Mr Rodgers the land agent was in the estate office just behind the stable yard. He jumped up from behind his desk when Millie strode in.
‘Lady Amelia! I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting you—’
‘What’s all this about the RAF taking over my house?’ Millie interrupted him.
Colour rose in his face. ‘Ah.’
‘Well? Is it true?’
He cleared his throat. ‘I’m afraid it is, my lady. The letter came three days ago.’
Millie stared at him, astonished. ‘Why didn’t you tell me about it immediately?’
‘I – I didn’t want to worry you.’
‘Worry me?’ she echoed in disbelief. ‘I’m not a child, Mr Rodgers! Would you have kept this news from my father?’
‘No, of course not. But—’
You’re not your father. The words hung unspoken in the air between them.
Millie forced herself to stay calm. ‘When were you going to tell me?’ she asked. ‘Or did you think I wouldn’t notice when the RAF moved in to my house?’
Mr Rodgers stared down at the papers on his desk. ‘I was trying to sort something out,’ he said quietly. ‘I hoped it wouldn’t come to anything …’
‘And in the meantime you decided to keep me in the dark,’ Millie said. ‘You had no right to do that, Mr Rodgers. I am responsible for Billinghurst now, and you cannot make decisions without consulting me.’
‘I apologise, my lady. I – I was only trying to help.’
Seeing Mr Rodgers’s hangdog expression, Millie was instantly sorry she’d snapped at him. She had come to rely on her land agent in the six months since her father had died. She knew nothing about estate management and Mr Rodgers had been the voice of experience, offering her sound advice and guiding her gently but patiently when she had been too dazed by grief to make a single decision.
It couldn’t have been easy for him either, she reflected. He had been her father’s land agent for as long as Millie could remember. It must have been difficult for him to suddenly find himself taking orders from a young woman he’d known since she was a little girl.
‘So what exactly is going to happen?’ she asked quietly.
‘According to the letter I received, the RAF wants the land at the south-east corner of the park for an airfield.’
‘I know,’ Millie said. ‘They’ve already started measuring it up.’
Mr Rodgers winced. ‘I’m sorry, my lady.’
‘It doesn’t matter now,’ Millie said. ‘Go on – what else do they want?’
‘Perhaps it’s best if you read their letter?’ Mr Rodgers handed it over.
Millie scanned the letter, barely taking in the details, discussion over a fair rent, etc. All she could see was that the RAF and Royal Canadian Air Force planned to take over her house as an officers’ billet and training centre for a bomber squadron.
At least they weren’t fighter pilots, Millie thought. She wasn’t sure she could bear the sight of Spitfires from her window. Not after what had happened to Seb.
‘As I said, I’m trying to prevent it,’ Mr Rodgers said. ‘I’ve been writing letters, making telephone calls …’
‘Why would you want to prevent it?’ Millie asked, passing the letter back to him.
He looked perplexed. ‘Pardon me, my lady, but I assumed … I didn’t think you’d want to have your home taken away from you?’
‘Billinghurst Manor is a big place, Mr Rodgers. I’m sure we can find room for a few RAF officers.’
‘But the RAF, my lady? Surely under the circumstances—’
‘There is a war on, Mr Rodgers, and we all have to play our part,’ Millie interrupted him before he could mention Seb’s name. ‘I would have liked to be informed, that’s all. Does my grandmother know about this?’
Mr Rodgers looked pained. ‘No, my lady.’
‘Then I suppose I’ll have to tell her, won’t I?’
‘Would you like me to break the news to her, my lady?’
Once again, Millie saw herself through his eyes, as a child who needed to be shielded. ‘I’m sure it would be better coming from me.’ She gave him a grim smile. ‘Wish me luck, won’t you?’
‘I’m sure you won’t need it, my lady.’ But the glint in his eyes told a different story.
She found the Dowager Countess in the drawing room, taking tea with Mrs Huntley-Osborne. Millie’s heart sank at the sight of the village worthy. Elizabeth Huntley-Osborne’s visits to Billinghurst seemed to be all too frequent these days, usually when she wanted something.
What was it now? Millie wondered impatiently. Another salvage drive? Or more fund-raising for the Russians?
