‘There would, but you would also have bombs dropping on you every night and on balance I think it’s better to be bored than blown up. Are you up for a game of Monopoly tomorrow night?’

  ‘Absolutely, but only if I can be the top hat.’

  It took Lucinda an hour to complete her patrol and on her second circuit she got her wish that something exciting would happen. She was just walking past the Greyhound, which sounded livelier than usual, when the noise level escalated.

  Something was going on and it sounded as if there was a fight. She wasn’t a member of the constabulary, therefore it wasn’t her business to interfere in anything apart from ARP business.

  She was watching from the other side of the street in front of the tobacconist when the door to the lower bar crashed open. The light poured out into the street, closely followed by three drunken locals attempting, from the look of it, to kill each other.

  ‘Close the door. Do you want a bomb dropped on you, you stupid men? The Germans will be able to see you from miles away.’ Her voice carried wonderfully and someone inside had the sense to slam the door shut.

  However, despite the freezing rain and the fact that it was as dark as a dungeon, the three idiots from the pub sounded as if they were continuing their brawl.

  Lucinda pulled the tape from the end of the torch so she got the full beam. Being able to see trumped the remote chance a German bomber would be flying overhead and see the light.

  One of the men was sprawled half on the pavement, half in the road. He wasn’t moving. The other two continued to yell and aim wild punches at each other.

  She ran across and kicked one of them in the backside as hard as she could. This got his attention wonderfully well. He swung a beefy fist at her and his language made her ears burn. She’d been expecting a reaction like this and jumped aside easily.

  ‘Stop this right now. I don’t care who’s to blame or what it’s about, but the other man is unconscious and needs urgent medical attention.’

  It was as if she’d tipped a bucket of icy water over their heads. Both belligerents scrambled to their feet and followed the beam of her torch.

  ‘Den, come on, don’t play the fool, open your eyes, you silly bugger,’ one of them said as he dropped to his knees.

  ‘Excuse me, sir, I’m a trained first-aider and I need to examine him. One of you go immediately to Dr Cousins and say that the patient’s unconscious and has possibly a severe neck injury. Ask him to call for an ambulance.’

  ‘I’ll go, miss, sorry for the language.’ The man was up and running, his heavy boots clattering on the road. Everybody knew where the doctor lived, and it was only a minute away.

  The other man had staggered across to Clifton Terrace and, from the sound of it was being very sick indeed. Lucinda shuddered – she could deal with cuts, broken bones, and blood but not that.

  She checked that the man had a pulse, he had but it was thready and weak. She carefully ran her hands along his limbs, making sure she didn’t move him. As far as she could tell he hadn’t broken anything but he’d hit his head on the kerb when he’d gone down and head injuries were the very worst.

  From her knees, she leaned up and hammered on the door. ‘There’s a man critically injured here. Possible severe neck injury. I need blankets to try and keep the rain off him.’

  ‘We’ll bring him in, miss, he’ll do better inside,’ the shadowy figure hovering by the blackout told her.

  ‘No, he mustn’t be moved until the doctor has examined him. He has to stay here.’ She pointed at the sandbags piled on either side of the door. ‘Give me those and I’ll use them to stabilise his head.’

  By the time the doctor arrived with his bag in one hand and a torch in the other, the unconscious man had been painstakingly covered in blankets and then a tarpaulin had been tucked under him and wrapped around so he wasn’t lying in a puddle or getting any wetter from the rain. The men who’d helped her understood that the slightest jar to the unfortunate man’s neck could prove fatal. The sandbags had, she prayed, provided the necessary support.

  The doctor bounded up beside her. Lucinda explained what she’d done. ‘I know I shouldn’t have moved him at all but I was worried that being wet through and cold would lessen his chances of surviving.’

  He pointed at the sandbags. ‘Good girl, you’ve done exactly the right thing,’ Dr Cousins said as he crouched beside the patient and carefully checked him over. ‘We can’t move him until the ambulance arrives. A doctor from the hospital will bring a cervical collar – I don’t have one myself.’

