Chapter Seven

Cheshire, September28^th 1915.

Oaklands Manor in the autumn was one of the more beautiful sights with which I had grown up, and it had never palled. The huge oaks were cloaked in the glorious hues of red, gold and bronze, and the light that shone through them set them on fire against the bright blue sky. I stood, for a moment, looking down the long avenue of trees, remembering the day, three years ago, that Uncle Jack and I had driven away, holding in our laughter – not well enough – while Lizzy stood looking after us in the gloomy belief she had committed a terrible faux pas.

Abruptly the date hit me, it was Lizzy’s birthday. She too would turn twenty-one today, and while I had spent my birthday with my new-found friends and comrades, drinking wine, singing songs and eating cake, she would spend hers locked away from the world, and from those who loved her. A cloud seemed to pass over the brightness of the day, although the sky remained unchanged, and I turned away from the glory of the gardens; I couldn’t enjoy them while Lizzy was suffering.

I was still aching for the youth Lizzy had lost, when I stepped over the threshold into the big hall. Always so familiar, it now looked like something someone had once described to me but I’d never really seen. I looked around it with new eyes, and saw nothing but grand emptiness.

‘Evangeline!’

I turned to see my mother, her arms outstretched, coming towards me from the morning room, and it was so unlike her to seek me out that I dropped my bag and went to meet her. She had always appeared so tall, statuesque almost, and myself so small beside her, but now she seemed to have shrunk until I was the stronger of the two of us. She hugged me close, and it was more than her usual affectionate, but slightly impatient embrace.

Dodsworth had picked up my bag and waited patiently, but mother, still with one arm around me, waved her free hand for him to take the bag upstairs. Then she drew back and looked at me, her face pale.

‘How are you? You look tired. Come and sit down, I have something to tell you.’

Bemused, and a little worried, I followed her into the morning room, her favourite place in the entire house. Instead of sitting down at her writing desk, she paced the room in much the same way as she had insisted gave her a headache when I did it.

‘Mother, what’s wrong? Has something happened?’ I went cold as the thought hit me: Uncle Jack?

Mother took a short, sharp breath. ‘It’s Lawrence. He’s left. Gone.’

‘Joined up?’ Surely he was too young…but no, as strange as it was to realise, he had turned eighteen a few months ago. ‘Where is he?’

‘He’s taken a commission and gone to France. Somewhere called Courcelette.’ It sounded as though the words hurt her to say, and, for a fleeting and unfair moment I wondered if she had even once spoken of me with that same frightened note in her voice. But I shook the thought away; it wasn’t the same thing at all. Lawrence was her baby, the sole heir to everything she had struggled to hold onto since the theft of the Kalteng Star, and he was directly in the midst of the action. There was a second’s pride in the fact that he’d volunteered, and I thought of his cousins, the Wingfields – I doubted if either of those boys would see a moment’s conflict over there unless they were forced to. But the pride vanished immediately, replaced by shame: after what I had seen, was I really just as bad as all those parents who saw their sons off to die, and then proudly claimed they had contributed to an assured allied victory?

The next thought was that I should tell Will, he had always liked Lawrence and, of course, Lawrence still hero-worshipped him. I looked at Mother and realised I couldn’t tell her yet about Will and me, she had enough pain to cope with, without adding my deceit to the weight of it.

I hugged her again. ‘He’ll be fine,’ I said, sounding firmer than I felt. ‘It’ll be ages before he’s put somewhere really dangerous, and the war could end at any minute.’

She sagged against me with a little sigh of gratitude. ‘Are you sure? Ages?’

‘Absolutely positive.’ I was no such thing, but it would serve no purpose to worry her further. ‘They have lots of training, and if he’s taken a commission he’s quite likely to be based with the general staff at HQ. That’s miles behind the lines, honestly. Try not to worry, but if you can’t help it then at least don’t let him know it.’

She eased away from me again and gave me a smile. ‘You’re right, it won’t do to let him see we’re upset, he’ll have enough to think about.’ She looked calmer now, and it occurred to me to simply blurt out my news just to get it out of the way. But I still couldn’t. Not yet.

‘I’d like a bath, if I may?’

‘Of course. I’ll ask Mary to run you one.’

