by Kate Albus
“Come on, Ed, it wasn’t that bad,” William said. “And we did Mrs. Müller a good turn. She’s been kind to us. I was just returning the favor.”
“I liked hearing all the potato names,” Anna said. “They sounded like royalty…King Edward the Seventh, Duke of York, May Queen…”
“Please stop,” Edmund pleaded.
“She looked so awfully sad when so few people showed up,” Anna said. “What could she possibly have done to make people treat her that way?”
Edmund sighed. “Probably talk about potatoes too much.”
At dinner that evening, Anna brought up the gardening presentation.
Mrs. Forrester only pursed her lips. “Whyever would you children go to a gardening presentation?”
“We didn’t mean to,” William explained. “We were just there looking at books.”
“Well,” Mrs. Forrester continued, “there’s to be a presentation by a ministry representative, and I’m certain it will be superior to anything Mrs. Müller has to offer.”
“She seemed to know an awful lot about potatoes,” Anna said.
“Indeed,” Mrs. Forrester said. It was clear she wished to change the subject.
Jack and Simon were more than happy to oblige her, eager to voice their outrage at the defacement of the school building.
“It won’t wash off,” Simon informed the table.
“Thick and black, it was,” Jack agreed.
“It has to be painted over. The old maintenance man was starting in on it this afternoon.”
“It’ll take more than one coat, probably,” Jack added.
Mr. Forrester shook his head at his dinner plate. “What’s this world coming to, anyway? Plenty of things to worry about already, and some hooligan goes and adds this to the mix. Who would do such a thing?”
“Well, Dad, all the teachers say it had to be one of the vackies.” Jack looked at his mother. “Sorry, Mum. I mean one of the evacuees. Like Teacher says, a lot of them were never taught proper manners from the start.”
Edmund felt the familiar pressure of William’s foot on his.
After supper, the children retrieved their rucksacks to finish their homework in the parlor. Edmund was startled when a small but weighty item fell from his bag and landed with a metallic thwack on the polished floor. It took him a moment to realize what it was, but this he did, just as Mrs. Forrester appeared, wondering at the great thunk she had heard from the kitchen. “If someone has scratched my good wood floors—” she began, then stopped dead.
There, having rolled to nestle against the meeting place between floor and wall, was a tin of black paint.
For a moment Edmund only stared, wondering how somebody’s paint had got into his rucksack. As he felt the heat of Mrs. Forrester’s gaze, however, the reality of the situation became clear to him.
He looked at her, wide-eyed. “This isn’t mine, Auntie Nellie.”
Mrs. Forrester didn’t even blink.
Edmund turned to Anna and William. “You know it isn’t mine! You know I wouldn’t!” His cheeks were on fire with the righteous anger of the wrongfully accused.
Mrs. Forrester’s face, in contrast to Edmund’s, had gone white. She looked from the paint to the children, then back again. Her jaw was so tightly clenched, she seemed to have difficulty forming words. “We—cannot—have—this.”
Mr. Forrester arrived and took in the scene, his eyes landing on Edmund.
“It wasn’t me!” Edmund cried. “I swear it!” He knew it was futile to blame the twins, but there was no defense other than the truth. “It was Jack and Simon. It must have been! They’ve had it in for us from the start. Please!”
Edmund cast a desperate look at Mr. Forrester, who looked first at his wife, then at the three children standing barefoot in the parlor. “Children,” he said, “you don’t really think Jack and Simon would do such a thing?”
Edmund reeled. “They had to have,” he fairly screeched. “Because it wasn’t me!”
Mrs. Forrester only glared at Edmund, her eyes somehow ice and fire at once.
Mr. Forrester heaved a weary sigh. “We’ll have to speak to the school in the morning.”
Edmund started. “You’re not going to chuck us out, are you?” He glanced at Anna’s tear-streaked face and thought his heart would split wide open. Never, when the snake winked at him from beneath the damson tree, had he imagined it would turn out like this—his sister weeping silently by his side as the realization dawned that they were likely about to be without home or guardian. Because of him.
