Copyright

Published by Avon an imprint of

HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street,

London, SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2017

Copyright © HarperCollins 2017

Cover photography © Jeff Cottenden 2017

Cover design © Charlotte Abrams-Simpson 2017

Molly Green asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008238940

Ebook Edition © November 2017 ISBN: 9780008238957

Version: 2019-03-01

Dedication

To my dear friend June who was an evacuee in the Second World War, although nothing she experienced has found its way into this novel.

To all Dr Barnardo’s orphans during the Second World War who were the inspiration for this series.

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Before …

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

After …

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading…

About the Author

About the Publisher

Before …

Cambridgeshire, 1936

June raced home from the last class of the day, wanting to make sure the bedroom she shared with her younger sister Clara was free so she could do her homework in peace. Good, she thought as she opened the front door. She could hear Clara downstairs talking to their mother.

‘Mum, I’m home,’ June called as she pulled off her coat and hat and hung them on a hook in the narrow hallway. She put her head in the kitchen door.

‘Would you like a cup of tea, June, and a piece of sponge?’ Her mother began to cut a slice from the cake. ‘I’ve just taken it out of the oven.’

‘I’ll come down in a bit. I’ve got two lots of homework, and we’ve got an English test tomorrow.’ She hesitated, then asked, ‘Where’s Dad?’

A shadow crossed her mother’s face. ‘He won’t be here yet. He’s up at the stadium.’

June blew out her cheeks in relief as she ran up the stairs, two at a time, to her room. She settled at the small table under the window, and had finally worked out how to solve the mathematics problem when she heard her sister flying up the stairs and footsteps thundering behind – her father’s. June’s heart pounded as she threw down her pencil and rushed to the door.

‘Don’t, Daddy! Don’t hit me!’ Clara screamed as she tried to kick out to escape their father’s powerful arms. ‘I didn’t do anything.’

‘Leave her alone!’ June used every ounce of her strength to wrench her sister away from her father’s grasp. What little thing had Clara done this time to make her father so angry?

‘Stop interfering, you!’

For a split second June was caught by his maddened eyes. She smelled the beer on his breath as he made to snatch Clara back. He cursed as Clara’s foot caught him on the shin. June rushed towards her father, her hand up ready to hit him. Clara ducked out of his way and turned to run but she slipped on the rug, losing her balance. June tried to grab her but her hand clutched air. She could only stand frozen in horror as Clara slowly fell backwards down the stairs.

She didn’t know if it was she or her younger sister who screamed.

Chapter One

Liverpool, December 1941

The train to Liverpool was nine hours late pulling out of Euston Station. When it finally departed, at five minutes to ten at night, it was to a cacophony of clanking and shouting, belching steam, and conductors constantly blowing their whistles. June stuck her head out of the nearest grimy window to catch the last glimpse of her aunt running along the platform. She kept up for a few seconds, her handkerchief a small white flag, but as the train gathered speed she fell back and her outline faded into the mist. Dearest Aunt Ada. June was going to miss her.

June drew back her head and took in a deep breath. She’d done it. Even though the train had been delayed for such an interminable time, causing her to spend hours sitting on the stone floor of Euston Station because there were no available seats, June could not suppress her joy. She’d been pressed up like a bookend against one of a small group of WAAFs who chatted nonstop whilst she waited, though thankfully a soldier had given up his seat for her aunt. And now she was on her way up north. Against all odds.

She only hoped that Liverpool was far enough away from London that her father wouldn’t come after her. She’d been brave enough not to give him the address; she hadn’t even told him the village. ‘Somewhere near Liverpool,’ she’d said vaguely. ‘I’ll let you know when I’m there.’

Her heart beat a little faster as her father’s words rang in her ears: ‘All of you have left me now. First Stella, then Clara …’ He’d bowed his head as he uttered Clara’s name and for a second or two she thought there might be some sign of remorse reflected in his eyes. ‘Then your mother,’ he’d carried on, ‘and now you.’ He’d looked up slyly and she saw then that his eyes were as cold and grey as concrete.

Clara. June bit her lip. No, she mustn’t think of her sister for the moment. She had to concentrate on what lay ahead. Think about her new job at Dr Barnardo’s. But first she needed to find her compartment.

She struggled to manoeuvre her suitcase through a line of soldiers standing in the corridor, most of them puffing on cigarettes, and caught snatches of their talk as she tried to squeeze past.

‘Where are you stationed?’

‘The Isle of Tiree.’

‘Oh, bad luck, old chap. That’s the Met station, isn’t it? Pretty desolate, I’m told.’

‘Not the best posting but at least I probably won’t get shot at. I’ve got a couple of days’ leave before I go so I’m nipping in to see the parents – they’re near Liverpool and—’

‘Excuse me,’ June said, now completely blocked by a tall, broad-shouldered man in an RAF greatcoat – an officer by the two bars on his shoulders – who appeared to be deep in conversation, his back to her.

‘I’m sorry,’ the man said. He turned round and even though the peak of his cap partly shaded his face, June found herself looking into eyes the colour of a summer sky. An appreciative smile spread across his even features. ‘I’ll be glad to help with that case.’

‘No, I’m all right, thank you. I just need to get by,’ June said, a little unnerved by his directness.

‘Are you sure? That case looks heavy to me,’ he said, briefly glancing down, then catching her eye again.

‘I’m absolutely sure.’

The man held her gaze for a few more seconds, then shrugged and stepped aside, leaving a few extra inches of space. June nodded her thanks, conscious that she was forced to brush hard against him as she shouldered her way through.

Out of the corner of her eye she caught a mocking smile. He was doing this deliberately! She was glad he couldn’t see her face grow pink.

Drawing admiring glances and a few whistles, she pushed her way through the heaving mass of soldiers along the corridor, the smoke from their cigarettes catching in the back of her throat. She was thankful to finally spot her compartment. She slid open the door to find it was already occupied by four uniformed women, chattering away, and a harassed-looking mother, her arms around a sobbing child sitting on her lap, trying to soothe her. A second child, a boy, was tapping his mother’s arm, whining for something to drink.

Instinctively June smiled at the mother, who sent back an apologetic look and mouthed that she was sorry.

‘Don’t worry,’ June said, heaving her case onto the rack. ‘I’m used to children. My sister’s got three boys who are little monkeys. I’ve been looking after them lately.’ She sat down beside the mother, who was trying to hush the little girl’s sobs. ‘They must be tired at this late hour. How old are they?’

‘Joe’s six and Millie’s five,’ the woman explained. ‘I’m Doreen, by the way.’

‘And I’m June.’ She opened her bag. ‘I have some boiled sweets in here somewhere. Perhaps I could give them one and tell them a story?’

‘Would you?’ Doreen’s face softened with relief.

‘If you’ve got a cardigan or a shawl or something, we can tuck it around Millie so she’s ready to go to sleep for a few hours. She’ll feel better in the morning.’

The little girl stopped crying and looked at June with wide tear-filled eyes.

‘The nice lady has a sweet for you, love, and she’s going to read you a story.’

It worked like magic.

If only Stella’s boys had been that easy, June thought wryly, a twinge of apprehension rolling down her spine. Instead of Stella’s three boys, she’d be faced with ten times that many at the orphanage.

It was early the following morning when June alighted at Kirkdale railway station. The muscles in her legs and shoulders were stiff from being in the same position for so long. Rubbing the back of her neck and ignoring her rumbling stomach for the time being she opened the piece of paper with the written instructions she’d had from the matron of the Dr Barnardo’s home – and her new home.

Catch the no 6 bus outside Kirkdale station. Ask the driver to put you off at the Ferndale stop. Turn left and after about five hundred yards turn left again down a lane. Walk for a few minutes and you’ll come to a private drive on the left. It’s uphill. Follow it all the way and you’ll see a large red-brick house in front of you. That’s Bingham Hall.

June was desperate for a cup of tea and something to eat before she could attempt one more minute of travelling or she was sure she’d faint. Maybe the station would have a café. She folded the piece of paper and tucked it in her coat pocket, then doubled back onto the platform.

She looked at her watch. Not even six o’clock. Everywhere was quiet except for the last stragglers coming off the train she’d been on. They too looked bleary-eyed, as though they hadn’t slept much. She hadn’t either, squashed between the mother with her two children, the other four women, and a tall uniformed man who’d rushed into the compartment at the last minute. For a moment, she’d thought he was the man in the greatcoat that she’d brushed against earlier; she’d felt an unexpected flicker of disappointment when she saw this man was a lot older. He’d given her an apologetic smile and settled in immediately, closing his eyes and only letting out a grunt and a snore now and then, much to the little boy’s delight when he awoke.

The man with the blue eyes flashed through her mind again. She wondered where he was stationed; she hadn’t noticed him get off at Kirkdale. There was no way of telling the colour of his hair under the peaked cap … but those eyes. They were such a bright blue they looked as though they’d been painted in by an over-enthusiastic child. She’d been rather abrupt when he’d only offered to help her. She ought to have been better mannered. Her mother would have reprimanded her. Then she remembered the way he’d enjoyed her discomfort and with a flicker of annoyance she marched into the station café. She sat down, ordered some tea and scrambled egg on toast, and opened her book, the one Aunt Ada had slipped into her bag for the journey. June grinned as she turned the page to her bookmark. Mary Poppins couldn’t be more appropriate.

‘Sorry it’s powdered,’ the waitress said as she put the plate down in front of her. ‘We haven’t had our usual order of eggs delivered this week.’

‘I’m one of those strange people who quite like powdered egg,’ June said with a smile.

‘Most of the customers understand, but we’ve got one who grumbles every time. I always remind him there is a war on, and he gives me such an old-fashioned look. He don’t know if I’m being saucy or not.’ The woman chuckled, showing a wide gap in her teeth.

‘I’m glad you remind him,’ June said, her smile broadening.

‘Where are you off to, if you don’t mind me asking?’ the waitress asked.

‘I’m going to be working at Bingham Hall.’

‘What used to be Lord and Lady Bingham’s big house.’ The waitress put both hands on her hips, her expression one of genuine interest. ‘It’s now the orphanage, isn’t it?’

‘Yes. Dr Barnardo’s. Do you know how far it is?’

The waitress frowned and pulled one of her earlobes as though it might help her to think.

‘It’s quite a way from here. Are you going on the bus?’ June nodded. ‘It’s about eight miles but the bus will stop at every stop so it’ll feel three times as long. Anyway, you enjoy your breakfast and I’ll go and bring you a pot of tea.’

June shivered as she rubbed her hands together through her gloves. The queue at the bus stop was long, the women chatting in such a strong accent she couldn’t catch all they were saying. Stamping her feet, which were turning numb, she was thankful to see a number 6 bus approaching.

A large lady squeezed in by the side of her, pinning her against the window. June tried to read her book but the constant jolting made her feel nauseous and she was forced to give up. She turned her head to look out of the window, which was crying out for a good clean, and glimpsed hills and valleys and trees and the occasional small village. But her mind was busy with the thought of Bingham Hall. What would it be like? Could she make a real difference to the children’s lives? June’s thoughts rushed back to Clara. Even though the accident had happened more than five years ago it was still difficult to believe she would never see her sister again. Tears stung the back of her eyes. Somehow she had to make up for Clara’s tragic end.

I want to do my bit in the war as well as everyone, she thought, as the bus rumbled along. She recalled that on the very day she’d received the offer from Dr Barnardo’s she’d had a letter from the Auxiliary Territorial Service telling her she was to report for duty. She’d almost forgotten she’d applied in her excitement at Aunt Ada knowing someone at Dr Barnardo’s and putting in a word. Thank goodness the ATS agreed that her position in an orphanage was important, and even essential, and they’d immediately released her. It had been such a relief to make her own decision about her future. Working with children, especially those who had very little, was her hope, her dream. An orphanage such as Dr Barnardo’s just felt right.

The large woman beside her spread out even further and gave a long grunt of a snore. She smelled as though it had been some time since she’d had a bath. June sighed. She mustn’t judge her. Who knew what her circumstances were? Just get this journey over and you’ll be fine, she told herself.

But the time dragged. Once the bus turned round in a complete circle.

‘We can’t get through,’ called out the conductor. ‘There was a raid last night and our road is completely blocked. We’ll have to do a detour. Probably add another half-hour on to the journey.’

The half-hour turned into an hour. Every time the driver tried to take a detour, the detour road would come to a full stop and he’d have to turn back and try another route, negotiating his way past recently bombed buildings. Somehow she hadn’t thought she’d see such depressing scenes so far from London, as Pathé News at the cinema always seemed to draw attention to London devastation. She prayed her aunt would keep safe. Dear Aunt Ada. When she’d been undecided about whether she should choose the ATS or the orphanage, her aunt had encouraged her to take up the position with Dr Barnardo’s.

‘You’re a natural with children,’ she’d said to June. ‘And you don’t want to waste your nursery nurse training. But don’t forget to have a bit of fun sometimes. There’ll be plenty of time for sadness if this war carries on much longer.’ She’d looked June up and down, her eyes full of affection. ‘You’re very young still, and pretty as a picture, so don’t tie yourself down to one man … and that includes Howard Blessing.’

Howard Blessing. June had had a crush on him when they’d first begun dating, but the attraction had quickly petered out – on her side, at least.

‘Don’t forget, you were the one who introduced me to him,’ June said with a laugh.

‘That’s as maybe. But he was supposed to take you to the pictures and dancing, not ask you to marry him – at your age.’

‘He was only kidding,’ June said. ‘Anyway, I don’t love him and never did, so there’s nothing to worry about. I just want to concentrate on my new job, but if I ever settle down it will be for love … though I shan’t hold my breath.’

‘You’re also too young to be cynical,’ her aunt had said with feeling. ‘You’ll fall in love, no doubt about it, and when it happens it’s the best thing on earth.’

The conductor broke into her thoughts as he called out, ‘Next stop, Ferndale. That’s yours, hen,’ he said, walking towards her, smiling.

Hen? Was he referring to her? What a strange expression. She was sure she had a lot to learn coming all this way from London.

‘Oh, thank you.’ June scrambled to her feet, which was difficult in the confined space. The large lady struggled up to let her out and June moved towards the front of the bus. Someone had shoved her case into the luggage space, and as she tried to lift it out the bus jolted to a stop, pitching her forward.

