When Ruby woke from her nap, snugly cocooned in whisper-soft, lavender-scented blankets, it took a moment to remember where she was. And then, as the memories of the night before came flooding back, she resolutely closed her mind against them. This place, this room . . . it felt safe. Here she was warm and comfortable and safe.
Checking her wristwatch, she saw it was past five o’clock. She’d been asleep for nearly seven hours, the longest she’d slept since the beginning of September. She stretched languorously and, turning her head, saw that something had been left on the bed. Sitting up, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and tried to focus. There, draped across the folded quilt at her feet, was a blue woolen dress with long sleeves and a cardigan to match, a full slip for underneath, made of cotton so fine it was nearly transparent, and a pair of silk stockings still in their package. Real silk, not rayon. She touched the dress, her hand shaking a little when she felt how fine and soft it was.
Ruby tiptoed downstairs a little before six o’clock, drawn by the sound of voices in the front room. Vanessa was standing by the fire, her hair and dress immaculate, and on the sofa in front of the window were two young women so alike they had to be sisters. One was in uniform, and the other, her hair several shades fairer than her sister’s, wore a perfectly tailored suit.
All too aware that her own fine clothes had been borrowed from one of the sisters, Ruby lingered in the hallway. Perhaps she might simply creep back upstairs without anyone noticing. She took a step back, then another, but was stopped by Vanessa’s sunny greeting.
“Ruby, darling—there you are. Do come in and meet my girls.” The glamorous pair on the sofa stood in unison and came forward, their smiles unaffected and genuine. If they resented her sudden appearance in their mother’s home, they certainly showed no sign of it. Or perhaps they were simply as talented at acting as their parents.
“Ruby, these are my girls. Viola and Beatrice.”
Ruby shook their hands, sat on the chair she was assigned, and did her best to answer the questions they flung at her like confetti. Where are you from? How long have you been in England? How do you know Bennett? What sort of work do you do? Is your hair naturally curly or have you had a permanent-wave treatment?
They listened attentively to her vague and unenlightening answers, they insisted she drink a glass of sherry as they were doing, and they appeared to be genuinely horrified when Vanessa explained what had become of Ruby’s lodgings and possessions.
“Thank heavens Bennett was there,” Beatrice said. “He never loses his head, no matter how awful things get. Remember when Papa died? He was the only one of us who didn’t fall to pieces.”
“Such a dear boy. I don’t know what I would have done without him,” Vanessa said, her expression melancholy. “Oh—there’s the telephone. I’ll just run and answer it.”
She returned with the news that Bennett had rung to say he would be late. “He told me not to wait for him, so let’s get started. Are you on duty tonight, Vi?”
“I am, so I’d best hurry. God only knows what Jerry has in store for us.”
The dining room table was set with china and silver and fine white linens, and though it looked to Ruby as if the king was expected for dinner, she also suspected such finery was nothing out of the ordinary for the Tremaine family. Arranging themselves around the table, the sisters immediately began to complain about the food.
“I thought we were having mutton,” said Beatrice.
“I did look, but the butcher only had a piece of scrag end, and I wasn’t about to pay good money for nothing more than sinew and gristle. Jessie made toad-in-the-hole instead.”
Seeing the look of alarm on Ruby’s face, Viola rushed to reassure her. “Don’t worry—there’s no toad in it.”
“Oh, yes—I ought to have said so,” Vanessa chimed in. “We English do have the oddest names for food. It’s quite prosaic, I promise. Nothing more than sausages with Yorkshire pudding on top.”
“Not sausages again,” Beatrice moaned. “The last ones were awful.”
“I know, but that was an oversight on the butcher’s part. He promised me that these ones are definitely made of pork.”
“What was wrong with the other ones?” Ruby asked.
“You do not want to know,” Beatrice hissed. “Let’s just leave it at that.”
“Such a gamy aftertaste, too,” Viola commented mischievously.
“Enough, both of you,” Vanessa chided. “Ruby needs a good meal and you aren’t helping things. Pay them no mind, my dear. Apart from the toad—the main course, that is—we’ve mashed potatoes and onion gravy, and Jessie roasted the last of the parsnips from the cold store.”
As they ate, the conversation turned to the Tremaine sisters’ work. Beatrice, whose uniform was a striking dark blue, was a section officer in the Women’s Auxiliary Air Force; before the war, she’d been a geography teacher at a girls’ school. It had shut down for the duration, which had prompted her to join the WAAF. “It had the nicest uniform,” Beatrice admitted with a laugh. “What was I thinking?”
Ruby looked to Viola, who wasn’t in uniform. “Are you allowed to talk about your work?” she asked hesitantly.
“I am—it’s not the slightest bit important, though.”
“Nonsense,” Vanessa insisted. “Vi is working two jobs right now, and I’m so terribly proud—”
“Honestly, Mama. I’m not doing anything out of the ordinary. Not compared to some.”
“Allow me to disagree.” Vanessa turned to Ruby, waving away her daughter’s protests. “Vi inherited her dear father’s talent. Before the war she was in show after show in the West End, but she’s given it up to volunteer for ENSA.”
“‘Every Night Something Awful,’” Beatrice intoned solemnly.
