by Lynn Austin
“What about the second floor?”
“All the bedrooms that are in use are finished. Robbins thought it best to use the remainder of the cloth to do the servants’ rooms on the third floor.”
“I suppose that’s wise. The wardens will pay us a visit one of these nights to see if we’ve complied, and the servants will want to use their rooms after dark.” The few servants who were left, that was. The footmen and undergardeners had all enlisted. The cook had moved to the London town house, leaving only her assistant to prepare meals. Miss Blake had taken a civilian post with the Royal Navy in Liverpool. The butler, Mrs. Smith, George the gardener, and a handful of very young chambermaids were the only ones left.
“We also blacked out the windows in the former nursery and the schoolroom where the children will sleep,” Mrs. Smith added.
Audrey’s nerves jangled like a thousand bells at the reminder. “Is everything ready for their arrival?”
“I believe so.”
Audrey had no idea what to expect. An unknown number of children of undetermined ages and family backgrounds would arrive from London by train this afternoon to be housed in the village. The newspapers had called it “an exodus of biblical proportions” with more than 800,000 schoolchildren and 100,000 teachers billeted in the English countryside. Every family was taking in a child or two, and Audrey realized they might be expected to house several at Wellingford Hall. Perhaps as many as ten? Fifteen? Audrey’s mother wanted nothing to do with the scheme and decided to take her chances in London, vowing to continue with some semblance of her normal life there, war or no war.
Audrey and Mrs. Smith worked with the local branch of the Women’s Institute in the village to prepare cots and bedding for the children. They had closed off as many formal rooms and spare bedrooms as possible, storing Wellingford’s valuables. The work had been exhausting but fulfilling. Audrey much preferred being mistress of Wellingford Hall over life in London, where streetlights and automobile headlamps weren’t allowed, and the streets were so black at night that it was hazardous to venture out. She had no desire to sit in the darkened town house with Mother, waiting for the bombs to fall, as they surely would.
Alfie had driven to Wellingford Hall to say goodbye, and it had been one of the worst moments in Audrey’s life. Their father’s, too, she suspected. Father mentioned a possible draft exemption for Alfie but he’d refused. Fear for her brother drove Audrey to her knees beside her bed at night and to the village church to pray on Sunday. Eve Dawson had always known so much more about God than she did, and Audrey wished she could talk to her about her faith. No doubt Eve was praying for Alfie, too. At least they were united in that.
Mrs. Smith bustled away again, leaving Audrey alone in the huge dining room. The children wouldn’t eat in here, of course, but perhaps someone would—someday. Audrey knew it was irrational, but she wanted to keep the room ready for guests, just in case. Beyond the French doors, the beautiful formal gardens looked as they always had, with neatly trimmed boxwood hedges and the last of the summer roses blooming. The gravel walkways formed intricate geometric designs that bisected the gardens and encircled the fountain in the center. “One would never know we’re at war,” she murmured as she stepped outside.
The war was bringing countless changes to Audrey’s life, and she hated change. This orderly garden had become her place of refuge, her one quiet place of retreat. But even as she walked the peaceful paths, she heard the ominous drone of airplanes overhead. She looked up, shading her eyes against the sun’s glare. The droning grew louder, closer. The planes flew low in the sky, three of them, and she released her breath when she saw the RAF insignia. They’re ours.
Back inside, she found Robbins in the entrance hall, returned from his walk into the village. “I arranged for a wagon to transport the children and their baggage, Miss Audrey.” He mopped his brow, then tugged his waistcoat into place. “Horse-drawn, I’m afraid, but it was the best I could do. You’ll need to speak with Mr. Grayson, the station porter.”
Audrey was becoming accustomed to the mile-long walk into the village. Williams, their driver, had joined the Auxiliary Fire Service in London, and no one else at Wellingford knew how to drive except Father, who refused to serve as chauffeur. Audrey wished Williams had taught her to drive before he left, the way he’d taught Eve. Perhaps she should buy a bicycle.
“Thank you, Robbins. Is that the London paper?” she asked, seeing it tucked under his arm.
