It took me a moment to understand what she was asking. I hadn’t expected that sort of request, and judging by Margaret’s lack of response, neither had she.
Mrs. Underdown took advantage of our stunned silence and kept talking. “Yours is the only large house in the neighborhood not housing the wounded or convalescents, and I remember how your hall worked so well for Crispin’s theatricals. We’ve been practicing in the village hall, but it’s so drafty and damp there, and difficult to store the props, especially with the way the roof leaks. If you’d allow us to have it here, we could invite many more men.”
The mention of my brother made my heart clench. I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to say his name so casually. Even though my father and mother held out hope that Crispin was in a German prison camp somewhere, I didn’t believe he’d ever come home. If he had been captured, we would have had word of it long before now. I stared down at the tablecloth, trying to control the tears that were threatening to slip out.
I waited for Margaret to respond. When she didn’t, I looked up and tried to catch her eye to signal a no. Even if I didn’t know all the reasons Lucas and Andrew had come to Hallington, I was sure the last thing Andrew wanted was a collection of people traipsing around the house.
But Margaret didn’t look at me. “If it’s just a matter of providing space, I suppose we can do that,” she said.
“That’s wonderful!” Mrs. Underdown clapped her hands. “I knew you’d be willing to do your part. It is quite a humorous play, and the members of the Cranwell Orchestra have agreed to provide the music. I’ve always adhered to the admiral’s philosophy—if you are going to do something, don’t hold back.”
Mrs. Underdown never held back. And that meant we couldn’t either; into the breach we’d go. I supposed it would give me an excuse not to go back to school, at least. If Andrew didn’t need me here anymore, I could claim Margaret needed my help.
“May I ask what play you are performing?” Miss Slade said. “I love theatricals.”
“It’s a delightful show by the name of Princess Toto.” Mrs. Underdown gave a surprisingly girlish laugh. “It involves a princess who is extremely forgetful and two rival suitors and many misunderstandings.”
“That sounds like a promising setup for a good story,” I said, forcing thoughts of past theatricals and Crispin away. I was intrigued by the idea of a forgetful princess.
Mrs. Underdown nodded. “Oh, it is. Princess Toto has been betrothed from birth to Prince Doro, but he disappears and is presumed to have been eaten by wolves. The princess’s father arranges for a new husband for his daughter, a Prince Alfie, but right before the wedding Prince Doro returns from having joined a band of brigands. And it goes from there as they both try to win her hand. I know you’ll love it.”
I glanced over at Lucas, who was leaning back in his chair, an amused expression on his face. “Mina, it sounds like one of your plays,” he said.
“It does, rather,” I agreed, “though I’d never name a prince Alfie.”
I had the feeling that Lucas was watching the rest of us as if we were part of a play too. It had to all seem ridiculous to him. I knew our little part of the world had always been sheltered from the reality that most people lived, especially now with the war on, but this was the first time I had imagined how someone from outside must view us. Did he realize that all of us knew there were cracks in the perfect picture? Did he know we were desperately trying to ignore them because we didn’t know what else to do?
“The theatrical sounds so exciting!” Miss Slade exclaimed. “I wonder if I could ask to help. I know it’s presumptuous of me, but perhaps you will need help backstage.”
“That would be lovely, dear,” Mrs. Underdown said. “And we may have a very special guest.” She leaned forward like she was going to tell us a secret. “I’ve been told Prince Albert is stationed at Cranwell, and I am of course hoping he will attend.”
I heard a little gasp from someone and then a cry rang out. Lucas pushed back his chair and jumped up, darting over to Hannah’s side. He took hold of a tureen, the large silver one used only on special occasions. Half the soup was on the floor, a pale green puddle soaking into the carpet.
Hannah burst into tears. “I’m so sorry,” she wailed. I hadn’t even realized the girl had come back into the room.
“This is too heavy for you,” Lucas said. “I can’t believe you carried it all the way up the stairs yourself.” He took it over to the sideboard and set it down.