‘How is everyone?’ I asked as mother reached for the bell. ‘I heard about Billy Duncan, the poor boy.’ As I spoke I realised what I’d said, and steeled myself for Mother to consider Lawrence’s dangerous situation again, and lose her carefully regained equanimity. But she merely looked puzzled.

‘Billy Duncan?’

‘The stable boy.’ I tried to suppress my impatience; Mother was not cold-hearted, but she’d never been one to take too much notice of those who worked for her, particularly those she rarely saw.

‘Oh, yes. Of course. Billy.’ I looked closely at her and decided she was too distracted about Lawrence to concern herself, but I felt a prickle of the old exasperation. ‘I gather Mr…uh, the gardener’s son was killed in a gas attack earlier this year,’ she went on, and I had the rather uncharitable feeling she thought I should be appreciative of her knowledge.

I nodded. ‘Poor Joe.’ Then I added pointedly, ‘That was his name, Mother, Joe Shackleton.’

‘There’s no need to be snappy, Evangeline.’ But her words didn’t have the same bite I was used to.

I spoke softly now. ‘You’re right. I’m sorry.’ Lawrence’s absence loomed between us, and I felt almost as if I should apologise for not being him, but, again, I knew that was unfair. I wished I could switch off that new, antagonistic part of me, but something about being here, instead of working, had taken the guilt I felt and turned it into a defensive kind of anger. It wasn’t Mother’s fault, but I couldn’t make her understand through my letters alone, and unless she saw it for herself she would believe only what she heard on the news. She wouldn’t come out and visit, although I offered to arrange passes, and so she remained encased in her bubble of misinformation. We were growing further apart every day, and I couldn’t see a way back.

Mary’s pleasure at seeing me was evident, which buoyed my spirits a good deal. She took me upstairs and ran my bath while I changed out of my travelling clothes, and we arranged to meet after dinner and toast Lizzy’s birthday. It would be something to tell her the next time we wrote, and might help her to know how much we missed her and thought of her. On the other hand, would it simply serve to accentuate her isolation? I would have to think carefully about it, but I couldn’t let the day go unmarked.

After my bath I walked the three miles into Breckenhall, enjoying the chance to stretch my legs after being cramped up on the train for so long; it was still too early for dinner, and I thought Martin might like to know how Will was getting on. The afternoon was still bright, although the day was rapidly cooling, and I enjoyed the sunlight that flickered through the trees and onto my face. It felt so peaceful here, a million miles away from the hollow boom of the guns, and the chorus of pain that was my life’s usual accompaniment. It was with this quiet enjoyment still painting a smile on my lips, that I pushed open the door to Markham’s shop.

‘I say, here’s a pretty thing,’ a voice said, and I looked around. Behind me, also about to step into the shop, was a young man a few years older than me. He wasn’t very tall, but he had an impressive bearing about him nevertheless, and his smile, when he bestowed it on me, was undeniably dazzling. I nodded acknowledgement of the compliment, but did not invite conversation and stepped over the threshold, aware he was following rather more closely than politeness allowed.

‘What’s your name?’ he went on, and something about the way his eyes roved over me quashed my natural tendency towards friendliness.

‘I’m sorry, I don’t see that being any business of yours,’ I returned, quite coolly, but he just laughed.

‘Quite right too. My apologies, I can tell you’re a lady of breeding.’

‘Accepted, and thank you.’

Martin had looked up as the bell on the door rang, and warmth crossed his rather pale face. ‘Evie!’

‘Martin, how lovely to see you,’ I said, and crossed to him. We weren’t close friends, but the fact that he had been part of mine and Will’s secret made it natural that I should stretch across the counter to give him a quick hug and a peck on the cheek.

‘How’s Will?’ was his first question.

I gestured behind me. ‘Perhaps you’d like to serve this customer first, and then we’ll have the chance for a proper chat.’

‘Good, I’d like that.’ Martin looked past me at the only other customer; the man who’d followed me in. ‘Can I help you, sir?’

‘No thanks, I’m just looking,’ the man replied, and began peering at the trays in the window.

I swallowed an irritated grunt, and turned back to Martin. ‘Will’s in reserve at the moment, I was hoping he’d be able to come with me on leave, but they have an awful lot of work on. Digging, at the moment, mostly.’

