by Hannah Emery
On the day that they were due to arrive, Evelyn waited impatiently at her bedroom window. She was frenzied with excitement, her fingers tapping on the sill restlessly. She had told herself she shouldn’t move from this spot, because she didn’t want to miss the first glimpse of the other children. She didn’t want to miss anything. Evelyn’s bedroom was in one of the turrets of the Castle du Rêve, with rounded walls and an arched window that rose so high it almost touched the ceiling. Through her window, beyond the shining leaves of the trees outside, Evelyn could see the silver sea and a boat bobbing in the distance. She wondered how the evacuees would arrive.
A year ago, Richard the chauffeur would perhaps have brought some of the children back in his long black car. But he’d gone to war now, his face red with excitement about what Evelyn thought might be a more thrilling life. She wondered if Richard might be back soon, when the war was all done with. She’d heard whispers of their daily, Elizabeth, leaving them too, her father hissing that she’d simply have to stay, that they couldn’t do without her, and her mother sighing, and then her father saying they’d just have to see what happened. If Elizabeth was going, nobody had told Evelyn, but then again, nobody ever really told Evelyn anything, even though she was almost eleven.
When Evelyn had been sitting at her window for what seemed like a whole year, an ugly red bus swung into the drive. She watched, her stomach flipping with excitement as children jumped down from the doors of the bus, each holding a suitcase. How on earth would Evelyn pack if she were to leave the castle suddenly? She’d want to take all sorts of things: the hairbrush that her mother had given to her on her birthday, her books, her paints, her special cup that she drank her milk from. Had these children left behind all of their favourite things? She wanted to ask them, to know everything about them this minute. She jumped to her feet and ran along the corridor outside her bedroom, past golden-framed paintings of her grand ancestors, down the wide staircase that swept down the centre of the castle. She reached the front door as it was being pulled open by Elizabeth. The smell hit Evelyn moments later: a strange, potent mix of unbathed flesh, urine and what she could only imagine was the city and its rats and smoky grey houses.
The children looked younger than Evelyn, except for one girl with long legs who was much taller than all the others. They were louder than she’d expected them to be, some chatting, some coughing, others simply making noise by shuffling their feet and banging their brown cases down. They all wore labels around their necks and Evelyn squinted to see what was written on them, but couldn’t make out anything except for blurs of numbers and letters.
As she crept closer towards them, some of them noticed her. A boy smiled, revealing crooked teeth with a gap in the very middle. When the tall girl smiled and said hello to Evelyn, she revealed the very same teeth. Brother and sister, Evelyn realised as she stared and stared. Some of the children didn’t smile at all. Some held onto one another’s hands and looked away from her, up at the wooden-panelled ceiling. Others looked down at the polished floor. One boy ran his dirty shoe along it, as though he was testing out ice for skating on.
Evelyn’s mother and father appeared at the door behind the children within a few moments. Her father nodded at the group, and her mother touched a few on the shoulder gently as she passed them to enter the castle. Evelyn thought about the children’s own mothers and how they might feel about all this. What would it be like to say goodbye to your family? Quite exciting, she supposed.
‘Welcome to Castle du Rêve,’ Evelyn’s mother said, her voice tinkling in the big hallway. ‘I’m Catherine du Rêve and this is my husband Robert. We hope you’ll all be comfortable here.’
Some of the children laughed and Evelyn felt herself turn red as she wondered what was funny. But her mother didn’t seem to notice.
‘Elizabeth, our daily, has made up plenty of beds in our spare rooms. If you’d like to get settled, then perhaps have a look round before teatime at five that would be fine. There are some rooms we’d rather you left alone, if you’d be so kind. Elizabeth will show you around and tell you which places must be avoided. I’m very sure we will all live quite peacefully together.’
Evelyn joined in with the line of children as they stormed up the stairs of the castle, their cases banging, their voices high and loud. She felt like one of them, like she belonged with them.
This, she thought happily, will change everything.
