Defence meeting in Nuneaton, so you will need to fill up the paperwork for Mrs. Chambers when she arrives. She’ll be here at three.”
And this is the last time you can make me do something on my half-day out, Eileen thought. “Yes, ma’am. Will there be anything else?”
“Tell Mrs. Chambers I’m sorry I wasn’t able to be here,” she said, pulling on her gloves. “Oh, and after you have the children settled, this cotton lint needs to be torn into strips and rolled for bandages. I promised they’d be done for my St. John’s Ambulance meeting tomorrow. And tell Samuels to have the car brought round.” She picked up her bag. “You may go.”
That is just what I intend to do, Eileen thought, running down to tell Samuels and then pelting back up to her room. But before she could even get her uniform unbuttoned, Una appeared to tell her that Mrs. Chambers was downstairs with three children.
“There must be some mistake,” Una said, nearly in tears. “They can’t be for here, can they?”
“Unfortunately, yes. Has her ladyship gone?”
Una nodded. “What will we do with more children?” she wailed. “We already have so many!”
And Una would never be able to manage the billeting forms. Eileen glanced at her watch. Half past two. The children wouldn’t be home from school for another hour. I’m already leaving her and Mrs. Bascombe in the lurch, Eileen thought. At least I can get the new evacuees settled before I leave. “Go make up three more cots in the nursery,” she said, “and I’ll go and speak with her. Where are they?”
“In the morning room. How will we manage thirty-two children with only the three of us?”
The two of you, Eileen corrected, hastening down to the morning room. Lady Caroline would simply have to exert herself and find a new maid. Or pitch in and do that bit for the war effort she was always talking about. She opened the door to the morning room. “Mrs. Chambers, her ladyship asked me to—”
Theodore Willett was standing there with his suitcase. “I want to go home,” he said.
He has missed the bus.
—NEVILLE CHAMBERLAIN, REFERRING TO HITLER, 5 APRIL 1940
Saltram-on-Sea—29 May 1940
MIKE STARED AT THE GIRL. “WHAT DID YOU SAY?” HE asked. He had to have heard her wrong.
“I said, the bus came yesterday. It comes on Tuesdays and Fridays.”
Which meant today was Wednesday the twenty-ninth, and he’d already missed three days of the evacuation.
“It used to be every day,” she said, “but since the war—”
“But Friday’s the thirty-first,” Mike exploded. “There has to be a bus before then.” The entire British Army would have been evacuated by then. He’d have missed the whole thing. “What about Ramsgate? When’s the next bus that goes there?”
“I’m afraid that’s Friday, as well,” the girl said. “It’s the same bus, you see.” She’d retreated warily up a step, and he realized he’d been yelling.
“I’m sorry,” Mike said. “It’s just that I was supposed to be in Dover this afternoon to cover a story, and now I don’t know how I’m going to get there. How far’s the nearest train—I mean, railway—station?” If there was one in the next village, maybe he could walk to it.
“Eight miles,” Daphne said, “but there haven’t been any passenger trains from there since the start of the war.”
Of course. “What about a car? Is there one in the village I could rent—I mean, hire? Or someone I could pay to drive me into Dover? I could pay—” Oh, Christ, what was the going rate for renting a car in 1940? “Three pounds.”
“Three pounds?” Her eyes widened. “I always heard Yanks were rich.”
Which meant that was way too much. “I’m not rich. It’s just really important I get there today.”
“Oh. Mr. Powney might be able to take you in his lorry,” she suggested, “but I don’t know if he’s back yet.”
“Back?”
“He went to Hawkhurst yesterday to buy a bull,” she explained. “He may have decided to stay over. He hates driving in the blackout. I’ll ask Dad. Back in a moment.” She ran back up the stairs, glancing flirtatiously over her shoulder at him as she went. “Dad?” he heard her say. “Is Mr. Powney back from Hawkhurst yet?”
“No. Who’s that you’re talking to, Daphne?”
“A Yank. He’s a reporter.”
Mike couldn’t hear the rest of the conversation. After a minute, Daphne ran back down the stairs. “Dad says he’s not back, but he should be sometime this morning.”
“And there’s no one else here with a truck—I mean, a