‘Steady,’ the conductor said, holding her arm. He glanced at her curiously. ‘Where’re you off to, hen?’

‘Dr Barnardo’s home. Do you know it?’

‘Aye. It used to be Lord Bingham’s house. That’s where it got its name: Bingham Hall. It’s up the lane on the left, then left again. A good twenty minutes’ walk, I’d say, as it’s quite a climb.’ He threw her a cheeky grin. ‘But you’re young … you’ll probably do it in less than that.’ His eyes swept approvingly over her ankles before he asked, ‘Are you a teacher … or visiting one of the young’uns?’

‘I’m working there – matron’s assistant.’

‘You’ll be working for Mrs Pherson, then.’

June nodded, pleased that someone knew her new employer.

‘Well, good luck, hen, is all I’ve got to say. I think you’ll be needing it – and not just with the young’uns.’

She wondered what he meant by this, but there was no time to think. The conductor had already kindly set her case down outside and waved her goodbye.

June’s eyes stung in the bitter morning air as she watched the back of the bus disappear. She was the only passenger who had alighted. It was foggy now they were out of Liverpool and she wondered how far away the orphanage was from the nearest village. Wherever it was, and however far, there was no going back. It had started to drizzle and grey clouds had begun to pile up. Pulling her scarf more snugly around her neck, and pushing back strands of the honey-coloured hair that whipped from under her hat, she clutched the handle of her mother’s suitcase, somehow feeling close to her, and began the long trudge up the lane.

The house came into view almost brick by brick. The first things that struck her were the tall chimneys poking up into the heavy sky, smoke curling out of them. As she got nearer, the house looked even more impressive with its crenellated front, giving the air of a castle. Was this mansion really going to be her home? She thought of the little terraced cottage where she’d grown up – the small back yard – and pulled herself up sharply. She was being disloyal.

June wondered what had happened to Lord and Lady Bingham. Had the family fled when war was declared? How did the house come to be a children’s home? Had he lent it to them just for the duration of the war? But what did it matter how the house came to be a Dr Barnardo’s? Whatever had happened in the past, the house was providing orphaned children with a home. As she walked up the long drive the house took on such magnitude that she felt quite overwhelmed. Whatever must a child think, seeing a house like this for the first time?

At this moment she didn’t feel much more confident than a child, but she allowed herself a rueful smile as she craned her neck to look up at the dozens of windows peering down at her, imagining them slyly weighing her up as to whether she was welcome or not. There didn’t seem to be any sign of life.

She pulled the bell cord beside the massive oak door and waited. No sound at all. No scuffling of shoes. No running footsteps. Nothing. She pulled again, harder and longer. This time she heard a man’s voice shout something but she couldn’t make out the words.

The door swung back, groaning on its hinges, and a short figure of a man appeared, dressed in black from head to toe, back bent as though he’d worked in the fields all his life, grumbling and swearing under his breath.

‘I heard you the first time.’ His tone was irritable. ‘I’m not deaf, you know.’

‘I’m sorry,’ June said. What a rude man. She hoped she wouldn’t have much to do with him.

‘Are you the new assistant?’ He looked at her through dazed watery eyes.

‘Yes. I’m June Lavender.’

Was he ever going to ask her in?

He continued to stare at her. Did she have a smut on her nose or something? Her feet were beginning to freeze. She stepped forward into the doorway, forcing the little man back. ‘May I please come in?’

He gave a grunt. ‘You’d better come this way.’

June found herself in a magnificent hall. Her eye was immediately drawn towards the biggest fireplace she’d ever seen. It was built of stone, and rose twice as high as a man. A fire flared and snapped but from where she stood she couldn’t feel any heat; most of it was probably going straight up the chimney. Unlit candles in sconces were set in niches near the fireplace, and several chandeliers shaped like individual flares hung from the ceiling, which was painted with what appeared to be hundreds of coats of arms. In the middle of the flagstone floor was a huge oriental rug, rucked up at the side.

It was just as she imagined the great hall of a castle would look. This was a grand house indeed. She took a deep breath to still the nervous fluttering of her heart.

‘Is that Miss Lavender, Gilbert?’ A strident voice came from above and a woman poked her head over the curving oak staircase.

‘Yes, ma’am. She’s arrived.’

The figure made her way slowly down the stairs, holding on to the banister. She was an exceptionally tall, large-framed woman, her grey hair scraped into a tight bun on top of her head. She stopped short, and from behind a pair of rimless spectacles her piercing steel-grey eyes regarded June from top to toe.

‘You’re not very big.’

‘I’m five foot four.’ June drew herself up to her full height. ‘And I’m not a weakling.’

‘Mmm.’ The woman pursed her lips, her head cocked to one side. ‘We’ve nearly all boys here. They can be a rough lot.’ She glared at June. ‘You sounded much older in your letter but you don’t look more than sixteen.’

‘I’m twenty-one next summer,’ June said firmly. ‘And I’m used to unruly children. As I said in my letter, I’ve been looking after my sister’s three boys for the last two years and they’re quite a handful.’

‘Not such a handful as thirty-three little devils, not counting seven girls who never stop crying.’ June was about to answer when the woman said, ‘I’m Mrs Pherson, the matron. And that’s what you call me – Matron,’ she repeated, as though she had no doubt that she was dealing with a simpleton.

June offered her hand but the matron barely touched it with her fleshy fingers. ‘Take Miss Lavender’s case upstairs, Gilbert.’ Her eyes swept back to June. ‘There’ll be a cup of tea for you in the kitchen.’ She pointed to a corridor at the far end. ‘First right along the passage. I will meet you back here in’ – she pulled the chain of her watch towards her and glanced at the hands – ‘twenty minutes exactly. Please don’t keep me waiting.’

She certainly runs a tight ship, June thought tiredly, remembering the conductor’s words, which now made a lot more sense. For the moment, all she wanted to do was get to her room, drop her suitcase and find the kitchen. Her mouth was dry from the little she’d had to drink during the long journey from London, and the thought of a cup of tea was bliss.

‘Tea would be very welcome, thank you.’ June glanced at Gilbert who was standing nearby, a sullen expression spread across his small mean features. ‘I can carry my own case upstairs if you’ll just show me where to go.’

‘Suit yourself.’

Gilbert stomped up the stairs in his scuffed black boots with June following, heaving her case. Then another flight, and another. When they reached the fourth floor she thought she would drop with tiredness. Gilbert waved her towards a door and nodded.

‘That’s it, yon,’ he said, and, muttering to himself about having more work to do with extra staff, he vanished.

It wasn’t a good start, June thought. The first two people she’d met weren’t in the least welcoming, but then she was used to difficult people. She’d had plenty of training with her father and, although she’d loved her mother, she’d not been easy to look after when she’d been drinking. And her sister Stella was always known for her quick temper. June breathed out a long sigh. She would just have to do her best to get into Matron’s good books by showing her she could cope with thirty-three boys and seven girls. They couldn’t be that bad.

She opened the door and a smell of damp filled her nostrils. By the look of it, the bedroom hadn’t been occupied in months. Gingerly she stepped inside and shivered even though she still had her coat on. The room was big enough to warrant a fireplace, though there were no ashes, nor logs nearby for the next fire to be lit. An ugly brown wardrobe and mismatched chest of drawers had been pushed against one wall in a lopsided manner, and when June went to inspect a table under the window she pulled back in disgust. Unrecognisable flowers were festering in a glass vase with an inch of slimy green water. June wrinkled her nose as she unfastened the window, letting in a blast of air. It was freezing, but it couldn’t be helped, she thought. The room needed fresh air. She couldn’t see much of a view as it was still foggy so she’d have to be patient until it lifted.

How was she ever going to sleep in such an atmosphere? Or was she being too fussy after Aunt Ada’s neat-as-a-pin flat? Her own mother had done her best to be tidy and clean before she became sick but her father had never taken any notice, tramping in from the garden in his boots no matter how many times her mother asked him to remove them, and leaving his dirty clothes on the floor for her to pick up and wash.

June pushed the image of her father away. She’d give the room a good clean the first chance she had, but first, even before her tea, she decided to unpack.

She hung her few clothes in the wardrobe, which smelled of mothballs, set out her brush and comb and placed her bag on a cane-seated chair, though most of the cane poked underneath like a long fringe. There was no mirror to check if she looked tidy but she mustn’t complain. Plenty of people were much worse off. At least the house was quite a few miles from Liverpool, she reasoned, and the drive itself must be a half a mile long, so the children should be safe from any bombs.

Although June was getting more tired by the minute, her mouth curved into a delighted smile. There’d be wonderful gardens to walk in and where she would play games with the children. She’d soon make her room homely. It was just a matter of getting used to everything.

Chapter Two

Five minutes later a maid directed her to the kitchen where a pot of tea and some cups and saucers were grouped on a scrubbed pine table. Two young girls were scurrying round a plump woman in a wraparound apron and white cap who stood over an enamel bowl as big as a baby’s bath, hands flying up and down as she crumbled in fat and flour for her pastry. She looked up as June entered.

‘Are you the girl come to help with the children?’ she demanded, though her tone was friendly.

‘Yes. I’m June Lavender – just arrived from London.’

‘Och, you talk funny.’ The woman wiped her hands on her apron and stuck out a floury hand. ‘Name’s Marge Bertram. Call me Bertie. Everyone does. I’m from Scotland. Buried the second husband and decided to have a change and cross the border.’ She laughed. ‘It’s a couple of degrees warmer here, I’ll give it that. Little did I realise how close Jerry would be, trying to smash the docks to smithereens.’ She looked at June, who was waiting to be told to take a seat. ‘Still, you don’t want to hear all that right now. You must be worn out. Tea’s on the table. Help yourself, hen. You’ll have to excuse me getting on as I’m in the middle of cooking dinner.’

‘What time will that be?’ June asked, a little embarrassed but hearing her stomach rumble again. One piece of toast and a spoonful of scrambled egg at six this morning hadn’t gone very far to stave off her hunger.

Bertie looked up at the wall clock, which showed five minutes past eleven. ‘Not until one o’clock.’ Her eyes pierced June’s. ‘Here, I’ll cut you a slice of cake. Don’t tell anyone, mind. It’s supposed to be for the children’s teatime.’

‘I haven’t heard any sound from them,’ June ventured, pouring herself a cup of tea. ‘Are they out somewhere?’

Bertie snorted. ‘No, dear, not at this time of the morning. They’re all in class. These walls are solid. The Victorians really knew how to build. You’ll not hear a peep unless they’re in the next room or right on top of you. Except the wee bairn in the corner.’ She jerked her head to where a child sat silently watching on a three-legged stool in the unlit corner of the room.

June glanced where Bertie had gestured and saw a little girl with pale blonde hair tied up in plaits, and a face like an angel, sucking her fingers. How could she have not noticed her? And there was something familiar about the child. June looked closer and her heart suddenly gave a great lurch. She gasped. The little girl looked the spitting image of her sister Clara when she was that age.

‘Say hello to the nice new lady who’s come to look after you and the other children,’ Bertie said to the child, then turned her head to June and lowered her voice. ‘Poor wee lass doesn’t talk. She’s not said a word since she came here … that’d be a coupla months now. We all thought she was dumb at first. Now we know it’s a mental thing.’

Poor little girl. Whatever could have happened?

June half rose from her chair, but Bertie put a warning hand out. ‘Maybe not come too close at first … don’t want to frighten her any more than she is already.’

‘How old is she?’ June whispered.

‘Three and a half.’

Her eyes filling with tears at such a likeness to her sister, June managed to smile across at the child. ‘Hello, little one. Can you tell me your name?’

‘She won’t answer,’ Bertie cut in. ‘Her name’s Lizzie. But it doesn’t seem to mean anything to her. No reaction or nothing. I’ll explain later – when she’s taking a nap – how she ended up here.’

‘Hello, Lizzie,’ June said, still smiling. The child stared. Even from several feet away she could see that Lizzie’s eyes were dark, unlike Clara’s, which had been a grassy-green just like June’s own, but the child’s other features, the shape of her face – it brought back all the pain again. She felt herself tremble, her nerves on edge. Trying to calm herself she sipped her tea, her heartbeat slowing. She’d be all right. She’d be safe here. Mustn’t go to pieces or she’d be no help to the children. Bertie was right. It was best to keep a distance until Lizzie began to trust her. Something terrible must have happened that had shocked the child.

She finished her tea just as a nurse, a halo of dark curls escaping from her cap, put her head around the door.

‘Oh, there you are. The Fierce One told me you’d arrived.’ She grinned and came into the room.

‘The Fierce One?’ June questioned.

‘Matron.’ The nurse laughed and Bertie joined in. ‘That’s what we all call her – Pherson, the Fierce One.’ She looked June up and down and stuck out her hand. ‘I’m Iris Marchant. And you are …?’

‘June Lavender.’ June took Iris’s warm hand in her own cold one.

‘Well, we should get on a treat,’ Nurse Marchant said, shrieking with laughter, ‘what with us being a couple of flowers.’

June laughed too. How wonderful that there was a young woman, not much older than herself, working at Dr Barnardo’s. She was sure they’d be friends. Iris poured herself a cup of tea and gulped it down in a few mouthfuls.

‘And months,’ June added, grinning. Nurse Marchant looked puzzled. ‘June and March … ant. And I was born in June – hence my name.’

‘Oh, I get it.’ The nurse chuckled. ‘By the way, I’m Iris when we’re off-duty – and you’ll be June. But definitely not in front of the Fierce One, whether we’re working or not.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ June said, glancing at the clock. ‘She sounds a stickler.’

‘She is.’ Iris nodded. ‘You need to keep on the right side of her, which is difficult, as it’s nigh impossible to tell what her right side is.’ She chuckled again.

‘You don’t sound like a northerner,’ June said.

‘Me?’ Iris pointed to herself. ‘Definitely not. I couldn’t live up here for good if you paid me. I’m from Kent. Not a good place to be in this bloody war.’ June flinched at the swear word. ‘Though it was quite thrilling seeing the Battle of Britain going on right above my head. My two young brothers went mad with excitement. Daft little buggers. They can’t wait to be old enough to join up.’