The tall girl was called Mary and she was thirteen. The little boy with the matching gapped front teeth was her brother, Sid, and was ten, the same age as Evelyn. Sid was rather loud and ran everywhere instead of walking. Evelyn liked them the most. The other boys seemed to have less energy than Sid. There was a little fat boy with a coat that was too small for him and he was called Derek. He said very little and stared up at everything as though he had no idea where he was. When eggs were served for breakfast the day after they all arrived, he poked at the slimy yolk, his freckled nose wrinkled.
‘What is it?’ Evelyn saw him whisper to Rita, who was eleven, and had long ginger hair in a tatty plait down her back. Rita shrugged and sliced hers, then popped a piece into her mouth. ‘Don’t know,’ she said as she chewed. ‘But it tastes strange.’
Most of the children talked non-stop. It was as though they had all been best friends forever, but, as Mary told Evelyn, most of them had never met before coming to the castle.
‘I’m lucky because I’ve got Sid here with me,’ Mary said, before taking an enormous bite of toast. She chewed for a while before carrying on. ‘Your parents didn’t want to take him at first. They’d got enough of us, I reckon. But I said I wouldn’t get on that bus unless he did too. So here he is. But we didn’t know any of the others before yesterday, and I don’t think any of them knew each other.’ Mary swallowed and smiled, and Evelyn saw that the crooked teeth were a pale shade of mustard. Mary didn’t seem to care and smiled broadly as she talked, which made her look pretty all the same. ‘Perhaps,’ she continued, ‘we’ll see more of our friends who we know from home when we go to school. We’re going to the school on the High Street. Do you go there too?’
Evelyn shook her head. She’d seen the school before when she’d walked with Miss Silver to the promenade: a tall building that was surrounded by what looked like marshy fields. She’d never been inside, but imagined it to be loud and full of strong smells like ink and cabbage and boys. ‘No,’ she replied quietly. ‘I have a governess, so I do my lessons here in the castle.’
‘At home? That must be a bit lonely. I can’t say I fancy staying at home all day every day.’
‘It’s boring,’ Evelyn said. ‘That’s why it’s good that you’re here.’ She wished that she could have breakfast with Mary every morning. It was only because Evelyn’s father had gone out early that day that Evelyn had been allowed to sit in the kitchen with them, instead of in the dining room.
‘I’m not sure it should be a regular habit,’ Mrs du Rêve had said that morning. ‘Your father won’t like it. But perhaps, as they’ve just arrived, one day won’t hurt.’ She’d stroked Evelyn’s hair and smiled her beautiful smile.
‘Your castle is wonderful. But I don’t know if I’d much like not having any school friends. You’re missing out a bit,’ Mary said now, as she cut into her egg decisively.
‘Yes,’ Evelyn said, pushing her own breakfast around her plate. Food tasted different in the kitchen, as though it had been soured by all the smells of cooking and boiling of copper pans and people. ‘I am.’
‘Was London frightening?’ Evelyn asked Mary one day after the children had been at the castle for about a week. They had been running around the castle grounds with the other children, playing hide and seek, but the game had come to an end now and Evelyn and Mary were in the bedroom that the evacuees were sharing. It was the first time Evelyn had ever been in this room: she’d never had a need to before. The unpleasant smell that she had noticed when the evacuees first arrived lingered in here, attached to the socks and ted
dy bears and slippers and handkerchiefs that the children had brought with them.
Mary shrugged. ‘No, it wasn’t that frightening. There was nothing really happening. The war will all be over soon anyway. I can’t wait until it is.’
‘Is that yours?’ Evelyn asked, as she noticed a doll lying on the floor.
‘Yes,’ Mary said. ‘I know I’m a bit old for dolls, really. But she reminds me of home, and so I couldn’t help bring her. I didn’t know where on earth I would end up, so I wanted something of mine with me other than a flannel and a coat.’
‘She’s so beautiful,’ Evelyn said. She’d had doll after doll, and still received the occasional one at Christmas or on birthdays. But this one was nicer, somehow, than all of Evelyn’s. Although she’d obviously been played with over and over again, and her paint was chipping, her black hair was threaded with strands of sparkle, and her dress was embroidered with glimmering thread.