  ‘There’s not a lot one can do for this sort of injury, is there? If he recovers, will he be paralysed?’

  ‘If his neck’s broken then he’s unlikely to recover. However, as you had the good sense not to move him, he might survive this. Would you shine your torch so I can administer some pain relief? I don’t want him to move if he does regain consciousness.’

  ‘I don’t know if I’m supposed to stay here as this is a real emergency or if I should be continuing with my patrol.’

  ‘I can take it from here, Miss Somiton, you continue with your patrol.’

  She was turning to go when she remembered the other man. She could no longer hear any hideous retching noises.

  ‘I’d better check on the man who was vomiting. He’s ominously quiet.’

  ‘No, I’ll get someone from the pub to do that. It’s not in your purview.’

  ‘Thank you, Dr Cousins, I’d better put the tape back on my torch before I go. I’ve been breaking every regulation for the last twenty minutes.’

  She was walking past the Station Hotel when she was pretty sure she heard the ambulance arrive. Obviously, there was no need for them to ring the bell as there was no other traffic. Also, sound carried at night and possibly could be heard thousands of feet above them by a passing German bomber or fighter.

  The remainder of that night’s patrol was uneventful, but when Lucinda eventually staggered into Harbour House it took her some time to enter the details of the emergency in her logbook. Gratefully, she drank the entire flask of cocoa and gobbled down the sandwich before stumbling up to her warm bed.

  4

  Emily woke up determined to enjoy every minute of the day ahead. It was still dark but she was pretty sure it was no longer raining and the wind had dropped too. That probably meant it would be much colder going to Rowhedge, but that was preferable to being wet as well as cold.

  Not wanting to wake anyone else, she dressed quietly in her warmest clothes and then, in slippered feet, crept down the attic stairs. Grace was beginning to grizzle. She’d collect the baby and take her down and give her parents a much-needed lie-in. Daddy had finally arranged to have a weekend free – it had been months since he’d had even a whole day off.

  ‘Good morning, little one, do you want to go downstairs and have some breakfast?’ Emily said to the baby, who immediately stopped crying, rolled over and began to pull herself upright on the cot bars.

  ‘Clever girl, but I think you’re a bit whiffy. I’m going to change your bottom and get you dressed before we go down.’

  Grace gurgled happily and held out her hands to be picked up. Emily held her at arm’s length, trying not to gag. An extremely unpleasant ten minutes later, her sister was in a clean nappy. Rubber pants went over the top to keep the worst of the wet from seeping out.

  ‘Right, Grace, if you’ll stop wriggling for a minute I’ll put on your vest and leggings.’ Emily put the baby on the ground to crawl about whilst she selected a romper suit. A frock was no use at all now the baby was so mobile.

  The one she chose was pink, with long sleeves and a Peter Pan collar and had hand embroidered ducks and geese on the bodice. On top of that went a thick knitted matinee jacket in a darker shade of pink.

  ‘There, all done, sweetheart, let’s get to the kitchen which will be warmer and you can sit in your highchair whilst I get the range going.’

  Grace was quite happy to bang the tray of the highchair with a wooden spoon whilst Emily worked. The scullery window clattered which meant Ginger was back and she hoped he hadn’t brought in anything alive like he had last week. Dead ones she could manage, but not anything alive.

  The baby recognised the sound too and tried to swivel around in her highchair, squealing with excitement. She loved the cat and now she was bigger Ginger seemed to be taking more interest in her.

  The cat stalked in, tail erect, and whatever he’d brought in with him he’d sensibly left in the scullery. Lily would deal with it when she got here at seven. The kitchen clock showed it wasn’t quite six o’clock – nobody would be up for another hour at least.

  ‘Good morning, Ginger, I’m just making porridge. Would you like some?’

  The cat wove in and out of her legs, making it difficult to work. Emily wasn’t exactly sure if porridge was good for cats but Ginger loved it. Probably it was against the law to feed human food to a pet – it was certainly forbidden to put even a crust out for any birds.