“Yes, Miss Audrey. However, you may not wish to read it today. Rather gruesome news, I’m afraid.”
She steeled herself as she reached for it. “Thank you for the warning, but I would like to see it, just the same. I’m afraid one must get used to gruesome news. I’ll take it to Father when I’m finished.”
Reports of atrocities in Poland horrified Audrey and were another reason she’d fled to the safety of Wellingford. Nazi airplanes mowed down civilians like wheat as they fled Warsaw. And Alfie, who was always on her heart, was somewhere in Belgium. “The Maginot Line will hold,” he’d assured her. “It’s impossible for the Nazis to get past it.”
Audrey sat on the hall bench and unfolded the paper. The British ocean liner Athenia had been torpedoed on its way to Canada with 1,400 passengers on board. A civilian ocean liner! She lowered the newspaper to her lap. Envisioning the horror those people must have endured would fuel her fears. It was bad enough that she carried the nagging, aching fear for Alfie with her, day and night. Especially at night.
She refolded the paper and took it into her father’s study. He stood in front of the window, staring out at the formal gardens. “Here’s the London paper,” she said. “The news isn’t good, I’m afraid.” He didn’t turn or acknowledge her, so she laid it on his desk. “I heard airplanes flying over today—they were ours, thankfully. But it reminded me to speak with you about putting in an Anderson shelter. Shall I ask the gardener to choose a good spot for it, perhaps behind the house?”
“Waste of time. I won’t use it.”
“Perhaps for the servants’ sakes, Father. It might give them peace of mind to know there’s a safe shelter from the bombs.” She waited. Should she tell him she wanted it for herself as much as for the servants?
“I won’t have my gardens dug up for nothing. The servants can huddle in the wine cellar if it makes them feel better.”
She let the matter drop and went to change her clothes to meet the train in the village.
It was warm for September, and Audrey arrived at the station weary and overheated, her feet blistered from the long walk. She wondered again about buying a bicycle. A large crowd gathered to meet the train, every woman in town, it seemed, young and old, waiting to house evacuated children. When the train finally steamed into the station, the ruckus was like nothing she’d ever heard before. The older children emerged from the cars shouting and brawling, the little ones wailing for their mothers. Hundreds of children poured from the train and milled around the platform like a nest of ants that had been disturbed. The village billeting officer waded into the melee, trying in vain to restore order, but the children were having none of it, thrilled to run free after the long ride from London. Audrey waited in the shade beneath the station’s overhanging roof as the officials gradually herded the children into groups and sent them off to area cottages and farms. There seemed to be a great crowd of them left over. The officer turned to Audrey. “The rest are yours, Miss Clarkson. We’ve assigned thirty children to Wellingford Hall along with their teacher, Miss Bristol.”
“Thirty! But . . . but we don’t have enough beds! Or food! We’re only prepared for half as many.”
“Come now, Miss Clarkson. It’s your patriotic duty for the war effort. Everyone in the village is boarding children, and you can see for yourself how small some of their cottages are. Wellingford Hall is enormous in comparison. It shouldn’t be a hardship to find a few empty bedrooms.” The man’s disdain for Audrey’s family was clear. She knew it was caused in great measu
re by Mother’s obvious disdain for the villagers. She had long ignored her responsibilities as lady of the manor. Audrey tried to make up for that lack, but she was still a long way from being accepted, much less admired, by the local people.
She surveyed the swirling, simpering mob that was hers for the duration. Thirty of them! Nothing in her experience had equipped her for this task. She drew a breath, remembering how Eve had once taught her to be brave, remembering the scratchy tickle of dead beetles in her hand. “Very well. Would you please let Mr. Grayson know we’re ready to leave? He agreed to drive us to Wellingford in his wagon.”
The wagon wasn’t large enough for thirty children, so the oldest ones followed behind with their teacher while Audrey rode on the seat beside the driver. The novelty of country life proved a huge distraction for the older boys, and rather than keeping up with the wagon, they climbed trees and scampered over fences, scaring a flock of sheep and stampeding the dozing cattle. Audrey had no idea how to restore order. She decided to leave the wandering ones to their teacher and attend to a crying toddler in the wagon behind her. Audrey pulled the girl onto her lap, making shushing noises to soothe her. “We’re nearly there, little one. It’s just a short ride, now. Goodness, you must be hungry.” Would there be enough food to feed thirty children? And where would they all sleep?
