“Yes,” Saffy agreed. “Next time.”
It seemed unlikely, to say the least. “Thank you again, for the tour …”
And as Percy led me back along a mysterious route, to Mrs. Bird and the promise of normality, Saffy and Juniper retreated in the opposite direction, their voices skirting back along the cold stones.
“I’m sorry, Saffy, I’m sorry, sorry, sorry. I just … I forgot …” The words broke then into sobs. A weeping so wretched I wanted to slam my hands against my ears.
“Come along now, dearest, there’s no need for all that.”
“But I’ve done a terrible thing, Saffy. A terrible, terrible thing.”
“Nonsense, little dear, put it out of your mind. Let’s have our tea, shall we?” The patience, the kindness in Saffy’s voice made a small chamber within my chest clench tight. I think that’s when I first grasped the interminable length of time that she and Percy had been making such reassurances, wiping the confusion from their younger sister’s aging brow with the same judicious care a parent gives their child, but without the promise that the burden would someday ease. “We’ll get you back into something sensible, and then we’ll all have tea. You and Percy and I. Things always look better after a cup of nice, strong tea, don’t they?”
MRS.BIRDwas waiting beneath the domed ceiling at the entrance to the castle, puffed up with apologies. She fawned on Percy Blythe, grimacing dramatically as she lambasted the poor unwitting villagers who’d held her up.
“It is of no matter, Mrs. Bird,” said Percy in the same imperious tone a Victorian nanny might use to address a tiresome charge. “I enjoyed leading the tour myself.”
“Well of course you did. For old times’ sake. It must be lovely for you to—”
“Indeed.”
“Such a shame that the tours were ended. Understandable, of course, and it’s a credit to you and Miss Saffy that you managed to keep them going for so long, especially with so much else on your—”
“Quite.” Percy Blythe straightened and I became aware suddenly that she didn’t like Mrs. Bird. “Now if you’ll both excuse me.” She bowed her head towards the open door, through which the outside world seemed a brighter, noisier, faster place than when I’d left it.
“Thank you,” I said before she could disappear, “for showing me your beautiful home.”
She eyed me a moment longer than seemed necessary, then retreated along the corridor, cane beating softly beside her. After a few paces she stopped and turned, barely visible in the cloaking dim. “Itwasbeautiful, you know. Once upon a time. Before.”
ONE
OCTOBER29, 1941
ONEthing was certain: there’d be no moon tonight. The sky was thick, a roiling mass of gray, white, and yellow, folded together like victims of a painter’s palette knife. Percy licked the tobacco paper and tamped it shut, rolling the cigarette between her fingertips to seal it. An airplane droned overhead, one of theirs, a patrol plane heading south towards the coast. They had to send one, of course, but there’d be nothing to report, not on a night like this, not now.
From where she leaned, her back against the van, Percy followed the plane’s progress, squinting as the brown insect grew small and smaller. The glare brought on a yawn and she rubbed her eyes until they stung pleasantly. When she opened them again the plane was gone.
“Oi! Don’t you go marking my polished hood and wings there with your lounging.”
Percy turned and rested her elbow on the van’s roof. It was Dot, grinning as she loped from the station door.
“You should be thanking me,” Percy called back. “Save you twiddling your thumbs next shift.”
“True enough. Officer’ll have me washing tea towels otherwise.”
“Or giving another round of stretcher demonstrations to the wardens.” Percy cocked a brow. “What could be better?”
“Mending the blackout curtains, for one.”
Percy winced. “That is dire.”
“Stick around here much longer and you’ll be needle in hand,” warned Dot, arriving to lean beside Percy. “Not much else doing.”
“He’s heard then?”
“RAF boys sent word just now. Nothing on the horizon, not tonight.”
“Guessed as much.”
