it over with. Anyway, the whole point of coming carol singing was to show him what the Czechs are really like. How’s he supposed to know if he doesn’t see them?’ She pointed back to where the others were gathered, with a cluster of villagers around them. The sun had set by this time, the crimson afterglow providing enough light to show Jiří, still sporting his knitted hat and scarf, breaking a jam tart in half, which he then shared with the boy beside him.
Jess scowled. ‘Maybe you’re right. Where do you think ’e’ll be?’ She strolled up to the old stable block and looked at the windows, but now May could see they had been boarded up. Probably to comply with blackout regulations.
She tried the door, rattling it, but it was locked. ‘We ought to try the house,’ she said.
However, the words were hardly out of her mouth when the cottage door opened with a crash and Arnold Walker stormed down the steps. ‘Get away from there. This is private property.’ He strode towards them with clenched fists, then slowed when he was close enough to recognise them. ‘Oh, it’s you,’ he said. ‘What do you want?’
‘Please, Mr Walker,’ May began, ‘we’re sorry to disturb you, but we wondered if we could collect the programmes for our pantomime.’ She gestured at the group of carol singers. ‘As we’re already in the village, we thought it would save time if we could take them now.’
‘You did, did you? So you thought you’d drag me from the house on a Sunday afternoon.’
‘I’m sorry.’ May was on the verge of saying she would return the next day, when she became aware of Jess beside her, curving her lips in an exaggerated pout. She didn’t know what had got into Jess this evening; flirting with Mr Walker would only make matters worse, she was sure. On the other hand, a little flattery might go a long way. She stepped in front of Jess and said, ‘The vicar’s wife was telling me of the wonderful job you’d done on the parish magazine this month, and we were just really excited to see the programmes.’
Mr Walker seemed to stand a little taller. ‘Oh, well, now you’re here I suppose it will clear space to hand them over now.’ He drew a bunch of keys from his pocket and selected a large key then moved to the door. ‘I don’t want you coming in, mind. There’s a lot of… of delicate machinery in here.’ He stuck the key in the lock and turned it. To May’s surprise he didn’t then open the door, but sorted through his keys until he found a second one and inserted it into a keyhole slightly lower down. After turning this lock, he repeated the process a third time.
‘Talk about security conscious,’ Jess murmured in a voice low enough not to carry to Mr Walker. ‘What’s ’e printing – money?’
‘I know. It’s a bit strange.’ May watched Mr Walker pull open the door and slip inside, tugging the door closed behind him. It almost looked as though he had something to hide.
Curious, she approached the doorway just as it swung slightly open; Mr Walker must have failed to latch it properly. No light escaped. There was just enough light left in the sky to illuminate the interior, and she saw what must be the printing press in the centre of the room with a few small booklets stacked beside it. Several shelves holding boxes lined the back wall, and she could just make out the dim outline of a desk and chair on the far left-hand side of the long room. At first she couldn’t see Mr Walker, then a movement beside the desk caught her eye. Mr Walker was crouched down, shoving a box deeper into the shadows. Then he rose and picked up a much smaller box from a shelf at head height.
May moved away from the door, wondering why he hadn’t wanted her and Jess to go inside. His furtive behaviour had made her wonder if she would see stacks of black market goods, but there had been nothing she wouldn’t expect to see at a printer’s.
‘Here you go, girls.’ Mr Walker emerged with the box under one arm, tucking something into his pocket with his free hand. He handed the box to May then shut the door and locked it. ‘Now, don’t come around here again after hours. The missus doesn’t like to be disturbed.’
‘Thank you, Mr Walker,’ May and Jess chanted in unison, like chastened schoolgirls, then they hurried to join the others.
‘See anything?’ Jess asked when they were out of earshot.
May shook her head. ‘Nothing.’ She described what she had seen, finishing with, ‘Perhaps he really was concerned about the press.’
Jess snorted. ‘Delicate machinery, my foot. There’s nothing delicate about a press. You mark my words – he was hiding something.’
