‘I have the local newspaper here – that might help you with your search,’ she said, going to where a pile of magazines and newspapers were heaped on the table. ‘Ah yes, here it is. It’s nearly a week old, but who knows, there may be something in here . . .’ She opened it to the ‘situations vacant’ page. ‘How are your cooking skills?’ The look on Helen’s face spoke volumes. Lizzie picked up a pencil and crossed out all of the advertisements for cooks, live-in or otherwise. ‘Hmm . . . how is your shorthand and typing?’

  ‘Rusty. I could probably build up my speed fairly easily, but I’ve not done much of that in recent years. I’ve been more of a personal assistant; perhaps I should look for something else . . .’

  Lizzie ran her finger down the columns, frowning. ‘There is very little here for women, I’m afraid. Had you thought about joining one of the services? So many people are, you know.’

  Helen nodded. ‘I have thought about it, but to be honest I feel as though until everything is settled with John’s death, I can’t make a decision as significant as that. I need something to fill the gap. I know for sure I won’t return to London to work, unless I’m forced to if nothing else comes up. I wonder if there’s any work available at the airfield? There must be female civilian workers there, surely?’

  ‘I’ll ask my husband to enquire. You never know, something might crop up. What about this?’ Lizzie tapped the bottom of the final column. ‘Are you any good with dogs?’

  ‘Well, we had an old collie when I was a child – why do you ask?’

  ‘The kennels up at Stan Trentham’s place are looking for someone to help in the kennel business. You need to have bookkeeping knowledge and be prepared to muck in with the kennels. There is a room available as well. It’s not far from here, a short cycle ride in fact.’

  ‘I remember the kennels, we visited when I was a child. I bet somebody has grabbed that job,’ Helen said, getting up to look over Lizzie’s shoulder at the advertisement.

  ‘I have an idea. Stay here and finish your tea and cake. I just need to see someone.’

  While Lizzie was gone, Helen wandered over to the worktable where her patchwork quilt was laid out. She removed the few fabric pieces from her handbag and put them in place. It was clear that Lizzie’s idea would work; she’d need to do some unpicking, but not very much. The end result would be well worth it. Picking up a small pair of embroidery scissors, she snipped at stitches and parted several of the pieces. She put in the piece from Felicity’s blouse between two different-coloured pieces of shirt fabric. ‘Perfect,’ she said aloud, and pinned the pieces into place.

  ‘Helen, can you spare a moment?’ Lizzie said as she came back into the room and spotted Helen, now seated at the sewing machine. ‘I have someone here who would like to have a chat with you.’

  Helen looked up and smiled a greeting, recognizing one of the women from the knitting group.

  ‘This is Jean Carter; she’s popped in this afternoon to help out with the rag rug group. Several of the ladies wanted to finish their rugs in time for Christmas, and although she helps run the knitting section, she’s a rug maker as well – that’s when she’s not the cook up at the kennels . . .’

  Helen looked between Lizzie and Jean and thought how fortuitous it was that Lizzie seemed to know everybody in the area. ‘It’s nice to see you again, Jean. Did Lizzie mention that I’m looking for a live-in position for at least the next few months? Something to tide me over until I know what’s going to happen with my life. My husband died recently . . .’

  ‘My condolences,’ Jean said. ‘Lizzie did mention that I might be able to put a word in with my boss up at The Grange. Can I fill you in a bit more on what the job entails? The women who’ve replied so far have been unsuitable. One didn’t even like dogs.’

  Lizzie pointed out the two armchairs, and the women went to sit down. ‘I’ll leave you to it for a while, I have one or two things to do. And I’ll check to see if your clothes are dry.’

  Helen thanked Lizzie and turned back to Jean. ‘You said The Grange – but I thought the job was at a dog kennels?’

  ‘It is, but Mr Trentham’s home is more than just a dog kennels. It’s been in the family for donkey’s years. He happens to be a champion dog breeder – or at least, he was until the war stopped everything. He was always off showing his dogs all over the country; he judges dogs and is quite an expert, you know.’