June took a piece of Bertie’s delicious fruit cake, barely taking in all Iris was telling her. ‘I’ve been sent here and here I’ll stay,’ Iris rattled on, ‘but not a moment longer after the war’s over … whenever that will be. Luckily, the children keep me on my toes with their various shenanigans. And there’s plenty of food. That’s a draw in itself.’ She grinned.

‘Isn’t the food rationed?’

‘Some things,’ Iris said. ‘But the government looks after institutions, particularly when there are children. And we grow our own vegetables and have a few chickens so we do all right here.’

June put her cup down. The twenty minutes must be up by now.

‘I’m to meet Matron after I’ve finished my cup of tea,’ she said.

Iris pulled a face. ‘She’s such a tartar. Barely gives you time to unpack before she has you working. You’d better get going then. Don’t want to get in her bad books on your first morning.’

With more than a flicker of apprehension June went in search of Matron, who was already waiting outside her office, tapping her large foot impatiently.

‘Right, there you are at last,’ Matron said abruptly. ‘We’ll do the classrooms first.’

With that, she strode down the corridor, June following closely. She opened a door without knocking, then marched into a classroom of about fifteen children. Immediately the children scrambled to their feet, even two small boys not more than five or six years old, looking wide-eyed at the new lady in their midst. The older children, maybe ten or eleven years old, shuffled as they stood, and June saw a yellow-haired boy dig a dark-skinned child in the ribs. The child gave a yelp. All of them stared at her.

‘Miss Graham?’ Matron said, almost as a demand.

A woman of about June’s own height and figure, her strawberry-blonde hair pulled back in a soft, shining Victory Roll, finished wiping the blackboard and put the rubber neatly back on the ledge. June couldn’t help being conscious of her own hair, so thick it refused to be properly styled and would simply fall to her shoulders in unruly waves if she didn’t keep it tied back. The young woman, Miss Graham, came towards them with quick determined steps, her heels clicking on the wooden floor.

‘Miss Graham, this is Miss Lavender,’ Matron said. ‘She’s my new assistant – come to help me with the load.’

‘Nice to meet you.’ Miss Graham had a clipped accent. Her hazel eyes held no gleam of enthusiasm as she extended her hand to June. ‘I’m Athena Graham.’ June sent her a questioning look. ‘Yes, ghastly, isn’t it? Blame it on my mother, who was a Greek nut. I teach English and mathematics, by the way – to all ages, as you can see.’ She dropped her hand. ‘I hope you’ll be happy with us.’

Athena Graham didn’t sound a particularly happy person herself. Maybe the boys played her up, yet somehow June couldn’t see her allowing them to get the better of her.

‘I’m sure I will be.’ June smiled. ‘I’m looking forward to it.’

Miss Graham turned towards the class. ‘You may sit.’

There was a scuffling of chairs as they sat down with expressions of undisguised curiosity. June looked over at the sea of faces. All boys. They began muttering and one of them gave a low appreciative whistle when June sent them a shaky smile.

‘Enough of that, Jackson,’ Matron admonished. ‘Where are your manners?’

‘Left them in the dorm this morning, Matron.’

The other boys sniggered.

‘What did you say your name was, Miss?’ another boy asked cheekily. He had a too-thin face and dark, greasy hair which flopped into his eyes.

‘I didn’t say,’ June began, ‘but I’m Miss Lavender.’

The boy flicked his head back and the swathes settled into place for a few moments. ‘How do you do, Miss Lavender?’ he said in what he obviously thought was an upper-class accent. The boys giggled again.

‘Hello to all of you.’ June smiled. ‘I hope to get to know your names very soon. It’ll take me longer than you because there’s only one of me, but I’m sure—’

‘That’ll be all, Miss Lavender,’ Matron said, taking hold of June’s arm. ‘We must continue our tour. No doubt we’ll see you at dinner, Miss Graham.’ And with a nod she firmly escorted June out of the door.

‘Now the art studio,’ Matron said. She opened the door and June inhaled the familiar smell of paint and turpentine. It took her straight back to her home in March, where she would help Clara to make a painting for their mother. June noticed the atmosphere in the studio was far more relaxed than Miss Graham’s class, as this teacher was walking around, looking over the children’s shoulders and smiling encouragement at their work.

‘That’s coming along really well,’ she was saying to one of the girls.

‘Mrs Steen – needlework and art,’ Matron snapped out as though she was contemptuous of Mrs Steen’s particular subjects.

‘Barbara,’ the teacher said in an undertone so the pupils wouldn’t hear. She grinned as Matron flashed her a warning look, and her friendly grey eyes lit up her plain features. She took June’s hand firmly in her own plump one, and June warmed to her instantly.

‘And the third teacher we have is Miss Ayles,’ Matron said, as they left the art studio and she strode ahead into the next classroom. ‘She’s the senior teacher and has the older children. She teaches religious instruction, history and geography with particular emphasis on our glorious Empire.’

From Matron’s tone, history and geography were far more acceptable.

Miss Ayles was thin as a stick, with spectacles halfway down her nose, and an abundance of liver spots on her face and hands. Her grey hair was drawn back into a severe bun, every hair held in place at the sides by two black combs.

‘Miss Lavender is my new assistant,’ Matron said, edging June forward.

June smiled and put out her hand. Miss Ayles’s lips lifted a fraction at the corners in acknowledgement, but her dry handshake was brief and gave nothing away.

It was plain that some of the staff didn’t seem best pleased to have her there. June pressed her lips stubbornly together. She’d show them she was a hard worker who would put her heart and soul into whatever was in store for her. Her thoughts flew again to Lizzie. She was just about to summon the courage to ask if they could go up to the nursery, when Matron said:

‘We’ll put our heads in the door of the sick ward. Don’t want to go in and catch anything. Nurse Manners will be there. She’s got two of the girls in, both with tonsillitis. They’re twins – Daisy and Doris Smith – and when one gets something, so does the other. They’ve been ill for a week now.’ Matron sniffed and spread her fingers wide down her navy-blue dress as though smoothing out a crease, and June couldn’t decide if she was annoyed with the twins catching everything at the same time or didn’t have much confidence in Nurse Manners’ nursing abilities.

‘I’ve met the other nurse – Nurse Marchant. She seems very nice.’

Matron’s lip curled. ‘She’s nice enough though she’s an argumentative little madam and I won’t tolerate it. She wouldn’t get away with such behaviour if nurses weren’t so thin on the ground because of the war – which the British shouldn’t have been involved with in the first place.’

June managed to hide her astonishment at Matron’s outburst. She’d hardly been in the orphanage more than an hour or two. It made her feel uncomfortable that Matron should say such things about Iris, whom she’d taken to immediately. What a dragon. She wondered how many years Matron had been at the home and how the staff got on with her, having such threats hanging over them.

They walked down some steps at the far end of the house. Matron hesitated, then knocked and opened the door. June hovered outside, not wanting to disturb the two sick little girls.

‘It’s better to wait for me to tell you it’s all right to come in,’ a voice said in a firm tone, and a short, stocky young woman appeared, her face flushed and frowning, her arm thrust out as a barrier.

‘I’m the matron. I can come in whenever I choose.’ Matron tried to brush the nurse’s arm aside, but the younger girl’s arm was strong.

‘No, I’m sorry, you can’t. The girls are sleeping and I won’t have them disturbed. You know I’ll call you if they take a turn for the worse.’ The nurse gave June an apologetic smile. ‘I’m Kathleen Manners.’ She turned to Matron. ‘I’ll come over later with a full report on the girls when Iris takes over this evening.’

‘See that you do.’ Matron’s face was red with annoyance as she turned. The door clicked behind them.

Someone else who wasn’t going to take orders from Matron. June was pleased that Kathleen hadn’t succumbed. But she made a mental note that Matron was displeased if anyone didn’t agree with her.

‘Saucy slip of a girl,’ Matron was saying. ‘I’ll be putting in my own report.’ Her chest was heaving with frustration and her breathing was loud enough to reach June’s ears.

‘I was hoping I might see Lizzie,’ June ventured, wanting to change the subject. ‘Poor little mite. What happened to her that she can’t speak?’

‘Refuses to speak,’ Matron said with such vehemence June took a step back in shock.

‘Oh, surely not.’

‘Surely so. It’s obvious. The child’s seeking attention. She’s got another think coming if she reckons she’s going to get it. That’s why I’ve kept her separate. The other children think she’s peculiar and then they start acting up, pretending not to hear or speak, the way she does.’

‘May we go and see her?’ June asked.

‘No. My legs won’t carry me up the all those flights more than once a day. The nursery’s on the top floor. Where you and the maids are. But you’ll meet Hilda, the nursery assistant who looks after her, soon enough. The girl eats like a horse. She’ll be first down to supper, mark my words.’

‘So Lizzie sees the other children at mealtimes?’

Matron threw her a sharp look. ‘No. I’ve just told you the child has to be kept separate. She has her meals in the nursery. Hilda’s a fast eater. She bolts hers down and then brings Lizzie hers.’

‘Do you mean Lizzie is alone while Hilda goes to have hers?’ June asked. She didn’t like to think of the scared little girl locked in a room on her own. ‘Isn’t there someone who could keep an eye on her for a short time – in case something happened?’

‘No,’ Matron said. ‘We’re short-staffed and I’m on a tight budget.’ She drew her eyebrows together. ‘The child is hardly “alone”, as you call it, not with everyone here.’ She gave June a sharp look. ‘You ask rather too many questions on your first day, my girl, and you’ll do everyone a favour to keep those opinions of yours to yourself.’ With that she stomped down the stairs leaving June trailing after her, her heart beating a little faster than it should.

‘I must get on,’ Matron said over her shoulder. ‘I’ve got paperwork to do so perhaps you can get one of the others to finish showing you around.’

June chewed her lip as she gazed after the unbending figure. She had a horrible feeling Matron wasn’t going to take any notice of her experience as a nursery nurse. She was the kind of woman who knew best, that was plain to see, and wasn’t interested in anyone else’s suggestions.

She felt bad thinking such things when she’d only just arrived but Matron certainly didn’t put herself out to make people feel at ease. June was determined she wasn’t going to make an enemy of her. That would be fatal. She squared her shoulders and began her tentative exploration of this mansion she must now call home.

Chapter Three

No one took the slightest bit of notice of June as she opened all the doors on the ground floor, taking note of the common room, the dining room, the cloakrooms, and a few steps down to the laundry room, where she could just make out two figures who were plunging what looked like poles into two enormous copper boilers and giggling through the steam. One of them looked up, sweat pouring off her forehead, and waved. There was also a playroom and a grand library. She had a few minutes’ quiet browse around the shelves, looking over her shoulder every so often in case she was spotted and reprimanded. What a luxury if she was allowed to borrow a book now and again, although most of these seemed very highbrow. She couldn’t see any novels, for one thing. At home she’d built up a small collection of books but she’d had to leave them behind when she went to London, and her room here felt bare without them. They’d been her friends when she’d had no one else. She shook herself. Mustn’t think.…

She climbed the main staircase and looked into the bedrooms. There were five large rooms, laid out like dormitories, containing eight identical narrow beds with a small locker next to each one. And near the door there was a larger single bed, she guessed for one of the adults to keep an eye on the children. Everywhere was clean and neat. Nothing out of place. It didn’t look as though any children lived here.

She thought of the state of her childhood home. Before she’d left at 16 to train as a nursery nurse, it had been chaos. Stella had already left home three years before to get married and move to Wisbech, leaving June with their violent father and a drunken mother. A mother who when Clara died had only found solace in drink, and as a consequence had neglected the home. June had done her best to keep everything going but it was almost a relief when her mother drifted into a coma one sunny morning in her bed. A once attractive woman lay on the pillow, her mouth open, her eyes wild, looking haggard and beaten before she gasped her last breath. June swallowed hard as the memories reached out to pull her back in – forcing her to relive it as she had already done, over and over, hundreds, maybe thousands of times, since it had happened. She’d been left with her father, an unkempt bully of a man, with a temper which erupted at any moment. He’d had not a shred of decency or compassion for comforting his grieving wife after Clara’s death.

The only time June had seen any sign of distress in him was after her mother’s funeral when June told him she was leaving home and going to live with Aunt Ada. He’d realised with a jolt of fear there was no one left to look after him. June’s lip curled in disgust, willing the old images to stop replaying. But they were too strong.

June had flown down the stairs to where Clara lay crumpled at the bottom. She cradled her sister’s head in her arms. Clara’s eyes were wide with terror. Thank God she was still alive.

‘Clara, darling, I’m here. You’re going to be all right.’

Clara smiled – an angel’s smile. Her eyes held a wise expression and June felt her heart sing with joy that her sister would indeed recover. She smiled back at her.

And then June heard a long sigh escape Clara’s lips as her head lolled to one side.

Clara had just had her eighth birthday.

As long as June lived she would never, ever forgive her father. And one day she would see that justice was done.

Tears fell from June’s eyes as she pulled the dormitory door shut. Would she ever stop reliving that nightmare? She brushed the tears away with the back of her hand, hoping against hope that no one would spot her and ask what was the matter. She could never tell anyone.

A bell sounded.

She heard footsteps behind her and spun round to see Iris.

‘I came to see how you were getting on. If I could answer any questions.’ Iris looked at her sharply. ‘You’ve been crying. Are you all right?’

‘Yes. I’m all right.’

Iris didn’t look convinced. ‘By the way, that was the bell for dinner. Are you hungry?’

‘Starving,’ June said, thankful the subject of her crying was closed. She followed Iris back into the hall. A noise like thunder crashed over her head and seconds later a stream of children came flying down the stairs, pushing and shoving and calling out.

‘Where on earth’s Matron?’ Iris sounded irritated as she glanced about her.

‘I’m here.’ Matron appeared from one of the oak doorways. ‘Right, children.’ She clapped her hands loudly and they immediately stopped their noise. ‘Before you go in, I want you all to know Miss Lavender is going to help keep you lot in line.’

‘Hello, Miss. You came in our class,’ a boy of about ten with a cheeky grin shouted over the banister. ‘Have you got any sweets for us?’

‘You’re not allowed sweets,’ Matron told him. ‘Now come on down, all of you, and line up, so Miss Lavender can take a look at you all … and keep your traps shut for once.’