  She carefully tied on Grace’s voluminous bib and tucked it firmly between the baby’s tummy and the highchair. Her sister was at the age where she wanted to try and feed herself, but it was a messy business. Usually, Mummy spooned whatever it was into Grace’s mouth but this morning Emily decided to allow her sister to have a go.

  After pouring herself a much-needed mug of tea, spooning an overgenerous amount of porridge into the cat’s dish in the scullery, she was ready to face the inevitable chaos caused by Grace being allowed a spoon and a bowl of porridge.

  It took longer to clean the mess from every surface within throwing distance of the highchair than it had to make it.

  ‘There, not a speck on you, the furniture or the floor. Here’s your spoon, darling, you bang it whilst I make us both some toast.’

  Emily took the baby into the sitting room where the fire was lit and the fireguard hooked into place, when Lily appeared at the door with a lovely mug of tea.

  ‘It’s perishing out there, but at least it’s not raining today. I’ve got a tray for your parents, Emily, I’ll watch the baby for you whilst you take it up,’ Lily said.

  ‘What a treat for them, I can’t remember when they last had the luxury of early-morning tea in bed. Ginger brought in something, but I haven’t dared look.’

  ‘Rabbit pie tonight for all of us. I brought three eggs from our chickens, and I’ll make a nice Victoria sandwich.’

  ‘Sounds scrumptious.’ Emily took the tray from Lily and was surprised there was no sound of anyone moving around in any of the bedrooms. Lucinda would sleep until lunchtime after her late-night patrolling, the boys always had a lie-in at the weekend, but her parents were usually up by now.

  She hesitated outside the door, not sure if she should leave them to sleep or wake them up with the tea. Nothing should be wasted so there was no option but to knock.

  ‘Mummy, Daddy, I’ve got tea and biscuits for you. Shall I bring it in, leave it outside or take it back downstairs?’

  There was no answer for a few moments and then Daddy called out. ‘Bring it in, sweetheart, if you don’t mind.’

  Emily carefully balanced the tray on one arm whilst she unlatched the door. ‘I got Grace up at half past five and she’s had breakfast and is playing with her bricks whilst Lily watches her in the sitting room.’

  The hall light spilled into the bedroom and she almost dropped the tray. Daddy was sitting up in bed and had absolutely no clothes on his top. Mummy remained hidden under the covers and didn’t say a word.

  ‘I’ll put the tea on this table. No need to hurry down,’ she said and backed out, her cheeks scarlet.

  Doris had explained to her in some detail what a man and a woman did together in bed. It all sounded awkward and embarrassing and not at all to her taste. However, she did know it required both participants to remove their garments.

  She was halfway down the stairs before her heart stopped hammering. Imagine if she’d walked in without knocking – that would have been even more embarrassing. Lily must have seen how pink Emily’s face was but didn’t comment. Having to explain would have been even worse than what she’d seen.

  ‘Ta for getting things ready in the kitchen, Emily. Did you hear any movement from the boys?’

  ‘No, all quiet. Lucinda didn’t rinse the flask and plate as she always does. I hope she’s all right.’

  ‘I’m not surprised after the night she had.’

  Emily listened wide-eyed as Lily told her what had occurred outside the Greyhound.

  ‘Golly, she said she wanted something exciting to happen but I’m sure it wasn’t that. I hope whoever it was that was so badly hurt is okay. Does anyone know what the fight was about?’

  ‘My Patrick was in the pub playing darts when it happened. The three were drunk; he said they only arrived in the village a few days ago so he doesn’t know much about them.’

  ‘Are they some of the new men who have come to work in one of the yards? Daddy told us he’s short of men as there’s so much work now Vospers, the other shipyard downriver, is running as well.’

  ‘They aren’t at Patrick’s yard so must be at Vospers. Right, I’d better get on, are you and Grace having a second breakfast?’

  ‘Yes, please, I only managed half a slice of toast but Grace doesn’t need anything substantial, just a biscuit and some warm milk would be lovely.’

