It was possible, so Tony had said when he called in to thank them for supporting the concert last night, that the naval ship had not hung around in case the U-boat returned, so other survivors might have managed to escape in a life raft from the Arcadia. Imagining her brother adrift in the treacherous waters of the Atlantic was the best Hope could come up with as a sickening alternative to him being dead. If he was lost at sea, there was at least the chance another naval or merchant ship might pick him up.
She prayed that night in bed that Kit would be found. She kept the same prayer going in the days that followed. Together with Evelyn, she clung to the faintest of hopes that he had somehow beaten the odds and would arrive at Island House any day wondering what all the fuss had been about.
But when a fortnight had passed and there was still no word of him having been picked up, Hope’s faith in prayer faded. Her brother was dead; she had no alternative but to accept that she had lost another person she loved. And just as she’d wished she’d had the chance to apologise to Allegra before she had died, and to her father, so she wished she could have had the chance to say sorry to Kit for being such a poor sister to him.
To stop herself from dwelling on the last awful moments of what her brother might have suffered, she forced her heart to wrap itself around the memories of them wandering the meadows together as children, of him lying on his back in amongst the long grass and staring up at the clouds, of the times she had defied the orders of their nanny and sneaked into his room to keep him company when he was ill.
Dear Kit, he had been such a gentle, loving boy. Why had his life had to end so cruelly and so needlessly?
Chapter Sixty-Four
As April drew to a close, the news on the wireless and in the newspapers took on a chilling reality that left no one in any doubt that the phoney war was over. Hitler had now invaded Denmark and Norway. Norway put up a valiant resistance, but the Germans overcame them and landed seven divisions ashore within forty-eight hours, seizing the main ports.
‘Could they do that here?’ asked Stanley, his eyes wide as he ran his finger over the words of the newspaper in front of him on the kitchen table, his brow furrowed in concentration.
‘Could who do what exactly?’ asked Romily.
‘Them Jerries. Could they invade us? Jimmy Powell at school today was saying it’s only a matter of time before we’re all speaking German.’
‘Jimmy Powell is talking nonsense,’ said Mrs Partridge, furiously knocking the lumps out of the potatoes she was mashing. ‘Them Danes and Norwegians might not have been ready for that madman, but let me tell you, we are!’
‘How do you know that for sure?’
Mrs Partridge spun round, the potato masher in her hand. ‘That’s just the sort of cowardly defeatist talk we can do without!’
‘Mrs Partridge is right,’ said Romily more gently. ‘Hitler wants us all to be scared and to think it would be easier to throw in the towel and surrender.’
‘But—’
‘No buts, Stanley,’ chimed in Mrs Partridge again. ‘We’re not going to let that Hitler get so much as a sniff of us. The navy will bomb the German warships clean out of the water or my name isn’t Enid Partridge! Now why don’t you put that newspaper away and go and play in the garden. You could help Mrs Bunch with the rugs if you want to be helpful. There’s a spare beater in the scullery you can use.’
After Stanley had gone, Romily continued to give Isabella her teatime bottle of milk, marvelling as she always did at the baby’s perfection, and the tug she had on her heart. She glanced over at Mrs Partridge giving the saucepan of potatoes hell.
‘Does Stanley seem particularly anxious to you?’ she asked. It had often crossed Romily’s mind how scared the boy might be that his mother would show up here again and demand he return to London with her. Was it possible that his apparent growing fear of a German invasion masked the more tangible fear that his mother presented? So far their tactic of staying silent about him running away to be with them here at Island House was working; nobody from the authorities had been in touch, and better still, there had not been one word of contact from Mrs Nettles.
‘I know what you mean,’ said Mrs Partridge, ‘but truth be told, we’re all more anxious now, aren’t we? These last months most folk have been grumbling about what they can and cannot do; now it seems more real, that any day the enemy could land on these shores.’
‘I agree,’ said Romily. ‘There’s a change of mood in the air; people are beginning to take things more seriously. Which might make finding a new maid even more difficult, unless I become a lot less choosy.’
‘No, you mustn’t do that,’ the other woman said with a shake of her head. ‘We’re coping well enough as things are. Don’t fret over it.’
‘I had thought we might be able to poach one of the maids from Melstead Hall, but I hear they have their eyes firmly on pastures further afield.’
‘We can hardly blame them in the circumstances. Oh, I nearly forgot to tell you, Mrs Bunch was saying earlier that Sir Archibald has gone to London and is remaining there for the foreseeable, leaving Lady Fogg to face her shame alone. Word is, she’s not got a friend to turn to, she’s been well and truly ostracised by the great and good of Melstead St Mary.’
‘That seems a little unnecessary,’ said Romily with a frown, picturing Lady Fogg alone and miserable in that great mausoleum of a house, and probably disappointing all and sundry in the village that she hadn’t been sent to prison and put to work sewing mailbags.
‘Some might say it’s the least she deserves.’
‘Well, I’ve never been an advocate of spite for the sake of spite.’
‘That’s because you’re always so fair-minded.’
‘I wouldn’t say that exactly; probably more a case of having been spared the full extent of Lady Fogg’s rudeness because I’ve had so little contact with her.’ An idea suddenly came to Romily. ‘What say you we invite her for tea one day?’ she added.
Mrs Partridge stared at her with an expression of alarm. ‘Do you think that wise? Won’t we be tainted by association?’
‘Flirting with the enemy, you mean? What could be more delicious?’ said Romily with a smile. ‘In fact, a better idea would be to invite her to join me for tea at the Cobbles, that way the coven would either witness us together with their own eyes, or get to hear of it. Just imagine their shock and disgust! And who knows, it might go some way to help alter public opinion; after all, isn’t there enough hostility in the world?’