June flinched. This was not the sort of language she ever used to keep children in order, but she knew she mustn’t make a comment – not yet. The children lined up, still shuffling and muttering, but they were obviously in awe of Matron as they’d quietened right down.

‘Can you all tell me your names and how old you are?’ June said, smiling at the first child and letting it travel along the row until it fell on the last. ‘I shan’t remember them all right away but I’ll do my best, and I’m sure you’ll remind me.’

‘You can do that after we’ve had dinner,’ Matron interrupted, clapping her hands again. ‘It’ll be cold at this rate. File in, all of you.’

‘I’m worried about the little girl, Lizzie,’ June whispered to Iris. ‘Matron said she has her meals in the nursery.’

‘I don’t agree with it at all,’ Iris said under her breath, ‘but Matron says she’s a disruptive influence over the other children.’

‘What did she do that’s disruptive?’

‘When she first came they put her in the dining room with all the other kids,’ Iris explained, ‘but if one of the teachers told her she had to eat what was on her plate and she didn’t like it, she’d throw the plate on the floor.’ Iris smiled ruefully. ‘We lost a lot of plates that week. Matron got angry and said Lizzie had to have her meals in the nursery from now on.’

‘But she’ll never learn to behave if she’s taken out of a normal situation like eating with the others,’ June protested.

‘I said as much to Matron but she ignored me. Matron is always right. You’ll soon find that out – if you can put up with it.’

June knew that Iris was warning her that she might not be able to put up with it; that Iris wouldn’t be at all surprised if she left. June pressed her mouth tight, resolving that it would take a lot more than that for her to give in her notice. In her experience Lizzie needed to know she was part of the home, whether she was naughty or good, and mix with the other children. June was sure it was the only way to encourage her to speak.

‘You’ll have to help serve at that table over there,’ Iris said, pointing, ‘and I’ll take this one. Don’t know where Kathleen’s got to – she’s the other nurse.’

‘Oh, yes, I met her in the sick bay.’

‘Of course. She takes the third table … oh, here she is.’

Kathleen shot in and gave Iris a wave, smiled at June, then rushed to her place, and the dining room became a crescendo of noise again until Matron appeared and banged on the table.

‘Fold your hands together for Grace,’ she said, raising her chin, her eyes rolling back in their sockets, her hands clasped, as though she were in direct contact with God. ‘For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful. Amen.’

‘Amen,’ repeated the children.

There was a clatter of plates and cutlery as two kitchen maids brought in the steaming bowls of stew and potatoes. When June had served all sixteen boys at her table, there was another kind of noise – slurping, gulping, hiccupping – but at least they were clearing their plates. She took a few bites but the excitement of the day seemed to have rid her of her appetite.

But now she had a purpose. She was going to look after the children who lived in this huge old house. Try to make it up to Clara. Make sure she would never forget her dearest sister.

After the children had all taken turns to tell June their names and ages, she looked round for Matron, but the woman was nowhere to be seen. Not knowing what to do next, she went to Matron’s office and tapped gently on her door but there was no sound from within.

‘Are you looking for Matron, Miss Lavender?’

June turned to see Miss Ayles, the history and geography teacher, regarding her from behind her spectacles.

‘Yes. I was wondering what she’d like me to do. And if sometime this afternoon I could clean my room. It smells of damp and I don’t think it’s good to sleep in such an atmosphere.’

‘I’m not surprised. It’s been empty for quite a while. We’ve not had an assistant to Matron since the war started but now we’ve got ten more children – evacuees – it’s not been easy with the shortage of books and pencils.’ Miss Ayles peered at June. ‘So I should go and get your room done, Miss Lavender, while Matron takes her hour-and-a-half nap.’ She wrinkled her thin nose. ‘Some nap,’ she added under her breath. ‘This might be your only opportunity before bedtime.’

‘Does everyone live in?’

‘The teachers and nurses are up on the third floor, the maids on the fourth. I have my own cottage as do Cook and Matron.’ There was a note of triumph in her voice and June hid a smile. ‘Is there anything else I can answer?’

‘No, you’ve been most helpful,’ June said. ‘I think I’ll go to the kitchen and ask Mrs Bertram where I can find some cleaning things.’

Cleaning took longer than she’d thought. She went downstairs more than once to check Matron wasn’t looking for her but all was silent. The children were in class, or if they were in the younger group they were having a nap themselves. But, two hours later, June ran her eye over the room. She’d managed to straighten the wardrobe, get rid of the dead flowers and clean out the vase, and she’d washed everything down, including the windows and frames and wainscot, with soap and vinegar and bleach. It was a remarkable improvement though the room still looked sadly stripped of homely items. Somewhere she had a photograph of herself and her sisters with their mother. She delved into her travel bag, unwrapped it from its newspaper and smiled as she set it on the shelf above the fireplace. She stood back to admire it. One photograph, but it made all the difference.

A few paintings – prints of course – would brighten the room but she had no money to buy anything extra. Maybe she’d find something in a second-hand shop when she’d settled in properly and saved a bit of cash. Until then, she was satisfied the room looked infinitely cleaner and smelled infinitely fresher. After the long journey she’d surely sleep tonight.

Chapter Four

June opened her eyes and for a few moments wondered where she was. Then she smiled. She now lived in a grand country house all the way up north in Liverpool. If her mother could see her she’d be amazed. But grand house or not, the room still felt deadly cold. She sat up, wrapping the extra blanket she’d found in the wardrobe last night around her shoulders, and let her mind drift over the last twenty-four hours. Bingham Hall was certainly a different world from her last two years living with Stella and her three boys in Wisbech. She pictured them all and suddenly felt a stab of homesickness. They were the only family she cared about now, besides Aunt Ada. A tear trickled down June’s cheek and she quickly brushed it away. She had a new life now, and she was determined to make a difference to these children’s lives.

Well, she wasn’t going to make a difference in anyone’s life by sitting here thinking. She scrambled out of bed and pulled back the short velvet curtains, which were spotted with age. She peered through the glass panes, pleased she’d cleaned them yesterday, though she could still smell the traces of the vinegar she’d used. The fog had cleared and everywhere was white. Snow, like giant bales of cotton wool, lay over the fields and trees as far as her eyes could travel. Thick and white and silent.

She couldn’t see another house in sight. She’d never lived anywhere this remote in her life. But standing there looking out of the misted-up window at a fairyland view, she felt a sense of calm seep through her bones. Her mother, bless her, was finally at peace. June had been grateful Stella had given her a home, but it hadn’t been easy looking after the three boys while her sister’s husband had been away fighting. Stella had had little control over her sons, leaving them to June. ‘I’m better to go out to work,’ Stella told her sister, as she left each morning to work in the munitions factory. ‘And I need the company,’ she’d added, never thinking her sister might occasionally like to be with people her own age too, June had thought at the time. After her husband was killed Stella had gone out dancing or to the pictures most nights, and six months later she’d found herself a new boyfriend. She’d been astounded when June told her she’d been offered a job up north.

‘What will I do without you?’ she’d said. ‘The boys need some stability and you know how fond they are of you.’ Her eyes pleaded with June.

June wasn’t at all sure that was true – it was much more likely that Stella wouldn’t have the freedom she’d enjoyed lately – but it didn’t stop her feeling guilty that she was leaving her sister in the lurch.

It had been a shock to June when she’d moved from sleepy Wisbech and stayed with her aunt in London those last three days. When she’d lived there while training to be a nursery nurse there’d only been rumours of a war. This time she’d seen whole streets reduced to a pile of rubble, and the bombs at night had left her tired and jumpy. She had no desire to live in London again. How had the Londoners gone through bombing, night after night, day after day, with such bravery? Was she being a coward to escape it all? But surely vulnerable orphans and evacuees at Dr Barnardo’s needed help just as much as wounded soldiers and citizens.

Now June gave a sigh but it was more of contentment. Whatever lay in store for her, for once she hadn’t been manipulated or made to feel guilty. This new life was of her own making. She’d take the consequences whatever they were.

Feeling more sure of herself she washed and dressed and half ran down the four flights of steps. Iris was the first person she spotted.

‘Bet you haven’t seen snow like this in London.’

‘I must admit I’ve never seen it as thick.’

Iris glanced at June’s shoes that Aunt Ada had bought her. ‘You need boots for our northern winters,’ she said. ‘Those shoes won’t do at all.’

‘I didn’t bring any.’ And had no money to buy them, June wanted to add.

Iris considered for a few moments. ‘We need to fix you up with some proper footwear right away so I’ll have a word with Matron. What say we go into town this morning? I have a few hours to spare as I’m on evening shift this week. But you’ll have to brace yourself. We had a very bad raid in May and parts of Liverpool are in a terrible state. They usually aim for the docks but I think they enjoy giving the civilians a good fright as often as they can as well.’

‘Don’t worry about me – I’m used to London, which you wouldn’t believe the terrible hammering it’s taken …’ She stopped, realising she sounded as though she was making light of Liverpool’s hardship. ‘Though I read Liverpool is a close second,’ she added quickly. ‘I suppose it’s because it’s a port.’

‘A major one,’ Iris said. ‘The docks have taken the brunt of Hitler’s planes because its position is convenient for American ships to bring us crucial supplies. Not just American but Canadian and Australian ships deliver here as well. If the Germans have their way and smash the docks to pieces we’ll have had it. Nothing will get through – food, fuel, arms – everything we depend on. It’d be a disaster.’

June shivered. She could tell by Iris’s upset expression that her friend was not exaggerating.

‘Anyway, enough of that,’ Iris said smiling. ‘Are we on? Our jaunt into town?’

‘But what about the twins in the sick bay?’ June asked. ‘Don’t you need to see to them?’

‘Kathleen’s here to look after them.’

‘I don’t know …’ June hesitated. It might not look right if she wasn’t there to learn the ropes on her first full day and she felt guilty that Matron still hadn’t appeared after she’d finished cleaning her bedroom yesterday. She’d spent the rest of the time until supper in the library. ‘Matron hasn’t told me yet exactly what she wants me to do. I thought she’d have given me a list of jobs by now.’

‘She’s not the most efficient,’ Iris said. ‘But I’m sure she’ll let you know soon enough. But as far as going into town, leave it to me. We might be able to get a lift with Harold – he’s the only one here with a car and more or less acts as a chauffeur. We have to take advantage when he goes in, which is usually only once a week as fuel’s rationed, of course. Anyway, I’ll have a word with the Fierce One.’ With a chuckle Iris vanished.

June had told Iris not to worry – that she was prepared for a city that had borne the brunt of constant bombing attacks – but she hadn’t expected the sights that met her. Whole streets were razed to the ground, and when they turned a corner they saw flames burning in what had obviously been a sizeable commercial building. They watched a group of firemen trying to bring it under control.

‘Jerry were busy last night,’ said one of the firemen, nodding in their direction.

‘Lewis’s department store,’ Iris said with dismay. ‘It’s my favourite shop – or was. But that’s nothing compared with so many of the wonderful old buildings – our landmarks – vanished or standing like empty shells. Most of it happened in May when they blitzed us. They even managed to hit the cathedral but it wasn’t damaged too badly so if it comes through the war, they’ll repair it. It’s so ghastly.’ She turned her face to June, her eyes moist. ‘Let’s go, June. It makes me feel sick looking at it. Oh, I’m so fed up with this bloody war.’

The scene was so terrible that this time June didn’t even cringe at Iris’s swear word. And it was bloody. Men and women were dying in England, in France, and of course in Germany, and though she couldn’t feel quite so sympathetic about the enemy, it was still a tragic waste of lives. A shiver of horror ran down her spine as she saw an old man lying on his back by the side of the road, still and pale, his eyes open. A woman came out of one of the shops and put a blanket over the figure, pulling it right over his head.

‘Don’t look,’ Iris said. ‘He’s dead. Probably had a heart attack. It’s happening quite a bit to the elderly. I had to give some first aid to an old lady the last time I was in town. Thank goodness she came round but there’s nothing we can do here. Someone will see to what needs to be done.’ She took June’s arm and moved her away.

‘So many people have lost their homes,’ June said, her eyes pricking with tears. ‘Look over there – those poor people picking through all those bricks for their belongings.’

Her stomach sickened at the sight of houses where their owners’ once precious belongings had been proudly on show to their visitors, and now spilled out of blown-out walls and down smashed-up staircases – beds, mattresses, tables, washstands, stoves, pictures, clothes – all looking as though they were ready for the rag-and-bone man.

‘We’re not going to be sad,’ Iris said firmly. ‘We’re going to get you the best boots you’ve ever had. And then we’ll go and have tea in one of the cafés.’

Iris led her down one street and then another, June’s feet becoming colder by the minute. She wished she had a street map to see where she was going. Maybe she could pick one up in a stationer’s or a bookshop.

‘Here we are,’ Iris said. ‘One of my favourite shoe shops – they don’t have quite the choice these days but they’re bound to have something suitable.’

‘They’re too expensive,’ June said, peering in the window at the price tags.

Iris laughed and practically pushed her inside.

‘Try these.’ Iris held up a pair of sturdy leather boots with a fur lining. June could tell at a glance they’d be dear.

‘They’re too big.’ June shook her head but Iris ignored her and asked a smartly dressed lady if she would measure her friend’s foot.

‘You have very small feet, Miss,’ the saleswoman said, scrutinising the measurement. ‘Only a three-and-a-half. I’ll see if I have them in your size.’ She unbent with a wince and threw back her shoulders. ‘Back in a jiffy.’

True to her word she was back with another box and a shoehorn. When she was satisfied June’s foot was in the correct position she said, ‘Now try walking in them.’

They felt as though they’d been made for her.

‘How do they feel, June?’ Iris looked down and gave a satisfied nod.

‘They’re lovely and comfortable, but—’

‘But you can’t afford them,’ Iris finished. June reddened. ‘I’ll lend you the money. Pay me back when you can. You just need six coupons. Have you got your ration book with you?’

‘Yes, but—’ She didn’t want to admit she’d used up most of her yearly allowance of sixty coupons already when she’d been offered the job. Aunt Ada had insisted she buy a desperately needed coat, and the shoes that she’d just taken off, as well as a skirt and blouse, camiknickers and stockings. June bit her lip, mentally adding them up. Six more for the boots. That would only leave eight to last until the end of May.

