Time for Silence

Exodus

IT WAS MID-MORNING OF the next day when Major Merrivale arrived at La Pinière.

From the moment I saw him my spirits rose; and that was the effect he had on everyone. There was about him a certain rare quality that changed the atmosphere merely by his presence. He had an air of extreme confidence; his manner implied that all was well with his world and he was going to make it so for others.

In the first place he was tall—a little over six feet. He had brown eyes that sparkled with merriment. His features were not set in a classical mold, but they were well formed and he had a kindly expression. But it was his apparent conviction that all was well with him, and would be with all those around him, that was just what we needed at that time.

Madame Rochère was clearly extremely relieved, for she had become very worried about our continued stay at La Pinière, as she did not know from one hour to the next how close the Germans were to the school. And that our rescuer should be a man of overwhelming charm who inspired such confidence was a blessing indeed.

He drove up in an army car—a large vehicle—and came striding into the hall.

“I’m Merrivale,” he announced. “I believe you are expecting me.”

We all went very quickly to the hall, for we had been on the alert for his arrival for some time.

“Yes, yes, we have been waiting for you,” Madame Rochère said. “The girls are ready to leave whenever you wish. I expect you would like a little refreshment before you leave. It shall be prepared at once. I will have the girls brought here.”

There was no need. Having heard the arrival, we were already there.

“I’m Lucinda Greenham and this is Annabelinda Denver,” I said.

He took my hand and smiled at me. I felt a deep pleasure. There was something so completely confident about him that one felt there was now nothing to fear. We should soon be home.

“I’m sorry for the delay,” he said. “There was congestion all along the route. People are realizing that the enemy is on the way.”

Annabelinda was smiling at him and he took her hand as he had mine.

“I’m glad I’m here at last. We’ll have you out of this place very soon. When can you leave?”

“Madame Printemps will serve a light luncheon,” said Madame Rochère. “Then you can get away. Most of the servants have gone. They are afraid the Germans will come here. They are trying to get over the border.”

He nodded. “That’s the general idea,” he said.

Miss Carruthers came into the hall.

“Oh, Miss Carruthers, this is Major Merrivale,” I said.

“Ah, yes,” she replied. “How do you do? You have come to take the girls home. I wondered if…” she began, and hesitated. “Well, I have to get home, too. I didn’t feel I could leave while these two were here…and, of course, I wasn’t sure how to get to the coast myself.”

“You mean you want to come along with us,” said the major, with a smile. “But of course. There’s plenty of room.”

Miss Carruthers’s face expressed her joy and relief. I could see that he had the same effect on her as he had on the rest of us.

“Now,” put in Madame Rochère. “You girls have everything ready. Déjeuner will be served now…and then you can leave. Come along into the dining room and we can start.”

We followed her there. I walked beside the major and said, “I must tell you, there is a baby.”

He turned and looked at me. He had a way of raising his eyebrows that was very attractive and somehow made one feel that it would be easy to make him understand.

“A baby?” he said.

“The cottages near the school were destroyed by a Zeppelin. The people there—a husband and wife—were killed. They left a baby. I knew them. I used to visit them. I brought the baby here.”

“And you want to take the child along with you?”

“I must. I made a solemn promise. It was when she was dying.”

“I see. And you promised the mother to take care of the child. Do you know how to look after it?”

“Oh, yes….And you don’t mind…?”

He laughed. “I don’t think I should be very good at looking after it. But you ladies will see to that, I am sure.”

I laughed with him. I thought he was wonderful. I turned away to hide my emotion and he took my arm and pressed it.

Not only was he capable and lighthearted, he had understood at once.

After the meal—which made me think of the Feast of the Passover—our pieces of baggage were put in the army vehicle, and in a short time we were driving to the border.

We were very soon in heavy traffic. It seemed as though the entire population of Belgium was eager to get out of the country. It was a pathetic sight to see that lost, bewildered look on the faces of so many. There were vehicles of all sorts, people on bicycles, some with wheelbarrows, some on foot—all with one purpose: to get away before the invading army caught up with them.

Major Merrivale was in complete command. He sat at the driver’s wheel and Annabelinda had contrived it so that she was in the front beside him. Miss Carruthers and I, with Edouard, sat in the back.

The major kept up a conversation most of the time. He told us that the British army was already coming into France.