‘Where?’ It was the stranger who asked, and I snapped my mouth shut over an automatic response, and my need to share what Will was doing just for the excuse to talk about him. This man was far too nosy for my liking, and we’d all seen the warnings about spies.

‘I’m sure you realise I can’t tell you that,’ I said, then added rather pointedly, ‘Are you on leave at the moment?’

‘I am,’ he said. ‘Been at the Front from the off. France.’

‘Really?’

‘Really.’ He smiled again, showing very good teeth and clear, untroubled, hazel eyes. He really was quite handsome, but something about him irked me, and I instinctively mistrusted him; had he really been out where Will was, the chances were those eyes would not be shining quite so brightly. Even if he was stationed a long way back from the lines, and had managed to avoid being involved in any direct action, it would still have left its mark.

‘Are you from Breckenhall, Mr…?’

‘No. So, tell me, Miss, is Will your husband?’

I thought he had something of a cheek asking so personal a question when he had rudely cut my casually polite one short, so I ignored him and turned back to Martin. ‘How are things with you, is business going well?’

‘As well as you could expect,’ he said with a little shrug. We talked for a little while longer, and all the time the stranger hovered nearby, taking advantage of any lull in the conversation to ask something about me, or about Will – questions I either side-stepped or ignored completely. Unnerved by the whole thing, I wondered whether I ought to tell someone. If Uncle Jack were here, he’d tell me what to do. Mother might know how I could reach him, and I’d send another plea for Lizzy too; I was still convinced he would know of some way to help her.

After a short while another customer came in, and I said goodbye to Martin, promising to pass on his greetings to Mary, and to Will the next time I wrote. To my relief the good-looking stranger stayed behind in the shop, and I only hoped Martin would adopt my stance and ignore those probing questions. I went straight into the café, where I enjoyed my first really good cup of tea for ages, before I noticed the evening had already begun to make its appearance and I ought to begin my walk back. This afternoon it had seemed a wonderful idea, to walk instead of being driven, but now I was regretting it as I came out of the café into the cool air and shivered. I drew my coat tighter about myself, then looked up at the sky.

‘Can I drive you somewhere?’

I turned, already disliking that voice, and shook my head. ‘No, thank you. I’ll enjoy the walk.’

The young man looked at me consideringly, his head tilted slightly, that smile still playing about his lips. ‘You’ve taken a strong dislike to me, haven’t you, Miss Creswell?’

I frowned. ‘I suppose Martin told you my name?’

‘No, the lady who came in just before you left. She was terribly impressed to see you, I gather you’re one of the family from the big manor house?’

‘Excuse me,’ I said, and went to walk past him, but he caught at my arm.

‘Miss Creswell, listen. I’m sorry I’ve made myself objectionable by my questions. I understand you’re a lady of high standing, and I’d like you to accept my apology in the spirit with which it’s expressed.’

‘Accepted,’ I said. ‘Now if you wouldn’t mind letting go of me?’

He dropped my arm as if he’d only just realised he was still holding it. ‘Again, my sincere apologies. Won’t you please let me drive you back to the manor?’

‘No, thank you.’

He crossed his arms over his chest, and pursed his lips. ‘Your reputation precedes you, I shouldn’t be surprised you’re so rude,’ he said.

I just gaped at him, then turned and walked away. My reputation? I had been abrupt today, certainly, but in my defence I had been provoked into suspicion. The opinion of this stranger had no impact on my conscience, but I didn’t like the thought that people in town considered me anything but pleasant and easy-going.

My mood soured still further as I arrived home and saw our dinner guests for the evening just getting out of their motor. David’s grandfather, Samuel Wingfield, brought out the worst in me, and always had. His wife Lydia, and daughter-in-law Clarissa, rated no higher in my good opinion, and I had to force myself to smile at them as they alighted. Matthew, David’s father, seemed the only Wingfield who had any natural friendliness about him; the others were well-armed in social graces, but behaved as though they owned everything on which they stood at any given time.

Matthew, quiet and pleasant-looking, gave me a genuine smile and spoke softly. ‘Evie, sweetheart. We’ve heard all about what you’re doing out there. So proud of you.’

I returned his smile and nodded my thanks, and took his arm when he proffered it, letting him lead me into the house. ‘Will your boys join up?’