‘We’ll take the boots, thank you.’ Iris walked over to the lady at the till and fished out her purse.

‘But—’

Iris put her hand up. ‘Stop! Those shoes you’re wearing will let in all the wet. In fact’ – she turned back to the lady at the till – ‘my friend will wear the boots straightaway.’

There was nothing June could do. She could tell Iris was determined and used to taking charge. She had to admit the boots were warm and the soles thick enough to practically skim over the snow.

‘Thank you, Iris. I’ll pay you back soon, I promise.’

‘See that you do,’ Iris said with mock firmness. She looked at June and grinned. ‘You’ve got some colour in those pale cheeks now. You’re pretty, but I expect you know that. Bet you’ve got all the boys after you.’

‘I haven’t got a boyfriend at the moment,’ June said, a sudden image of the tall, broad-shouldered man in the greatcoat with the mocking smile making her go pink.

‘You will soon, what with the RAF station nearby.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Speke. The RAF station. It’s only a few miles away. The boys there go to dances. And we go to dances. There’s never enough girls so we’re never short of partners. You’re coming with me to the next one.’

‘I’ve never been to a dance.’

‘Well, now’s the time.’ Iris slipped her hand through June’s arm as they left the shop. It felt nice. It had been a long time since she’d had a real friend. ‘Are you ready for a cup of tea, Junie, or what would you like to do?’

Junie. The only person who had called her that was Clara. June swallowed.

‘Do you mind me calling you Junie?’ Iris asked as though she’d read June’s thoughts.

‘N-no, not at all,’ June stuttered. The pain was always close enough to burst out at any moment. She blinked back the tears. ‘I was wondering if there was a second-hand bookshop anywhere.’ She looked around vaguely as though one might spring out at her. ‘I could do with a map of Liverpool and I’d love a new book to read.’

‘I’d have thought there would be plenty of books in the library at the home,’ Iris said.

‘I had a look yesterday but they’re mostly what I’d call scholarly. I just want something light to read in bed before I switch my light out.’

‘Lucky you to be able to see to read,’ Iris said grimly. ‘My light’s awful. Maybe I’ll see if I can find a stronger bulb … buy it myself ’cos Matron will never give me one.’ She stopped, her forehead puckering. ‘Let’s see … there are two second-hand bookshops near here … more or less the same, except one has a bad-tempered owner and the other one is just the opposite – polite and helpful.’

‘Could we go to the polite and helpful one?’ June smiled. ‘I don’t think I’m in the mood for bad temper today.’

‘They’re both up in the High Street, on the right-hand side as you go down. Only a couple of shops in between so I’ll leave you to it. I won’t tell you which one’s which,’ she added with a wicked grin. ‘I need to pick up some things from the chemist and I’d like to have a wander, even if there’s nothing much in the windows. Shall we meet over there at the fountain’ – she looked at her watch – ‘say, half-past eleven? Will that give you enough time to poke around some dusty old bookshop?’

‘That would be perfect,’ June said, delighted. It would be fun to go to both bookshops and have a browse. She wondered if she would be able to tell which owner was which.

The snow was already beginning to melt and June wished she wasn’t wearing her beautiful new boots. They’d be ruined through all this slush. Then she smiled. They were made for that exact purpose. She’d give them a good clean and drying-out when she got home.

Home. Dr Barnado’s. Who would have thought it?

She crossed the road, narrowly avoiding a car coming at a pace along the slushy high street. Further along, the damage the Luftwaffe had done on their air raids made her sick to her stomach again. A whole row of terraced houses had been turned into a mountain of rubble – except for the end one, which didn’t look as though it had acquired even a bruise. Horses towing carts carrying the remnants of people’s homes patiently picked their way through the debris. Several shops had their windows boarded up but most of them had a notice on the door saying: ‘Open for business as usual’.

‘Usual’. June grimaced as she slowly walked along the pavement wondering how people could manage to run a business in such chaos.

The first bookshop she came to was simply called Brown’s Books. She opened the door and from somewhere within a bell clanged.

An RAF officer, his back towards her, was talking to an older man behind the counter.

‘We don’t keep maps any more since the war started,’ the bookseller was saying. ‘You ought to know more than most they could end up in the wrong hands.’ June saw him glare at the man in the blue coat, who turned at June’s approach. She gave a start.

The officer smiled and removed his peaked cap, then his blue eyes sparked with recognition. He beamed at her, showing strong, creamy-white teeth. She hadn’t been able to see his hair before. It was tawny-coloured.

‘Well, if it isn’t the independent miss who wouldn’t let me give her a hand with her luggage,’ he said, smiling.

June flushed. ‘I really didn’t mean to be rude but I was trying to …’ she trailed off, wishing her heart would stop pumping in her ears.

He chuckled. ‘It’s all right. I forgave you straightaway when I looked into those green eyes of yours.’ June felt her face go even redder.

‘Looking for anything in particular, Miss?’ The man behind the counter tipped his glasses back to the bridge of his nose.

‘Not really,’ June said. ‘Do you mind if I just have a browse and maybe I’ll see something?’

‘You go right ahead, Miss.’

‘What sort of books do you read?’ The officer made the question sound as though her answer was important to him.

His eyes were even more blue than she remembered.

‘Oh, whatever I can get hold of,’ June said, a little disconcerted. What a stupid answer. He would think she had no taste. ‘I enjoyed Monica Dickens’ book Mariana, and I tried to get her previous one from the library but they didn’t have it.’ It sounded just as feeble.

‘That’d be One Pair of Hands,’ the bookseller put in. ‘I should have a copy somewhere. One of my regulars brought it in a few weeks ago. Let me have a look.’

He tottered from behind the counter. ‘I think I’ll need those steps.’

‘Allow me, Mr Brown.’ The officer set them beneath the overladen shelves.

Mr Brown was up the ladder in a flash. ‘Ah.’ He triumphantly pulled out a book and clutched it with one hand as he backed down the steps. ‘You can have this for one-and-six, seeing’s how the jacket’s torn a bit.’

He made to hand it to her but the younger man was too quick for him. Forehead creased as though he was inspecting a valuable document, the officer flicked through the book, bending back some of the corners on the pages that had been turned down. ‘What about a shilling from the young lady?’ he asked Mr Brown, then looked up and sent June a wink and a smile.

Put out somewhat by his flirtatious manner, she frowned, which caused his smile to widen even further.

‘Seems fair to me when several pages are quite grubby and creased,’ he added, then handed the book to June, who removed her gloves and leafed through a few pages. The book was actually in a very respectable condition, she thought.

‘I’ll take it if a shilling is acceptable,’ June said, wanting to escape as quickly as she could.

Mr Brown frowned. He looked at the officer, then nodded. ‘All right, then. This young man here has twisted my arm. It’s yours. Shall I wrap it?’

‘No, don’t bother. It doesn’t look like rain.’

‘More snow, more like,’ Mr Brown said with a grimace.

The officer reached in his pocket and brought out a ten-shilling note. ‘As we’ve already met, I’d like to buy it for you, if I may – as a small gift.’

This was a pick-up, no doubt about it. June shook her head. ‘Thank you, but I would prefer to pay for the book myself.’ Her voice was sharper than she’d intended.

Disappointment spread over the officer’s face.

‘I’m sorry – that sounded awfully rude,’ June said, conscious of Mr Brown gazing curiously at the two of them. ‘It’s very kind of you but really I don’t—’

‘You don’t know my name,’ he finished. ‘Then let me introduce myself. Flight Lieutenant Murray Andrews. RAF Speke.’ He gave a mock bow. ‘At your service.’

Of course. A pilot. And cheeky with it. Not that she knew any but she’d been told often enough. Apparently they all had that charm. And he was at the station Iris had mentioned.

She offered her hand. ‘June Lavender. It’s been very nice to meet you again, Flight Lieutenant Andrews. And thank you for helping me to decide on the book.’

He took her hand. She hadn’t put her gloves back on and it was as though the warmth of his skin flowed between them. ‘I wouldn’t mind reading it after you.’ He finally allowed her hand to drop but kept his gaze on her.

A little shaken, she gabbled, ‘I don’t think it’s a man’s kind of book if the other one’s anything to go by.’

‘It’s a true story, isn’t it?’

June turned the book over. Monica Dickens smiled from the jacket cover. ‘Yes, it’s her autobiography.’

‘Then try me.’

By the look of his grin he was flirting with her. Willing her cheeks not to burn and trying her best to ignore the nearness of him, June handed over a shilling and said goodbye, but Murray Andrews reached the door before her.

‘Can I at least take you for a cup of tea, Miss Lavender? That wouldn’t be too forward of me, would it?’

His hand on the door frame. A strong, capable hand. Only moments ago her own hand had been lost in it. An image of him in his flying suit in the cockpit, blue eyes fixed firmly ahead … that same hand on the controls … Look away. Her eyes roved to a clock on the wall above Mr Brown. Oh, no. It was already five minutes over the time Iris had given her.

‘I’m really sorry but I’m late meeting someone.’ And with that June rushed out.

‘I’m ready for that cuppa,’ Iris said, holding the café door for June, who thumped her new boots up and down to kick off the snow.

The café was heaving. Iris pulled a face. ‘Ugh, I hate the horrible smell of dandelion they’re all using now instead of coffee. Camp. Who thought of a name like that? And who do they think they’re fooling?’

‘I suppose they can’t help it with the rationing.’ June looked about her and spotted a table. ‘Oh, that couple by the window are just leaving. And it doesn’t look quite so smoky.’

‘Did you go to both bookshops?’ Iris asked, when they’d settled in the still warm seats.

‘No, only Brown’s. He was very helpful so he must be the nice one.’

Iris smiled. ‘I’m glad you got on well with him.’

‘He found me exactly what I wanted. Maybe because I bought a book it cheered him up … even though a customer knocked him down from one-and-six to a shilling – on my behalf.’

‘Oh? Who was that then?’ Iris gazed at her, curiosity sparking in her sapphire-blue eyes.

‘Just some man.’ Blast. She hadn’t wanted to mention Murray Andrews.

Iris immediately pounced. ‘What man? Another old boy?’

‘No. He was an officer – a pilot at that RAF station you mentioned.’ June hesitated. Might as well give the full account now. ‘Actually, I first saw him on the Liverpool train. He offered to help with my case but I wouldn’t let him.’

‘Gosh, it doesn’t take you long to get yourself a boyfriend.’ Iris laughed.

‘Don’t be daft. I doubt very much I’ll ever see him again. Anyway, he was nothing special.’

‘Then why have you gone pink?’

June put her hand to her cheek. ‘Because it’s so hot in here. I’m going to take my coat off.’ She was relieved to see a waitress hurrying over.

‘Tea for two, please, and two scones and jam,’ Iris said. She leaned across the table and gazed at June, her eyes full of mischief. ‘Don’t think you can change the subject. I want to hear all about your pilot. Every detail.’

‘He’s not my pilot and there’s nothing to tell,’ June said, annoyed with herself for starting all this. ‘He was after a map but Mr Brown told him in no uncertain terms there was a war on and a map could end up in the wrong hands. So of course I couldn’t tell him I was also after a map.’

Iris chuckled. ‘Well, you’re bound to bump into him again at one of the dances. Maybe he has a nice friend.’ She patted June’s arm. ‘It’ll be fun going with you. Sometimes a couple of the maids come and we catch a bus together but they giggle over nothing and have no conversation except boys and moaning about Cook. Course, they’re still wet behind the ears.’

The waitress set a tray of tea and the scones on the table.

‘No butter.’ Iris wrinkled her nose at the margarine. ‘But at least we’ve got a teaspoon of jam.’

June was relieved the conversation had taken a turn away from Murray Andrews. Iris chattered on about her family, then said, ‘Do you have brothers and sisters?’

It was the question June was dreading.

She swallowed. ‘I had two sisters, but one – Clara – died when she was only eight.’

Iris covered June’s hand with her own. ‘I’m so sorry, Junie. That’s awful. How long ago?’

‘More than five years but it still seems like yesterday. That’s why I’m here – to help children who need me.’

‘What about your parents?’

‘Mum died two years after Clara’s accident, when I was sixteen. She was broken-hearted and became … ill.’

‘Oh, poor you. And your father?’

‘I … he …’

‘Don’t tell me if it’s painful.’ Iris looked over at the wall clock opposite and shot to her feet. ‘C’mon, kid, we’ve got to get back. Harold won’t be able to take us home as he’s got to take the car in for repair. But we can get the bus if we hurry.’

‘This is my treat.’ June got out her purse and left the coins on the table. She dipped in again and drew out a thruppenny bit, hoping it was enough for a tip, and buttoned her coat. She picked up her bag and the shoebox with her old shoes and hurried after Iris.

An hour later they were back at the home. Just as Iris put her hand out to pull the bell cord the heavy oak door swung wide. Matron stood there, her face red and perspiring, eyes wide as though she were about to burst.

‘Have you heard the news?’ Matron threw her hands in the air.

June and Iris glanced at each other, puzzled

‘No, we’ve been—’ Iris began.

‘The Japs have bombed one of the American naval bases in Hawaii!’ Matron’s voice rose a decibel. ‘That means the Americans will be over here in droves, you’ll see! With all their money and fancy goods.’ She gave a contemptuous twist of her lip and shook her head with such force her cap hung at a precarious angle.

Iris shouted in delight. ‘But that’s wonderful news, Matron. They’ll be here to help us win the war – and not before time.’ She grabbed hold of June, who was trying to take it all in. ‘Isn’t it exciting, Junie?’ Iris whirled her so hard June’s head swam. ‘Junie, say something.’

‘I bet Mr Churchill’s relieved,’ June gasped, laughing as she nearly lost her balance when Iris suddenly let her go. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Matron’s grimace before she disappeared inside. June suddenly thought of all the boys and men and women who had already died. How many more would have to die before the world came to its senses? But at least it looked as though Mr Churchill would finally have help.

‘He’ll be dancing for joy like us,’ Iris said, this time pulling June into another spin. ‘The Yanks are coming – they’re really coming,’ she sang out. ‘Oh, thank God! We’re going to win this bloody war, you’ll see. This time next year it’ll all be over.’