May laughed until her sides ached. The rehearsal at the village hall that evening didn’t involve her, however she had come anyway, hoping to catch a moment to talk to Mrs Grey. Peggy had been very subdued at the last rehearsal with the children. May could tell Peggy felt betrayed, and who could blame her? As a consequence, May decided that unless Mrs Grey could report any real progress, she was going to have to take matters into her own hands and find another way of getting Peggy into a happy home. She had no idea how to do that, but after Birmingham she felt sure she could come up with something.
Right now Mrs Grey was fully occupied, playing the piano as accompaniment to the song the ugly sisters were performing. May pressed her hands to her aching stomach muscles as she watched Milan and Jiří mince around the stage, practising flirtatious gestures, singing a song describing how they planned to catch Prince Charming’s attention at the ball. May thought she might fall off her chair when Milan used his fan to dart coquettish glances at the imaginary prince over the top of it, fluttering his eyelashes. Who would have thought the intense, serious Milan could be such a gifted comedian?
May glanced at Jess, who was standing at the edge of the stage, waiting for her cue. She was watching Milan with such an expression of sadness it took May’s breath away. She couldn’t remember seeing Jess display such raw, unguarded emotion. Jess’s usual high spirits were unfeigned, May would have bet her life on it, but now she wondered how much Jess used her natural ebullience as a shield to disguise her deeper emotions.
Then Milan and Jiří burst into the chorus, and that was Jess’s cue. She dashed onto the stage as Cinderella, trying to smother her laughter at the ugly sisters’ outrageous appearance while helping them on with their capes. The moment was gone, and May wondered whether she should ask Jess about it? The prospect was almost as alarming as tackling Mrs Evans over her treatment of Peggy. Not for the first time, she wished Evie was there. Evie was almost as quiet as May but without May’s timidity. Evie had a directness about her that usually enabled her to get people to confide even when they hadn’t intended to.
The song drew to a close, and Cinderella, laughing, ushered the ugly sisters and her stepmother, played by a suitably regal Jean Ellerby, out of the door. As soon as the door closed, Cinderella’s smile faded, and she sang a song about always being left behind. This was such a melancholy song, it usually left May in tears. Maybe Jess’s sadness off-stage had just been her way of getting into Cinderella’s state of mind in the upcoming scene.
In the final verse, Cinderella sang about her wish to see Prince Charming one more time. Behind her, the fairy godmother drifted onto the stage. Dorothy Eastman, the WAAF playing her, had taken ballet classes before the war, and had choreographed a dreamy, floating dance to perform while Cinderella sang the final verse and chorus. During the actual performance, someone would be perched upon the lighting rig to cast glitter down upon the stage when she made her entrance. At the end of the song, Cinderella turned and saw the fairy godmother. May saw her chance to speak to Mrs Grey. The scene that followed was dialogue between Cinderella and the fairy godmother, with no music. Whilst Dorothy spoke to Jess on stage, explaining that she was going to reward Cinderella for helping the stag, May edged up to Mrs Grey. Mrs Grey was rearranging the music on the stand in preparation for the transformation scene. They were far enough from the action to speak in low voices without disturbing the actors.
‘Mrs Grey, do you mind me asking if you’ve made any progress with getting Peggy another home?’
Mrs Grey sighed, looking grave. ‘I’m afraid not.’ She glanced at the stage and lowered her voice. ‘I don’t want you to think I’ve done nothing, but no one in authority seems prepared to accept Mrs Evans is anything but a kind, caring pillar of the community. Unless her mother is able to take her home…’
‘Impossible. Her house was destroyed in Coventry and she’s living with the lady who owns the shop where she works. Besides, however bad things are for Peggy here, I’d hate to see her go to Coventry. It would be far too dangerous.’ There was a pause while May remembered the bombed-out buildings, the dazed faces. And there was no sign that Coventry had ceased to be a target despite the devastation. Another reason to do the course at Cranwell. Assuming she and Jess were selected, of course.
