All Is Fair Read online

  Trying not to think about him, I looked out the window to wave at Dorothy. The whistle sounded and Dorothy’s face grew even more woebegone. I knew what would make her more cheerful. I opened the window and leaned out. “We will go to my castle and grow turnips together happily ever after!”

  Miss Climpson looked first shocked and then disapproving, but Dorothy at least broke into laughter.

  I closed the window and sat back down, only then realizing there was a young man standing in the doorway grinning at me. My ears turned hot. They always did when I was embarrassed. I knew they would be red too, which made it all the worse, so there was no way I could pretend I hadn’t been yelling ridiculous things out the window. I dropped my gaze, but not before I noticed his eyes. They were somewhere between blue and green, and lovely. His hair was too long, though, and unruly, sandy blond and waving every which way.

  “You have a castle?” he asked with an American accent. That explained the longish hair and the fact that his skin didn’t have the winter paleness still cloaking everyone else.

  “No. It was a line from a play,” I said, as if it was perfectly normal to yell lines out train windows.

  “That’s too bad. I’d like to see some castles while I’m here.” He motioned to the seat opposite me. “Is this seat taken?”

  “No.”

  He came in and sat down, looking around the compartment as if he’d never been in one before. I wondered if he was even supposed to be in first class. His jacket was old, and I could see his sleeves were frayed at the cuffs. He had traces of grease on his hands, as if he’d been working on some machinery. I found myself staring at his odd boots, well-worn leather with a swirling design. I recognized them—they were actual cowboy boots. My American uncle had a pair like them. What was a cowboy doing on a train in Oxfordshire? In general, Americans were rare outside England’s cities, but American cowboys were as rare as hens’ teeth, as our cook would say. I looked out the window so I wouldn’t keep staring.

  A woman pushing a man in a wheelchair came to a stop on the platform right outside the compartment. I couldn’t help but look. The man’s head and face were completely covered with a linen cloth so his features were hidden. He wore his soldier’s cap on top of the cloth. I wondered if the cloth hid some terrible mustard gas burns to his face, or if he no longer wanted to see the world. My father had told me some of the shell-shocked couldn’t stop seeing horrors in even ordinary things.

  The woman leaned down and spoke to the man before walking over to talk to a porter. The man’s head turned toward my window, and though I couldn’t see his eyes, I was afraid he saw me staring. I didn’t know what to do. Waving would have been ridiculous. I placed my hand on the window, hoping he hadn’t seen me acting so foolish before. I knew being at school allowed us more time than most had to push the war away when we wanted. Others never could. I felt ashamed that I’d spent my time thinking how exciting it would be to drive an ambulance, not even considering who I’d be transporting.

  “Do you mind?” A deep voice startled me. I turned to see two officers standing in the compartment’s doorway, one of them motioning to the empty seats.

  “No,” I said, trying to act as though I traveled by myself all the time. The American just shook his head.

  I knew by their uniforms that the men were naval aviators, probably stationed at the military base at Cranwell, near my home. The older aviator had a solid country-gentleman air about him, but the younger officer was handsome in a way my mother would describe as “sleek as an otter” with his small black mustache, oiled black hair, and smooth skin. I thought the man had overdone the hair oil, however. He looked positively wet.

  When they had seated themselves, the younger man held out a silver cigarette case engraved with a coat of arms and asked, “Would you like a cigarette?”

  His voice sounded familiar. I looked at him again, but couldn’t place him. I knew the correct way to answer his question. Dorothy instructed all the girls in what to say to men, should we ever have a chance to converse with any. Having two brothers who talked freely gave Dorothy copious amounts of information that she passed on to the more sheltered of us at Winterbourne. According to Dorothy, if I took one, men would assume I was fast, because nice girls either didn’t smoke or only smoked in private.

  “No thank you, I don’t smoke.” As soon as I added the last part, I wished I hadn’t. It made me sound like a prim schoolgirl.

  I glanced over at the American to find him contemplating me with amusement, as if he didn’t quite believe my words.

