Luckily, the elderly gardener had his back to us. We managed to sneak all the way up the kitchen garden to a path that ran around the edge of the house. I started to head to the right, but Molly grabbed my sleeve.
“That’s the stable block,” she whispered. “There’s bound to be a boy mucking out.”
So we crept around the other side, between flowerbeds where glorious pink and white roses, their blooms as big as teacups, scented the air. I heard Mama’s voice in my head, saying, “English gardens are the finest in the world,” and I had to remind myself to breathe as I followed Molly up the front steps.
When I’d first had my idea, I’d planned to keep it secret. I was afraid that if I told anyone, they would try to stop me. But when Molly grew impatient with my carefully rehearsed questions and asked why I was so interested in Lord and Lady Hurstwood, I decided it was time to tell her.
I couldn’t understand half her response, because Molly spoke so fast when she was excited, but I understood that she thought it was a good plan and she wanted to be involved.
To Molly, this was all an adventure. She had no idea how important it was to get my parents out of Germany. That wasn’t her fault. Even if I’d wanted to open the locked box inside my head, which I didn’t, I couldn’t have explained, in my limited English, how bad the situation was.
But I was glad to have her with me. Even though I had studied and practised what I would say, I wasn’t sure I’d understand what anybody said to me in reply. And I was scared too. Scared of knocking on the door of this vast, grand house. Scared that if they refused to listen to me, then I would have lost the one hope I had of helping my parents.
Ever since the idea had come into my head on my first morning at Ashcombe, it had been my all-consuming dream. I couldn’t wait for the day when I could write to tell Mama and Papa I had found jobs for them in England.
And I was terrified of messing it up.
Molly lifted the gleaming brass knocker and rapped on the enormous oak door. My stomach writhed with nerves.
The door was opened by a tall, elegant man in an immaculate black suit. He looked completely calm and in control, exactly as I had imagined an English lord. I was slightly disappointed that he wasn’t wearing an ermine cloak and a crown, like all the lords had worn for King George’s coronation. But the cloak and crown were just for special occasions, I supposed.
Trying to suppress my nerves, I forced a polite smile.
“Good morning, Lord Hurstwood.”
The man’s eyes widened slightly. Molly elbowed me in the ribs. What had I done wrong?
She gave the man an ingratiating smile and said, “Good morning, sir. We are here to speak with Lord Hurstwood, please.”
So this man wasn’t Lord Hurstwood. Well, how could I have known that? But it explained why he was just wearing a plain suit. I wondered who he was. I hoped he wasn’t offended that I’d mistaken him for Lord Hurstwood.
“Lord Hurstwood is expecting us,” Molly continued. “We’re here on urgent business.”
The man raised his eyebrows very slightly, in an amused, superior sort of way.
“I’m afraid Lord Hurstwood is not at home,” he said.
“Could we speak to Lady Hurstwood then?” said Molly. “It’s very urgent.”
The man raised his eyebrows slightly higher.
“And is Lady Hurstwood expecting you too?”
“Yes,” said Molly, giving him a look that dared him to challenge her.
“I’m afraid Lady Hurstwood is otherwise engaged.”
I wasn’t sure what “otherwise engaged” meant, but his tone wasn’t very welcoming.
“That’s all right,” said Molly. “We can wait.”
“I’m afraid Lady Hurstwood will be engaged for some time,” said the man.
“What’s that, Robins?” said a woman’s voice. “Engaged with what?”
A lady was standing in the doorway at the back of the hall. She had wavy brown hair and an interested, friendly face, the kind of face that looked as if it smiled a lot.
She looked enquiringly at the man. He dipped his head slightly and spoke to her. She walked towards us. Was this Lady Hurstwood? She wore a simple blue dress and no jewellery and didn’t seem grand at all. I felt my hopes rising. Might this kind-looking lady give a job to my parents?
She smiled at Molly.
“You’re Mr Dean’s daughter, aren’t you? Molly, isn’t it?”
“Yes, madam,” she said.
The lady smiled at me. “I must apologise,” she said. (Apologise? To me?) “I don’t think we’ve met.”
“My name is Anna,” I said. “Anna Schlesinger.”
“Anna’s a German refugee, Lady Hurstwood,” said Molly. “She came to England on the Kindertransport and she’s staying with us. And we came to see you because—” She stopped and turned to me. “You tell it, Anna.”
My stomach churned. I couldn’t meet Lady Hurstwood’s eyes.
“My… My parents need jobs in England. Germany is very dangerous for Jews at the moment. They are trying to leave but they need jobs and a visa. I… I wondered if you…”
I glanced at Lady Hurstwood. Her face was full of concern and sympathy. To my horror, I felt my throat tightening and my eyes filling up with tears. I bit my cheeks.
Lady Hurstwood took both my hands in hers.
“Oh, my dear,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”
That was it. I started to sob. Lady Hurstwood kept hold of my hands and led me into another room, saying something to the man as she did so. She sat me down on a sofa and handed me a handkerchief.
