ELEVEN

 

Dear Ma, Pa, Emmy, Ceels,

We are off to France soon. We are getting plenty to eat, so don’t worry. Have been marching a lot, the people cheer when they see us and the girls wave their handkerchiefs. When we get to France, we will be going down to the trenches and then we will see the enemy. I think we are taking over the trenches from the French. Perhaps they will leave us some cheese and wine about!

We have a few men who used to be doctors, so we will be in good hands!

Everything seems a long way from Stoneythorpe here. I hope you are all well. I miss you. Send me a kiss. All the chaps say we will be back in England before you know it – a couple of months, we think.

Love
Michael
PS Tell Celia to be good!

Celia gazed at the letter in her hands. ‘Is there no more?’ It was the morning after Verena had discovered them all playing Shakespeare. Celia had begged so hard that her mother had relented and allowed her to read the letter. She touched the writing. ‘But it’s so short.’

Verena gave her a sad look. ‘Papa thinks that the men can only write so much. That they are told to keep it short.’

Celia ran her finger over the page. She lifted it close to her nose. She thought she could smell carbolic soap and something like rust. She couldn’t smell Michael. ‘It doesn’t sound like him, Mama.’ Tell Celia to be good! Was that all he was going to say to her?

‘Papa says that all their letters are read by the War Office, so they make them simple. He supposes that Michael is also kept busy writing letters for the other men who can’t write.’

‘He must be an officer, then.’ Where is Tom? she wanted to cry out to the letter. Please tell me. He might be with Michael, the pair of them polishing their boots. Or he might be miles away. She had thought they were together, imagined them marching side by side. But now where were they?

‘Papa says that if he was an officer, he would have sent us a different sort of letter. He’d be allowed to write a longer one.’

‘When will he be back? Do you really think a couple of months?’

‘So the newspapers say. After all this fuss he’ll never set a toe in France, I expect. Now, Celia, give me the letter. Your father wishes to keep it.’

Celia could not help it. In a moment, her eyes were full of heavy tears. They were streaming down her face.

‘Oh Celia, don’t cry.’ Verena sat down and put her arms around her. ‘Please don’t cry. It will all turn out fine, just wait and see. He’ll come back and swing you around in the garden, just as he did when you were a little girl. The war will be over and everything will be forgotten.’

Celia wept into Verena’s bosom, her tears pooling over her face and on to the dark material of her mother’s bodice. She cried and hiccupped, with Verena stroking her hair, saying soft words, just as she had when Celia was a child, until it felt as if there were no more tears. ‘Why can’t he come back?’ she cried. She meant Tom and Michael in one, both of them

‘Come now, Celia,’ said Verena. ‘Things are not so bad. Michael will be home soon. The war will be over before he boards the boat. Now, I should take this letter to Emmeline, and then return it to Rudolf. You will soon feel better.’

Celia felt her head spinning, sickness rising. ‘Please, Mama. Please can I go outside?’

Verena gazed at her, then nodded her head, smiling. ‘The air will do you good. I am too soft on you, always have been, you know. After that, you are back to your room, do you understand? I haven’t forgotten what happened – and I won’t.’

‘May I write a letter to Michael?’

‘Of course. We’re all going to write.’

‘How is Emmeline?’ Celia asked tentatively. She had been lying in her room listening, desperately hoping that she would not hear Emmeline’s feet rushing past to the roof once more. She did not know what she would do if she did. Scream and scream, she supposed. ‘Don’t lock me in,’ she had begged Verena, but her mother had been adamant.

‘Your sister is quiet. Well.’

‘You know, Mr Janus really did save us.’

Verena held up her hand. ‘I do not wish to hear it. Stop talking now, Celia, before I reconsider my kind decision to let you go outside.’ She turned, and Celia followed her. It was impossible to know what to say. How could she tell Verena what Emmeline had tried to do? Her mother would despair, and never let either of them out of her sight again. And yet if she knew what he had done, she might invite Mr Janus back.

Celia wandered down the stairs and out into the back garden. She didn’t feel like playing. She didn’t want to go to her little den. She couldn’t go to the stables to see Tom. What she wanted to do, more than anything, was to go to the Cottons’ house, back to his room, lie in his bed and wait for him to return. But she could not. She gazed around. At that moment, she hated the garden, the place where the whole village had humiliated them by not coming to their party.

She wandered out to the side gate, where she knew she should not go. The same gate that Tom and his sister had come through for the party, where she had walked with Michael on the way to the village. She stood out on the front lawn. There was nobody there but her. She sat down on a rock and gazed at her feet. Princesses got stuck in castles, this she knew. How did they while away the time?

‘Celia! Psst! Miss de Witt!’ A voice came from the bushes a little lower down the drive. ‘Celia! Come over here!’

She stood up and peered down the garden. The yellow and pink flowering bushes, Verena’s great pride, were shaking. She could not see who was in there. ‘Who is it?’