May glanced back to the stage to check there was still time before Mrs Grey’s services at the piano would be required again. The action had got to the stage where the fairy godmother was warning Cinderella that the magic would wear out at midnight. After that, Cinderella would need to rely on her own resources. May could use a spot of magic to help Peggy; her own resources didn’t feel nearly good enough.
‘I think I’m going to have to try and get Mrs Evans caught out. Preferably in front of people who can help Peggy once they see what she’s going through.’
‘I could help.’
May shook her head. ‘You’re the vicar’s wife. If this goes horribly wrong… well, the chances are I’ll be transferred elsewhere so I won’t have to face the anger of the village. But this is your home. I won’t have you doing anything that will make your life difficult.’
Mrs Grey bristled. ‘There’s more to being a vicar’s wife than being respectable. If I see a child in need, I want to help.’
‘You can help. I just don’t think it a good idea for the villagers to know you were instrumental in setting a trap. They need to be able to trust you.’
Mrs Grey chewed her lower lip. ‘I don’t know if this helps, but I’ve noticed Arnold Walker visiting her shop a lot recently. I’m not convinced he’s stocking up on embroidery threads.’
May frowned. ‘What business would he have with her?’
Mrs Grey shot another glance at the actors before leaning closer to May and dropping her voice so low May had to strain to hear her. ‘There’s a rumour they’re having an affair.’
May choked. ‘Surely not.’
‘You’d be surprised,’ Mrs Grey said. ‘I’ve long since stopped being shocked at what goes on behind the scenes in an ordinary English village.’
‘But those two?’ May’s mind refused to handle the idea of the harsh, intolerant haberdashery owner in a passionate liaison with the bullying Mr Walker. ‘Do you believe it?’
With a tiny shrug, Mrs Grey said, ‘I admit it seems unlikely. However, he has been seen with her.’
‘There must be another reason.’ There was a pause in which they watched Jess as Cinderella promise to leave the ball before midnight. However she tried, May couldn’t concentrate on the action. Incredible though it seemed that Mrs Evans would have an affair with Mr Walker, she couldn’t deny that there did seem to be some kind of connection between the two.
‘I do wonder why such an upright character as Mrs Evans would be seen with Arnold Walker,’ Mrs Grey said after a moment. ‘I hate to say it about one of our parishioners, but I don’t think he’s entirely honest. For someone who runs what is a very small printing business, he does seem to have a lot of money to spend. He and his wife don’t appear to make do and mend as much as the rest of us. His wife invited me to tea the other day, and she had made cake with real sugar and butter. She said something about saving her rations, but I don’t see how she could have stretched them that far.’
May sat upright so fast she knocked the music from the piano and had to scrabble on the floor to pick it up before the transformation scene started. She returned it to the music stand with shaking hands. She’d remembered the excessive locks on the door of Amberton Printers. Why so many locks for a printing press?
Slowly, pieces of the puzzle were falling into place. Peggy was living with Mrs Evans, and clearly wasn’t getting all her rations. What if Mrs Evans wasn’t keeping them for herself, but giving them to Arnold Walker in return for black market goods?
Was that why Mr Walker had told May and Jess to stay outside while he fetched the programmes? Because he was storing items he had obtained illegally? Even though May felt tantalisingly close to the answer, it was still all guesswork. Nothing she could present to the authorities. If only there was a way to discover the truth.
She turned to ask Mrs Grey if she knew anything more, only to find it was time for the transformation scene. The vicar’s wife put her fingers to the keys, preventing further talk, and began to play an eerie melody.
Dorothy Eastman twirled around the floor, waving the wand that one of the WAAFs had made from a peeled birch twig, a paper star and a lot of glitter and glue. The dance was really a chance for Jess to slip back stage and climb into the parachute silk ballgown. May only watched the action with half her attention. She was finally on to something. Something that could discredit Mrs Evans. Was she supplying Peggy’s rations to Arnold Walker? Even if she was, how could she prove it?