“It won’t be long before we are driving the Germans back,” he said. “In the meantime, we have to prepare. We were all caught a little on the hop, as the saying goes, while the Germans had been planning this for years. The Kaiser was determined on it. He has been trying to get at us for years…ever since he sent that telegram of congratulations to Kruger at the time of the South African war—and that’s going back a bit. We shall have to teach him a lesson. Are you comfortable at the back?”

“Oh, yes, thanks,” we both said.

“And Monsieur Edouard?”

“He’s happy. He’s finding it all very amusing.”

“Wise child. That’s the right attitude.”

“It can’t be very amusing for these people who are leaving their homes,” I said.

“It will only be temporarily,” he replied. “Soon they will all be going back.”

“When do you think the Germans will reach Mons, Major?” asked Miss Carruthers.

“That’s hard to say, but if they keep up their present speed, I’d say in a week or so.”

“Is it as bad as that?”

“Oh, it was a foul thing to do…to plunge into a country which has nothing whatever to do with this…just because it is easy to get to the enemy that way. Poor little Belgium…completely without the means to resist. Never mind, we’ll soon make those Germans wish they hadn’t started this.”

“You are very confident,” I said.

“I’ve always been like this. Often I’m wrong, but at least I’ve had the pleasure of believing everything will come right…even if it does go the other way. So you see, it’s not such a foolish attitude to take.”

“I think it is the right attitude,” said Annabelinda, smiling at him.

He returned the smile. I thought, He is finding her attractive…and for the simple reason that she is.

“It is a matter of opinion,” put in Miss Carruthers. “It’s like everything in life. There is a good side and a bad side. But the major is right when he says it is good to be optimistic, as long as one is prepared to face the truth when one is proved to be wrong.”

“Ah,” said the major, “we have a philosopher here. A Sibyl.”

“Actually,” said Miss Carruthers, “my name is Sybil.”

The major gave his infectious laugh and we all joined in, Miss Carruthers as heartily as any.

I thought then, Here we are, in this hazardous situation, in circumstances which are tragic to so many, and yet there are times when we can laugh and, yes, really be happy.

And we were on our way. I had Edouard with me and there had been no opposition to his coming. Miss Carruthers was different from what she had ever been before. Annabelinda had put that upsetting scene between us right out of her mind.

And this was all due to Major Merrivale.

It was evening before we crossed the frontier.

Major Merrivale told us that his name was Marcus and, as he did not see any reason why we should stand on ceremony, he suggested we should drop the “Major” and address him by his Christian name.

“This,” he said, “is a very special occasion, is it not? We are going to remember this for a long time. Don’t you agree?”

We all did wholeheartedly.

“Now I think that young man at the back will be wondering why he is kept from his slumbers.”

“Actually,” I replied, “he is deep in them now, so I am sure he is wondering no such thing.”

“All the same, he ought to be made comfortable for the night. I think we all deserve that, and now that the desire for speed is not so intense, I am going to find an inn where we can stay.”

“That would be wonderful,” said Annabelinda.

We all agreed that it would be.

“There’s a little place near Saint-Amand. We might make for that,” he said.

“You seem to know the country well,” said Annabelinda.

“I studied the map and I discussed it with a fellow officer who did know something. There is an inn called Le Cerf. The Stag. Sounds homely, doesn’t it? The sort of place you’d find in the New Forest, say. So we’ll look for that. There will probably be a board outside depicting the creature. If we can’t find that, we’ll soon find something else.”

There was not so much traffic on the roads now, and I was glad. It was so depressing to see those poor people driven from their homes. I hoped they were all safely over the border by now…and that they would soon be on the way back to their homes.

We found Le Cerf. It was a fair-sized inn with tables in the gardens surrounding it. There was a somewhat loquacious host who greeted us effusively, largely, I think, because of Marcus Merrivale’s presence. He was a member of the British army and therefore an ally.

There were three rooms available: One was allotted to the major and one to Miss Carruthers; and Annabelinda and I shared the third with Edouard. We went to them to wash, and agreed to meet in the lounge when we were ready.

There were two beds in our room, and first I looked after Edouard. Some soup and a creamy pudding were sent up to him. I fed him and prepared him for bed, and soon he was fast asleep.

Annabelinda in the meantime was washing. She sat before the mirror, studying her face, while I went on dealing with Edouard.

“This is quite an adventure,” she said contentedly.

“We can certainly call it that.”

“We shall soon be home now. I wonder if we shall see Major Merrivale after he has taken us there.”

“Perhaps he will call. He will know my Uncle Gerald well, I expect.”