  ‘That does sound interesting. My late husband’s sister breeds poodles, so I know a little of what goes on, but I’m willing to learn more.’

  Jean smiled at Helen’s words. ‘You wouldn’t be expected to get involved with the breeding or anything like that. It’s more to sort out Mr Trentham’s office and his paperwork. He’s such a messy so-and-so. There’s paperwork all over the place. He’d rather spend all his time with his dogs than do what he calls boring administration stuff. I would think you’d be required to do some typing and look after his finances as well. Customers pay him, and then he never bothers to go to the bank. Everything is a complete mess,’ she added.

  ‘It does sound as though he needs a helping hand. I’m sure I could do the job. I did something similar for my husband when he was alive, although dogs weren’t involved. Would that go against me if I applied?’

  ‘I don’t think it would, Miss, especially if I put in a word for you. With regard to the dogs, though, he does run a boarding kennels – that’s where the money comes from – so there are some long-term lodgers as well as some that just come in for short stays. The long-term ones belong to people in the services. We do lend a hand at feeding times, give the odd bath and so on. For me it’s a pleasure to get out of the kitchen for a while and get some fresh air. I have my favourites that I walk. Then, of course, there are the strays . . .’

  ‘The strays! Do you mean he takes in stray dogs?’

  ‘Half the time he has no choice in the matter. A week doesn’t pass without dogs being tied to the gates of The Grange. Some people leave a note and others don’t.’

  Helen frowned. ‘I don’t understand; why is this happening?’

  Jean shrugged her shoulders. ‘It’s the war. You can blame bloody Hitler. People are worried, you see, that before too long they won’t be able to feed their dogs, let alone care for them if the rumours about bombings continue. Because Mr Trentham has a big house and kennels, people believe he can afford to take them all in. The silly old sod has got such a soft heart, he can’t say no. So you see, whoever takes on the job will be expected to help out with the strays as well. Granted, you get your bed and board, and if I say so myself, you’ll be well fed. But there won’t be much money by way of wages. If what you really need is a decent income, don’t even think of applying.’

  Helen turned to Lizzie, who had just returned with her dry clothing. ‘May I have some notepaper? If I write a letter now, perhaps Jean will take it with her. The job sounds perfect.’

  10

  Christmas Day 1939

  On Christmas morning, Helen popped down to the kitchen to hand out gifts to the excited children. She’d put a lot of thought into the items in the two stockings, choosing jigsaw puzzles, books and a box of sugared almonds for each girl. Effie had been overjoyed to open a gift box to find a shell-pink cardigan embroidered with spring flowers around the neckline and down the panelled front. She had scolded Helen good-naturedly for spending far too much money, although Helen could see the joy that the gift had brought to the woman’s face. In return, the two girls proudly handed over a gift each to Helen, who was delighted with the homemade calendar and a cross-stitched panel that declared there was ‘no place like home’. Effie gave her a knowing smile; they both knew the sentiment was not actually true in Helen’s case.

  Helen was surprised when Effie handed her a large box, and worried she’d spent too much money. She knew that her mother paid the lowest rates she could possibly get away with for a housekeeper.

  ‘Whatever could this be?’ she asked as the three faces watched in anticipation while she slowly opened the present. ‘This is a perfect gift,’ she exclaimed, and had them all laughing as she pulled a rag rug from the box.

  ‘I had help making it,’ Effie explained. ‘I wasn’t sure I would finish in time for Christmas. You won’t find any of the fabric from you-know-who in there,’ she added as Helen ran her hand over the pieces of fabric neatly inserted into the sacking back. ‘In the rag rug group, we exchanged material to make these special gifts. I hope you’ll remember the three of us when you put your feet on it each morning as you climb out of bed.’

  ‘I adore it,’ Helen said, kissing each of the girls in turn and giving Effie a huge hug.

  She had not yet told Effie that she might be moving out of the house. Jean had promised to let her know as soon as there was news about the letter she’d sent to the owner of The Grange. Until then, she thought it best to keep her plans a secret. ‘Have you found somewhere to move to?’ she asked Effie.