“Hannah, you should have asked for help,” Margaret scolded. “Please go tell Miss Tanner what happened. She’ll tell you what to do.” She turned to us. “I’m very sorry. It’s so difficult without footmen.”
“I could serve the soup,” Lucas said. “I know how to use a ladle.”
“There’s no need for that,” Margaret said, aghast. “You’re a guest. Miss Tanner will be along shortly.”
I could tell by the expression on Lucas’s face that he thought we were being silly. I jumped up. “I’ll do it.”
“Mina, do you think you can manage?” Margaret asked, as if I were attempting something extremely difficult.
“Yes,” I said, a little irritated by the implication that I couldn’t serve soup. Just because I had never done it didn’t mean I was incapable.
“I’ll help.” Andrew got up to join me, motioning for Lucas to sit back down. Margaret began to speak, but Andrew held up his hand. That halted her, though Mrs. Underdown’s eyes looked as if they might fall out of her head. I could just imagine the woman telling all her friends about Lord Andrew being forced to serve soup.
We managed without spilling too much on the sideboard. A ladle was harder to handle than I had thought. I also sloshed some soup out of Lucas’s bowl as I set it in front of him, but luckily none of it spattered him. Hannah came back with Miss Tanner, who raised her eyebrows slightly at the sight of the soup servers. She dealt with the spill, signaling to Hannah to pour more wine.
As soon as everything had settled down again, Mrs. Underdown went right back to talking about Prince Albert. It actually was exciting news. I’d never met the prince, but I knew Margaret had danced with him at a ball the year before the war. She hadn’t said much about him except that he stuttered but it wasn’t to be talked about.
“I’ve heard he insists that everyone treat him as a regular officer, so naturally he’d want to come to an officers’ entertainment, wouldn’t he?” Mrs. Underdown said.
I wasn’t so sure about that. Our little entertainments were nothing compared to what the man would have seen in London and on his travels. Some of the older girls at school kept postcards of both the dashing Prince of Wales and Prince Albert on display, endlessly speculating about who and when they would marry, longing for the excitement of a royal wedding, though everyone knew no wedding would happen during wartime.
“What is Prince Albert doing at Cranwell? He’s not a pilot, is he?” Miss Slade asked. “That seems very dangerous.”
It was dangerous. I’d seen a report on my father’s desk listing the average number of months a pilot survived. Not years—months. It was another of those facts of war that we were supposed to accept. I knew Prince Albert and his older brother, Edward, were both in the military because they were often photographed with their father, King George, but I’d just assumed they had jobs that wouldn’t put them in too much danger.
“He’s there under a different name, and no, he’s not a pilot,” Mrs. Underdown replied. “He’s in charge of the boys being trained as mechanics and such. I imagine they are quite overwhelmed to have the prince with them. Such an opportunity for them. If he attended our little entertainment, it would be quite a treat for our convalescents as well.”
“If he’s at Cranwell under a different name, I assume he doesn’t want people to know he is here.” Margaret set down her glass so forcefully that some of her wine sloshed on the table.
“Yes, Margaret is right. Prince Albert would be a very high-value target f
or Germany,” Andrew said. His voice was cold. “I’m sure his people won’t want him to come off the base for something like a theatrical. How did you know he was here?”
Mrs. Underdown gave a little titter of laughter. “My dear Lord Andrew, everyone around here knows. Something like that can’t be kept secret, but he’s in no danger from the people of Lincolnshire. Of course, if he comes to our performance, we’ll have to try not to draw attention to him.”
I wondered exactly how that would work if Mrs. Underdown wanted the convalescents to meet him.
Mrs. Underdown held up her hand as if she didn’t already have our attention. “Now, we should start practicing right away so our actors can get used to their performance space,” she said. “Say, tomorrow afternoon at two? The performance is the day after tomorrow, and we’ll need the actors to get familiar with the staging area.” She paused and looked around the table. “There is just one more favor I must ask. The rector had a role, but his gout is acting up, so unfortunately he has had to bow out. He’s most disappointed that he can’t take part.”