‘Robert will, I think. David seems to have some deep objection on moral grounds.’

I looked at him but his face was fixed ahead, and I saw his brow drawn down. I decided not to press him on it. ‘How about yourself?’

‘I leave next week,’ he said. ‘Defence of the Suez Canal.’

‘Ah.’ I had read about this, and it was nice to be able to get the opinion of one who was going to play a part. ‘Why do you think they took that decision? To put such a large force in place, instead of despatching the troops where they’re needed most?’

Matthew looked at me with a little smile. ‘I can hear echoes of Jack Carlisle in that question,’ he said, with real warmth. ‘The fact is, we can’t tell whether the Turks have given up, or whether they’re just waiting for us to redeploy to Gallipoli before they launch another offensive.’

‘But surely, with things going so badly already at Gallipoli, the sensible thing would be to do just that? I mean, the Dardanelles Committee –’

‘Evangeline!’ Mother’s voice cut throughmy words. ‘Leave Matthew alone, dear, I’m sure he’d rather have a drink and some peace and quiet than talk about military strategy.’

Matthew waited until she’d passed us by, then winked at me. ‘We’ll talk about it later, and I look forward to it,’ he said in a low voice, and squeezed my arm before letting go and following mother to the sitting room.

I went upstairs to change for dinner, and Mary helped me. I found this very hard to get used to; since I had first left home almost a year ago, and I so often slept in my clothes now, it felt like a dreadful waste of everyone’s time to have someone ready my gown and sort my jewellery. Once dressed, I sat before my mirror and looked at my reflection with a rare twinge of sadness for what I saw. There had been shock and dismay on Mother’s face when, on my first home leave and removing my hat, I’d revealed short, clumpy-cut hair.

It had seemed such a trivial thing to make her react in such a way, that I’d grown cross and simply said, ‘Lice, Mother,’ before realising her reaction to something she could actually see was only representative of the way she felt about my chosen wartime role. To soften the air between us I made sure to dress my hair as prettily as I could while I was at home, and she had wordlessly shown her gratitude by helping me.

But tonight it was Mary’s job, and by the time she had finished adding little sprays of feather and beads, I actually felt quite feminine again and I wished Will were here to see it; the wide, belted waist of my gown fitted neatly and I knew he would have loved to feel the suggestion of curves beneath the fringed silk, tantalisingly separated from his touch by the smooth material. The small heels I wore raised me a little higher, but I would still have been shorter than him, my cheek would fit in the hollow of his shoulder, my head brushing his jawline. If he was here to hold me now, I would slide my arms around his neck and, clothing or not, no part of me would be separated from him, not one inch of me left cold and alone.

But Will wasn’t here. While I stood in this bright, clean room, dressed like a princess and with my eyes closed in sudden yearning, my husband lay in a field in another country, in a muddy uniform and wet boots, weighed down with weapons and wire-cutters, rations and rifle, blanket and bayonet. He might be talking with his fellow soldiers, taking his turn at sleeping, or playing cards. He might be thinking of me, he might be thinking only of somewhere dry and warm to sleep, not caring if he was alone or with twenty others. He might be using those strong, talented fingers to write me a love-filled letter, or to craft some piece of scrap paper into a boat, or a tree – never a rose – or he might be using them to load mortars or clean his gun.

But whatever he was doing, he wasn’t here.

‘He’ll be fine, Evie.’ Mary’s voice cut through my sudden, tight-throated dismay at the direction my thoughts had taken. I felt a tear slide onto my cheek, and wiped it quickly away.

‘I know. I’m as sure as I can ever be that he’s safe at the moment. But he’s…’ I trailed off, shaking my head.

‘Too far away,’ Mary supplied gently, and I gave her a trembling smile, and nodded.

Dinner started off as the usual stiffly polite affair it always was when the Wingfields came. I gathered they were still regular visitors, as if they couldn’t quite trust Mother to run Oaklands properly now Uncle Jack had gone away, but I was passionately relieved that neither David nor his younger brother Robert saw fit to join them.

‘Are you all set for your travels?’ Mother asked Matthew. He nodded and opened his mouth to answer, only to be pre-empted by Clarissa, who seemed unable to pass a single comment without using it to needle me in some fashion.

‘Quite understand the men going off to fight, but surely not the place for a well-bred young lady.’