  ‘Nothing yet; that’s why I think it best if I move back home to the East End. It’s not perfect, and in fact I’m rather worried about it, but I get the feeling we are no longer welcome here.’ She lowered her voice so her daughters didn’t hear. By now they were busy opening the sweets and arguing over which jigsaw puzzle to work on first.

  ‘Look, don’t do anything rash.’ Helen kept her voice low too. ‘You never know – something better might come up.’

  Effie promised she wouldn’t, and then invited Helen to join them for their trip to church for the morning service. ‘I would like to have gone to the midnight mass last night, but it wouldn’t have been fair on the children. This morning will be just as special. And I have everything prepared for the dinners, so there’ll be no complaints,’ she said, looking upwards to the ceiling and the floor above, where she knew the dining room was laid out ready for her employer’s Christmas meal.

  ‘That’s a splendid idea,’ Helen said. ‘I just need to fetch my coat and hat and I’ll be ready. Shall I meet you on the drive in ten minutes?’ she asked, knowing that her mother didn’t like Effie bringing the children through the house. That way she could use the back entrance that led to their own rooms as well as the basement kitchen.

  ‘Can we make it fifteen minutes, please? I need to run a flannel over the girls’ faces and make them look presentable,’ Effie said as they both smiled at the sticky mess round the children’s mouths.

  ‘I’m going to church,’ Helen called out to her mother, who was sitting in the drawing room listening to a service on the wireless. ‘Would you like to join me? I’m going with Effie and her daughters.’

  ‘I don’t think so. Have you forgotten one doesn’t socialize with the staff? You should have learnt that in your position as John’s wife. It is especially wrong to be seen in public with them,’ Hillary tutted.

  ‘Oh, Mother, try to show some kindness. It’s Christmas. And as for my position, it no longer matters. Besides, as a Member of Parliament John did not distinguish between rich or poor, or people of different social standings. In his eyes, every person was equal and treated with respect.’

  Hillary Davis shook her head in disbelief. ‘That kind of thinking would never have made him prime minister. A Member of Parliament needs standards to live by. And to think we had such high hopes,’ she said, reaching for a handkerchief and sniffing into it in an affected way. ‘I do wonder why you didn’t go to stay with John’s family, as it is their first Christmas without him.’

  Helen grimaced. ‘For one thing, I wasn’t invited – and in any case, all the time I was married we never spent Christmas with them. We entertained in London. Don’t you remember? You were invited every year and refused.’

  ‘That was your father refusing, not me,’ Hillary hit back at her. ‘You know he didn’t agree with your husband’s politics.’

  ‘Mother, when will you remember that the man who lives here with you is not my father? I would never give him that honour, so please don’t keep talking as if we are one happy family, because we aren’t. He has no idea how to handle children, he was harsh and intimidating. He was only interested in me once I was a young woman.’ Hillary’s eyes widened at her words. ‘Now, if you are sure you don’t wish to join me, I’ll be on my way,’ Helen finished, heading out of the house and walking down to the gate where Effie and the girls were already waiting. Taking each girl by the hand, they headed off in the chilly morning.

  The girls asked all kinds of questions as they hurried along trying to keep warm. Questions about Christmas, Helen’s life when she lived in London, and whether she thought Father Christmas was real. Apparently, one of the children with whom they’d been evacuated had told them adamantly that there was no such person.

  ‘He must be real, otherwise you wouldn’t have received such lovely gifts,’ Effie chided them gently. ‘Where do you think Miss Helen got your presents from?’

  ‘Father Christmas?’ chimed the youngest girl as the older one shouted, ‘London’.

  As they arrived at the church they saw from a distance Lizzie and her husband, who were just climbing from their car.

  ‘The petrol ration doesn’t seem to worry them,’ Effie whispered good-naturedly. ‘Considering they are foreigners, I quite like them – and she has a lovely home. It’s so full of laughter. The girls are going to look forward to attending school in the barn in the new year. That’s if we’re here,’ she added sadly.