After a while, when my sobs had turned into hiccupy shudders, Lady Hurstwood patted me on the knee and said, “Have some tea, my dear.”
A tea tray had magically appeared on the low table in front of the sofa. There was a silver teapot and three pretty china cups and saucers. There was also a plate of delicious-looking biscuits, but I had no appetite.
“Sugar?” she asked, picking up a pair of little silver tongs.
“Yes, please.” I had discovered that I could tolerate English tea if it had sugar in it.
Molly was sitting on the sofa opposite. I didn’t dare look at her. I had completely messed up my carefully practised plans.
Lady Hurstwood talked while she poured the tea and handed round the biscuits. I didn’t understand everything, but Molly repeated it to me more slowly afterwards.
“My husband and I had some wonderful walking holidays in Germany when we were first married. Such a beautiful country. Such lovely people. It’s just terrible, what’s happening at the moment. It’s as though that dreadful man has bewitched everybody. The whole country seems to have gone mad.”
A door banged somewhere nearby and a man’s voice said, “Down, Audrey! Flora, come here, you blasted nuisance!”
A brown-and-white spaniel trotted into the drawing room, its pink tongue hanging out and its feathery tail waving wildly.
“Sit, Flora,” commanded Lady Hurstwood, and the dog flopped down at her feet.
Another spaniel ran into the room, followed by a tall, thin man with wispy sandy hair and a harassed expression. He wore muddy corduroy trousers and boots, and a torn tweed jacket over a checked shirt. What was he doing in Lady Hurstwood’s drawing room?
Lady Hurstwood said something to him that I couldn’t understand, but from her looks and gestures, I think she was telling him off about his muddy boots. Then she said, “Anna, this is my husband, Charles.”
Her husband?
This scruffy man, dressed like a tramp, was Lord Hurstwood, the owner of Ashcombe Park?
England was very confusing.
Lady Hurstwood was talking to her husband. She spoke fast and I couldn’t follow what she said. Then Lord Hurstwood turned to me.
“I’m very sorry to hear about your situation, Anna. Dreadful business. Appalling man.”
“But don’t worry any more,” Lady Hurstwood said. “We have work in the kitchens, if that would suit your mother. And outdoor work for your father.”
My heart beat wildly. Had they really said what I thought they’d said?
“Johnny could do with a hand in the stables,” said Lord Hurstwood. “Especially if that wretched man does bring us all to war. The youngsters will all join up and then we’ll need all the help we can get. Could your father work with horses?”
I didn’t understand all of this. But I understood his question.
I pictured my father, pale and stooped from sitting at a desk all day. He must once have been fit and strong. He had won the Iron Cross, after all. But now?
Had he ever even touched a horse?
“Of course,” I said. “He loves horses.”
“Excellent,” said Lord Hurstwood. “That’s all settled then.”
“Don’t worry about anything, Anna,” said Lady Hurstwood, taking my hands and squeezing them. “Just give us your parents’ details and we’ll do the rest.”
Could this really be happening?
She handed me a notepad and pen. In a daze, I wrote down the details she asked for: my parents’ names, address and dates of birth.
As we walked home, down the front drive this time, through the avenue of chestnut trees, I realised I’d been so overwhelmed that I hadn’t even thanked them.
“Don’t worry,” said Molly. “I thanked them for you.”
When I wrote to my parents that night with the news, I was happier than I could ever remember being in my whole life. The only thing worrying me was whether Lord and Lady Hurstwood would keep their promises. It all seemed too easy, too good to be true.
But they did keep their promises. I received a joyful letter from my mother the following week, saying that Lady Hurstwood had written to her on the very same day we had visited Ashcombe House.
“Papa and I are so happy, my darling, and so very, very proud of you for making this miracle happen,” she wrote. “After the terrible sadness and despair we’ve felt for so many months, this lightness and joy is extraordinary. Every day, I wake up and laugh with sheer delight at the thought that soon we will be with you in England.”
I felt the same. My only worry now was that the Nazis wouldn’t grant them visas. But at the end of August Mama wrote with the amazing news that they had their visas! They just needed to get one last document stamped, and then they would be travelling to England the very next week! They were to have a married couple’s apartment in Ashcombe House, and we would all be together, all three of us living in this magical place.
I couldn’t wait to show them the village and the Park, and for them to meet my foster family. I wrote and asked them to bring the rest of my drawing pencils and as much paper as they could. Aunty Rose asked me about their favourite foods and planned a welcome meal. I helped clean the cottage and picked plums and damsons for preserving. It was beautiful weather and I lived in a bubble of happiness. When worries about their journey or the rumours of imminent war crept into my head, I pushed them firmly away. I was determined to stay in my bubble.
And then the bubble burst.
On 1st September, Germany invaded Poland. On 3rd September, Britain declared war on Germany.
My parents were now classed as “enemy nationals”. The British government immediately cancelled their visas. No Germans could travel to Britain any more.
My parents were trapped.