Nightingales at War (18 page)

‘
I DON’T UNDERSTAND.
What was she doing in the cellar?’

‘I don’t know, my dear,’ Reverend Stanton replied. ‘Perhaps she was taking shelter there?’

‘But why wasn’t she in the Anderson shelter with her aunt?’

Eve could hear them talking as she sat shivering under a blanket, but she didn’t know what to make of it. She didn’t know what to make of anything any more. One minute she was in the workshop, mending a pair of trousers, and the next she was being lifted out of the wreckage by strangers in uniform.

The last thing Eve remembered as they took her away was the sight of her aunt’s cash register, lying amid a heap of splintered wood that had once been the shop counter.

Now she was here, in the church hall with all the other dispossessed people. But there was no sign of Aunt Freda.

Reverend Stanton’s daughter Muriel approached her with a tea tray. ‘Here you are. I’ve put extra sugar in it.’ She held out a cup but Eve didn’t take it.

‘Have you seen my aunt?’ she asked.

Muriel’s smile wobbled. ‘Drink your tea, dear. It will make you feel better.’ She put the cup down on the floor beside her.

Eve stared at it. She didn’t deserve to feel better. ‘This is all my fault,’ she whispered.

She hadn’t realised she’d said the words aloud until she caught sight of Muriel’s quizzical look. ‘What on earth do you mean?’ she asked.

Eve shook her head. How could she answer that? Muriel was too good-hearted. She would never understand how someone could be as wicked as Eve.

Muriel hurried off with her tea tray, and Eve looked around her. Reverend Stanton had turned the church hall into a temporary rest centre for the homeless. The empty space where her aunt and the other ladies of the church had once held bazaars was now lined with mattresses. Families had set up camp there, surrounded by a hotchpotch of whatever belongings they had managed to retrieve.

Eve recognised the young mother who rented a room two doors down from Aunt Freda’s house. She sat on the floor, baby in her arms, her four other grubby-looking children crammed on the mattress around her. She claimed she was a widow, but Aunt Freda reckoned she knew better.

‘I daresay none of those children has the same father,’ she always said. ‘I’d be surprised if she knew who half of them were.’

Aunt Freda would certainly not approve of this woman being offered shelter in the church hall. ‘God’s house is no place for the ungodly,’ she would have declared.

The young woman looked up, caught Eve’s eye and sent her a wobbly smile of sympathy. Eve automatically slid her gaze away. Her aunt’s training was so drilled into her, she responded without thinking.

Besides, she didn’t deserve the woman’s sympathy. Not after what she’d done.

This was all her fault. She had prayed for a miracle to change her life, and God had punished her for it. He had sent down destruction, and all these poor people had paid the price for her blasphemy. A great weight of guilt and shame sank over her shoulders like a cloak.

And what about Aunt Freda . . . had she paid the price too, Eve wondered. No one had said what had happened to her.

Oliver Stanton came into the hall with an armful of blankets. He spotted Eve and handed the bedding to one of the volunteers, then came over to her, threading his way between people, sidestepping mattresses.

‘Eve! Thank God you’re all right. I heard about your shop—’

‘Where’s my aunt?’ she cut him off.

Oliver frowned. ‘Isn’t she here?’

‘I haven’t seen her, and no one will tell me where she is. Please, I need to find her. I need to know if she’s safe . . .’

Her desperation must have shown in her face. ‘Wait here,’ Oliver said, then turned and pushed his way back through the crowd.

Eve watched him conferring with his father, saw the frown Reverend Stanton cast in her direction, and her heart sank. By the time Oliver had made his way back to her, she had prepared herself for the worst. So it caught her off guard when he said, ‘They’ve taken her to the Nightingale.’

Hope flared inside Eve. ‘You mean she’s not dead?’

He shook his head. ‘So far as Father knows, her injuries aren’t too bad – wait!’ he said, as Eve shrugged off her blanket and got to her feet. ‘Where are you going?’

‘To see my aunt.’

‘But you can’t go out there. The sirens have just sounded again.’

‘I’ve got to see her.’

Oliver thought for a moment. ‘In that case, I’m coming with you,’ he said.

Aunt Freda sat upright in the hospital bed, no less fearsome for her borrowed nightgown and the plaster cast on her arm.

‘This is utterly ridiculous,’ she snapped. ‘I don’t even know why they’re keeping me here. I want to go home.’