  ‘The boys asked if they could have the rest of the apple crumble for breakfast, there’s enough for three, would you like that or more toast and porridge?’

  ‘Yes, please, Lily, I need something filling before braving the foul weather and the ferry.’

  Emily and her brothers, warmly wrapped in winter coats, wellingtons on over two pairs of socks, balaclavas pulled down over their heads, set out for Rowhedge before their parents came down. Grace had been returned to her cot for a nap and when she woke Mummy or Daddy would take care of her. She wondered if they’d deliberately stayed upstairs to avoid seeing her. Whatever the reason, and she tried not to think about it, by the time she returned it would have been forgotten.

  Lucinda was woken by a soft tap on the door. Lily called out to her.

  ‘I’ve got your lunch on a tray, Miss Somiton. Mrs Roby thought you might like to have it in bed today.’

  Lucinda yawned loudly and hopped out of bed. ‘Thanks, Lily. That’s so kind of all of you. Hang on a minute, I’m coming.’

  She collected the tray, thanked the housekeeper, and put it on the table she used as a desk. The room wasn’t exactly warm but definitely not freezing, even though the fire that had been lit before she came home had almost gone out. There were a few logs in the coal scuttle and she threw all of them on the embers and prayed that they’d catch.

  Before examining the tray, she arranged her two pillows, plus one of the cushions from her armchair, against the headboard so she had something to lean on. Only as she settled back with her lunch with the tray across her lap did she notice the letter from Ralph was tucked under the mug of tea.

  She wasn’t going to let her delicious lunch go cold just to read that man’s letter. There was a steaming bowl of vegetable soup as well as a plate of bubble and squeak with lashings of chutney.

  She devoured every morsel and drained the mug. After carefully putting the tray on the floor, she picked up the envelope, still undecided about opening it or burning it. If Ralph was no longer important to her then why was she hesitating? What could he possibly say that would be of any interest to her? She might as well open it and see for herself. There were three closely written pages, he obviously had a lot to say.

  Lucinda,

  If you haven’t torn this up and thrown it into the fire then I hope that curiosity if nothing else has led you to read it.

  There’s nothing I can say that will make things better. What Leone did was unforgivable – you were the innocent party and yet you took all the blame.

  I was obliged to go home to sort out the mess as best I could. I made the necessary financial arrangements to support my wife and children and then told her that I wanted a divorce. I was the guilty party so she could do so without sullying her reputation.

  As we’d been living apart for more than two years – not officially separated but no longer cohabiting – I thought that she’d be prepared to go along with this, to accept the generous settlement, and set me free from a marriage that was a mistake from the start.

  How wrong I was – she refused to countenance a divorce or even a legal separation. She told me quite plainly that I’d never be free of her, that I could never marry you as I want to.

  I’ve left her anyway; I have told friends, family and my employers at the War Office that I’ve left her. I would have it printed in The Times if I thought that might help.

  I should never have fallen in love with you, had an affair with you, it was reprehensible behaviour and I know that you’ll never forgive me.

  I just wanted you to know that I intended to tell you the situation before we became intimately involved but events overtook us and then it was too late.

  I ruined your life, I know that. I returned to London in the hope of seeing you, of trying to explain my perfidy, only to find that you’d been banished.

  It has taken me five weeks to find out where you are. I know of Jonathan Roby; he’s a good man so I can be sure that he is taking care of you.

  I understand that I can’t see you again whilst I’m still a married man. I just wanted you to know that when I said that I loved you, I meant it, I’ll always mean it.

  I have instructed my solicitor to start divorce proceedings. I’m hoping that when I’m no longer married you will give me a second chance.

  Lucinda read the letter several times before its contents registered. She flopped back on the pillows clutching the paper, couldn’t prevent the tears and wasn’t sure why she was crying. She’d vowed not to shed another tear over that man and here she was doing exactly that. Once she’d started, she couldn’t stop, and weeks of pent-up emotion poured out in ugly gasping sobs.