‘On the contrary,’ I said, keeping my voice even. ‘It’s the perfect way for us to contribute. Free up others who might be better suited for helping with war work, or doing the men’s jobs. I know I’d be useless at that.’

‘That’s not the only choice, of course.’

‘What do you mean?’ But we all knew.

‘Well, you’re twenty-one now, isn’t it time you were thinking about marriage?’

I raised my glass and caught the eye of Simon, who stepped forward and poured me some more wine. For a moment I concentrated on thanking him, while I composed my reply. ‘I’m sure there will be plenty of time for that when the war is over,’ I said at last, somewhat evasively.

‘I wouldn’t be too sure. All the young men are disappearing rather quickly,’ she said, waving her glass at Simon, too. ‘The last thing you want is to be left at home, with only the weak, the enfeebled and the cowards to choose from.’

I couldn’t help it. ‘When do David and Robert join their units?’

Matthew coughed, drawing our attention, and I saw his face had gone red as if he’d swallowed his food too quickly. As I began to turn back to Clarissa, however, I saw the grin that touched the corners of his mouth, though he raised his napkin to hide it; it was his turn to remind me of Uncle Jack now, and I wondered how Samuel and Lydia had managed to produce such a thoroughly decent son.

Clarissa scowled at her husband. ‘Those are your boys she’s mocking, Matthew.’

‘You ought to be pleased they’re not going,’ Mother said, and shame crept over me at the sudden desolation in her voice.

‘They have rather too much to contribute at home to go gallivanting overseas,’ Clarissa said. I daren’t look at Mother, and even Samuel flinched.

‘Now, dear,’ he said. ‘Lily’s son’s a fine young man, doing a very brave thing.’

‘Of course,’ she said quickly, and reached out to squeeze Mother’s hand. ‘I didn’t mean to imply otherwise, darling. Please forgive me?’

Mother inclined her head and removed her hand from Clarissa’s, pretending she wanted to pick up her wine glass. I remembered her telling me what she privately thought of Clarissa, and my topsy-turvy feelings towards her swerved back to warmth once again.

Clarissa returned to the attack. ‘Of course, now the Kalteng Star is missing, your choices will be far more limited,’ she went on, wiping my smile away before it had fully formed.

‘Clarissa!’ Matthew’s hand hit the table, making us all jump, but she turned a calm face on him and spoke quietly.

‘I’m only saying what we’re all thinking.’

‘It’s not your place,’ he told her tightly, and for the first time I saw his eyes harden as he looked at her.

‘She’s right though,’ Samuel said. ‘You’re a pretty enough girl, Evangeline, but you might think about growing your hair again. Gentlemen don’t like to think they’re paying court to a tomboy.’

I didn’t know what to say, and looked to Mother for support, but she had turned inward as she drank her wine, too fast, and I don’t think she’d even heard anything after Matthew had thumped the table.

‘I’m not trying to attact gentlemen,’ I said, allowing some of my own anger into my voice. ‘I have a job to do.’

‘And I’m sure it’s a lot of fun, playing glamorous nursemaid to those soldiers,’ Clarissa said, ‘but you won’t find a husband among the rank and file. An officer now, that would be quite acceptable.’

‘I don’t want an officer! I’m –’ I managed to choke the word off just in time. I might have been tempted to blurt out the truth earlier, to Mother, but not in front of the Wingfields. ‘I’m keen on someone already.’

Samuel raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh? What’s his family?’

Matthew sighed. ‘What does it matter?’ He looked at me with an apologetic half-smile, which I didn’t return; nice or not, he was a Wingfield, and I was too angry with them.

Lydia had so far been silent, but I could feel her eyes on me now, although she was speaking to her son. ‘Your father’s right, Matthew. What if that awful maid of hers owns up about where she’s hidden that diamond, and it comes back into the family? Whoever Evie marries –’

‘Must be worthy of it, I know!’ I said, my voice rising. ‘But Lizzy didn’t steal the diamond, and I hope it never turns up.’

‘But this man you’re talking about has the right –’

‘He doesn’t want it!’

‘He knows about it?’ Samuel said, leaning forward, suddenly eager.

‘Yes, he’s always known about it. He loves me even without it, and I love him.’

