“I know, because I wake up at night and she is awake. I get in trouble if I won’t sleep. Mummy says it’s important to sleep. Isn’t it important for her, too?”
“Yes, Ben, it is.” Cal took a tart from the picnic basket and made a show of sneakily giving it to the boy. Julia looked askance at him, but he asked her softly, “Did you know about this?”
“I had no idea.”
When Ellen came back with a teapot and three chipped china cups, Julia asked right away, “Do you not sleep?”
“Of course I do, my lady. If I got no sleep, I’d collapse on the floor.”
“Perhaps you only sleep fitfully.”
“What woman with a house and a child doesn’t sleep in fits? And in a cottage, there are always things that need to be done. The fire needs stoking. More water might be needed. Often I’ve forgotten to do things in the day and I remember at night.”
“You should try to sleep, Ellen. Exhaustion won’t help.”
“I will, my lady,” Ellen mumbled.
But then Cal understood. “Lady Julia told me you drove an ambulance in the Great War, Ellen,” he said. “I went to war in 1917, when America joined the fighting. I saw the women who drove the ambulances. It was terrifying, with shells going off around you. I saw many women killed.”
“Don’t, my lord,” Ellen said sharply. Then she dropped her voice, wringing her hands. “I’m sorry, my lord. But I don’t want Ben to hear about it.”
“Do you have nightmares?” Cal asked softly.
Ellen hesitated. Shook her head. “’Course not.”
“You’re not startled by loud noises? You don’t always have a feeling of fear?”
“I—Of course not.”
“But you do sometimes, Mum,” Ben said, startling them all. “Remember when I knocked over the tin bathtub and you screamed so loud?”
“Ben, you have chores to do. Now be off with you.” Ellen shooed him out of the room.
Once the boy had gone, Cal grasped Ellen’s hand. “Listen to me. You’re suffering from shell shock.”
She shook her head desperately. “I’m not. That would mean I’m mad. I am perfectly fine. Please—don’t take Ben away.”
“I won’t,” Cal said. “I promise I will help you. And I will not let you lose your son.”
He felt a stare burning his neck. Julia was looking at him, her mouth open in surprise. Then her eyes softened and she looked at him like he was a hero—looked at him in a way that made him feel damn guilty. “Thank you,” she whispered.
The Missing Girl at Lilac Farm
This was the most exhilarating and terrifying evening of Hannah’s life.
As kitchen maid, she’d made all these dishes before, but tonight she felt like she’d forgotten everything. She checked the soup—not a cold soup as it was early June and not stifling hot yet. She’d made mulligatawny because the spice would cover up for any number of evils. The aspic was setting up properly, but it almost slid off the plate when she set it down and her heart just about stopped.
A pot boiled over and Hannah took off at a run, lifting it off the heat. The salmon! How long had it been since she’d last looked at it? She set down the pot, opened the oven. Not burned, thank heavens.
Hannah set to spooning the mustard sauce over the salmon. She looked over. Tansy was halfheartedly stirring the sauce for the Chicken Lyonnaise.
“Why am I running about like a chicken with my head cut off, Tansy?” she demanded. “I’m trying to do everything while you stir a spoon in a pot. You’re supposed to be taking care of half of these things I’m doing.”
“I am doing things. You’ve shouted at me and ordered me about all day!”
“I’m the cook now! That’s what I’m supposed to do. When I was the kitchen maid, I took orders all the time. And I got an earful if I wasn’t always rushing at full speed. You didn’t finish cleaning the stove after lunch and you forgot to wash half the pots. I would have been sacked for that. You heard his lordship—you’re all supposed to help. I am being nice to you.”
“Well, thank you, Your Highness,” Tansy said, her words dripping with sarcasm.
Hannah sighed. Why couldn’t she be commanding? One word from Mrs. Feathers and they all used to quake. But Mrs. Feathers did it with words as sharp and wounding as her cleaving knife and Hannah couldn’t do that.
Tansy started to hum a jazz song. She swayed back and forth while she stirred, which made the bowl tip precariously.
“Mind. You’ll have it on the floor,” Hannah declared. She hurried over and grabbed the bowl. Hannah hated to think badly of anyone, but she feared Tansy was deliberately trying to make her fall flat on her face tonight.
“I’m just happy. Do you want to know why?” Tansy dimpled.
Hannah hated the sour feeling that came over her. She’d never really thought about how she looked until Tansy came. Her mum had always insisted she look “presentable.” On her afternoon off once, she’d bought a lipstick and put some on, then forgot about it and had gone home to see her parents with her lips painted red. Mum had scrubbed so hard her lips had stung all day. Of course, now Mum and Father were gone and she had no one.
Hannah brushed back a stray hair with her flour-covered forearm. She had plain brown hair and brown eyes. Tansy’s hair was blue-black and she was truly lovely enough to be a film star. Hannah hated the awful feeling of jealousy that now seemed to live in her heart. “Why are you happy then, Tansy?”
“My beau’s going to take me out tonight in his motorcar. He’s going to wait for me and take me for a quick spin when I’m supposed to go to bed. Says he has to see me tonight. He can’t wait any longer. You know what that means?”
“Aye, it means he’s going to expect you to give him something in return for these motorcar rides and gifts. You’ve let him think you’re fast.”
“I’ve not let him do anything more than kiss me! I think he’s going to marry me.”
Hannah’s heart sank. “Oh, Tansy, I don’t think so.”
“He will.” Tansy stuck out her lower lip.
“Who is he, anyway? You’ve never told me his name. Where’d you meet him?”
“Just outside the village. I was waiting for the bus after visiting me family. It was raining something terrible and freezing cold. He offered to give me a ride back here. He’s a gentleman, you know. I think he’s the younger son of an earl. He doesn’t like to talk about it much, but I can tell from his cut-glass accent that he’s a toff. Gloriously