“Nellie and I will need to sort this out between the two of us,” Mr. Forrester said, every word an effort. “For now, bed.”
The children made their way upstairs under the grim, silent stare of Mrs. Forrester.
Unable to face whatever gloating Jack and Simon might have in store for them, the boys followed Anna to her bedroom. Edmund sat on the floor, William and Anna on the bed. Tears continued to slide, one after the other, down Anna’s cheeks. The silence of the room was broken only by her occasional sniffles.
Edmund was unable to bear it. “You both know I didn’t do it, right?”
“Sure we do,” William answered. “You’ve been with us the whole time.”
Edmund glared at his brother. “But even if I hadn’t been with you, you know I wouldn’t do such a thing, don’t you?”
The pause was just long enough to cut a hole in Edmund’s heart.
“Of course,” William said.
CHAPTER TEN
The walk to school the next morning was a solemn and anxious affair. Telephone calls had been made, and while Anna, Edmund, and William hadn’t heard what was said, Mr. and Mrs. Forrester’s tense silence as they marched beside the children told them all they needed to know. They no longer had a home with the Forresters.
William gripped Anna’s hand tightly. Edmund walked behind, his heart pounding. While he had of course had nothing to do with the vandalism, he had done the bit with the snake. And if he hadn’t done that—well, it was too late now, he decided. He tried, unsuccessfully, to shake the sick feeling from his stomach.
The glum party was met at the school by Miss Carr and the village’s billeting officer, Mrs. Norton. Both women looked at the children severely, evidently believing that their culprit had been apprehended.
Edmund thought this might be his last chance to defend himself. “Miss Carr, it wasn’t me!”
Miss Carr fairly spat her reply. “Not another word from you, young man.”
Edmund looked at the floor. William and Anna were already studying their feet.
Mrs. Norton turned her attention to the Forresters. “Nellie. Peter. I’m terribly sorry about all this. You must be in an awful state.”
Mrs. Forrester glanced at the children. “Really, Evelyn, it was quite a shock. Edmund says he had nothing to do with this, but when the evidence rolled out of his very own rucksack, what are we to do? I have my boys to think about.”
“Of course, Nellie. Of course. You’re no doubt ready for a bit of a respite. We’ll carry on from here.”
Mr. Forrester turned to the children. “We wish you the very best of luck,” he said. “Really, we do.” He looked at Mrs. Forrester, who gave nothing more than a curt nod. With that, the two of them made their retreat.
Mrs. Norton turned to Miss Carr. “Now there’s the matter of finding another billet. Most of our available beds were filled when your classes arrived, but there’s been some shuffling. Allow me until this afternoon to find a spot.”
Anna sniffled. “What about Mrs. Müller—the lady from the library?”
Mrs. Norton raised her eyebrows. “Unsuitable.”
Anna straightened her spine. “But I don’t think she has any evacuees, and—”
Mrs. Norton put her hands on her hips. “Nora Müller is an unsuitable billet.” She turned to Miss Carr, making it clear she had no intention of discussing the matter with the children. “As I said, Judith, give me the day to sort this out. I
should have word to you by midafternoon.”
“Of course,” Miss Carr replied. “And thank you very much for your understanding. Most regrettable, all of it.”
Mrs. Norton gave a nod and was gone.
Miss Carr gave Edmund a hard stare. “Do you have any idea the position your disgraceful behavior puts me in?”
“It wasn’t me,” Edmund whispered, his cheeks burning. “I didn’t do it.”
“The paint tin simply leapt into your rucksack of its own accord, did it?”
“Of course not!” Edmund was no longer whispering. “The Forresters’ sons put it there. They’ve wanted us out from the start!”
“It’s true,” William said, stealing a glance at his brother. “Jack and Simon really did have it in for us—”
“Enough,” Miss Carr said. “To accuse your foster family of such a thing is simply unconscionable. We’ll have no more discussion on the matter. Do I make myself clear?”