Now Mother seemed to swim back from her dark thoughts about Lawrence, and take note of the conversation. ‘Is this the same young man you were seeing before you went away?’

The truth was pushing at me from inside, desperate to escape in its complete form, but all I would allow was, ‘Yes. His name’s Will Davies, he was the butcher’s boy before the war.’

There was a silence that stretched and stretched, and then Clarissa spoke. ‘The butcher’s boy. Frank Markham’s?’

‘I didn’t know you knew Mr Markham.’

She didn’t reply, and began eating again, and I wondered where she might have crossed paths with our local butcher, living in Shrewford as she did. But the question was pushed aside as Mother spoke.

‘I thought you’d seen sense where that boy was concerned, Evangeline. He’s never going to amount to anything, Mr Markham has a new apprentice now, and he’ll be the one who takes over the business if Markham doesn’t come back from the war.’

‘He has a new apprentice because Will is away fighting!’ I was finding it hard to keep my temper. ‘He’s over there right now, risking his life for –’

‘Yes, yes, all very admirable,’ Samuel broke in, ‘but you need to be concerned with this family, and how it will go on. Especially now…’ He seemed to realise he must not complete that sentence, and coughed into silence.

Mother pushed her plate away and stood up.‘I’m going to lie down,’ she said in a trembling voice.

‘Lily, darling, don’t be silly,’ Clarissa said. ‘Samuel didn’t mean anything. Did you?’

He cleared his throat, and stood up too, speaking more gently. ‘No, of course not. Young Lawrence will do splendidly over there, and then come back, marry a nice girl, and the Creswell family will march on.’

I looked around the table. At Mother, standing on legs I knew would be shaking beneath her expensive gown; then at Lydia, her face directed down at her plate; at Clarissa, eyes on her father-in-law, who stood with his hand outstretched towards his hostess; and at Matthew, white-faced and still as he looked at his father. Why was I here? I felt Flanders calling out to me, as surely as I heard the heavy ticking of the hallway grandfather clock cutting through the silence in this room.

At last Mother reached out and accepted Samuel’s conciliatory touch. ‘Perhaps I shall just go to the sitting room and wait for you there,’ she said.

‘Don’t you want dessert?’

She shook her head, and Samuel laid his napkin down. ‘Then none of us shall have it.’

‘Why ever not?’ Mother said. ‘Mrs Hannah has been working very hard, she’ll be most upset if you refuse it now. I’ll go and wait, you stay and finish.’

I didn’t want to stay either, and I was surprised at the strength of my longing to be back at Number Twelve with Boxy, even freezing cold and exhausted. If I had the choice between that, and sitting here being served exquisite food on fine bone china, surrounded by the Wingfields, there would be no hesitation.

But I stayed, if only to ensure they didn’t make off with the silverware.

Later, after an excruciating evening listening to all the reasons why Will Davies would be the ruination of me, and having to bite my tongue several times to avoid snapping that it was too late and I didn’t care what anyone thought, the Wingfields left. I was at the end of an extremely short tether by now, and as Mother prepared to retire for the night, I stood up and said, ‘We’re married.’

She looked at me blankly for a moment, then went absolutely white, and sat down. ‘What?’ she whispered.

‘Will and me. Married. We got married right before he left for France.’

‘But…why didn’t you tell me?’

It was not the question, or the reaction, I’d expected, and I didn’t know how to answer. ‘Because of this,’ I said at length. ‘Because of how you would react, how it would make you feel. I couldn’t bear to think you might try to stop it, and then the longer it went on, the harder it was to tell you the truth.’

Mother shook her head. ‘You thought I would try to stop you?’

‘After what you said, yes.’

‘What I said?’

‘The same as Lydia said tonight. About my husband being…worthy.’ Anger bubbled to the surface. ‘Will Davies is worth a million Kalteng Stars!’

Mother held up a hand. ‘I understand, but you’ve chosen to risk our future by marrying someone who, if he lives, and of course I hope he does, will return to you with no livelihood, no money and no prospects.’

‘He’s got a profession.’

‘He was still the apprentice when he –’

‘He’s a skilled man, an artist.’

‘An artist?’ She rose again and began to pace in her agitation. ‘What on earth are you thinking? What kind of life will you have, the two of you? No Kalteng Star to win your way into society, a marriage so far beneath you as to be laughable, and your defence is that he’s an artist?’