  The men purposely ignored the American, and the rudeness puzzled me. They should have offered him a cigarette as well. Perhaps they thought he looked out of place in first class too. When the two aviators began to talk to each other, I realized they were showing off a bit.

  “I’d like another little jaunt like the last one,” the older one said. “Watching the fireworks when that ammunition shed blew was quite a show.”

  “That was a first-rate stunt,” the other said. “More of it to come, I expect, though I’d like a new bus before we go up again. My old wreck has one too many bullet holes in it. I half expect it to fall to bits around me.”

  I couldn’t help but look at the American again. He still appeared amused, like he was watching a performance. When he caught me watching him, he had the nerve to wink. I willed my ears not to turn red again, pretending I was actually staring over his right shoulder, thinking lofty thoughts about … something other than the way one curl on his forehead looked as if someone should brush it back. Since I couldn’t think of a single actual lofty thought and I felt the telltale warmth in my earlobes, I forced myself to open my book and pretended to read.

  When I heard one of the officers say the word “Hallington,” I looked up. His next words made me think he was talking about my house.

  “Smith’s group is going to be housed in the new huts there,” the younger one said. “Lucky fellows. Beautiful place, much better than our flatlands, and close to Cranwell.”

  “Have you met him—Smith?” the other asked.

  “Yes. He is more of a regular chap than I thought he would be. One certainly can’t call him a shirker. I was surprised he had such a noticeable stutter. At least, being who he is, the boys won’t give him a rough time for it.”

  “Excuse me,” I said, closing the book. I knew it was impolite to break into a conversation, but was unable to stop myself. “Are you talking about Hallington Manor? In Lincolnshire?”

  “Yes, it’s near our base,” the younger one said. He leaned forward. “Say, I thought I knew you. You’re Lord Tretheway’s daughter, aren’t you? Lady Thomasina? Hallington is Lord Tretheway’s place,” he explained to his friend. “I’m Harold Rigall, Captain Rigall.” He held out his hand to me. “I met you with your family at my sister’s wedding years ago. I danced with your sister, Margaret, though I think she was just taking pity on me. And this is Squadron Leader MacElvoy.”

  “How do you do?” I replied. I couldn’t remember Harold. I remembered all the lovely food because it was before the shortages got so severe, and I remembered how happy my parents had looked dancing, though my mother wasn’t very good at it. She had never been a good dancer, but my father didn’t care.

  Crispin had been there too—the last time I had seen him. It occurred to me that it was the last time all five of the family were together, but of course we hadn’t known that then. We hadn’t known that our world would suddenly turn upside down, though we’d be expected to carry on as if nothing could defeat us. Some days all I wanted to do was go outside and scream as loudly as I could about how unfair it all was. Crispin should have been at Oxford studying literature, putting on theatricals, and going to fabulous parties. He and Andrew would both have been at Oxford, and on holidays they would have come home and livened up the whole house with their presence.

  One of the men coughed, and I realized they were waiting for me to say something. “I haven’t been home recently. Do you m
ean to say there will be men in the park at Hallington?” I tried to picture the grounds full of buildings for military quarters. There had been talk of it for over a year, but I hadn’t known the plan had turned into reality.

  “They are already there. About a hundred fellows just starting flight training. Any word of your brother?”

  I shook my head just as the whistle blew and the train began to slow for the stop at Northhampton. I could feel myself closing up; I didn’t want to talk about Crispin with strangers.

  “Chin up and all that,” Captain Rigall said, “though I expect you get tired of hearing such advice.” I was relieved when he switched topics. “And is your sister at Hallington? I was so sorry to hear about her husband’s death.” His question was casual, but his eyes betrayed a keen interest in my answer. I wasn’t surprised. Margaret had always cut a wide swath through crowds of adoring men, even as a widow.

  “No,” I said. “She’s in London.”

  The man’s shoulders sagged a bit. “Oh. Pity. When you speak to her, give her my regards, would you?”

  “Of course.”

