Constance had felt a chill course through her at this news and had sent up a silent thank you that Henry was no longer recuperating there. She’d left her parents sitting in the kitchen with a pot of tea between them and had taken herself off back to bed to try and glean a few more hours sleep.
It felt like only minutes had passed since she’d closed her eyes and sent up a prayer for all those suffering before Eleanor Downer was sweeping open her curtains. She was reluctant to get out of bed, wanting nothing more than to burrow under the covers and sleep all day long. She knew she wouldn’t be the only one feeling like that this morning after the night they’d all passed. Then, thinking of all those poor men and the nurses at Darlinghurst House she tossed the covers aside and got up.
The cold water she splashed on her face helped penetrate the brain fog, and she patted her face dry before tidying her hair and finishing her morning ablutions. She checked her appearance to see she looked as wan as she felt but she’d have to do, and so she’d headed for the kitchen. It was Tuesday, which meant it was an egg in a nest day. Father was a man who lived by his routines, and his breakfast would be made with real egg this week thanks to Evelyn having dropped six fresh eggs in on the weekend. It was a rare treat, which was why it didn’t bode well to find he was nowhere in sight now.
Constance’s stomach churned ominously at the thought of eggs; she couldn’t abide them of late, powdered or fresh. She picked up her bag from where she’d slung it the day before on the back of the door.
‘He went back down to Darlinghurst House at first light to help move the patients. They’ve set up temporary accommodation for the poor loves at St Catherine’s Home in Ventnor.’ Her mum abandoned the sink wiping her wet hands on her pinny. She spied Constance’s bag. ‘You’ve not had breakfast my girl, and I’ve not made your sandwiches yet. You can’t go to work on an empty stomach, Connie.’
‘I’m not hungry, Mum. I feel a bit peaky, to be honest.’ She should’ve known better than to mention she wasn’t feeling too bright. It was exhaustion that was all from the broken night’s sleep. They were all in the same boat. Eleanor wasn’t letting her off that lightly though.
‘You’ve not been right for over a week, Constance. Perhaps you’d be best to stay home today?’
‘Stop fussing, Mummy. I’m fine. I’ve just not much of an appetite that’s all. It’s a good thing with what Ginny’s managing to put away! Besides, when I think of those poor men and women at Darlinghurst House,’ she shook her head, ‘well, getting myself off to work is the least I can do.’
At the thought of what had happened overnight, Eleanor sighed heavily. ‘I suppose you’re right. I’m going to finish up here and go down to help your dad. Ginny’s still in bed; poor love is tired out. She’s all baby. The sooner the little mite makes itself known to us all the better. You be sure to put something in that stomach of yours before the mornings out though Connie. We don’t need you fainting on the job.’ She patted her daughter on the cheek. Calling after her as she heard her daughter thundering down the stairs, ‘Remember to eat something!’
‘I will!’
She didn’t. Constance’s queasy stomach intensified throughout the morning, but she kept her fingers and mind occupied with her work and tried to ignore the horrid tang of metal that had settled in her mouth. She swallowed, screwing her face up as she did so. It was as if she could taste last night’s shelling. She was concentrating on keeping the contents of her dinner in her stomach when she started at a tap on her shoulder. It was Myrtle and the expression she wore on her overmade face made Constance’s blood run cold.
She allowed the older girl to take her arm and escort her to the factory entrance where an aircraftman she recognized as one of Henry’s chums waited. The grip with which he held his hat was white-knuckled. She knew the look on his face; her mind flew back to the awful day the news of Teddy’s death had arrived. She’d seen that same look back then too. He delivered the news as was his duty that Henry had been caught up in the bombing at Darlinghurst House and had not survived. Constance’s knees buckled, and the world went black.
Her father was fetched to bring her home, and her mother wrung her hands and cried before putting her to bed. Ginny watched on from the sidelines, her bright blue eyes enormous orbs in a pale face. It was she who curled up next to her on the bed and held her through that long night despite her girth.
Days later when she took herself down to Puckpool Camp seeking answers, this time not caring in the slightest whether she fit in or not, she would find out that Henry had gone to the old manor house to visit a young officer cadet from Vancouver who’d lost his leg and was not recovering emotionally. One of the nurses had sent word to him remembering he too hailed from the same city and it was hoped a visit from someone from the cadet’s hometown might improve his wellbeing. The young man survived because Henry had thrown himself on top of him protecting him from