‘Just come over here.’ A hand waved from the leaves.

Knowing she shouldn’t, she walked to the bushes. Two branches parted and Mr Janus’s face poked out.

Celia wanted to laugh. ‘What on earth are you doing there?’

‘Crouch down!’ He was waving his hand frantically. ‘Someone might see.’

‘You shouldn’t be here,’ she said as she sat down. ‘Mama would be angry.’

‘I wanted to ask you something.’ He had a big smudge of dirt on his nose.

Then she really did laugh. ‘You have been down there all this time waiting for me? But what if I had never come out?’

‘I’d have gone to the back garden. I’d have found a way. Miss de Witt, I need you to take this.’ He held out a letter. ‘Give it to Emmeline.’

She stopped laughing. ‘I can’t. Mr Janus, you know I can’t. Mama would never allow it.’

‘This is not about your mother. You must give this to Miss de Witt. It is important.’

She shook her head, feeling it heavy on her shoulders. ‘I really can’t.’

‘You must. Miss de Witt, I cannot emphasise to you how important this is. Your sister’s happiness hangs in the balance. Without this letter, she’ll suffer. And you know what happened last time she suffered?’

‘Yes.’ She could only whisper.

‘Do you want the same to happen again? Remember, I won’t be here this time.’

‘No.’

‘Well, this is what you must do. Take it, and go. I suppose Emmeline is still confined to her room, so it will be easy enough for you to give it to her.’

She nodded.

‘You promise?’

‘Yes.’ She took the letter. ‘What if I read it? I might, you know.’

‘You know you shouldn’t read other people’s letters.’

‘Those historians you were always praising to me went peering into the letters of Henry VII and the rest, didn’t they?’

‘Go on, Celia. Emmeline will be waiting. Hurry. Tell her seven.’

‘I can’t. What if Mama sees me?’

‘You will have to find a way. Remember, your sister needs you to do this. You want her to stay well? You must do it. Now walk back, do not run. You must keep the letter on you, do not go straight to her room. Behave as you would normally. Pretend you are in a play.’

‘You’re not teaching me any more.’ But he had gone back into the bush.

Celia walked back to the house, feeling Mr Janus’s eyes upon her. The letter was burning her hand, and she thanked the stars there was no sign of her mother. Inside the corridor by the kitchen, she tore the envelope open. The paper fell into her hands. It was all gobbledegook, like the silly words they had spoken in the middle of the plays. She stared at it, trying to get the better of the code, but could not make out a single word.

Up at Emmeline’s room, she slipped the paper under the door and heard footsteps on the other side. Then, after ten minutes or so had passed, she knocked. ‘Emmeline? Has Mama locked you in?’

‘I think she meant to, but she forgot,’ Emmeline hissed back. She opened the door a crack and ushered Celia in. Her hair was loose around her shoulders. She was smiling.

Celia looked at her pink cheeks, her bright eyes. ‘He said seven. I don’t know what he meant.’

Emmeline bent down and gave her the first unprompted kiss on her cheek that Celia could remember for years. ‘Thank you. Thank you. Tell him “Yes, K Yknn Eqog. Oggv cv Vgp. Until then.’”

‘No! I’m not going back. Mama will catch me if I do.’

Emmeline’s eyes glittered. ‘You have to. You’ve taken one letter. You’re already in this.’

Celia gazed miserably at the paper. She’d started now, she had wound herself into this thing and she could not get out. ‘I can’t remember that.’

‘You will. Repeat it to me.’

Celia tried a few times, and failed.

‘Come on, Celia, get it right.’

Finally, after two more attempts, she had it to Emmeline’s satisfaction.

‘That’s not bad. Now, when you say it, start with a “Yes”. Tell him “Yes”, and then these words. You understand?’

Celia nodded. ‘I am not taking any more messages between you, you know.’

Emmeline put her arms around her and held her close. ‘It is kind of you, Celia. You know I am grateful. I am your sister, always will be. My dearest little Celia.’

Celia wanted to wriggle out of her embrace. I’m only four years younger than you! But she held still, unsure about what Emmeline would do next.

‘I remember when you were first born. Papa let me look at you in the crib when Mother was ill. He said I wasn’t allowed to touch you, but he let me look at you. I thought I had never seen anything so small. Papa said I had been a baby once too, but I could not believe it.’ She patted Celia on the back. ‘You should go now. Mr Janus will be waiting. But don’t forget it. You are my precious sister.’

Celia hurried down the stairs, reciting the words to herself, over and over. Yes, KYknn. She didn’t look around with much caution as she walked out into the garden and around to the bush.

‘Well?’ he said, peering through the leaves. ‘I’ve been waiting.’

‘I don’t have a letter. She sent me with a message. She said, “Yes, K Yknn Eqog. Oggv cv Vgp. Until then.”’

