Meredith yawned and promptly forgot all about it. There was a patch of violets growing wild near the bridge and she couldn’t resist picking some. When her posy was lovely and thick, she climbed up to sit on the railing of the bridge and divided her time between daydreaming and dropping the flowers, one by one, into the stream, watching as they turned purple somersaults in the gentle current.
“Morning.”
She looked up to see Percy Blythe pushing her bicycle up the driveway, an unflattering hat on her head, requisite cigarette in hand. The stern twin, as Meredith usually thought of her, though today there was something else in her face, something beyond stern and a little more like sad. It might just have been the hat. Meredith said, “Hello,” and clutched the railing to save herself from falling.
“Or is it afternoon already?” Percy slowed to a stop and flicked her wrist, reading the small watch-face that sat against the inside. “Just gone half past. You won’t forget we have a tea engagement, will you?” She glanced over the end of her cigarette as she drew long and hard, then exhaled slowly. “Your parents would be rather disappointed, I imagine: to travel all this way only to miss you.”
It was a joke, Meredith suspected, but there was nothing jovial about Percy’s expression or her manner, so she couldn’t be sure. She hedged her bets, smiling politely; at the very least, she figured, Percy might assume she hadn’t heard.
Percy gave no indication that she’d noticed Meredith’s response, let alone given it further thought. “Well,” she said, “things to do.” And she nodded bluntly, continuing on towards the castle.
FOUR
WHENMeredith finally caught sight of her parents, walking together up the driveway, her stomach flip-flopped. For a split second she felt as if she was watching the approach of two dream people, familiar yet entirely out of place here, in the real world. The sensation lasted only a moment before something inside her, some disc of perception, turned over and she saw properly it was Mum and Dad and they were here at last and she had so much to tell them. She ran forwards, arms wide, and Dad knelt, mirroring her posture, so she could leap into his big, wide, warm embrace. Mum planted a kiss on her cheek, which was unusual but not unpleasant, and although she knew herself to be far too old for it, neither Rita nor Ed was there to tease her, so Meredith let her dad hold hands with her all the rest of the way, as she talked without pause about the castle and its library and the fields and the brook and the woods.
Percy was already waiting by the table, smoking another cigarette, which she extinguished when she saw them. She smoothed the sides of her skirt, held out a hand, and with a bit of fussing the greeting was effected. “And how was your train trip? Not too unpleasant I hope?” The question was perfectly ordinary, polite even, but Meredith heard the upper-class clip of Percy’s voice through her parents’ ears and wished it were Saffy’s soft welcome instead.
Sure enough, Mum’s voice was thin and guarded: “It was long. Stopping and starting all the way, letting the troop trains pass. We spent more time in the sidings than we did on the track.”
“Still,” said Dad, “our boys have gotta get themselves to war somehow. Show Hitler Britain can take it.”
“Just so, Mr. Baker. Sit down, won’t you, please?” said Percy, indicating the prettily laid table. “You must be famished.”
Percy poured tea and offered slices of Saffy’s cake, and they spoke, somewhat stiltedly, about the crowding on the trains, the state of the war (Denmark had toppled, would Norway be next?), predictions for its progress. Meredith nibbled a piece of cake and watched. She’d been convinced that Mum and Dad would take one look at the castle, then another at Percy Blythe, with her plummy accent and broomstick spine, and adopt defensive maneuvers, but so far things were going smoothly enough.
Meredith’s mum was very quiet, it was true. She kept one hand holding tightly on to the handbag on her lap in a nervous, stiff sort of way, which was a little disquieting given that Meredith couldn’t think that she’d ever seen her mother nervous before: not of rats, or spiders, or even Mr. Lane from across the road when he’d spent too long in the pub. Dad seemed to be a bit more at ease, nodding as Percy described the Spitfire drive and the care packages for soldiers in France, and sipping tea from a hand-painted porcelain teacup as if he did so every day. Well, almost. He did manage to make it look rather like a doll’s house tea set. Meredith didn’t think she’d ever realized quite how enormous his fingers were and an unexpected wave of affection washed over her. She reached out beneath the table to lay her palm on his other hand. They weren’t a family who expressed themselves physically and he glanced up, surprised, before squeezing hers in return.
“How’s your schoolwork going, my girl?” He leaned his shoulder a little closer and looked up to wink at Percy: “Our Rita might have got the looks, but young Merry here took all the brains.”
Meredith warmed with pride. “I’m doing lessons here, Dad, at the castle, with Saffy. You should see the library, there are more books even than at the circulating library. Every wall covered with shelves. And I’m learning Latin …” Oh, how she loved Latin. Sounds from the past, imbued with meaning. Ancient voices on the wind. Meredith pushed her spectacles higher up the bridge of her nose; they often slipped with excitement. “And I’m learning the piano, too.”
“My sister Seraphina is very pleased with your daughter’s progress,” said Percy. “She’s come along rather well, considering she’d never seen a piano before.”
“Is that right?” said Dad, hands jiggling in his pockets so that his elbows moved most peculiarly above the tabletop. “My girl can play tunes?”
Meredith smiled proudly and wondered if her ears were glowing. “Some.”
Percy topped up everybody’s tea. “Perhaps you’ll take your parents inside later, Meredith; into the music room, where you might play one of your pieces for them?”
“You hear that, Mum?” Dad nodded his chin. “Our Meredith is playing real music.”
“I heard.” Something seemed to set then in Mum’s face, though Meredith wasn’t sure exactly what it was. It was the same look she got when she and Dad were fighting over something and he made a small but fatal error ensuring that victory would be hers. Her voice tight, she spoke to Meredith as if Percy wasn’t there. “We missed you at Christmas.”
“I missed you too, Mum. I did really want to come and visit. Only there were no trains. They needed them all for the soldiers.”
“Rita’s coming home with us today.” Mum set her teacup on its saucer, straightened the teaspoon decisively, and pushed it away. “Found her a position with a hairdressing salon we have, down on the Old Kent Road. Starts on Monday. Cleaning at first, but they’ll teach her how to do sets and cuts, too.” Gratification brought a glimmer to Mum’s eyes. “There’s opportunities at the moment, Merry, what with so many of the older girls joining the Wrens or going to the factories. Good opportunities for a young girl without other prospects.”
It made sense. Rita was always fussing with her hair and her prized collection of beauty aids. “Sounds good, Mum. Nice to have someone in the family who can set your hair for you.” That didn’t seem to please her mum.
Percy Blythe took a cigarette from the silver case Saffy insisted she use in company and felt about in her pocket for matches. Dad cleared his throat. “The thing is, Merry,” he said, and his awkwardness was no consolation to Meredith for the terrible thing he said next: “your Mum and me—we thought it might be time for you, too.”
And then Meredith understood. They wanted her to go home, to become a hairdresser, to leave Milderhurst. Deep inside her stomach panic formed a ball and started rolling back and forth. She blinked a couple of times, straightened her specs, then stammered, “But, but, I don’t want to be a hairdresser. Saffy says it’s important I finish my education. That I might even get a place at grammar school when the war is over.”
“Your mum was just thinking of your future with the hairdressing; we can talk about something else if you like. An office girl maybe. One of the ministries?”
“But it’s not safe in London,” said Meredith suddenly. It was a stroke of genius: she wasn’t really remotely frightened of Hitler or his bombs, but perhaps this was a way to convince them.
Dad smiled and patted her shoulder. “There’s nothing to worry about, my girl. We’re all doing our bit to ruin Hitler’s party: Mum’s just started in a munitions factory and I’m working nights. There’s no bombs been dropped, no poison gas, the old neighborhood looks just the same as always.”