‘Now Mrs Ainsley, you know what Sister said. You need to rest.’ The nurse smoothed the bedclothes down around her. Eve caught the girl’s tight smile and guessed her aunt had not been making herself popular.

‘Rest!’ Aunt Freda rolled her eyes. ‘How can I rest when there’s so much to be done?’ She turned to Eve. ‘How is the shop? Is it badly damaged?’

Eve took her time, pouring her aunt a glass of water from the jug on her bedside locker. ‘Why don’t you have a drink?’ she offered.

‘I don’t want a drink!’ Her aunt knocked the glass from Eve’s hand, sending it skittering across the floor. ‘Do you think I’m a fool, child? I know there’s something you’re not telling me. What’s happened to my shop?’

Eve picked up the glass. At least it hadn’t broken, she thought, otherwise Sister would have something to say about it.

But finally she couldn’t avoid her aunt’s stern gaze any longer. ‘I’m afraid it’s gone,’ she said.

‘Gone? What do you mean, gone?’ Aunt Freda was scornful.

‘It was destroyed, Aunt.’

‘You mean – there’s nothing left?’

Eve shook her head. ‘I’m sorry.’

She saw her aunt’s expression falter. That little tailor’s shop had been Aunt Freda’s life. It had been left to her by her father, entrusted into her safekeeping. And now it was no more.

Seeing her aunt looking so vulnerable touched Eve’s heart.

But it didn’t last for long. A moment later Aunt Freda had rallied, her invincible armour back in place.

‘Then we mustn’t waste another moment,’ she declared, throwing back the bedclothes with her free hand. ‘You must go straight to the shop, salvage everything you can. Take a wheelbarrow . . .’

‘Aunt Freda—’

But her aunt wasn’t listening. ‘I must telephone the insurance agent,’ she muttered. ‘It’s about time they did something to earn their money, after all those premiums I’ve paid. Then we must find suitable new premises . . .’

‘Mrs Ainsley, what do you think you’re doing?’

Sister Edgar’s voice rang out down the ward, stopping even Aunt Freda in her tracks.

Eve watched with trepidation as the ward sister approached. Sister Edgar was a large woman, as broad as Aunt Freda was whip-thin. They made a formidable pair as they faced each other.

‘Get back into bed at once,’ the sister ordered.

Eve was sure no one had ever spoken to her aunt like that before. Aunt Freda must have been taken by surprise by it too, because she did as she was told.

‘That’s better.’ Sister Edgar tweaked the bedclothes back into place. ‘You remember what the doctor told you? You mustn’t overexcite yourself in your condition.’

‘The doctor is talking nonsense!’ Aunt Freda said. ‘I’ve never had a day’s illness in my life.’

‘Then you’ve been very fortunate indeed, given what he said,’ Sister Edgar replied.

‘Why? What did the doctor say?’ Eve looked from one to the other of the two women.

‘Nothing worth repeating,’ Aunt Freda dismissed, tight-lipped.

‘Dr McKay has discovered your aunt has a weak heart,’ Sister Edgar explained. ‘It’s not too serious at the moment, but she needs complete rest.’ Aunt Freda rolled her eyes. ‘He’s having her transferred to a convalescent home later on today.’

‘He might think that, but I’m not going,’ Aunt Freda declared.

‘You don’t have any choice,’ Sister Edgar said. ‘It’s either that, or suffer the consequences.’

‘But I have a business to run . . .’ She faltered again, and Eve saw another flash of vulnerability in her flinty eyes. ‘At any rate, I can’t go,’ Aunt Freda said shortly.

‘The arrangements have been made.’

‘Then you can cancel them, can’t you?’

Eve looked from one to the other. It felt as if she was witnessing an epic battle between two titans.

‘Perhaps you should go, Aunt?’ she put in quietly. ‘If the doctor thinks it would be for the best.’

‘Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?’ Aunt Freda turned on her savagely. ‘I daresay you’d like nothing better than to be left to your own devices. You could get up to all kinds of wickedness then, couldn’t you?’

Eve caught Sister Edgar’s eye. ‘I didn’t mean that, Aunt.’

‘I’m sure you didn’t.’ Aunt Freda’s mouth curled. ‘Well, if I have to go then you’re coming with me,’ she said. ‘You’ll have to find somewhere to live since the shop—’ She stopped talking, braced herself and moved on swiftly. ‘You might as well move down to the country too.’

‘But where will I stay?’ Eve asked helplessly.