‘Ah, there you are, Amelia.’ Her grandmother put down her cup. ‘Mrs Huntley-Osborne is collecting clothes for refugees in Europe.’
‘I wondered if you had anything to spare, Lady Amelia?’ their visitor said. She was dressed in her usual no-nonsense uniform of a tweed overcoat and sturdy brogues. A thin strip of fox fur draped around her wide shoulders was her only nod to fashion. But she still managed to look overdressed beside the austere elegance of Millie’s grandmother Lady Rettingham.
‘Yes, of course. I’ll get one of the maids to look for something.’
‘There’s no need. I’ve already asked my maid to go through your wardrobe,’ her grandmother put in.
‘How – thoughtful of you.’ Millie sent her a frowning look, which her grandmother completely ignored. She turned back to their guest. ‘If you don’t mind, I need to speak to my grandmother in private?’
Mrs Huntley-Osborne’s brows rose. ‘Oh, well, I’m sure I don’t want to be in the way …’ But her sizeable backside remained firmly glued to her seat.
‘Nonsense, my dear, you must stay and finish your tea,’ Lady Rettingham said smoothly. ‘I’m sure whatever Amelia has to discuss with me can wait.’
‘Of course.’ Millie retreated to the window seat, trying to suppress her annoyance as Mrs Huntley-Osborne settled back in her chair. Millie was mistress of Billinghurst and yet she felt like a child, dismissed into a corner to play by the adults.
She stared out of the window, her attention drifting out over the grounds to the front of the house, where a group of land girls were busy turning the formal front lawn into a vegetable patch.
Their raucous laughter made Millie smile. Once upon a time she had been that young and fancy-free herself. As plain Millie Benedict, she had defied her grandmother’s wishes and taken herself off to London to train as a nurse. Those three years, sharing an attic room with two other students, had been some of the happiest of her life.
But when she looked back now, she could hardly believe she was the same person. Sometimes she wondered what had happened to the light-hearted girl she once was.
At last, Mrs Huntley-Osborne put down her cup and roused herself to leave. ‘I mustn’t take up any more of your time,’ she said. ‘Besides, I have a meeting of the prisoner-of-war committee in an hour, and then I have to talk to the WVS about another salvage drive. Busy, busy, busy!’ she trilled.
‘You leave us all feeling quite exhausted, my dear.’ Lady Rettingham’s voice was laced with double meaning. Millie glanced at Mrs Huntley-Osborne, but luckily she didn’t seem to notice.
Millie forced herself to stay patient as her grandmother made a great show of saying goodbye to their guest. Then, once she had left, Lady Rettingham turned on Millie.
‘Really, Amelia, you could be more gracious. I hardly knew what to do with myself when you came rushing in here like a hoyden.’
‘She’s very tiresome,’ Millie said.
‘Of course she is,’ Lady Rettingham dismissed. ‘Her sort always are. But she’s also a very useful woman to have on your side if you want to get anything done. You should remember that.’ She sat down in her chair and smoothed her skirt over her knees. ‘Now, what is it that’s so important you had to rush in here dressed like a farmhand to tell me?’
‘We’ve had a letter from the Air Ministry.’
‘Whatever do they want?’
Millie met her grandmother’s gaze as steadily as she could. ‘This house.’
Lady Rettingham sat ramrod straight in her chair as Millie explained about Billinghurst Manor being requisitioned. Her grandmother’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t lose a fraction of her outward composure. As she was always telling Millie, it was vulgar for ladies to display their emotions.
‘Strangers?’ she said, when Millie had finished. ‘Here? In our home? But where are we supposed to live?’
‘I don’t know. I imagine they’ll leave us a few rooms. Or we could move into the Lodge?’
‘The Lodge is not big enough to swing a cat in!’
‘It’s big enough for you and Henry and me.’
‘And what about the staff?’
‘We’d keep on as many as we could. But I expect most of them will be called up soon.’ All the footmen, the grooms and most of the estate workers had already enlisted, and now they were calling up the women, too.
The Dowager Countess looked horrified. Poor Granny, Millie thought. She was an indomitable woman, but since the war began she had gradually seen her whole way of life disappear. And all on top of the grief of losing her only son six months ago.