Even the welcome news about the Japs invading Pearl Harbor wasn’t enough to stop Murray Andrews thinking about the girl in the bookshop. Fair enough, she was pretty, but he’d known loads of pretty girls. So what was so special about June Lavender? Was it her quiet determined manner? Or the hint of mischief behind those grassy-green eyes? Was it because she shared a love of books? Was it simply because she hadn’t shown the slightest interest in him when she’d tried to get past him in the corridor of the train? Her polite but firm reply when he’d offered to pay for her book? He was so used to women being impressed with his being a fighter pilot that it was odd not having to fend off yet another pretty girl.

He grinned. If he wasn’t careful he’d get the reputation of being a cocky sod. And that was best left to the likes of the handsome, full-of-himself Yank, Captain Charles (‘Call me Chas’) Lockstone, who’d breezed in six weeks ago along with a handful of other American volunteer pilots by going over the border and joining the Royal Canadian Air Force. It was inevitable that today’s news would bring the Yanks into the war and a lot more of them would soon be over here. No question we need them, Murray thought, lighting a cigarette, even though he couldn’t work up a lot of enthusiasm. He’d heard too many stories about them – many of them not very favourable – to look forward to their arrival. But Churchill would be ecstatic as he’d tried so hard and for so long to convince Roosevelt to enter fully into the war, so surely now the tide would turn in the Allies’ favour.

Murray tried to concentrate on his newspaper but it was impossible. Everything was bound to change now.

Chapter Five

The news about the Americans coming into the war was the only topic in the dining room at dinnertime. Even Matron couldn’t stop the children cheering and shouting ‘hurray’ when they heard the grown-ups talking and laughing that Jerry wouldn’t know what hit them now the Americans were about to swell the numbers in the military. Everyone joining in except Lizzie, June thought sadly. It didn’t matter that Lizzie and most of the children were too young to understand how much it meant that finally Churchill had got his wish. It was enough that they were following the older children, who were clearly excited. But not Lizzie. The little girl would be upstairs in the nursery having her dinner, but there’d be no childish laughter escaping the room as there were no other children to share it with. June was certain that if only she knew the full story she’d be able to help Lizzie, whom she hadn’t seen since those few minutes yesterday. She’d settle in for a few days and have a word with Iris and Kathleen – ask them their opinion – but until then she’d make sure to go to the kitchen every morning, where she knew Lizzie regularly curled up under the watchful eye of Bertie, and speak to her even if the little girl never answered. Momentarily, June closed her eyes. Lizzie reminded her so much of Clara.

‘Let us hope you’ve enjoyed your morning off,’ Matron said, a touch of sarcasm dripping through the words. ‘There’s plenty to learn and I want you to start right away, so please come to my office as soon as you’ve finished.’

June helped serve the dinner, which was stew and bread, with rice pudding to follow, all the while thinking of Lizzie alone in the nursery, though it was hard to think straight with all the noise. The children were not allowed to talk but that didn’t stop them scraping their chairs, coughing, slurping, sniffing, whispering. One child was making a racket with two spoons and June was surprised Matron hadn’t reprimanded him. Then she realised. Matron would be watching to see whether she could control the children on what was only her second day.

‘Will you please stop banging those spoons,’ June said in a firm voice. The child took no notice, just grinned and carried on doing it. The child opposite with ginger hair and freckles began to giggle. She had to say something or else they’d get the better of her, though it was difficult as they were several seats away.

‘The boy who would love to play drums and is practising with two spoons – what is your name?’

There was a silence. The children’s heads swivelled to look at the offending boy. The boy banging the spoons gave another loud clash.

‘Could someone tell me his name if he can’t answer for himself?’ June persisted.

‘It’s Thomas, Miss. He’s always mucking about,’ said the ginger-haired boy.

‘No, I’m not,’ Thomas shouted.

‘No talking!’ Matron glared across from the neighbouring table. ‘That goes for you, too, Miss Lavender, unless there is an emergency.’

Several children giggled. June went red with annoyance. If Matron was going to pull her up in front of the children, she didn’t stand a chance. The children would think they could get the better of her every time.

‘This is an emergency, Matron,’ June spoke in such a low voice she wondered if Matron would hear. ‘If I hear any more from you, Thomas, I will … I’ll …’

‘What, Miss? What will you do?’ His eyes were like two shining pieces of coal, challenging her.

‘You will be promoted to monitor of the games room. And you will clean it up after the children every day for a fortnight whether you’ve played in there or not. They won’t have to do it – you will.’

‘That’d be right good, Miss,’ Peter said, grinning at the scowling Thomas.

‘Now no more talking. That goes for all of you.’

‘Even you, Miss,’ Thomas muttered under his breath.

The rest of the meal passed in silence allowing June’s thoughts to stray to Lizzie again. She couldn’t get the little girl out of her head. A child who had suffered such a terrible shock it had made her dumb. It was wrong that Matron would not allow her to join in with the other children who might even be able to encourage her to speak. And she still didn’t like the idea that Lizzie was left alone while someone came downstairs to eat a meal, no matter how quickly, and then go back upstairs. Anything could happen in between. Hilda was not acting at all responsibly but Matron had clearly sent a warning not to interfere. Well, she was afraid she might not be able to heed that warning. Where was Hilda anyway?

Completely forgetting Matron’s order to report to her office, June jumped to her feet and stacked the plates nearest to her.

‘Can you finish this?’ she mouthed to Iris, who nodded.

June dumped the dishes in the kitchen and practically ran up the flights of stairs, her heart hammering as though she were a naughty schoolgirl about to get found out. Past her own room and the maids’ to the end. A door in front of her was conveniently marked ‘Nursery’ and she tried it. It was locked.

‘Lizzie, are you in there?’ June shook the handle. There was no sound. Of course – the child couldn’t make herself heard. She thought she heard a scuffle of shoes. ‘Lizzie,’ she called again. ‘It’s Miss Lavender, the new lady who has come to help look after you and the other children. Is there a key in the door? If there is you could turn it. Open the door. And I could say “hello” to you.’

She stood quietly, straining her ears to pick up any noise of a child. Nothing. She must have imagined the other noise. Bending down she put her eye to the keyhole but her view was restricted. She could just make out what looked like the end of a cot.

‘Can I help you, Miss?’

June jumped to her feet at the sound of Gilbert. She hadn’t heard his approach and it unnerved her.

‘There’s a child in there. I was worried that she’s alone and frightened.’

‘Why do you say that?’

She shouldn’t have passed any remark to Gilbert. He’d made it clear that he disliked her on sight and she couldn’t say in all honesty she felt any better towards him. But it was too late. He was asking her questions.

‘Matron said Hilda leaves her while she has her meal.’

‘Aye. That’s right.’

‘But if the child should have an accident …’

‘I’m here if anything like that happens.’

‘But you can’t be everywhere,’ June said, knowing it was the wrong thing to say, but not able to help herself.

‘What right have you got coming here, poking your nose in things which don’t concern you? You’ve been here five minutes and want to change everything.’

‘No, you have it wrong, Mr Gilbert. I just want the children’s safety.’

‘You want to leave well alone, Miss,’ he said. ‘That’s my advice.’

What was going on here that two people were warning her to mind her own business? Why wasn’t a child’s safety and well-being of paramount importance? June sighed. Why was nothing straightforward? All she wanted to do was help. That’s what she was here for, wasn’t it?

Suddenly remembering Matron, she simply nodded at Gilbert and rushed down the stairs.

‘Where have you been?’ Matron demanded as June entered the office. ‘I said for you to come straightaway … wasting my time.’ She removed her spectacles and glared at June.

‘I’m sorry, Matron. I needed something from my room.’

‘Well, we’d better get on with it.’ Matron pursed her lips as she handed June a sheet of paper. ‘Perhaps you’ll read that and ask me any questions.’

June quickly scanned the paper. Everything was timed from the moment she rose from her bed. She was to help the children get washed and dressed, take them downstairs for breakfast, and make sure they cleaned their teeth. From that point the teachers took over until dinnertime at one o’clock, where she would help the teachers to supervise them. While the children were in class she was to make the beds of the very young children, help Hilda clean the dormitories, sort out their dirty washing for the laundry room and help there when needed, mend their clothes, darn their socks, and help Hilda with the ironing. Then help the teachers to supervise the children’s supper at six o’clock. She would have an hour off every afternoon.

With that list of chores for forty children she wondered how she’d fit in that hour for herself.

‘Any questions?’

‘Yes, Matron. I wasn’t told I’d have to help in the laundry or do the ironing. I thought that was Rose and Mabel’s job.’

‘Several of the orphans frequently wet the bed. It’s too much for the two girls without help.’

‘Couldn’t Hilda help out?’ June’s heart was beating nervously, hoping she wasn’t speaking out of turn.

Matron frowned. ‘She’s kept busy all the time. As I’ve told you before, we’re short-staffed as it is. There’s a war on, you know.’

‘Yes, I do know.’ June nearly added, ‘and my sister’s husband was killed in it,’ but managed to stop herself. ‘I’m not afraid of hard work, but—’

‘But nothing.’ Matron’s eyes flashed. ‘These orphans are obviously more of a challenge than your sister’s three boys. So if you don’t feel you’re up to the job, perhaps you should be looking elsewhere.’

‘No, of course I’ll do my very best.’ June folded the sheet of paper and put it in her overall pocket.

‘Then that’ll be all, Miss Lavender.’

‘I wondered where you’d got to,’ Iris said under her breath as June slipped into the common room.

‘I was worried about Lizzie and went up to the nursery but the door was locked so I couldn’t get in. Then Gilbert sneaked up behind me, making me jump, and asked what I was doing. He was quite rude.’

Iris’s face was serious. ‘Don’t take any notice of him. And no, I don’t approve at all of her being left alone, and neither does Kathleen. But you can’t tell Matron, and I’m afraid Hilda hasn’t got much between the ears.’

‘I’ve just had a bad run-in with Matron.’

‘Haven’t we all.’ Iris grinned. ‘What happened?’

June told her briefly what had taken place, and showed her the long list of duties.

‘She’s having a laugh,’ Iris said. ‘You’re a trained nursery nurse. You shouldn’t have anything to do with the laundry. You’re Matron’s assistant.’

‘But I have no idea what Matron does.’

‘As little as she can get away with,’ Iris said. ‘She disappears several times a day. We’ve all seen her sneak off to her cottage. Probably has a quick one. You can always smell it.’ She wrinkled her nose.

‘Do you mean a cigarette?’

‘That, too, I expect,’ Iris said. ‘But mainly a drink, and I don’t mean a bottle of lemonade either.’

June’s heart plummeted. Knowing how her mother had taken to drink after Clara died, June knew Matron was not going to be easy. But she wasn’t here to make such observations. Her duties lay with the children.

‘You said you’d tell me what happened to Lizzie.’

Iris looked from side to side out of the corner of her eyes. ‘Let’s go to my room and I’ll tell you what I know.’

Although Iris’s room was bigger than June’s it was so untidy it only looked half the size. Her nurse’s uniform was half dangling over a chair, the cap fallen to the floor, and to June’s embarrassment there was a brassière and a pair of knickers underneath. And a distinct smell of tobacco.

Iris laughed. ‘You’re obviously the neat type, Junie,’ she said. ‘I can’t keep anything in order in my own room but I’m completely the opposite when I’m working. Fussy as a housewife with her front doorstep, that’s me. And I never want to be one of those – housewives, I mean.’ She laughed again. ‘Here. Sit on the end of the bed. It’s more comfortable than the chair.’ She hauled a pile of papers and a pair of slippers off the only chair and dropped into it.

‘Don’t you want to get married one day?’ June ventured a little tentatively. She wasn’t used to asking personal questions of people she hardly knew, but Iris was different.

‘What? Tied down to some man who expects you to wait on him hand and foot. Then a load of snivelling kids to bring up single-handed because he’s gone all day.’ She glanced at June’s disbelieving face. ‘I’m put off having my own when I see my friends’ brats. No, thanks. Definitely not for me.’

‘But you’re here working with children.’

‘True. But these kids are different. They’re a challenge. They don’t have a normal home. This is all they know, poor little blighters. I don’t mind them.’

‘So tell me about Lizzie,’ June said, relieved that Iris was just as nice as she’d first thought.

‘It happened a couple of months ago. Lizzie was at her grandmother’s house for a few days and while she was away her house was hit in a bombing raid and caught fire. It was terrible.’ Iris’s voice began to quiver. ‘The fire engine got there too late. They all died. Her brother, who was only seven, and both parents.’

A shiver ran down June’s back making her gasp. She could feel tears pricking at the back of her eyes, imagining Lizzie, not even four, trying to understand where her mummy and daddy and brother had gone.

‘Since she came here the poor little kid hasn’t spoken a word.’ Iris searched in her bag for her packet of cigarettes, took one out and offered it to June, who shook her head. Iris put it between her own lips and flipped a silver lighter until it flared, then inhaled deeply before she let it out in a stream.

June felt the smoke catch the back of her throat and she tried not to cough.

‘What about the grandmother?’ she asked.

‘She used to come and see her once a week,’ Iris said. ‘But she’s getting old. Said she couldn’t bring up the child on her own. It was too much responsibility. And it was her son who died in the fire, and her grandson. She’s beside herself with grief. It was just too much for her. You can’t blame her.’

‘And Lizzie doesn’t even talk to her grandmother?’

‘Not a word. She stares at her as though she doesn’t even recognise her. It breaks Mrs Dixon’s heart. She hasn’t been to see her lately. I don’t think she can bear it, poor thing.’

‘Can we go and see Lizzie?’

‘I don’t see why not. C’mon, let’s go now while the kids are having their nap.’

The two girls ran up the flights of stairs and Iris took out a bunch of keys from her pocket, unlocked the door and pushed it open. Apprehensive of what she might see, June noticed Lizzie curled up in a corner like a frightened animal, clutching a ball of wool.

‘Hello, Lizzie, it’s Nurse Iris come to see you. I’ve brought Miss Lavender.’ Iris caught June’s arm and gently propelled her forward.

Lizzie curled up even smaller if that was possible, her eyes staring, her expression blank. She had three fingers in her mouth.

‘Take those fingers out, lovey, and say hello to Miss Lavender.’