‘I don’t know, do I? I expect Reverend Stanton will be able to help. I’m sure he knows of some God-fearing people who will take you in.’ She nodded to herself, satisfied with her solution. ‘Tell him to come and see me, and we’ll sort something out.’

The All Clear had sounded by the time Eve left the hospital. She was surprised to find Oliver still waiting for her outside, leaning against the gates. Had he been standing there all through the raid? she wondered. He straightened up when he saw her.

‘How is she?’ he asked.

‘They’re sending her away to a convalescent home. The doctor says she has a weak heart.’ Even as she said it, Eve couldn’t believe there was anything weak about Aunt Freda.

‘What about you? What will you do?’

‘She wants me to go with her.’

‘What about your work?’

Eve suddenly remembered their argument the previous night, and the prayer that had started it all. She had prayed for her life to change, and it certainly had.

‘I’ll give it up,’ she said. ‘It’s what Aunt Freda wants anyway.’

‘And what about what you want?’

Eve stared at Oliver. She couldn’t remember anyone ever asking her that question before. She was so shocked she couldn’t think of anything to say.

‘I thought you liked working here?’ he prompted.

‘I do.’

‘Then why can’t you stay? You don’t have to follow your aunt down to the country if you don’t want to.’

‘It’s what Aunt Freda wants,’ she repeated.

‘But—’

‘Look, you don’t understand,’ Eve cut him off abruptly. She was already feeling bitterly disappointed enough, without him making it worse.

On their way back to the church hall, Eve decided to stop at what was left of the shop to collect some of her aunt’s belongings.

‘It might make her feel better if she has some of her things around her,’ she told Oliver.

‘Do you want me to come with you? I could help you to carry something?’

She shook her head. ‘I’d rather go on my own, if you don’t mind?’

Eve wasn’t sure how she would react when she turned the corner and saw the pile of rubble, splintered glass and fallen masonry that had once been her home. All around her, people were weeping as they picked over the ruins of their houses. But Eve was shocked by how little she felt. It was the only home she had ever known, and yet she couldn’t feel sad at its loss. Instead all she felt was a strange sense of – release. It was as if the walls of a prison had come down around her.

She didn’t even bother to look for any of her own belongings. She had nothing of any value to her, Aunt Freda saw to that. Instead she carefully climbed the pile, shifting pieces of debris here and there to try to find something of her aunt’s.

A well as a photograph of her grandparents, she found a wedding picture in a splintered wooden frame. Aunt Freda and Uncle Roland were smiling grimly side by side, her arm locked through his, as if to stop him escaping from her. The glass was cracked jaggedly from top to bottom, separating them.

Eve also found Aunt Freda’s jewellery box, lying on its side. It was empty.

‘Looters,’ a policeman watching over the site told her wearily. ‘They go through the bombed-out houses, looking for stuff to nick.’ He shook his head. ‘They want stringing up, I reckon.’

Then why don’t you stop them? Eve wanted to ask. She wondered if the policeman filled his pockets too, when no one was looking. Perhaps he was hiding Aunt Freda’s rose-gold bracelet, or the locket Uncle Roland had given her. It was horrible, not knowing who to trust.

She looked further, and managed to find her aunt’s chest of drawers buried under some shattered roof tiles. At least Aunt Freda would have the comfort of some of her own clothes, Eve thought.

When she returned to the hospital the following morning, Reverend Stanton was with her aunt, deep in conversation. Eve’s heart sank. They were probably discussing who would take on the burden of having her to stay, she thought.

Reverend Stanton turned to her with a smile as she approached.

‘Ah, Eve. We were just talking about you.’ He beamed. ‘Your aunt was telling me you need somewhere to stay near her while she’s convalescing?’

‘That’s right.’ Eve glanced at her aunt’s stony expression, and instantly felt wary.

‘Unfortunately, I don’t know anyone down in that particular part of the country,’ Reverend Stanton said regretfully. ‘But I do have another suggestion. How would you like to come and live with us at the vicarage?’

Eve stared at him. ‘Do you mean it?’

‘It seems like the perfect solution,’ he said. ‘And it means you could continue your work here. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’

It was more than she could have ever imagined. Hope bubbled up inside her, but Eve kept her gaze fixed on her shoes. If Aunt Freda saw any hint of joy on her face she would never agree.

‘What do you think, Aunt?’ she asked cautiously.

Aunt Freda’s mouth was so tense her lips had almost disappeared. ‘I think she would be far too much trouble for you, Reverend,’ she said.