Lady Rettingham roused herself. ‘This cannot be allowed to happen,’ she said flatly.
‘But there’s nothing we can do,’ Millie said.
‘Nonsense, there must be something. They’re trying to bully us, to take advantage. We must fight it. I’ll talk to Rodgers, have him write a letter—’
‘He’s already done that, and it didn’t work. Besides,’ Millie said, ‘I’m rather glad the house is being requisitioned.
Her grandmother stared at her blankly. ‘Are you quite mad?’
‘Think about it, Granny. These men are fighting for our freedom. The least we can do is offer them somewhere to live.’
‘Let’s see if you’re so glad when we have aircraft landing on the lawn,’ her grandmother said darkly. She shook her head. ‘Your father would never have put up with it.’
‘Actually, I think Father would have been proud to do his bit,’ Millie said, but her grandmother ignored her.
‘Not that this would have happened if he were still alive,’ she murmured. ‘They wouldn’t have dared come up with such a plan then. He would never have stood for it.’
‘Yes, well, Father isn’t here, is he?’ Millie said. ‘There’s only me.’
‘More’s the pity,’ her grandmother muttered.
Millie ignored the barb. ‘As I said, I’m all for the idea,’ she said. ‘And I shall be doing everything I can to make the RAF welcome.’
Lady Rettingham’s jaw tightened. ‘We’ll see about that.’
Millie thought about her grandmother’s words as she went upstairs to the nursery. She hoped the Dowager wouldn’t take it upon herself to fight the requisitioning of the house. She could be very stubborn when she wanted to be.
But it was more than that. It upset Millie that her grandmother didn’t trust her to do what was best.
More’s the pity. The words still stung, even though she was used to her grandmother’s harsh tongue. As if Millie wasn’t painfully aware every day that her father was dead, and that she was a poor substitute. She was doing her best to run the estate as he would have wanted, but it wasn’t easy.
Nanny Perks was sitting in the chair by the nursery fire, doing some mending. She looked up with a frown as Millie entered.
‘Lady Amelia.’ She put down her sewing and stirred herself reluctantly. She was a sturdy middle-aged woman with thick dark eyebrows set low over disapproving black eyes.
‘Hello, Nanny. Where’s Henry?’
‘I’ve put him down for his afternoon nap.’
‘I’ll just peep round the door …’ Millie started towards it but Nanny Perks stepped into her path, blocking the way.
‘You can’t,’ she said. ‘He’s sleeping.’
No sooner had she said the words than a small voice called out, ‘Mama?’
‘It sounds as if he’s awake to me.’
Millie made to move past, but Nanny Perks stepped into her path.
‘You can’t disturb his routine,’ she insisted. ‘You’ll spoil him.’
They eyed each other for a moment. There was a steeliness in the nanny’s manner that unnerved Millie. Sometimes she had to remind herself that she was Miss Perks’s employer and not a naughty child herself.
‘Mama?’ Henry’s voice rose, plaintive and hopeful, from the other side of the door. Millie brushed past Nanny Perks and opened it.
Henry was already out of bed by the time she opened the door. He launched himself at her, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist. Millie ruffled his hair, all her anxieties melting away. ‘Hello, my angel.’
‘Have you come to play, Mummy?’ He looked up at her with imploring eyes.
‘No.’ Nanny Perks’s voice was firm. ‘It is not playtime, Master Henry, as you well know.’
Millie gave him a conspiratorial wink. ‘Perhaps just a little game,’ she said. ‘What will it be? Snakes and Ladders?’
Behind her, she could feel disapproval coming off the nanny in waves. ‘Please try not to be too lively with him, Lady Amelia,’ she said, tight-lipped.
Henry rushed to fetch the game, and they seated themselves at the small table beside the window, overlooking the park. Millie watched her son as he carefully set out the counters and the dice. His cheeks were bright pink, his fair curls standing up in unruly tufts. He looked so like his father it was heartbreaking. Every time Millie looked at him she saw Sebastian in those steady grey eyes and wide smile.