‘Hello, Lizzie.’ June stepped a few inches closer. Lizzie tightened up, letting the wool fall on to the floor, her hands covering her eyes. ‘Lizzie, do you remember I came into the kitchen yesterday and said hello to you? Can you take your hands away so I can see your pretty face?’

The little girl moved her hands a fraction so June could just see part of her eyes.

‘Maybe tomorrow you’ll let me see you properly,’ June said.

‘Here – what’s going on?’

June turned at the harsh voice from the door. A girl of about 16, built like an ox, stormed in. Lizzie began to cry.

‘Hilda, this is Matron’s assistant, Miss Lavender,’ Iris explained. ‘I’m introducing her to Lizzie.’

‘You can see you’ve frightened her,’ Hilda squealed. ‘If you don’t leave this minute I’ll report you to Matron – both of you.’

Lizzie cried even louder.

‘You need to watch yourself, Hilda,’ Iris said, irritation with the girl colouring the words. ‘I may be putting in my own report – and it won’t be to Matron, either.’

‘She’s not the right person to be in charge of Lizzie,’ June said, when they were downstairs again. ‘Lizzie needs someone gentle and understanding and encouraging. I don’t think she’ll ever get that from Hilda.’

‘You’re right. She was only here a few weeks before Lizzie arrived so I don’t know her that well, but I’m not keen, I must say.’ Iris turned to look at June directly. ‘What do you think, June? Do you still think we should force Lizzie to play with the others? Have her meals with them?’

‘Maybe not right away, and I don’t think we should force her to do anything, but little by little I think we should include her in some games, and if all goes well, let her sit with us at mealtimes.’

‘I agree. She’s such a dear little poppet … must be lonely as hell. Pretty little thing too.’

‘It doesn’t really matter if she’s pretty or not,’ June said, her eye on Matron’s door. ‘She should be treated kindly and lovingly. She’s just lost both her parents and her brother. She hasn’t anything more to lose – except her voice,’ she added soberly. ‘That’s what’s so terrible. She can’t communicate with anyone.’

‘Any suggestions?’

‘Not yet, but I’m going to make it my mission to help her.’

Chapter Six

The next two days slipped by quickly as June tried to take everything in and work through Matron’s list. Daisy and Doris came out of the sick ward but they didn’t join in with the younger children’s favourite game of hide-and-seek or practise with the skipping rope, and June noticed they left half their food. She wondered how long they’d been at Dr Barnardo’s, and the reason why they’d come. She’d ask Matron. She’d also ask Matron if she could see a list of every child’s name and date of birth, and who their parents were, if known, and how the child had come to be at Dr Barnardo’s. It was important to know everything possible about each child and Matron was bound to keep a book with those sorts of details.

She decided to waylay Matron immediately after the children went to their first class of the morning.

‘Matron, it would help me a lot if I knew the different backgrounds of the children and I wondered if I could have a look at the records—’ She broke off when she saw Matron’s frown. ‘Just to acquaint myself,’ she added hurriedly.

‘I don’t see that’s necessary at all, Miss Lavender. They’re confidential.’

‘Yes, I understand, but surely not to the people who work with the children. It’s difficult to know how to handle them when I know nothing about them. They’re all individuals with different stories and I feel I’d be able to help them far more if I knew them better.’

‘You will know them better when you’ve been here longer, I’m sure.’ Matron’s voice and body were stiff with annoyance that she was being challenged.

‘No, they don’t say much about the reasons why they’re here. Not the orphans anyway. The evacuees sometimes tell me about their mums and dads. They have their own problems of homesickness, but the orphans are the ones who I believe need more attention. And sometimes the evacuees taunt the others. Only the other day I heard Arthur say to Jack, “I’ve got a mummy and daddy and you haven’t. I’ll go home soon and you’ve got to stay here forever.”’

‘Bates is always playing up.’ Matron pursed her lips. ‘He’s a troublemaker.’

‘Yes, he can be difficult.’ June sighed inwardly. She didn’t feel she was getting through to Matron at all. ‘But I don’t think he’s deliberately being horrible. I’m trying to show him his remarks are hurtful, but I have to tread carefully not to make him worse. If I knew more about him—’

‘Yes, yes, you’ve already told me,’ interrupted Matron pulling the chain of her watch out and looking at the time in a pointed manner. ‘Well, Miss Lavender, I’ve enjoyed our little chat, but I must get on. I believe you are down to darn their socks this afternoon, am I not correct?’

‘Yes, but—’

June’s words were lost as Matron turned on her heel and marched off, her shoes clacking on the wooden floor.

How was she going to find out about the children? A few of them had told her snatches, all of them sad stories, but several of them refused to discuss it. The boys were more secretive than the girls, and bit back their tears. She longed to take them in her arms and comfort them the way a mother would, but she daren’t. Matron had said only yesterday that displays of affection didn’t sit well at any Dr Barnardo’s home. Made the children weak, she’d said. They’d have to go out in the world as soon as they were old enough and needed to be independent. They’d thank her one day.

‘Are you coming to the dance, Junie?’ Iris asked, when the two girls were in the common room that evening after supper and the younger children were tucked up in bed. June had read them a story and was pleased to see they were all listening to her intently. When she asked who usually read them one, the answer took her by surprise.

‘No one, Miss.’

‘No one ever reads to you?’

‘No, Miss.’

‘Did you enjoy the story?’

‘Oh, yes. We’d like a story every night. Can we?’

‘Can we?’ Two children jumped up and down on their beds.

The others followed, all calling out, ‘Can we, can we?’

‘You’re not too old?’

‘No,’ they all chorused.

‘Well, all right, so long as you behave,’ June said, smiling. The children had settled down instantly. ‘And if I’m not ill or too busy, I’ll read you a story every night.’

‘Will you really, Miss?’ Peter’s eyes had shone with delight. ‘That’d be grand.’

Now Iris broke into her thoughts with talk of the dance.

‘I’m working,’ June told her, annoyed with herself for wondering not for the first time if Flight Lieutenant Andrews would be there, and trying to pretend her heart didn’t give a tiny leap each time. ‘And I don’t want to ask Matron any favours when I’ve only been here such a short time.’ June leaned towards the nurse. ‘Iris, can I ask you something?’

‘Sure.’

‘How long have you been at Dr Barnardo’s?’

‘Oh, dear, I thought you were going to ask me a really tricky question.’ Iris leaned back in her chair and laughed. ‘Let’s see. It must be coming up two years.’

‘Do you like it here?’

‘It’s as good as anywhere,’ Iris said. ‘Better if we had a nicer matron – a proper one who actually works. The Fierce One’s a harridan and lazy with it. That’s why she’s got you here. She can push all the jobs she doesn’t like on to you. She’s been here forever and thinks she owns the place. And she’s got no kids of her own – not that I have’ – Iris threw June a grin – ‘but she doesn’t have the first clue that the kids need affection and individual attention, and it’s just as important as their food and a roof.’ She pulled a packet of cigarettes from her handbag and plucked one out. ‘You’re changing the subject, Junie, and I’m not taking no for an answer. I’m going to have some fun. And you’re coming with me.’

‘Message from Matron,’ Kathleen said, flopping down in the chair next to June. ‘She wants to see you in her office – NOW!’ she barked in Matron’s strident voice. Barbara, who was crocheting a bedspread, chortled.

June’s heart dropped. Iris had warned her that Matron didn’t usually call you into her office unless it was something serious. Her usual habit was to waylay you in front of as many people as possible to criticise you – her way of feeling superior, she supposed. But if she wanted to give you a real dressing-down, that’s when she sent for you.

June went straight to Matron’s office and knocked.

‘Enter.’

June turned the handle and opened the door to Matron’s office. The room was so full of smoke she could hardly make out the figure sitting behind the desk. Matron had an accounts book open and was reading the figures, but June had the distinct feeling the woman didn’t understand them from the way she was flicking the pages back and forth. June cleared her throat in a pointed way. Matron looked up.

‘Oh, there you are, Miss Lavender. You can be seated.’

June sat with her hands quietly folded in her lap, determined not to be intimidated by the woman. She drew in a deep breath, wondering what was coming.

‘Hilda Jackson has put in a complaint about you which I take very seriously indeed.’

Lizzie.

‘You interfered with one of her special charges, Lizzie Rae Dixon.’

June opened her mouth.

‘No, Miss Lavender. I would prefer not to hear any excuses. Hilda has explained exactly what happened. The child needs special attention and Hilda has been assigned to give it to her. She did not take kindly to your interference and I will not tolerate such behaviour. You are not to go up to the nursery again, do you hear me?’

‘Matron, I didn’t interfere, as you call it. I just—’

‘Silence!’ Matron slapped her hand hard on her desk. ‘I will also not tolerate such rudeness. I shall be keeping a close eye on you, so watch your step in future, Miss.’ She snapped the accounts book closed. ‘You are dismissed.’

June bit her lip in fury to stop herself making a retort. How dare Matron speak to her as though she were a naughty child. If she’d only let her tell her side of the story. How Hilda did the complete opposite of giving the little girl attention and love which the child was crying out for. Leaving her completely on her own while she went down to the dining room and ate her own dinner, and then bringing a plate back for Lizzie. The child could get up to anything in those twenty minutes. No, Hilda was not the right person to be put in charge of her. But how on earth was she ever going to convince Matron? But whatever Matron threatened, June was determined she was going to try to talk to Lizzie again. To break through that wall of silence.

The only place Lizzie would go outside the nursery was into the kitchen with Cook. That was the best place to talk to her, June thought, because at least Bertie had shown the child kindness. But she couldn’t risk Matron’s temper if she went to see Lizzie in work time. No, she’d leave it until her next day off. Then she could do what she liked. Go into the kitchen and have a cup of tea with Bertie if the cook wasn’t too busy and maybe Lizzie would be there. Even so, it wouldn’t be easy. The child was suspicious of everyone, it seemed, with the possible exception of Cook.

June fell into bed, exhausted by the children. It was as though they sapped all feeling, all strength, until her head spun. But at least she now knew their names. The worst of it was she already had favourites. She’d been determined not to. It wasn’t fair on the others. But who could resist little Betsy with her skin the colour of treacle and her dark-brown eyes which she used in a comic fashion when she wanted to make you laugh? June couldn’t help smiling at the vision. And Harvey with his mocking grin and legs that showed recent scars, which could only have come from someone beating him. He bragged he could play any tune you asked for on the mouth organ, and so far he’d never wavered. Then there was quiet little Janet, a shy plump child with an extraordinary vocabulary for an eight-year-old. She’d sit for hours making tiny books and writing and drawing in them.

The children took her mind off painful memories. But June always came back to Lizzie.

Once or twice June had been tempted to remind Iris about the dance, but decided her friend would immediately tease her that she was looking for a man. She momentarily closed her eyes. A certain face whose image refused to go away. A strong face with the bluest eyes that crinkled when he laughed. The cleft in his chin like Cary Grant’s. The shiny hair, the colour of a tawny lion. You see, it’s happening right this minute, she berated herself, trying to push his image away. She was being ridiculous. Their encounters would have meant nothing more to him than a brief exchange of pleasantries. Actually, that first time on the train was more of a battle. She couldn’t help smiling at the memory, and Iris, who was collecting the dirty supper dishes, caught the smile and grinned back.

‘Penny for them.’

June went pink.

‘Ah, I thought so,’ Iris said, nodding sagely. ‘It’s the RAF chap. Well, the only way you’re going to see him again is if we go to the dance on Saturday. The girls in the kitchen aren’t going as it’s an officers’ do and they don’t feel comfortable with them, even though they admit they look gorgeous in their uniform. But they prefer the soldiers.’ She gave June a sharp look. ‘What’s the matter? You’re very quiet all of a sudden.’

‘I’m not sure I’ll feel comfortable with a load of posh officers.’

‘Posh?’ Iris threw back her head and roared. ‘You should hear some of them. Granted, they might talk hoity-toity but believe me, we’re just as good as them any day of the week.’

‘All right, you’ve convinced me,’ June said, grinning. ‘And maybe one of these days I’ll surprise you and take you up on that offer of a cigarette. I’ve never tried one but everyone else seems to enjoy it. Maybe it’s time I did something different.’

She didn’t know what made her say this. Smoking was something that had never appealed, but in her new job at Bingham Hall she badly wanted to fit in.

Her eyes gleaming with mischief, Iris gave June a sly nudge. ‘That’s my girl. We’ll give it a go this evening. I’ll get Gilbert to light the fire early in the common room so we’ll be nice and cosy and can have a girls’ natter. There shouldn’t be anyone in there tonight as they’ve nearly all signed up for Barbara’s new evening art class.’

June changed her mind a dozen times as to whether she should go with Iris to the dance or not. She really didn’t have anything to wear such as a party dress, as she hadn’t envisaged needing one. And even if she had, she didn’t have the coupons or the money to buy something that wasn’t practical – something she’d hardly ever wear.

‘You’re coming, and that’s all there is to it,’ Iris said as they sat in the common room drinking a cup of tea.

They were on their own except for Athena, who had her head in a book and didn’t seem to be taking any notice of their conversation.

‘What will you wear?’ June posed the question to Iris, half dreading her friend would come up with something really glamorous.

‘I’m going to wear my navy spotted dress with white collar and cuffs. I bought it before the war so it’s not new, if that’s what you’re thinking.’ She turned her sapphire-coloured eyes to June. ‘You don’t need to worry about wearing sequins for the dance. The chaps are just grateful to see any woman, whether she’s in uniform or just come off the land smelling of manure with corn sticking out of her hair and a bag of turnips in her arms.’

June couldn’t help laughing. ‘Gosh, they must be desperate.’

‘I think some of them are.’ Iris’s expression was suddenly serious. ‘These boys really see life – and it’s often extremely unpleasant with your friends getting injured and blown up at any time. So a dance means more to them than we’ll ever know. They always seem optimistic that they just might meet the girl of their dreams. Even if it’s only someone who’ll write to them when they’re abroad to stop them going mad. Can you imagine their lives – flying around trying to shoot down Germans and desperately trying not to get killed themselves?’

‘I can’t.’ June felt sick at the idea. Murray’s face flitted across her mind. She’d been curt with him when he hadn’t deserved it and it made her feel thoroughly mean. He’d only been trying to be nice and she’d cut him off – more than once. Was it because she liked him and didn’t want to let herself become interested in anyone who might be killed at any moment? A shudder ran across her shoulders.