‘He creates beautiful things,’ I said, and the memory of the joyful innocence we’d known twisted my insides tighter. ‘I’ll show you.’

‘I’m sure he does,’ she turned to me, and her voice gentled. ‘Darling, listen to me. Artist or not, talented or not, he’s not right for this family. Your loyalties are to this family. You have to put an end to this.’

‘No.’

She looked at me helplessly, and with a surge of relief I saw something battling in her eyes: she understood. She really did, deep down. But she was scared. Everything was falling apart, and she was just plain scared.

I took her hand. ‘I’m glad I’ve told you at last,’ I said softly, ‘and I’m sorry for the pain I’ve caused you. But I love Will, I’ve loved him for three years, and he loves me. I don’t care how hard it is for us after the war, we’ll make our way as best we can. We’ll live where we can, work where we can, and we’ll be happy.’

It seemed too quiet without the distant shout of the bombardment, and I wondered if I would ever get used to total silence again. Mother looked down at our hands, hers pale and elegant, mine rough and reddened, with chapped knuckles and splintered fingernails, and she raised them to her lips.

‘I hope I’m wrong, Evie,’ she said quietly. ‘And I hope he knows what he has in you.’

‘He knows me with all my faults, and he still loves me,’ I said. ‘That’s all I could ever hope for.’

She nodded, ‘I’ll see you at breakfast,’ she said. ‘Sleep well, and perhaps tomorrow we can talk a little more.’

I left her, feeling more than a little wretched despite the relief of having told her at last, and I suspected that tomorrow she would revert, at least in part, to the cool, detached woman I knew so well. But tonight she was just my mother, and I had broken her heart.

Mary and I sat together in my rooms and drank the hot toddies she’d brought up. We toasted Lizzy, and I told her about the dinner, and then about the conversation with Mother when the Wingfields had left. ‘She’s bending to my way of thinking, but it won’t last, I know it.’

‘She’s been under so much strain lately,’ Mary said. ‘Ever since young Lawrence accepted his commission. You can’t help but feel for her.’

‘I know. Everything’s changing.’

‘You always said it would.’

‘But I didn’t think it would take something like the war to make it happen. I thought it would be thanks to the suffrage movement.’

‘You don’t seem to be as favourable towards the Suffragettes as you were,’ she observed. ‘Why’s that?’

I shook my head. ‘I went to an anti-suffrage rally once, before the war, just so I could reinforce my beliefs. But things got quite nasty and I had cause to rethink things. I still believe in the movement, that hasn’t changed, but I’m not so sure about the methods anymore.’ I shrugged, and smiled faintly. ‘It seems we might find a better way to express ourselves than setting fire to buildings and committing suicide.’

‘Put like that,’ Mary agreed with a little laugh, ‘I’m sure you’re right. Lizzy said she had to clean Sylvia Pankhurst’s cell once, after she was forcibly fed. Said it’s absolutely horrible what they do to those poor women.’

‘Then there must be a better way. I hope we can find it. But first, there’s the small matter of a war to win. As for the war with Mother,’ I looked into my empty glass and sighed. ‘Object achieved, and a new Front’s been established.’ I handed the glass to Mary, who put it back on the little silver tray. ‘She called me Evie.’

‘She did what?’

‘Only once, but I think we only need to hold our position now, in order to declare victory.’

‘She’s not really the enemy,’ Mary said with mild reproach.

‘No, but sometimes it’s your own troops who have the capacity to hurt you the most.’ I looked up at her, with sadness pulling at my heart. ‘I’m going back tomorrow.’

Mary pursed her lips, but I could see she understood, even if she didn’t like it. ‘I’ll make sure you’re breakfasted well,’ was all she said.

And so, only a day after I’d arrived in what should have been the warm and welcoming safety of my home, I was back on the ferry to Calais. Mother had accepted my decision with, I was dismayed to see, something close to relief. I had no doubt that she worried, and that she missed me, but if my coming of age had been difficult for her, then the way I was now had drawn an even heavier curtain between us and she could no longer fight her way through the folds. So I was returning to the only life that made any sense now, looking forward and not back, regretting nothing.

It was less than a year later that I got the telegram.