“Of course. It was your Uncle Gerald who gave him the task of bringing us back. It’s rather romantic, isn’t it?” She laughed.

“Not too loudly, please, Annabelinda. Edouard’s just going off to sleep.”

“Perhaps I should go down. You could come when you are ready.”

“All right. I may be some little time. I want to make sure he’s fast asleep. I wouldn’t want him waking up in a strange place and finding himself alone.”

She went with alacrity.

She was clearly enjoying the adventure, largely because of Major Merrivale’s presence. And I shared her euphoria. We should soon be home. I longed to see my parents. My mother would know exactly what was best for Edouard and she would understand my feelings about him immediately. How lucky I was in my parents!

Then I began to wonder if Major Merrivale would call on us. I felt sure he would.

I was elated that night. I kept telling myself that it was because we were on our way home and, in Major Merrivale’s care, must soon be there.

There was a gentle tap on the door. I called, “Come in,” and Miss Carruthers entered. It was strange to think of her as Sybil.

“I thought I’d come along and see how you were managing with the baby.”

I pointed to Edouard. “He has just had some soup and pudding and he’s asleep now. I think he is reasonably pleased with life.”

Miss Carruthers went over to look at him. “Poor little mite,” she said.

“I intend that he shall be a lucky and happy little mite.”

“You’re a good girl, Lucinda,” she said. I was surprised. I had not expected such a compliment from her. But everything was different today. It had something to do with Major Merrivale. He was having an effect on us all.

“What a charming man the major is,” she went on. “He makes no trouble of anything. He just inspires one with confidence.”

I agreed, and as we went down to the lounge, I said, “I shall come up again soon just to make sure Edouard is all right. I don’t know how this has affected him. I’m glad he isn’t any older. Then I feel he would have been most upset.”

“Oh, he is too young to know what is happening. I think he is very fond of you, and while you are around he will feel safe.”

“He will surely miss Madame Plantain.”

“Yes. He’ll miss his mother. My dear Lucinda, you have taken on a great deal, you know.”

“My mother will help me. She is wonderful and she will know exactly what to do.”

“I hope I shall meet her.”

“But of course you must. Have you far to go to your home?”

She was silent for a few moments. “Well,” she said at length, “I stay with my cousin during holidays. I was going there for two months when school broke up. We don’t know what will be happening now, do we?”

“Do you think we shall all be going back next term?”

She looked somber and shook her head emphatically. “I have a feeling that it is not going to be over as quickly as that. And what damage the Germans will do as they pass through the country, one can never know. They have already killed the Plantains and destroyed their home. That sort of thing is happening all over Belgium. I’m afraid, Lucinda, that everything is rather uncertain. Come…they will be waiting for us.”

In the lounge Annabelinda was talking animatedly to Major Merrivale, and they were both laughing.

“You’ve been ages,” said Annabelinda. “We’re starving.”

“Lucinda has to care for the baby,” retorted Miss Carruthers rather reprovingly.

“Dear Lucinda! She’s so efficient, Marcus.”

“I’m sure she is.”

The host came and said that dinner was about to be served, and we went into the dining room. Two people were already sitting there. They were both young…not much more than twenty, I imagined.

The young man looked up as we entered and said, “Good evening.” The girl said nothing.

Then the host’s wife came in with hot soup, which was followed by cold beef with potatoes baked in their jackets.

Marcus Merrivale kept up a steady stream of conversation in which we all joined, and just as we were finishing the beef, the girl stood up abruptly and hurried from the room. The young man went out after her.

“What was all that about?” said Annabelinda. “That girl seemed upset.”

“I think a great number of people are upset tonight,” I remarked.

After a short while the young man returned to the dining room. He seemed upset and he looked across to our table almost apologetically.

“Can we do anything to help?” asked the major.

There was a brief silence while apple pie was brought.

“Would you like to join us?” went on Marcus. “You look rather lonely sitting there.”

“Thank you,” replied the young man. He seemed grateful. We made a place for him at our table and he brought his plate over and sat down.

There was something disarming about him. He looked so young, and he was clearly worried. As he seated himself at the table, I noticed there was something unusual about one of his hands. He had lost half his little finger.

I was ashamed when he caught me looking at it.

“It was my own fault,” he said. “I was playing with fireworks.”

“How terrible!” I cried.

“Yes….One careless moment and one has a reminder for the rest of one’s life.”

“It is not very noticeable.”

