most had lost people they loved, dead, injured, or simply missing. In some cases they would never know what had happened to them.
“Mrs. Gee is all right,” she answered him. “Well, as all right as anyone can be. She always has to make up her mind whether to go and look at the casualty lists or not. And she always does. Like the rest of us, I suppose. You go with your heart in your mouth, then when your family’s names are not there you feel almost sick with relief.”
She bit her lip, her cocoa forgotten. Her eyes searched his to see if he understood the depth of the fear, the moment of crippling aloneness. “And then you realize that other women next to you have lost someone, and you feel guilty. You see their faces white, eyes with all the light gone as if something inside them was dead, too. You know it could be your turn next time. You try to think of something to say, all the while knowing there isn’t anything. There’s a gulf between you that nothing can cross. You still have hope. They don’t. And you end up saying nothing at all. You just go home, until the next list.”
He looked at the misery in her eyes.
“Mother would have known something to say,” she added.
He knew that was what Hannah had been thinking. “No, she wouldn’t,” he answered. “Nobody does. We’ve never been here before.” He paused for a moment. “What about your friends? Maggie Fuller? Or Polly Andrews? Or the girl with the curly hair you used to go riding with?”
She smiled. “Tilda? Actually she married a fellow in the Royal Flying Corps last year. Molly Gee and Lilian Ward have gone to work the factories. Even the squire has only one servant left. Everybody seems to be doing something to do with the war: delivering the post, collecting clothes and blankets, putting together bags with mending supplies, and of course knitting . . . miles of it.” She sipped her cocoa. “I don’t know how many letters I’ve written as well, to men who have no families. And of course there’s always cleaning and maintenance to be done. And lots of women drive now—delivering things.”
He smiled, thinking of the vast organization of support, everyone striving to do what they could for the men they loved.
“I expect the squire will be to see you,” she went on, changing the subject completely, except that he, by his very position, was part of the old way of the village. He belonged to the past that she trusted. “He’s bound to be a bit tedious, but it’s his duty,” she added. “You’re a hero, and he’ll want to pay his respects and hear about your experiences.”
He debated it. He hated to talk about the men he knew. No words could draw for anyone else what their lives were like. And yet the people left at home who loved them had a need to know. Their imaginations filled in the emptiness, but it would still be immeasurably better than the truth.
“You don’t have to see him,” Hannah cut across his thoughts, but her voice was gentle. “Not yet, anyway.”
“No,” he said. “I’ll see him as soon as he feels like coming.”
She finished her cocoa and put down the cup. “Are you certain? I can put it off very nicely.”
“I’m sure you can,” he agreed. “I’ve seen you. Always a lady, but like Mother, you could freeze anyone at twenty paces if they took liberties.”
She smiled and lowered her eyes.
“If he comes now,” he went on, wishing he were able to lean over and touch her hand, “then I can be very brief, and get away with it.”
She looked up with a flash of understanding. “You don’t like to talk about it, do you? Archie doesn’t, either.” There was loneliness in that, knowing she was being excluded. She stood up. “Do you think you can go to sleep now? I’ll stay if you like.”
That was just what she must have said to her children time and time again, after a bad dream. He felt so very much at home now, as if he were back in the past: the house, Hannah, the books and habits, the best from childhood—all these were familiar and comfortable with use. There were ways in which they were threads that held the core of life together. “I’ll be fine,” he said quietly.
She went out, leaving the door ajar, in case he should want her. He felt like a child, and at least for a short while, just as safe. Surprisingly, he did fall asleep shortly after.
CHAPTER
TWO
Hannah remained at home the following day until the squire had visited in the morning. He seemed to be as relieved as Joseph was that he could just utter a few hearty platitudes and consider his duty done.
After he left, Hannah ascertained Mrs. Appleton was downstairs and would make lunch for Joseph. She herself needed to go into Cambridge and see the bank manager, and perform one or two other necessary errands.
She caught the train in the village and was there in half an hour. The city did not look so different to her—the change had been gradual—but she still noticed the absence of young men. There were a few errand boys, junior clerks, and delivery men, but in streets once crowded with the cheerful conversations of the young with the world of knowledge before them, there were hardly any students. She could not bear to think of how many of them were already dead in France, and how many more would be.
She went into the bank and asked to speak to the manager. She liked Mr. Atherton. He was very capable and she always left reassured.
After a few minutes, a smart young woman in a plain, dark blue suit came out of the side door. The blouse was crisp and tailored, and the skirt was rather full and reached only to the middle of her calf. No doubt the jacket would be long, and equally fashionable. She had also cut her hair short. She looked about Hannah’s age.
“Good morning, Mrs. MacAllister,” she said with a slight smile. “My name is Mae Darnley. How can I help you?” She offered a cool, lean hand, without any rings.
The gesture struck Hannah as odd, but she nonetheless shook the woman’s hand because it would have been rude not to. “I would like to speak to Mr. Atherton, please.” She had already said as much to the original clerk.
“I am afraid Mr. Atherton is no longer with us,” Miss Darnley replied. “He works with the War Office in London. I am the manager now. How can I assist you?”
Hannah was lost for words. Surely things could not have changed so much? This woman could not be more than thirty-five at the most. What could she know?
Miss Darnley was waiting.
Hannah realized she was being discourteous and other people were beginning to look at her. “Thank you,” she said awkwardly. “Then . . . then I suppose I had better confer with you.”
Hannah followed Miss Darnley into the office and even before she sat down she noticed how it had changed. The silver tantalus for whiskey that previously sat on the side table had disappeared. In its place was a vase of narcissi. She smelled their perfume immediately. The photographs were different. Instead of Mr. Atherton’s wife and sons there was an elderly couple in a silver frame, and a young man in uniform, so far framed only in polished wood. And all the ashtrays had gone, too. Apparently Miss Darnley did not approve of smoking in her office.
Hannah sat down while her mind raced through what she could ask this young woman, other than the advice she had come for, and would customarily entrust only to Mr. Atherton. Miss Darnley was clearly waiting expectantly, so Hannah cleared her throat and began. “I have a small amount of money left after my parents’ deaths. And continuing income from my house in Portsmouth, which my husband and I are renting out because I now live in the family home here.”
“I see. And you wish to invest it?”
“Yes. Mr. Atherton suggested certain bonds, but I need more advice before I make up my mind. I don’t wish to trouble my husband with the matter because he is seldom home, and only for a few days at a time.” Already she wished she had not told this smart young woman so much. Perhaps she should ask the family lawyer? He was always reliable.
“Will you require the money within a short time?” Miss Darnley asked. “Two or three years, for example? Or is it a long-term investment, perhaps with your children in mind, or your husband’s retirement?”
“Long-term,” Hannah replied.