Edmund lowered his head, resigned.
“Right,” Miss Carr continued. “I’ll expect you back here at three o’clock to learn of your new arrangements.” She looked at each of the children in turn, then started down the hall, admonishing them as she disappeared. “If I smell one more whiff of trouble, you can be sure I shall speak with your family in London myself…”
“That would be a jolly interesting conversation, wouldn’t it?” Edmund whispered.
“Look, Ed.” William sought his brother’s gaze. “I’m sorry about last night. I should have spoken up for you. I know you didn’t do it—we both do.”
Anna nodded her agreement. “We should have taken your part.”
Still stinging, Edmund could muster little in the way of a response. “Let’s go up. We’ll be late.”
Whether word of Edmund’s alleged delinquency would spread or not, the children couldn’t say, but for now all three were grateful for the normalcy of the day’s routine.
After lessons and the usual luncheon in the village hall, their hearts were ripe for the comfort of the library.
Mrs. Müller was at the lending desk, knitting in hand. “Good afternoon, children! Back so soon?” She put down her needles. “Florence Hughes was just in…I gather there’s been some commotion at the school?”
The words came out before William could weigh them. “It wasn’t Edmund. Really and truly, it wasn’t.”
The librarian raised her eyebrows at the children. “Well, of course it wasn’t. Whoever said it was?”
The children looked at one another as Edmund breathed a sigh of relief. It was Anna who finally opened her mouth and found the entire story spilling out of it. Well, not all of it—she left out the bit about the three of them being orphans—but Jack and Simon’s cruelties, the snake in the bed, the paint…all that, she told. Edmund trained his eyes at the floor, but as Anna came to the end of the tragic tale, he looked at the librarian and was alarmed to find she had tears in her eyes.
“Edmund. I’m terribly sorry.” She sniffed. “To be blamed for something one did not do is a painful injustice indeed.”
Hot tears threatened. Edmund bit his lower lip to stop them. “Thanks.”
Mrs. Müller regarded him intently. “You really put a dead snake in one of those boys’ beds?”
Edmund’s gaze returned to the floor, shame burning his cheeks again. “I did.”
Mrs. Müller considered this. She crossed her arms over her chest as a shadow of a smile crossed her lips. “Well done you.”
Trudging toward the school a few minutes before three, the children made a gloomy trio.
“What if they split us up?” Anna asked.
“They can’t,” Edmund answered.
“If they try to, we’ll ring Engersoll and ask him to fix it,” William added. “And maybe—I mean, people say things happen for a reason. Maybe our new billet will be the right one. The one Engersoll was talking about.”
“Sure,” Edmund replied. “We’re being put in whatever place is left over after the rest of the billets are used up. I’m sure in this one we’ll find a new mum and dad just dying to adore us forever.”
William pursed his lips. “It could happen.”
Miss Carr met them just inside the school. “You’re very lucky, children. Mrs. Norton has found you a billet. It will be cramped, but I expect you’ll manage.”
Anna gave an audible sigh of relief, and Edmund’s shoulders relaxed the littlest bit. William thanked Miss Carr and told her that they would indeed manage.
Miss Carr simply raised her eyebrows. “Right. Mr. Forrester has delivered your belongings.” She gestured toward their things, in a neat row by the door. “Let’s be off. And I needn’t remind you that you’re to be on your best behavior, the lot of you. I’ve enough to manage without having to request new billets due to problems in deportment.”
Edmund opened his mouth to defend himself, then shut it after a swift elbow in the ribs from his brother.
“Yes, ma’am,” William said. “We understand.”
The afternoon had turned cold. Edmund pulled up his socks and William buttoned Anna’s coat. Gas masks hanging round their necks, the children picked up their suitcases and began their trek. Miss Carr led them to a narrow lane behind the school building. They passed a small park, a row of tidy homes, an ancient pub. Past three more lanes, and the landscape seemed to have lost much of its color, turned instead to a dun-colored warren of shabby houses. Miss Carr stopped at one of these and checked her clipboard to confirm the address—number four Livingston Lane. She gave a sharp rap on the door.