He smiled at me ruefully. “One is conscious of it.”

“You shouldn’t be.”

“I suppose one really is more conscious of one’s disabilities than other people are.” He smiled and went on. “We have had a terrible shock, my sister and I. We have lost our home and our parents. I can’t believe it now. That day, we were all there together…just as we had always been, and then suddenly…our home is gone…our parents killed. I can’t believe it even now.”

“It’s happening all over Belgium, I’m afraid,” said Marcus.

“I know. But because others are suffering in the same way, that does not make it any easier.”

“Where are you going now?” asked Marcus.

“I am going to join the French army, but I am worried about Andrée. You see…there isn’t anyone now…”

“Where do you come from?” asked Marcus.

“Just outside Charleroi. We have lived there all our lives, and now…Well, I had thought about joining the army some little while ago…and now, of course, it seems the only thing. But there is Andrée.”

“Where were you going?” Marcus asked.

“I wanted Andrée to go to England. We’ve got an aunt there. Andrée visited her only last year. She lives in a place called Somerset. Our aunt married an Englishman. But…er…Andrée does not want to go there. She wants to stay with me. But if I am going into the army…Poor Andrée, she can’t grasp what has happened to us. The sound of the guns was terrible. They were only a few miles away. Everyone was getting out. My parents didn’t want to leave the farm. They’d been there all their married life. How can you get up and leave everything you’ve ever known? And then it was too late. It all went up in a sort of cloud…the fields…the house itself. And my parents were in the house. Andrée and I were in the fields some way off. That is why we are here now.”

“It is a sad story,” said Miss Carruthers. “It wouldn’t have seemed possible a few weeks ago, and now it is happening all round us.”

“It is a difficult decision to make,” went on the young man. “I don’t want to leave Andrée, but I’ll feel happier if she is in England. I feel I must get into the army somehow. I have always wanted to, and now I feel I have to fight this vicious enemy.”

“Your great anxiety is for your sister,” said Marcus.

The young man nodded. He had not touched his apple pie.

“I should try to eat, if I were you,” said Marcus gently. But the young man shook his head and pushed the plate away.

As soon as the meal was over, I went up to see Edouard. He was sleeping peacefully. I felt depressed by the conversation with the young man, who was just another of those who were enduring terrible suffering at this time.

When I rejoined the party, he was still there. He obviously found comfort in the society of sympathetic listeners.

He was still talking about his sister, Andrée, and stressing how relieved he would be if she were safe in England.

At length Marcus reminded us that we had to make an early start in the morning and what we needed was a good night’s sleep. So we said good-bye to the young man, whom we had by this time discovered was Georges Latour, wished him the best of luck and went to our rooms.

I was pleased to see that Edouard was still sleeping peacefully. I slept in the bed with him, and Annabelinda took the other; and in spite of the excitement of the day, I was soon fast asleep.

When I awoke, I wondered where I was until I looked around the room and saw Edouard beside me and Annabelinda asleep in the other bed.

I yawned and got up, wondering what this day would bring.

In the dining room there was coffee and crusty bread, hot from the oven. Georges Latour was at the table.

“Andrée is not up yet,” he said.

“Is she feeling better?” I said.

“A little, I think. Things never seem quite so bad in the morning, do they?”

“I suppose not.”

I fed Edouard, who regarded Georges Latour solemnly. He said, “Whose is the baby?”

I told him about the Zeppelin raid and the deaths of Jacques and Marguerite Plantain, and how I had found Edouard in his perambulator in the garden.

“I knew him, you see. I used to visit them. It wasn’t as though he were a stranger to me. I could not leave him.”

“What a tragedy this war is for so many!” said Georges.

And I was sorry to have reminded him of his own tragedy. We sat in gloomy silence for a few minutes, and then Marcus came. The atmosphere changed. Even Georges Latour seemed to brighten a little.

“Ah, up in good time, I see,” said Marcus. “And young Edouard? How is he finding life this morning?”

“Much as usual,” I replied. “He seems to be rather indifferent to his surroundings.”

“As long as he has someone to see to his comforts, what does he care where he is?” said Marcus. “You really are very good at looking after him.”

“It’s easy, and he is a good child.”

Marcus then said to Georges, “And you…you’ll be leaving soon, I suppose?”

“As soon as my sister is ready.”

“How is she this morning?”

“More or less the same.”

“I hope it all works out….”

Marcus drank some coffee and ate some of the bread. Miss Carruthers joined us. “It will be wonderful if we can get across the Channel tonight,” she said.