‘Here,’ Mary said, handing Evelyn the doll. ‘Have a proper look.’
‘I like things that sparkle,’ Evelyn said, stroking the doll’s hair. ‘There’s something special about such beautiful things, don’t you think?’
Mary laughed. ‘I suppose there is. You’re lucky. There’s enough sparkle in this castle to last you a lifetime,’
Evelyn shrugged. ‘I don’t feel as though there is. I’m dying to explore other places. It’s been more fun in the castle with you here, though. I’ll be lonely when you all go back home.’
‘I won’t have chance to be lonely,’ Mary said with a huff. ‘I’ll be going straight to work after I’ve finished school. And then I’ll just have to hope someone marries me. You’re lucky, Evelyn. You’re beautiful. I’ll be lucky to even get an offer.’
‘That’s not true,’ said Evelyn. ‘You’re beautiful too. And strong and brave, and kind.’
Mary gave a snort of laughter. ‘Boys don’t want strength and bravery from a girl, Evelyn. They want golden hair and big blue eyes, like yours. You know,’ Mary said, staring down at the doll on the bed, ‘your beauty could get you to all sorts of places.’
‘I hope so. I want to be in films. I want to live in Hollywood and be famous,’ Evelyn said, her heart fluttering at just the thought.
‘You could be. You could do anything. Especially now. The war’s going to change everything, Evelyn. And when it does, you should be ready.’
That night, Evelyn’s parents threw one of their parties at the castle. Evelyn and the children weren’t allowed downstairs, of course. But after the most elaborate furniture in the castle had been dragged around from room to room, and Elizabeth had scurried up and down the staircase a hundred times, and the kitchen seemed to glow with the preparation of all the food that would be given to the guests; when the first chords of music began to echo through the castle, Evelyn beckoned for the children to follow her upstairs to her bedroom. They threw themselves up the staircase breathlessly, falling into Evelyn’s room all at once.
‘We can have our own party in here,’ Evelyn said, her eyes shining. ‘I always pretend I’m having a party of my own, and tonight it will be the best ever, because you’re all here too!’
She took Mary’s hand, which was cool in hers, and they danced together, giggling as Mary’s feet tangled around Evelyn’s. The other children danced too, laughing as they bumped into one another. When they couldn’t dance any more for laughing, they collapsed on the floor of Evelyn’s bedroom, out of breath.
‘Are you all hungry?’ Evelyn asked, and as the children nodded, she pulled out from under her bed a tray of rich buttery food that she had sneaked out of the kitchen earlier on. They sat and ate cakes and biscuits, the smells of the party from downstairs floating up around them: a mixture of sweet perfumes and sugar and wine.
‘This is the best party I’ve ever been to,’ said Derek, a smear of cream on his lip.
‘Me too,’ said Mary.
Sid shrugged. ‘It’s okay. But we could make it even more exciting. Let’s play a game of dares.’
Derek sat up straighter. ‘Dares in a castle!’ he said, his eyes wide. ‘Yes, let’s!’
And so they played. Sid dared Derek to run downstairs and take a sip of somebody’s champagne. He was gone for a while, and when he came back, he hiccupped loudly. ‘Champagne’s horrible,’ he said.
Mary stood up. ‘I’ll do the same dare. I want to taste champagne.’ She darted from the room, but a few minutes later she was back, clutching her sides and laughing. ‘They saw me before I could get a sip! I told them I’d got lost and they showed me back up here.’
‘Well that’s the end of that,’ said Sid. ‘They’ll be looking out for us now. We need some new dares. Evelyn, it’s your turn. What shall we make her do?’ he asked the group.
‘Well, going downstairs is no good for Evelyn. She lives here, so there’s not much that’s daring about that,’ Sid said, frowning with the effort needed to think of a good dare.
‘What about if you go somewhere in the castle you’re not allowed to go?’ Derek said. ‘That would be a proper dare.’
‘I could go in my parents’ room. I’m not really allowed in there.’
‘Yes!’ Sid shouted, his eyes wide with the excitement of the game. ‘Do that and bring something for us to see from their room. Something we won’t have seen before.’