  “Good enough.” The two men stood up. “Very nice to have a word with you. Makes me remember some pleasant times.” They left without even acknowledging the American.

  I felt like I had to apologize for them, but before I could, the American stood up too. “I’m off as well,” he said. “Goodbye. I suspect we will meet again very soon. In fact, you may be surprised by exactly how soon.” He grinned again as he left the compartment. I heard him start to whistle and recognized the melody from a popular tune. So send me away with a smile, little girl, brush the tears from eyes of brown.

  I watched through the window as he got off the train. He looked back and motioned for me to lower the window. When I did, he called out, “Don’t you have any lines you want to yell at me?”

  I don’t know what came over me, but another line from the play popped into my head. The prince’s true love had tried to send him away, sacrificing their happiness. “I’ll give you up because your homeland needs you!” I shouted.

  People turned to look at me, and I realized what I had done. I sank back down in the seat, out of view. I could hear Miss Climpson’s voice in my head: Thomasina, you know why you never get good marks in Deportment. I do wish you would try harder to control yourself. Since the headmistress wasn’t with me, I gave myself a failing mark for the day.

  The whistle sounded. The compartment seemed very empty now. I should have been glad the American had gotten off the train—he probably winked at every girl he met. He looked like trouble, and that was one thing I didn’t need, not with some important war work ahead of me, whatever it was. Nevertheless, I told myself I’d have something to tell Dorothy in the first letter I wrote her. It would make an interesting story.

  As the train pulled away, I noticed an elderly man selling newspapers was waving one about, trying to drum up business. “German arrested in Lincoln!” he shouted. “Spy cut telegraph wires! Read all about it!” I wished I’d noticed him before and been able to buy a paper. We girls had smuggled newspapers into school whenever we could after Dorothy told us Miss Climpson was keeping news from us about all the spies that were infiltrating Britain.

  Even though my father had told me most of it was nonsense and people were just looking for reasons to be frightened, I wasn’t so sure. That’s what he would tell me, after all, because he would think I wasn’t old enough to know the truth. Maybe the telegram proved he’d changed his mind about me. I would show him that I too could do my part. Too fidgety to sit still, I got up and stuck my head out the window, as if that would make the train go faster, though I knew I had several more hours until I got home.

  CHAPTER

  THREE

  MISS CLIMPSON HAD sent a wire to the house with the arrival time of the train, which meant Lettie, one of the housemaids, would be there to meet me with the pony cart. Since my father was living at our London house to be closer to his work, he had the motorcar with him, and the household relied on Lettie and the cart. Lettie had started out as a scullery maid before moving up to housemaid and sometimes lady’s maid, but once the men joined up, she had taken over many of their jobs. She had grown up on a farm, so she knew how to do all sorts of marvelous things I wished I could do.

  I spotted Lettie’s bright blue tam-o’-shanter first. My mother had given her the hat and Lettie loved it, so she wore it every chance she got. It looked good on her too, contrasting against her black curls.

  She waved when she saw me getting off the train and came forward to take my bag, chattering away. Mrs. Brickles, the cook, grumbled that Lettie was as talkative as a magpie and she couldn’t get a thing done when Lettie was gossiping in her kitchen. I suspected Mrs. Brickles couldn’t get anything done because she was too busy gossiping back. No one was sure who would win in a contest between the two.

  I took a moment to give the pony, Sunny, a pat, waking him from a doze, and then climbed into the cart. As we drove, Lettie told me all the doings of the neighborhood. I admit I was only half listening because my thoughts kept straying to the American. I wondered where he was at the moment. Probably winking at some other girl—some girl who didn’t have important war work ahead of her. I doubted the mysterious old friend from the telegram was already at Hallington waiting for me, but I had to ask Lettie anyway. “Do we have any guests at the house?”

  “No,” Lettie said, sounding confused. “Are there supposed to be guests?”

  “No, I was just curious.” In all the flurry of the telegram and packing and getting home, I hadn’t thought about why the telegram directed me to go to Hallington instead of meeting my father in London. Why would someone come to the country instead of somewhere more convenient? “Has my father been home recently?” I asked. I realized I didn’t know if he was even in England.