‘… and I don’t suppose your Murray is any different.’

June gave a start as she heard Iris say his name.

‘Junie, have you heard a word I’ve been saying?’

‘I’m sorry, Iris. I was miles away.’

‘Thinking of Murray Andrews, were we?’ Iris’s eyes twinkled mischievously. ‘I daresay he’ll be at the dance.’

June’s heart skipped the next beat.

‘’Course I wasn’t,’ she answered crossly. ‘I was thinking of what you said about all of them. It must be awful.’

‘Well, they’ll soon have a load of Yanks to see to,’ Iris said. ‘It will give them something to grumble about. I’ve heard their uniforms are much more attractive than our boys’, and they’ve got more money too. And they’re very generous with their gifts, so I’m told – nylons and chocolate and all sorts of luxuries we can’t get.’

Athena looked up from her book. ‘Can’t you two talk about something else besides men?’ she said. ‘It’s getting on my nerves.’

‘Can’t think of anything more fun,’ Iris retorted. ‘You’re always so quiet, Athena. Have you got a boyfriend?’

‘None of your business if I have or not.’ Athena snapped her book shut. ‘I’ll leave you two alone. You’ve obviously got private stuff to talk about.’ She rose up.

‘Don’t know what’s got into her.’ Iris frowned at the disappearing figure.

‘How long has she been here?’

‘Not that long. There’s a rumour her fiancé jilted her at the altar and that’s why she’s so touchy.’

‘Oh, how dreadful,’ June said, full of concern for the young woman. ‘But if he can do that, she’s well rid of him, I should think.’

‘Yes, but there’s no need for her to be so bitter and twisted. There’s plenty of women who’ve had worse – their men killed or injured in this bloody war. You just have to get on with it.’ Iris wrapped one of her dark curls around her finger and let it spring back.

‘We could ask her if she’d like to come with us,’ June ventured.

‘I’ve asked her two or three times. She always declines.’

‘Maybe I’ll have a go. If she’s unhappy it might do her the world of good.’ June looked across at Iris. ‘I know how I would’ve felt if it hadn’t been for you and Bertie. Perhaps she just needs a friend to talk to.’

Chapter Seven

June glanced out of her bedroom window as she cleaned her teeth after the usual breakfast rush. It had snowed through the night and icicles had formed on the window panes, making the room feel even colder than usual. She shivered as she put her toothbrush in the glass over the washbasin, her breath appearing in short puffs, clouding the mottled mirror that she’d found in an empty room and installed in her own. At the same moment she heard screams coming from the floor above. She dashed up the flight of stairs and, without knocking on the nursery door, rushed straight in. Hilda was shouting and screaming with rage and gripping one hand with the other.

‘Oh, goodness, what—?’

‘That little tyke bit me.’

‘Let me see.’

Hilda thrust out her arm and June looked closely. There was a bite mark, no doubt about that, but it was minute and had only brought up red marks – there was no blood. Not exactly warranting such a fuss, June thought. But this was her opportunity.

Her eyes flew to Lizzie who was cowering in the corner. She was pulling on her thumb, her eyes wild with fear.

‘Look at her – she’s not even sorry.’

Keep calm, June said to herself. Don’t rise to her. She walked over to where Lizzie was curled up.

‘Lizzie,’ she said quietly so as not to alarm her even more, and sat on the floor beside her. She touched Lizzie’s arm but the child pulled away immediately. ‘Please tell me what happened. I know you didn’t mean it.’

‘As if she’ll speak,’ Hilda broke in. ‘I’ll tell you what happened. She meant it all right. All I did was tell her off because she crayoned over the walls. Look!’ Hilda pointed to the bottom of the wall by a cupboard door. Lizzie had drawn a childish picture of a house with four figures, two grown-ups and a boy and a girl, all holding hands, and then she’d put a great big black cross through it.

Tears filled June’s eyes as she realised immediately what the child was trying to say – that she once had a family – a mother and father and brother – and they all lived together in a house. The black cross had wiped them all away, which must have been how it seemed to Lizzie. Now she had no one. June’s heart went out to the little orphan. It was hard to imagine how desperate Lizzie must be feeling, especially with all her words trapped inside her.

‘I snatched the crayons away from her and that’s when she bit me,’ Hilda said, half turning away and giving the slight mark on her arm a little squeeze.

I’ll pretend I didn’t see that, June thought in disgust. ‘That bite needs attention,’ she said, awkwardly rising to her feet. ‘Why don’t you go and see the nurse and I’ll wait here with her until you come back?’

‘I’m not supposed to leave her,’ Hilda said sullenly.

‘You’ll only be gone the same time as you leave her every day at dinner.’ June deliberately made her voice reasonable so Hilda would have no reason not to leave the nursery. ‘Just go and get it seen to.’

Hilda slammed out of the door and June breathed a sigh of relief. She’d need more than twenty minutes to tackle this intolerable situation but there was something she could do immediately.

‘Lizzie.’ June bent down again. ‘Would you like to come for a walk with me in the garden and make a snowman?’

To her joy, Lizzie nodded.

‘Have you got a coat?’

Lizzie shook her head. She must have, June thought. Every child had a coat.

‘A warm jacket?’

Lizzie shook her head again and screwed up her face. Worrying that she couldn’t take the little girl outside in the snow with no coat, June went over to one of the cupboards. She swished the hangers and pulled out a grey wool jacket. Luckily there was a pair of mittens pushed in the pockets, held together by a string.

‘Try this, Lizzie. And you can borrow my scarf. I’ll pick it up from my room on the way downstairs. Come on. Let’s hurry.’ She smiled at Lizzie. ‘This is going to be fun and our little secret.’

June put her hand out and pulled Lizzie up. She put her finger to her lips and Lizzie put her own little finger to her rosebud mouth. This was progress indeed, June thought, smiling at the child. They sneaked out of the door and down the four flights of stairs, Lizzie clutching June’s hand. It felt wonderful to feel Lizzie’s hand in hers – to know the little girl trusted her enough to leave the safety of the nursery. Her ears pricked for any sound but no one was about. The children and teachers would already be in class and Bertie and the two kitchen maids would be busy making dinner. The only person June dreaded running into was Matron but her door was firmly shut as they stole by.

June heaved open the front door and the two of them were about to slip outside when a tobacco-riven voice behind her made her jump.

‘Where might you be going with the dumb child?’

She turned. Blast! Gilbert. Why was he so interfering? June fought down a bubble of anger. Calling Lizzie a dumb child in that contemptuous tone of voice. She felt Lizzie cling even harder to her hand. Whatever Gilbert had to say, she would not be intimidated.

‘Lizzie’ – she emphasised the little girl’s name – ‘is cooped up in the nursery every day. We’re going for a walk.’

‘And who’s given you permission to take her outdoors?’ Gilbert might have been short, but his steely eyes under bushy brows were menacing.

Who did he think he was, questioning her decision on the child’s well-being?

‘I’m not sure your question requires an answer,’ she heard herself replying, and, practically dragging Lizzie, she slipped out of the door.

‘We’ll go round the side,’ June told Lizzie, ‘so no one can see us. We’re going to build a lovely snowman.’ She looked down at Lizzie, who was gazing around her as though she’d never seen the garden before. ‘Lizzie, have you ever built a snowman?’

Tears flooded Lizzie’s eyes as she nodded.

Poor little soul. She’d probably built one with her brother when they’d last had snow. June scooped up a ball of snow and then another, and pressed it down firmly. Soon Lizzie began to bring her own small balls of snow to place on the body. June glanced over her shoulder at the little girl. Already she had a pink tinge to her cheeks and her eyes had lost their dull expression.

They made a head and stuck it on the top. ‘I know he doesn’t look anything much at the moment, Lizzie,’ June said, ‘but I’ll ask Cook for a carrot for his nose and get two pieces of coal from the bunker for his eyes. I’ll have to think about his mouth. Then we need an old hat and scarf, and maybe some more bits of coal for his buttons down his coat.’ She noticed with satisfaction that Lizzie was hanging on to her every word. ‘Do you think you can help me collect all the things we need?’

Lizzie nodded.

‘Maybe when the snowman has a face and is dressed you might be able to say hello to him. What do you think?’

Lizzie’s little face immediately dropped.

‘Don’t worry, Lizzie. It doesn’t matter. But I know he’d be awfully pleased if you could say something to him.’

Lizzie looked up at her and opened her mouth. In that instant June was certain Lizzie was about to speak. Then she pressed her lips even more tightly together. But somehow June felt there had been a lot of progress made in only – she looked at her watch. Oh, no. They’d been gone for nearly three-quarters of an hour. Hilda would definitely have reported her to Matron, who would be furious.

‘And where do you think you’ve been, Miss Lavender?’ Matron, her voice enunciating every word, barricaded the door as June tried to look as though it was normal for her and Lizzie to be out in the snow together.

‘I thought Lizzie should get some fresh air – she’s so pale. And she’s helped me build a snowman. I’m so encouraged that she’s joined in with something all children love making … and she really enjoyed doing it.’ June knew she was gabbling.

Matron drew herself up and threw back her shoulders. Her head and bosom trembled with fury.

‘You will not take Lizzie out of the house ever again. She hasn’t even got a coat on. If she catches her death it will be your fault, my girl.’

‘Honestly, Matron, we’ve been working and moving around. She’s not a bit cold with her jacket and—’

‘Silence! In you go this minute. You, child, come with me. You’re off upstairs – Hilda’s waiting to take you back to the nursery.’

Lizzie broke into sobs and looked up at June who could cheerfully have throttled Matron. There wasn’t a shred of kindness in the woman – she couldn’t even bring herself to say Lizzie’s name. Matron stretched out her hand for Lizzie, who sobbed even harder and hung on to June.

‘She was so happy outside,’ June told the angry woman. ‘At least let me take her upstairs myself.’

‘Certainly not. And if I have any more nonsense like this, I shall send you packing. One more time …’ Matron swiftly ducked and grabbed Lizzie’s arm, forcing her to let go of June. The little girl screamed and Kathleen rushed into the hall.

‘What’s going on?’ The nurse looked from Matron to June, and down at Lizzie, who was crying uncontrollably. ‘Lizzie seems very upset, Matron.’

‘You can blame Miss Lavender for that, Nurse.’

June opened her mouth to say something in her defence but stopped as Kathleen shook her head in warning.

‘Let me help by taking her jacket and washing her hands ready for dinner,’ Kathleen said.

‘Where’s Hilda?’ Matron’s angry eyes swept round the empty hall.

‘She’s gone to lie down. The shock, I expect, from the bite. I’ve dabbed some TCP on it. She’ll be fine.’

Matron hesitated and June was sure she was trying to work out what to do to save face, not necessarily what was best for the child. She was obviously reluctant to let Lizzie out of her clutches but Kathleen ignored her and calmly held out her hand.

Lizzie snatched her hand away from Matron’s and took Kathleen’s, but not before she’d turned round to June and given her the smallest sweetest smile.

Throughout the rest of the day June fumed. Not for the first time did she think Matron was unsuitable for such a responsible job. It was clear Lizzie needed careful handling before she would start speaking again. If only Matron would have let her explain how happy Lizzie had been helping to make the snowman, and how disappointed she’d be if she wasn’t allowed to go out tomorrow and finish him. June drew her lips tightly together. At least Kathleen had rescued poor Lizzie. And she had seen Lizzie smile for the first time in the week June had been at the home. That was surely a good omen.

Kathleen and Iris were already in the common room when June went in that evening after supper. She’d had no time to tell them what had happened as Matron had kept her busy all day long cleaning the narrow windows in the children’s dormitories, mopping the floors, sweeping and dusting. Not that she minded doing these jobs but there were two competent cleaners who came every day from the village, and she was, after all, supposed to be Matron’s assistant. She had a feeling Matron was deliberately not letting her near the children as a kind of punishment.

June shivered as the cold air greeted her even though there was a fire burning. Mr Gilbert never lit it until five o’clock so the room hadn’t had a chance to warm up properly by the time the staff had finished supper and wanted to relax a little after a day’s work. But the two young women’s smiles of welcome more than made up for the chilly atmosphere.

‘You were brave to take Lizzie out,’ Kathleen said, when June had settled into one of the sagging armchairs and was sipping her cup of tea.

‘It was my chance of getting some fresh air into her lungs. She’s so pale. They’re all treating her like an invalid and I believe she’d do so much better if she could be with the others – hear them laughing and talking. Children can accept something unusual like Lizzie not talking if they’re left to it, but until they let her mix with them, Lizzie will take far longer to recover, I’m sure of it.’

‘Did you see the bite mark?’ Kathleen asked.

‘Yes. It wasn’t even a scratch but Hilda acted as though her hand was falling off. She’s not fit to be put in charge of a child like Lizzie – or any child, for that matter.’

‘What experience does she have with children – do we know?’ Iris said.

‘No telling, but from her actions I’d say none whatsoever,’ Kathleen said, drawing up a stool and putting her feet up. She let out a deep sigh. ‘Oh, that’s better. I’ve been on my tootsies for ten solid hours.’

‘We should ask Hilda. In an interested sort of way,’ Iris said, ‘not as though we’re threatening her at all.’

‘She’ll still be suspicious.’ June put her cup down on the small table beside her chair. ‘She’s on the lookout for a fight all the time.’

‘We need to make a plan,’ Iris said firmly. ‘She’s doing more harm than good, and June’s right – at this rate Lizzie’s going to take much longer before she improves.’

‘If she ever does,’ June cut in crossly. ‘Between Hilda and Matron the poor little kid doesn’t have a chance.’

‘We’ll think of something.’ Iris drew her brows together. She looked at her watch. ‘I’d better go down to the ward ready for the night shift.’

At least these two girls feel the same as I do, June thought, as Iris vanished. And dear Bertie was sympathetic too, the way she had Lizzie in the kitchen, keeping an eye on her in the mornings. She wasn’t alone in trying to think of some way that Lizzie could be brought into the daily life, along with the others. The three of them – four, counting Bertie – would come up with something. Lizzie would begin to speak again, June was certain. That little secret smile they’d shared gave her hope.

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