I had a bad feeling about what Mrs. Underdown was going to say next. Surely she wasn’t going to ask Andrew to step in for the rector. She didn’t. Her eyes locked on mine.
“I hope you can play the part, Lady Thomasina,” Mrs. Underdown said. “I still remember how you made us laugh when you played Falstaff in Crispin’s last production.”
Before I could bring myself to speak, Margaret made a choking sound. “I remember that. You were hysterically funny, Mina!”
If I had been close enough, I would have kicked my sister. That particular performance hadn’t taken any great acting skill. People had laughed at Falstaff because Crispin made me wear an oversized costume and I was so nervous that my lines came out squeaky and high-pitched.
Mrs. Underdown pulled a small book out of her bag. “You’re such a good actress, you’ll have no trouble learning the part. And there’s one bit where you sing a short solo, only four lines. Very easy. Here’s the script. I’ve marked all your lines so you can memorize them before tomorrow.” She held it out to me and I had no choice but to take it. “It’s all going to be splendid,” she said, beaming at us.
I doubted if “splendid” was going to be the right description for it, but I’d do my best to contribute to the effort. At least I’d be wearing a costume. It was always easier to play a role in costume.
I saw Margaret put a hand to her head for a few seconds. I suspected her headache had come back. “Should we move to the drawing room since everyone is finished?” she said, cutting off something Mrs. Underdown had begun to say. Margaret rose without waiting for anyone to reply, so we all followed.
Once we were in the drawing room, I hoped we could manage to politely rid ourselves of Mrs. Underdown sooner rather than later. I didn’t want her to start questioning Lucas again. Gwendolyn sat down close to Lucas. I felt a flash of jealousy and wished the girl weren’t quite so pretty. “So, Mr. Miller, are the Americans behind President Wilson and his push for America to enter the war?” she asked.
“Yes,” Lucas said. “Most of them, at least now. The first part of the war, most wanted to stay neutral, seeing as how it was viewed as a European war and no concern of ours.”
“I hear by the end of May over one million American troops will be in France,” Gwendolyn said. “That should help our boys.”
“Yes, we need more men.” Andrew got up and poured himself a brandy. “The pilots we have are a grand lot, but we need more. There is a Canadian fellow I’ve heard about who has absolutely no fear and will push a plane to its limit. I hope we get more like him. I suspect the Americans are going to be something like the Australians—an enormous help, but with a tendency to engage in hijinks that will get them in trouble.” He glanced at Lucas, and I could imagine he was thinking of their plane ride. I wished he hadn’t brought up flying. It might start Mrs. Underdown off again.
Andrew drained his drink and then poured another. He smiled, but I thought it looked forced. “I heard quite a story from a friend of mine who has a couple of Australian air squadrons in France under his command,” he said. “Our soldiers may grumble about the tinned milk, but they make do. The Australians aren’t quite satisfied with always making do when it comes to milk. They somehow always manage to find cows in the middle of a war zone, and for the cows’ own safety, so they claim, they take charge of them, moving them about in lorries. The wing commander says he can only hope no one raises awkward inquiries as to the cows’ provenance.”
Everyone laughed except Margaret. It did feel odd to be joking about anything related to the war. I’d witnessed it before, not just with Andrew, but also with the few other soldiers I’d been around. Men seemed to think it best to gloss over anything terrible, as if women were too delicate to be able to bear it.
“We’d call fellows like that cattle rustlers back home,” Lucas said.
“They’ve got a piano they ‘found’ too,” Andrew added. “I suppose they’d be considered piano rustlers as well.”
This brought on additional laughter, but Margaret spoiled Andrew’s efforts. “I’m surprised their superiors let them get away with such behavior,” she said. “Surely the breakdown in discipline has serious consequences on their effectiveness.”