  “About a month ago, just for a day and a night,” Lettie said, flicking the reins. Sunny snorted but didn’t pick up his pace. “Very secret meeting that night. The drive was lined with motorcars. Mr. Norris came with your father and acted as footman, and he was the only one allowed in the Tapestry Room to serve. Lady Margaret and her friend weren’t even invited. They had trays in Lady Margaret’s room, though they dressed up like they were at dinner. Such pretty clothes! We were all asked to stay in the servants’ hall.”

  The news that my sister had been home was surprising, but not as surprising as the news about Mr. Norris. “Mr. Norris hasn’t acted as footman for years!” Mr. Norris was my father’s valet, and had been with him for as long as I could remember. Before the war, only young men were footmen, so it was difficult for me to envision the middle-aged Mr. Norris in the role.

  “He acted as one that night, livery and all, and he wouldn’t tell us a thing,” Lettie said. “He kept his lips buttoned up like he’d been sworn to secrecy. Mrs. Brickles couldn’t get a useful word out of him, though she tried her best. She was in a right temper with him.”

  “Who came to the meeting?” I asked.

  “No one told us,” Lettie said. “They tried to be very secret, but Mrs. Brickles and I worked it out. First of all, the chauffeurs wouldn’t come in for a cup of tea. They stayed outside by the cars. I’ve never heard of that before. And there were soldiers stationed at all the doors.”

  “Soldiers! So someone important was in the house.” Just my luck that I had missed being at home. Even though I knew my father would never give away details about a secret meeting, being there while it was happening would have been exciting.

  Lettie dropped her voice, glancing up and down the road as if it were teeming with listeners. “I think one of them was the prime minister. Imagine that! Of course, we haven’t told anyone. Not for us to give away state secrets. We’ve never said a word outside the household about any of the meetings your father has. My brother says there are some down at the White Bull who have tried to pry information out of him, thinking I’d tell him and he’d pass it on!” She flicked the reins again. “Get on there,
you old dobbin!”

  Sunny turned his head and glared at her exactly the way a person would, but he didn’t go any faster. Lettie didn’t seem to notice. “Those motorcars driving through the village draw a bit of notice. I tell anyone who asks that they’re just letting their imagination run away. It won’t be me who gives it away. Too much gossip in the neighborhood as it is.”

  I knew my father’s work with the government was the only reason the house hadn’t been turned into a convalescent home or a hospital. Most of the other large homes had long since been put to use. Though my father had never told me, I had figured out that the meetings at Hallington occurred when someone in the government needed a place outside London where they wouldn’t draw attention.

  “I wish they’d come to meetings more often,” Lettie said.

  “Isn’t that a lot more work for you?”

  “Yes, but then the house isn’t so empty. When I hear a noise, I know it’s a guest. If no one is there and I hear a noise…” Her voice trailed off.

  “What kind of noises have you been hearing? There are all sorts of creaks and pipe clangs in such an old house.”

  “I know, miss, but sometimes the noises don’t sound right. Hannah, the new housemaid, says it must be ghosts, but she does go on so. I’m not sure I believe her, though sometimes I do feel like there is a presence in the house that shouldn’t be there.”

  I’d never heard Lettie be so fanciful before. “Don’t worry, Lettie. I’ve never heard tales of ghosts at the house.” I didn’t add that I’d always wished we had at least one ghost. It didn’t seem fair to live in a big house and not have one mysterious lady in white or a spirit who dragged around a chain. “At least now that I’m home, it won’t be so empty,” I told her. “And if there are any strange noises, I’ll find out what is causing them. I’m sure there is a simple explanation.”

  A distant roar came from above. I looked up to see a squadron of aeroplanes in the distance. “You’ll get used to that,” Lettie said as she turned the cart into the drive. “They go by all the time from Cranwell. They’ve also built an encampment in the park, so you’ll see lights all night.”