He listened gravely, nodded. ‘Thank you, Miss de Witt.’

Celia stared at him. She had hurried through the house and dared to go past her parents, and all he could do was nod, as if she was reading out an essay about George III.

‘I am not taking a message back, you know. I ve done enough.’

‘I understand. Instead, just say it to me one more time.’

She repeated it. He smiled.

‘I’ll go now.’ Celia felt rather confused. She had expected him to fall on her, beg her not to stop taking messages. But he was just sitting in the bush, smiling. Still, she thought, reminding herself of the phrase that Rudolf liked: do not look a gift horse in the mouth. She was spared from carrying any more letters. ‘Goodbye, Mr Janus.’

She did not knock on Emmeline’s door. Instead she arrived back to find Miss Wilton waiting for her. ‘Where have you been? Time to arrange your hair for dinner, miss.’

‘But I am not supposed to be allowed to dinner.’

‘Mrs de Witt has changed her mind. You may come down, she says. Miss Emmeline too.’

But Emmeline was not at dinner – Jennie came through with the word that she had a headache. Celia played with her broccoli on her fork and felt sad for her sister. She must be sitting up there thinking about how she would miss Mr Janus, how she would never see him again. After dinner, she went up to knock on Emmeline’s door. ‘Sister?’ she said. ‘I wanted to see how you were.’

There was no answer. She tried again, then walked away. Maybe Emmeline was asleep. In the last of the light, she sat down to write her letter to Michael, feeling a little guilty that she had been distracted by Mr Janus and had not written before.

Dear Michael,

We were glad to get your letter. I miss you very much. Not much is happening here. I’m glad Papa managed to keep the horses but I think he misses the car. It is hot and I have been reading. How is it where you are? What can you see?

She forced herself to keep writing, sending questions, telling him about her day. Then she folded up the letter, ready to give to Smithson to post. She went once more to Emmeline’s room, but there was still no answer.

*

That night, Celia did not sleep well. There were odd pictures in her mind, tormenting her and running through her head: a monster chasing her around what felt like a maze, an old man who came up to her and told her he was dying. When she woke next morning, her head hurt.

She went to Emmeline’s room again. No answer. A wave of sadness swept over her. ‘I will take another letter if you like,’ she said at the door. ‘I am sorry for saying I wouldn’t. I don’t mind really.’ Still there was no answer. Poor Emmeline, Celia thought, two things taken away from her.

Verena had lifted the curfew, so she was free, but there was nothing to do. She wandered downstairs to talk to Jennie, but she was busy polishing the candlesticks and told Celia she was just getting in her way.

‘I can’t think of anything to do,’ she said dolefully to Smithson when she gave him her letter for Michael.

‘Of course you can, miss. What about embroidery?’

‘Very funny. You know I hate it. I’m tired of books.’

‘Well then, you’re clearly missing Mr Janus. If he’s not here, you should educate yourself. That is what I think. Go and learn some geography.’

‘Why is nothing interesting?’

‘Because you don’t have enough to do. Think of your brother preparing to go to France.’

She hung her head. ‘No.’ She looked up, reached for the vase he was dusting. ‘You won’t go to war, will you?’

He shrugged. ‘We’ll see. Wouldn’t mind a bit of French food.’ ‘Please don’t.’

He smiled and ruffled her hair. ‘Just for you, Miss Celia, I won’t.’ She waved at him as he walked away, not entirely sure she believed him.

Still feeling lethargic, she plodded up the stairs. She had not been to the schoolroom since Verena had sent them all out. She had thought Jennie might come in to clear it, but it was just as they had left it. Emmeline’s gold cloak was still on the pile of books. Celia’s copy of the play was lying on one of the desks. She sat down and began leafing through it. Then I must be thy lady: but I know/When thou hast stolen away from fairy land.

Emmeline as Titania, Mr Janus as Oberon. She put the picture of Emmeline balancing on the roof from her mind and picked up the golden cape. She draped it over her fingers and wandered over to the desk in front of her. Behind it were the pieces of paper. Celia picked one of them up and glanced idly at it. One line of alphabet, one line of other letters. She took a pencil, sat down on the floor with it and traced between the letters with her fingers. A. B. C. And then, almost without knowing it, she was working out Emmeline’s message. The pencil moved forward. Yes. I WILL COME … She looked again. MEET AT TEN. Until then!

Celia threw down the paper. She hurtled out of the room, dashed up the corridor and threw herself at Emmeline’s door, flinging it open. The room was empty. The bed looked odd and lumpy. She threw off the covers and saw two pillows, laid out like a person. She spun around, brought her hand to Emmeline’s dressing table and her jewellery box. All the rings and pendants were gone, the gold bracelet that Rudolf had given her for her eighteenth birthday.

She dashed from the room and threw herself at the banisters. ‘Mama!’ she screamed. ‘Mama!’