“You’re wrong,” Andrew responded. “The wing commander says he’ll put up with anything to keep the Australians in the air. They come up with clever schemes to set traps for enemy pilots, and he says their sense of initiative is something he wishes he could bottle. They do get a bit wild in their flying, though. I’ve seen their pilots take up people riding on their wings. I wouldn’t want to try that.”
Lucas laughed. “Now that’s an idea.” Andrew glared at him and gave a tiny shake of his head.
“I didn’t think I’d ever see the day when people would risk life and limb in a flimsy canvas contraption just so they could imitate birds.” Gwendolyn shuddered.
“I’m sure after the war aeroplanes will go back to being novelties, something for the few hobbyists to play with,” Margaret said. “That is, if the war ever ends. If I have to hear one more bomb, I think I’ll go mad.”
After that, everyone grew quiet again. Mrs. Underdown announced it was time for her to go and no one protested. After she was gone, Gwendolyn wandered the room, examining all the family photographs as if she was trying to commit them to memory. Andrew smoked cigarette after cigarette. Lucas wouldn’t sit still. He roamed the room too, pulling at his collar until I was convinced he would rip it off. Every once in a while he stopped at a window and looked out. I watched him, wondering why he looked different, and then I realized it was in the way he stood. Tension had taken over, removing that loose-limbed ease I’d first noticed about him. When he turned around, his face was different too. Without the grin, he looked older and even a little grim.
I turned my head so he wouldn’t see that I’d been staring at him. Gwendolyn picked up a photograph of Margaret and Crispin taken when Crispin was just a baby and Margaret only about three. “You were an adorable child, Margaret,” she said. “And your brother was too.”
Margaret gave a faint smile. “Crispin had that sweet look until it changed to one of pure mischief. He could never hide that he was always planning something.”
Mention of Crispin cast an additional pall over the room. We sat there in silence until I became aware of a noise in the background that didn’t belong. I listened and realized it was Jove barking. It was a persistent bark, not one like he was particularly agitated or anything. It was odd.
I stood up. “I’ll be right back.”
“I can go check on the dog,” Lucas offered.
“Let Mina do it,” Margaret said. “Why don’t you bring him in here, Mina? Poor old thing. I’m afraid he’s losing his sight. I think that’s why he’s been barking at shadows. It’s terrible for him that my father isn’t here and his world is going dim.”
I went to look for the dog, feeling awful that I hadn’t noticed
the vision problems. That would explain the barking.
I found him sitting outside on the terrace, looking in. I opened the door for him. He bent his head down and picked up something, then trotted inside and dropped it at my feet. It was Lettie’s tam-o’-shanter. “Where did you find this?” I asked the dog before realizing it was a very silly question. Jove tilted his head and looked at me, his signal that he wanted to be petted for bringing in a prize.
“Good dog,” I said as I reached down to pick it up.
Lucas’s voice came from behind me. “Is anything wrong?”
Hearing his voice made me realize how quickly I’d come to like the sound of it, the soft drawl of it. When I heard him speak, it was as if he was pulling me in, shutting out all the bad things around us. Either his voice or just his presence made my skin feel a little tingly.
“Mina?” he said.
I realized that I needed to answer him. “No. Jove just wanted in.” Jove was already at Lucas’s side, wagging his tail. I set Lettie’s hat on a nearby chair. “He’s very pleased he found one of the servant’s hats. I’ll take it to her after dinner.” I reached for the door handle to close the door.
Lucas put his hand over mine. “Wait.” His touch startled me. I jerked my hand out from under his and then wished I hadn’t, berating myself for acting like a scared rabbit. Lucas behaved as if he hadn’t noticed. He pulled on his tie and smiled. “It’s nice to breathe some real air. It takes a long time to have a meal here. Would it be a terrible breach of etiquette if we went outside for a few minutes?”
It would, but I wasn’t going to tell him that. “We can blame Jove,” I told him. “Say he ran off with Lettie’s hat because he thought we were playing a game.” Hearing his name, Jove thumped his tail, unaware that he was going to be the scapegoat.
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