The child on her lap continued to fuss in spite of Audrey’s efforts, crying in a steady, high-pitched whine that scraped Audrey’s nerves. She couldn’t bring herself to use her own handkerchief to wipe the girl’s running nose. She smelled as though she needed a bath and had grains of rice in her greasy hair. One of the grains hopped.
Head lice!
It required all of Audrey’s willpower not to toss the girl off the wagon. She shivered with dread for the rest of the journey, her skin crawling as the girl perched awkwardly on her lap. “Drive around to the back of Wellingford Hall, please,” she told Mr. Grayson. If only his horse would gallop down the lane instead of this slow, leisurely plodding.
Audrey scrambled down from the seat as soon as the wagon halted and set the infested child on the ground. The other children jumped down as well, hooting with delight as they scattered in all directions across the estate. Mrs. Smith and two chambermaids came out to welcome them, and they looked appalled as they viewed the invasion. Audrey hurried over to them. “We have to bathe these children and douse them for lice. We can’t allow them inside until we do.”
“There are so many!” Mrs. Smith said. “How will we manage?”
“This isn’t even all of them. The rest are following on foot.” Audrey fought to control the panic clogging her throat. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. She had imagined a few clean, orderly children boarding in her beautiful home, not this rabble. “Send one of the maids into the village for soap and . . . and for whatever else the chemist recommends. Their clothing will be contaminated, as well. And probably everything in their satchels.”
“But the laundresses don’t come until next week, Miss Audrey.”
“Will you beg them to come sooner? I’ll pay whatever they ask.”
“What will the children wear in the meantime?”
Audrey didn’t reply. She had no idea. Would it be horrid to billet the children in the carriage house? She felt selfish and spoiled to even entertain the idea, but she wanted all of these children to go away!
By now the stragglers had caught up to the wagon and were chasing each other through the vegetable patch. The gardener ran out of the shed, brandishing a rake and threatening to brain them with it. The boys laughed as they danced around him, treating it as a game. “Can’t you control them?” Audrey asked their teacher.
Miss Bristol was still panting from the long walk and didn’t reply. She was a stern-looking woman, probably in her fifties, with a thick waist, thick cotton stockings, and shoes like a pair of bricks. Her trek from the village had exhausted her, and it was clear that the children were beyond her control.
Suddenly Audrey’s father emerged from the house with his hunting rifle. “Get off my property!” he bellowed. “Now!” He fired a shot into the air and the boys ran from the garden and crouched beneath the wagon to hide. The smallest children began to wail.
Audrey hurried over to him. “They’re here by government order, Father. Housing them isn’t voluntary.”
“We’ll see about that!” He stormed back into the house, muttering about calling his MP and maybe even Neville Chamberlain himself. Audrey imagined the boys running wild through Wellingford Hall the same way they’d run through the garden, and hoped her father succeeded in ringing up the prime minister. She resisted the urge to follow Father inside and bolt all the doors. She asked herself what Eve would do.
Eve would take control. She wouldn’t let these children run wild. Audrey summoned all her courage and shouted, “Quiet! All of you!” She was amazed when they obeyed. “This is my home and you will either respect it and obey my rules or you’ll get off my property!” She saw one of the bigger boys mocking her in pantomime but she ignored him. “Anyone who doesn’t obey doesn’t eat. Anyone who doesn’t behave inside my home will sleep in the carriage house or out in the woods with the other animals. Do you understand?”
One of the girls raised her hand as if in school. “I’m hungry. When are we going to eat?”
“As soon as you settle down.” Audrey turned to Mrs. Smith and the two maidservants. “Put together some sandwiches. We’ll feed them out here and prepare their baths while they eat. I won’t let them into my house in their current condition.” Mr. Grayson had unloaded the baggage and was preparing to leave with the wagon. Audrey shouted for him to wait. “Go with him into the village,” she told one of the maids. “Ask the chemist what we’ll need to delouse thirty children.” The girl scampered to board the wagon as if offered a reprieve.