The squalling of a baby could be heard, getting louder as the children waited. Miss Carr gave them one last warning glance as the front door was opened by a woman bearing the source of the din on her hip.
The woman looked them over. “You’ll be the new evacuees, then?”
She stepped aside and ushered them all into a dimly lit front room, its floor littered with clothing and bits of plaster from the ceiling, which bore a spider’s web of cracks. An acrid tang of coal smoke and unwashed linens hung in the air above the meager furnishings—two threadbare chairs and a small, worn table. The room was little warmer than the outside air.
Two very small girls—still in diapers, both—sat on the floor gazing up at the children with wide, dark eyes. Another girl, only slightly older, looked on from the room beyond. The baby continued to shriek.
The woman shifted the child from one hip to the other. “The last lot went to an auntie in Devon and I was never paid for the last week with ’em.”
Miss Carr was flustered. “Oh—ehm—so sorry, Mrs. Griffith. I can look into that for you. Thank you very much indeed for being willing to take on new evacuees.”
The woman—Mrs. Griffith, the children supposed—said nothing but turned to them as if expecting an introduction.
William swallowed and stepped forward. “I’m William Pearce, ma’am. This is my brother, Edmund, and my sister, Anna.”
“Right,” the woman said, gesturing first to the wailing baby, then to the other children. “This is Robert Junior, these here are Jane and Helen, and that one by the kitchen is Penny, the oldest.” She turned back to Miss Carr. “The pay’ll be the same, will it? We need the money round here, you see. My Bob’s away fighting, and it’s all I can do to keep my own kids fed.”
The children had been unaware, until now, that they were a source of income. They were suddenly grateful that the Forresters had never mentioned this fact.
Miss Carr looked taken aback herself. “Yes—ehm—you’re to be paid ten and six for the first child, eight and six for each of the others. You will also receive rations for them, and they will continue to be provided with lunches.”
“Good. Is that all, then?”
Miss Carr gave a stiff nod and gathered herself to leave. “Thank you very much again, Mrs. Griffith, for doing your bit.” She handed William a postcard. “Post this to your family, to alert them to your new address.” She opened the door, turning for one last look at t
he children. “I’ll see the three of you at school in the morning.”
Anna grasped William’s hand and squeezed it tight.
Mrs. Griffith closed the door and sized them up as the shrieking of the baby continued. “Right. You’ll sleep upstairs. Mine are in with me for now, so you’ve got the front bedroom. Come up with your things and get settled.” She led the children through a tiny kitchen, notably warmer than the front room thanks to the coal-burning range. The children leaned toward its heat as they followed Mrs. Griffith to a narrow staircase at the back of the kitchen. The fourth step creaked alarmingly as they thumped their way up with their suitcases.
There were two doors at the top of the stairs. Mrs. Griffith opened one and showed the children inside. The room’s single window was tacked over with tattered blackout paper, making it feel more like midnight than afternoon. Mrs. Griffith switched on a standing lamp. There was no other furniture, save a chamber pot, an empty apple crate, and three pallets on the floor. A single blanket was the only bedding to be seen.
“I asked the WVS lady to send over more blankets,” Mrs. Griffith said, “but she hasn’t got round to it.” She looked the children up and down again. “You three look posh, don’t you? You come from a fancy family?”
Unsure what response might be appropriate, the children only looked at the floor.
Mrs. Griffith narrowed her gaze at them. “Your family won’t be coming round at every weekend, expecting me to feed them, will they? That’s what happened with the last lot, and I won’t stand for it. I’m not a hotel, you know.”
“I’d be very surprised if our family turned up,” Edmund said.
William gave a small cough. “Right. I don’t think that will be a problem.”
Mrs. Griffith gestured to the chamber pot. “Petty’s out back.” Judging from its association with the pot, the children assumed that a petty must be an outdoor toilet of some sort. This was not, Anna thought, a word she cared to learn.