The Lost Ones. Anita Frank
make some suitably discreet arrangements. I’m not even sure Hector is aware, but I for one sleep easier knowing he has been kept from that dreadful slaughter over there. Such a waste of young lives!’ She remembered herself and quickly added: ‘As you, more than anyone, must know.’
I looked across to the dancing flames. I was right – Hector’s family had indeed intervened to keep him from harm’s way. Gerald’s family could perhaps have done something similar, but they had not. I took little comfort from the knowledge that Gerald would never have accepted anything but a frontline command. I wondered how Hector would react if he knew the truth.
Madeleine’s head nodded tellingly. Closing her book, she covered a yawn.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, keeping her voice low so as not to disturb her mother-in-law. ‘I am falling asleep! I think I’ll retire.’
But as she rose, Lady Brightwell awoke with a start. She straightened in her chair.
‘Where are you going?’ she demanded, her voice thick with sleep.
‘I’m sorry, Lady Brightwell, I’m very tired. I should quite like to go to bed.’
‘We usually retire together. Oh well, I suppose in your condition you need your rest. Off you go then.’ She waved dismissively, blue veins bulging down the back of her hand. Madeleine stopped as she reached my chair.
‘Will you come up with me?’ It struck me as more of a plea than a question, so whilst I did not feel particularly ready to turn in, I got to my feet and bade my companions goodnight.
Madeleine left the drawing-room door ajar, permitting a splinter of light to penetrate the dark corridor. She slipped her arm through mine, gripping onto me as we made our way towards the hall. I had expected the electric bulbs to be ablaze, but instead only a little moonlight alleviated the darkness. Madeleine informed me that Lady Brightwell insisted they exercise economy during these tumultuous war years. Whilst I applauded her patriotic sense of duty, I felt unnerved by the shifting shadows that cloaked the vast house.
We made our way upstairs, past the stained-glass window, the moon casting faint and fragmentary light upon the steps. As we reached the landing, I was surprised but relieved to find economy had been relaxed on the first floor – glowing wall lights lit the way to our bedroom doors.
‘It’s such a comfort, having you here in this house with me,’ Madeleine said at last as we stopped beside her room.
‘I can see what a trial these last few weeks must have been for you. I’m sure Lady Brightwell has her merits, but ease of company is surely not one of them.’
‘One gets used to her.’ She hesitated. ‘The nights here are the hardest.’
‘I can see that,’ I said. ‘At least during the day you can find reasons to avoid her company, but you’ll always have to suffer her at dinner.’
By the funny look she gave me I realised we had been speaking at cross-purposes – she had not been alluding to Lady Brightwell at all.
‘I hope you manage to sleep well, Stella. Goodnight.’
Before I could respond, she closed the door against me. I was a little taken aback by her abrupt behaviour, but I dismissed it as acute tiredness and let myself into my room. I kicked off my shoes and padded to my dressing table to begin unwinding my hair.
It didn’t take long to disrobe and pull on the nightdress that Annie had left neatly folded on the bed. I turned off the main light, leaving only the bedside lamp glowing from under its fringed shade. Weary now, I threw back the covers.
Lying on my sheet was a toy soldier.
It was surprisingly heavy given its diminutive size. Puzzled, I turned it over in my hand, studying its perfectly painted red tunic, white belt and black trousers, a red stripe down their sides. The facial features were worn but the detail of its domed bearskin was still discernible, perfect in miniature, while the rifle that rested proudly against its shoulder was slightly bent at the end. Its black boots were soldered onto a small square of lead, painted a vivid green.
My breath lodged in my throat as Gerald’s face sprang into my mind’s eye. I stood perfectly still, my skin prickling as a flare of hope quickened my pulse. Was this a message for me? A poignant sign from beyond the grave?
‘Gerald?’ I whispered.
The only response was silence. Unable to surrender the blissful fantasy, I turned around to peer into the inky corners of my room. There was nothing there. I was completely alone. Cold reality reasserted itself once again. The soldier was nothing more than a child’s toy after all.
Mocking my own absurdity, I turned it over in my hand, noting as I did so the letters L and B crudely scratched into the base. I set it down on the bedside table, wondering how it could have found its way into my bed, but then I recalled Maisie’s mischievous glint and I wondered whether she had left the soldier, as some sort of jest.
Still bristling with self-contempt, I decided to pay no further thought to the toy’s puzzling presence. Instead, I settled myself amongst the damply cold sheets and turned off the light, gratefully succumbing to the gradual creep of slumber.
The sound of a match being struck woke me. A thin cord of light edged the curtains, hailing the arrival of a new day. I propped myself up to observe Annie, on her knees leaning into the grate, attempting to bellow the flames with her own gentle puffs. She settled back on her heels and watched the newspaper curl, char and crackle, before hungry flames began licking at the lumps of coal and kindling.
‘Morning, Annie.’ My voice was croaky. ‘What time is it?’
‘Seven o’clock, miss.’
‘Draw me a bath, would you?’
Having a bathroom attached to my bedroom was a luxury I didn’t have at home, and I intended to make the most of it. Sir Arthur had been insistent his guests should stay in comfort and his servants be better employed than in the transportation of water. Some saw such expenditure on indoor plumbing as extravagant but having spent years scurrying up and down freezing corridors to avail myself of the lavatory in the middle of the night or to take a bath on a bitter winter’s morning, I thought it a most worthwhile investment.
Hearing the squeak of taps and gushing water, I pushed back the thick covers and swung my legs from the bed. I yawned and stretched with feline indulgence.
‘All ready, miss. What clothing would you like me to set out?’
‘Oh, my black dress …’ I realised all the dresses I had brought were black. ‘The one with the scooped collar,’ I clarified. ‘And the lavender cardigan too.’
When I emerged from the bathroom Annie was standing beside my bed, closely examining the toy soldier clasped in her hand.
‘Annie?’
My sharp tone jolted her from her reverie. The figure flew into the air and landed with a soft thud on the carpet. Unabashed, she bent to retrieve it.
‘I don’t suppose you know how that came to be left in my bed, do you?’
She carefully set it down upon the table. ‘No, miss.’ There was something in her bland expression that led me to suspect she was being less than forthcoming.
‘I don’t appreciate being the butt of anyone’s joke.’
Her eyes flickered up to meet mine. ‘I’m sure you’re not, miss.’
‘Well, I’d appreciate it if you could have a quiet word with Maisie and make sure she understands that too.’ I picked up my undergarments and began to dress, taking her assistance where required. ‘Is Mrs Brightwell up?’
‘I believe so, miss.’
I