With help from a very reluctant Robbins and a still-fuming George, Audrey managed to corral the children into small groups on a grassy stretch of lawn to eat their sandwiches. Afterwards, the servants separated the boys from the girls and gave them all baths, using every tub and basin in the manor house and gallons of hot water and soap. Then Audrey set the children and servants to work with the fine-tooth combs the chemist had recommended. “He said it was the only surefire way to treat lice and nits, ma’am,” the maid had reported. Audrey lacked the stomach for dealing with vermin and took the teacher, Miss Bristol, aside to speak with her.
“I think it would be best if the children attended school in the village every morning. There are too many distractions out here, and they’ll never be able to concentrate on their studies. Perhaps the walk into the village and back will help use up some of their energy.”
“Is the school large enough to hold them all?”
Audrey knew that it wasn’t, but she wouldn’t change her mind. She wanted the children out of her house for at least part of the day. “I’ll ask the vicar about using the church hall. We’ll find room somewhere.”
At bedtime, the small measure of order that Audrey had managed to create slipped into chaos. “Do you have any advice for me?” she asked Miss Bristol. “We don’t have nearly enough beds.”
“Many of these children are siblings. Divide them into families and make the older ones take care of the younger ones. That’s what they do at home. I’m sure they share beds, too.”
Her advice proved useful, and the children eventually settled down for the night with their siblings. Audrey assigned a servant to each room to prevent the children from escaping, then made her way down to the housekeeper’s sitting room to thank her for all she had done. “We may not need more beds after all,” she told an exhausted Mrs. Smith. “It seems many of them aren’t used to sleeping in a bed and prefer to sleep on the floor. One of the girls told me that beds are for dead people. Imagine!”
“These children are the poorest of the poor. I would feel sorry for them if there weren’t so many of them.”
“Well, I can’t thank you enough for all your help. Ho
pefully the days ahead will get better.”
There was a knock on Mrs. Smith’s door and Robbins poked his head inside. “Excuse me, Miss Audrey, but two ARP wardens would like to speak with you outside. They asked for Mr. Clarkson, but he doesn’t wish to be disturbed.”
The wardens were waiting on the front steps. Audrey recognized the tall, thin man with the stooped shoulders as one of the deacons from church. The plump woman beside him was his wife. “Good evening, Miss Clarkson,” he said, removing his cap. “I’m sorry to say you have a bit of a problem. If you’ll kindly step outside and close the door, you’ll see what it is.”
She resisted the urge to sigh and did what he’d asked, closing the front door and following him a few steps away from the house. The fall evening was cool and damp, and she wished she had a sweater. The clouds shielding the moon and stars threatened rain. Rain! She tried not to panic at the thought of thirty children cooped up inside her home on a rainy day.
“As you can see,” the warden said, gesturing to the manor, “you have light leaking everywhere. It’s imperative that the countryside remain in pitch-darkness so our enemies have no signposts to follow on their bombing raids.”
Slivers of light spilled from behind windows on all three floors, including Father’s study. He hadn’t allowed anyone into his lair, and the light shone like a beacon in the featureless night. Beyond the manor, the countryside was pitch-black as far as Audrey could see, causing the leaking light to shine even brighter. “I’m very sorry, but we ran out of cloth.” Was it only this morning that she’d stood on a ladder to pin it into place? “Wellingford has so many windows, you see, and—”
“You’ll have to paint them. And you’ll need to do it right away. Tomorrow, in fact.”
The thought of splashing ugly black paint on Wellingford’s beautiful mullioned windows pained Audrey. “Yes, I understand. But I’m not sure we can get to it tomorrow. We just received thirty evacuated children today—more than we’d planned for, you see—and it’s been a bit chaotic as they’ve settled in. We’ll do better with the blackout in the future, I promise.” The warden looked so grim and serious that she fought the giddy urge to add, Cross my heart and hope to die.