  ‘Think positively,’ Helen encouraged her, giving her a quick hug just as they were joined by Jean Carter.

  ‘May I have a quick word?’ she asked Helen. Effie took hold of her girls’ hands and said she would see Helen inside.

  Helen felt as though she had butterflies in her tummy. Was Jean going to give her some news about the job at the kennels?

  ‘I have a reply from Mr Trentham,’ Jean said, handing over an envelope with Helen’s name on it in fine copperplate handwriting. ‘I must go,’ she said, waving to where members of the knitting circle were standing together.

  Helen quickly opened the envelope and read the contents of the letter, chewing her lip as she did so. Putting the letter into her pocket, she squared her shoulders and hurried inside to join her friends.

  ‘You seem to have something on your mind, Helen,’ her mother said as she set down her knife and fork after Christmas lunch, picking up the bell to summon Effie for the next course. She looked expectantly at her daughter, waiting for a reply.

  Helen put a hand on the pocket of her cardigan, feeling the shape of the envelope. Now is as good a time as any, she thought, as she stacked the plates and left them at the corner of the table ready for Effie to take away.

  ‘I really wish you’d leave that for the girl to do,’ Hillary muttered while still waiting for Helen to respond.

  As Helen sat down she heard Effie approaching, carrying the plum pudding her mother had made months earlier. No doubt it would be as hard and dry as the ones she’d made in previous years. The pudding reminded her of her mother; there was no sweetness or joy to be had from either.

  ‘I have some news to share,’ Helen said, removing the envelope from her pocket. She saw Effie’s eyes widen in anticipation. ‘I have secured a position and will be leaving home in just over a week.’ Effie’s shoulders drooped in dismay, while Gavin’s eyes bored into Helen.

  ‘You’ve told your mother nothing about this!’ he said, thumping the table with his fist. ‘After all we’ve done for you, taking you in when you were homeless.’

  ‘I was never homeless. I chose to come home and stay here in my mother’s house. This was once my home as well, before you arrived on the scene.’

  ‘Helen, really! There is no need to speak to your fa— your stepfather like that.’

  ‘I’ll speak to him however I wish, Mother. I’m a grown woman now. Just because you kow-tow to the man, it doesn’t mean I have to. For heaven’s sake – this is your house and he moved in. Why does he have this hold over you? I don’t think for one moment that it’s love, do you?’

  Her stepfather got to his feet, his face so red it looked as though he would explode at any moment. ‘I’ll have you know that if it wasn’t for my money, you and your mother would have been out on the street. You and she were left with hardly anything after your father died. In fact, to use one of your quaint East End terms,’ he said, nodding towards a dumbfounded Effie, ‘you didn’t have a pot to piss in.’

  Hillary burst into tears. Effie suppressed a grin as she placed the plum pudding in front of Gavin, along with a small bottle of brandy for him to pour over the hot pudding and set alight. He swept it away with one hand, sending plates and cutlery crashing to the floor.

  Hillary spat at Effie: ‘And you’re not helping. I thought I told you – we do not want children in this house. You’ve had plenty of time to either send them back to the country, or have a member of your family take them in. A condition of your employment was that no child lived under this roof.’

  Any flicker of sympathy Helen might have felt for her mother was instantly snuffed out by these words. She watched Hillary’s face and realized she knew more than she was letting on. Memories of her early life, when Gavin had married her mother, came flooding back. ‘For once, Mother, you are right – no child should live under this roof.’ She stared coldly across the table at her stepfather. ‘This house was never welcoming to me as a child, and it’s really no place for children now.’

  Effie looked shocked. ‘I’ve been trying to look for somewhere,’ she said, as her bottom lip started to tremble.

  ‘There is no need,’ Helen said, going to stand beside Effie. ‘When I leave in a few days’ time, so will you and the girls. My mother and her husband can fend for themselves. Come along, let’s go down to the kitchen and enjoy what’s left of Christmas with the children. Mother, don’t forget, the king will be speaking shortly so you’ll need to warm up the wireless set. God forbid I should stand in the way of you having a pleasant Christmas.’