‘I have something very exciting to tell you, darling,’ Millie told him. ‘We’re going to be moving to a new house soon. And you’ll have a new nursery, and a new bedroom. And guess what else?’ She leaned forward confidingly. ‘There will be aeroplanes in our park.’
Henry’s face lit up. ‘Real aeroplanes?’ He looked out of the window, pressing his nose to the glass. ‘Where?’
‘They’re not here yet. They have to build a special place for them first, called an airfield. It’ll be just beyond those trees.’ She pointed out the spot to him.
‘Can we see them when they come?’ Henry asked.
‘I’m sure we can.’ Millie smiled at his enthusiasm. If only her grandmother had been so keen! ‘That’s why we have to move out of the house, you see. So the pilots have somewhere to live.’
‘Pilots?’ He tilted his head to one side. ‘Will Daddy be coming home?’
The sudden shaft of pain caught her unawares. ‘No, darling,’ she said patiently. ‘Daddy is dead, don’t you remember?’
Henry nodded, but Millie knew he hadn’t taken it in. He wasn’t yet four years old, he didn’t understand what death meant. He had attended his grandfather’s funeral, but he still wandered the house sometimes, looking for his ‘grumps’ to play ball with him.
Millie wasn’t sure if he truly remembered his father. Henry had been barely three years old when Sebastian’s plane was shot down over the English Channel. Millie did her best to keep his memory alive in her son’s mind, telling Henry stories and showing him pictures. But as the months went by, she feared that Sebastian was slipping further away from Henry’s thoughts. Soon he would be nothing more than a face in a photograph, no more real than one of the characters in his favourite fairy story.
Sometimes Millie almost wished Seb would fade from her memory, too. Then perhaps she wouldn’t miss him so desperately.
‘Mama!’ Her son’s impatient cry made her look up. Henry had set up the board and was waiting for her to start. Millie smiled and picked up the dice, but her thoughts were still elsewhere, out there with her husband.
She didn’t like to think of the way he died. She preferred to remember him in life, before the wretched war took him away from her, before he joined the RAF and put on his slate-blue pilot’s uniform. She remembered their first meeting during her coming-out seas
on. She was a reluctant debutante and he was her best friend’s brother. As the younger son of a duke, he could have had his pick of the society beauties, but he had never left her side, gallantly squiring her to the various dinners and dances. At the time, Millie thought he was doing it out of the kindness of his heart, and as a favour to her friend Sophia. It was only years afterwards he admitted he had been in love with Millie since the moment they’d met.
For her, love had come more slowly. She had spent three years in London training as a nurse. During that time there had been several flirtations, but through it all Seb had been there, waiting patiently for her, and his steadfast love had finally won her over.
They had married after Millie finished her training, and those two years were idyllically happy. She was a young wife and mother, living a charmed life on her family estate where the sun always shone and she didn’t have a worry in the world.
Even when war broke out and Seb joined the RAF, it hadn’t dawned on Millie that anything could happen to threaten her perfect existence. Until that awful morning in September 1940 when the telegram had arrived.
‘You’ve landed on a snake, Mama! Look! Now you’ve got to go right back and start again.’
‘So I have.’ Millie moved her counter, her thoughts still elsewhere.
That day had changed everything. By the following spring, her father had died of a heart attack, leaving Millie to look after her grandmother, her son and the estate.
‘I’ve won!’ Henry gave a shout of joy. Almost immediately, Nanny Perks swooped in.
‘It’s time for your nap now, Master Henry.’
‘But I want to stay with Mama!’
‘Let him stay—’ Millie started to say, but Nanny Perks already had Henry firmly by the arm.
‘I’m sure your mother is far too busy,’ she said sternly. ‘She has work to do, just as I have.’
Her message wasn’t lost on Millie. This was Nanny Perks’s domain, not hers. She didn’t belong there.
So where did she belong? Millie wondered as she walked away sadly, Henry’s cries of protest ringing in her ears. Mr Rodgers and her grandmother didn’t think she was capable of running the estate, Nanny Perks didn’t think she had any place looking after her son. Everyone insisted on treating her as if she were a hopeless child.
Nightingales Under the Mistletoe Page 3