Evelyn stumbled to her feet and thought for a minute. Then she grinned.
‘Wait here.’
She knew exactly where the mirror was. She remembered the first time she’d ever seen it, when her mother was looking into it and didn’t know Evelyn was there. It was the most beautiful thing Evelyn had ever seen, covered in what looked like shimmering blue diamonds.
‘Can I have a look?’ she’d asked. Her mother had spun around.
‘Evelyn! I didn’t know you were in here. You can look. But do not touch. This mirror has been in my family for generations. It’s very valuable.’
Evelyn had stared down into the glass, her round face and golden hair framed by the sparkling stones.
‘Don’t ever touch it,’ her mother had said, sliding the mirror into her dressing table drawer and closing it firmly. ‘Promise me, Evelyn?’
‘Yes,’ Evelyn had said, with her fingers crossed behind her back.
Now, Evelyn raced to her parents’ room, her heart thumping in time with the music that floated up from the party. She glanced around to check that nobody could see her before she flung the drawer open and took out the mirror. Holding it took her breath away: it was heavy and sharp, the stones pricking her skin as she clutched it and ran back to her own bedroom.
‘I’ve got this,’ she announced breathlessly as she returned to the other children. ‘My mother told me that I wasn’t allowed to have it, or even touch it.’ Her face burned: she was thrilled and frightened all at once. Her heart thumped and thumped in her chest as Mary gasped over the mirror and Sid fingered the glass. But there was no need to be scared, Evelyn reminded herself.
It was just a mirror, and she would put it back soon.
Nobody would ever know.
Chapter 3
Isobel 2010
My Queen,
It’s fortunate that I know where you live, because if I couldn’t write to you, I would most probably expire: a brutal, red death. I only hope that these letters will be passed onto you, and that you will write back to me and tell me where you are. I have visited Lace Antiques seven times this week. I have had to buy a painting of a rather ugly dog and a chipped crystal vase to keep your father happy. I wanted neither. I only want you.
Please, tell me my dear. Where have you gone?
H
Seconds pass, and Tom still doesn’t speak. Isobel stands in the doorway to his lounge, staring at the television, where cars tear around a black track that’s glossy with rain. The whirring of the engines makes her want to scream. She sees the remote on the arm of the sofa, seizes it, mutes the cars and then tosses it back down. But then there is silence, which is somehow even worse. She
squeezes her eyes shut and tries to take a steady breath, but panic still roars inside her.
‘Tom,’ she says, her eyes still closed. As she speaks, she feels his arms closing around her. She clutches onto him.
‘When?’ he asks eventually.
She hasn’t even thought about this. She counts now, losing track once and having to start again. Isobel doesn’t understand her body like other women seem to. She can’t say for definite when she missed a period because they come and go with no warning. ‘June, I think.’ Her thoughts flit against each other and tears spill out again, her head throbbing. ‘Yes, end of June. It’s too soon. We can’t do it. You don’t have to-’. She opens her eyes, sees Tom through her tears: his ashen shock, his wide eyes.
‘I should go,’ she says next, turning from him so abruptly that the room spins. ‘I’ll leave you to it for a bit. You don’t need me here, in a mess like this.’
‘Isobel.’ Tom’s voice is sharp but kind, his grip on her arm firm but gentle. ‘Come on. Sit down.’ He goes to the tiny kitchen and roots around in the fridge, taking out a can of Coke and handing it to her. ‘Here.’
She’s sitting on the couch when he comes and sits so close to her that it almost feels like they are one person. He watches her swig from the icy can, waits for her to swallow and take a few deep breaths so that she can listen to what he has to say.
‘This is our issue. We’ll be shocked together, and we’ll sort it out together. You’re going nowhere.’
It’s as if Tom has clicked a switch inside Isobel. She takes a wobbly breath and another gulp of her drink. Her trembling hands begin to still and her banging heart quietens.
‘I’m stunned,’ Tom continues, his hand resting on her knee, his other hand rubbing his face. ‘But I love you, Isobel. And I want us to really think about this. I want us to think about whether it’s something we can do. For what it’s worth, I think it probably is.’