“Horrid girl,” their mother commented. “It’s the ‘Entertainments National Service Association,’ in point of fact.”
“I know,” said Ruby. “We did a story on ENSA a few months ago. The group we featured were all musicians, though.”
“There are all sorts in ENSA,” Viola explained. “My group does a variety show, mostly at factories during the day. Our ‘lunchtime follies,’ we call them. Sometimes the shows are in the evening, but between the blackout and the air raids it’s easier if we put on a quick performance during the lunch hour.”
“Vanessa said something about a second job?”
“Oh, yes. Well, at night I’m a fire-watcher at my old theater. There’s a group of us who do it.”
“When do you sleep?” Ruby asked incredulously.
“I don’t, not much. But I don’t mind.” Her expression grew somber. “I’m really sorry about your lodgings. Last night . . . it was endless. We stood on the roof of the theater and watched the bombs rain down, and there was nothing we could do.”
“I’m sure that you and everyone else in the fire services did your best. You saved St. Paul’s. That in itself was a miracle.”
The rumble of a motorcycle outside brought the conversation to a halt. The front door opened and closed, and the sound of footsteps in the hallway grew louder.
“We’re in the dining room,” Vanessa called out.
Bennett appeared in the doorway, still shrugging out of a worn leather jacket. It was dampened by snow, as was the knitted watch cap he pulled off his head. His face was drawn and weary, and there were dark streaks of soot across his forehead and cheekbones.
“Sorry I’m late. Let me hang this up and wash my face. Then I’ll be fit for company.”
When he returned, his face and hair damp but clean, he dropped into the chair next to Ruby and grinned at her reassuringly. “All settled in?”
“Yes, thanks. How are you?”
“Tired.”
“Have you eaten? Let me fetch you something,” Vanessa offered, and rushed off in search of Jessie.
“So? What did you find?” Ruby asked.
“My flat is fine—no damage at all. Uncle Harry is unhurt, although he lost his car. Left it parked on the street and an incendiary fell right on top of it. He was fit to be tied.”
“And the PW offices?”
“Not so much as a scratch.”
Vanessa returned, bringing with her a heaping plate of dinner. Bennett started eating, not pausing until he’d consumed more than half of it.
“Sorry. Was starving. Where was I . . . oh, the magazine. Your building is fine—I think I said that already—but St. Bride’s is gone.”
“The church next door? That’s awful.”
“The walls and steeple are standing, but the interior is burned out. The fire even melted the bells.” He set down his fork and knife and rubbed at his temples, his shoulders slumping. “It was a Wren church. Built after the Great Fire.”
“I don’t know why you’re so upset,” Viola said, her voice oddly strained. “It’s a building, not a person.”
“Yes, but it was a masterpiece of—”
“It’s a structure made of stone and bricks and wood. It can be rebuilt. But we can’t raise the dead, can we?”
Viola stood, her eyes bright with unshed tears, and walked quietly out of the room. Bennett followed her right away, his face a portrait of torment.
Vanessa reached across the table and grasped Ruby’s hand. “Viola was engaged to an RAF pilot,” she said softly. “He was killed in August. She struggles with it still, as I’m sure you can understand.”
“I do. I visited Coventry after the bombings, and I met a policeman there who said much the same thing to me. How buildings can be raised again, but our dead are lost forever.”
Bennett reappeared a few minutes later. “Vi will be down in a moment.”
“Is she all right?” Vanessa asked.
“She is. I made my peace with her. We’re all fraying around the edges.”
“Won’t you sit down and finish your supper?”
“Do you mind very much if I go? I have to leave at first light tomorrow.”
“Very well, but won’t you take anything with you?”
“No, I’m fine.” He kissed his godmother goodbye, and then turned to Ruby. “Do you know how to get to work? I’m sure Vanessa can—”
“Don’t worry. I still have my A to Z.”
“Good. I did tell you I couldn’t get you another. No, Vanessa—don’t get up. I’ll let myself out.”
Ruby excused herself not long after, and as she lay in bed, hovering at the edge of sleep, she was overcome with a wave of gratitude for her good fortune. It was true that she had lost every one of her personal treasures, but they were only things, after all. She could replace her books and clothes. She would buy another typewriter one day. She could remember, just barely, her mother’s face.
And she still had her job. Kaz and Mary and everyone at work were all safe. Thanks to Bennett, she even had a place to stay, and it was the most beautiful home she’d ever seen.
Home. She’d only been with the Tremaines for a few hours, but they’d already gathered her into their little family. Treated her as if she belonged. And it would be so very tempting to believe.
Of course it was kind of them to be so generous and welcoming, but she needed to remember she no more belonged with them than any other stranger seeking refuge from the cold. She was a grown woman, not the little girl who had prayed on her knees, every night for years, that her mother might somehow come back for her; and then, after she’d lost all hope of that, had yearned for a home with one of the nicely dressed couples who came, every so often, to pick a child from among the youngest, prettiest, and best behaved of the orphans.
But Ruby had never, not once, been taken to the parlor to be presented to the nice families. The day she had stopped hoping she might find a home with one of those couples was the day she had stopped believing in fairy tales.
And this? This was a fairy tale, no more, and she would do herself no favors by forgetting it.