“We’ll try,” said Marcus. “There’ll be troopships coming over, so there may be a little delay. But we’ll make it, never fear….If not tonight, tomorrow.”

“It will be wonderful to be home,” I said.

Then Annabelinda came in.

“Oh, am I late?” she asked.

“Not really,” Marcus assured her. “Just let us say the others were early.”

“How kind you are! I do like people who make excuses for me! Oh, what delicious-looking bread! And coffee, too!”

We chatted for a while and Marcus asked if we could all be ready to leave in fifteen minutes. Then we would set off. We all declared we could be, and he went out to get the car.

But we did not leave in fifteen minutes.

We were assembled in the lounge. Andrée had come down, ready for departure. She smiled at us wanly. We did not like to ask how she was in case she thought the inquiry referred to her abrupt departure from the dining room on the previous night.

We were sitting there rather uneasily when Marcus came in.

“There’s a hitch,” he said. “Something wrong with the vehicle.”

We all looked dismayed, and he smiled his bright smile.

“It can’t be much I’m sure we’ll get it fixed in no time.”

Georges Latour, who was also preparing to leave, said he would go to a garage and get someone to come to the inn.

“That will delay your start,” said Marcus.

“That’s nothing. It won’t take long in the car. I’ll bring someone back. Talk to Andrée while I’m gone.”

“A little delay won’t hurt,” said Marcus. “We may get to the coast in time to board a ferry. If not, there’s tomorrow.”

We sat waiting.

“I am afraid this is delaying you, too,” Miss Carruthers said to Andrée.

She shrugged her shoulders. “It is of no importance,” she said.

“I wonder what is happening at La Pinière,” I said. “Poor Madame Rochère. Whatever is she feeling now?”

“She should have left,” remarked Annabelinda.

“She could not bear to leave her home,” I said. “She spent all her married life there…and then she had the school all those years. It must be terrible for her. But if the Germans come…”

“She will know how to deal with them,” said Annabelinda. “They’ll be terrified of her…as we all were.”

“What nonsense! We were schoolgirls. She will be confronted by a conquering army.”

“Oh, she’ll be all right.”

We waited for about an hour before Georges came back. He looked helpless.

“Sorry,” he said. “I couldn’t get anyone. You’ve no idea of the confusion everywhere. They are working on a lot of vehicles they are going to need at any moment. No one had anyone to send.”

“I’ll see if I can discover what is wrong,” said Marcus.

“Do you know much about motors?” asked Georges.

“Not my line really. There is usually a mechanic around.”

“I have a little knowledge,” said Georges. “I might be able to see what’s wrong. I’ll have a try.”

They went out.

Edouard had awakened and was taking stock of us all. I took him onto my lap and he gripped my coat and kept hold of it as though to ensure that I did not leave him. Apart from that, he seemed quite undisturbed.

Andrée was talking a little now. She said that she must not stand in Georges’s way. He had always been keen to join the army. She thought they would be eager to take him now. They would want as many men as they could get.

“I shall have to go to my aunt in England,” she said. “I suppose I ought to be glad I’ve somewhere to go to. I don’t want Georges to worry about me and he is very worried, but I don’t want to live with my aunt.” She lifted her shoulders. “I do not know how long it will be. This war could go on and on, but I must not be a burden to Georges. Young men do not want their sisters clinging to them. I should like to do some work in England. Do you think that is a possibility? I wouldn’t mind going if I could do something. Georges will be in the army and that will help him…but myself…”

“I daresay there will be all sorts of work for people to do,” said Miss Carruthers. “Wars make work.”

“It is good to be able to talk,” said Andrée. “I feel you understand.”

“What sort of work would you want to do?” I asked.

“Anything. I wouldn’t mind working in a house at first.”

“Do you mean as a servant?”

“I wouldn’t mind. I’d rather do that than go to Aunt Berthe. In any case, I should be doing dusting and cooking with her. Why not do it somewhere else?”

“Then you’ll easily find something,” said Annabelinda.

Andrée had brightened considerably. She looked almost animated.

“Do you…er…know anybody?” she asked.

“We know a lot of people, don’t we, Annabelinda?”

“Oh, yes. Our families do.”

“I’m quite good at looking after babies,” said Andrée. “I’ve always loved them.”

“Oh, then…it shouldn’t be difficult…in London or in the country,” I said.

“If you would help me…”

“But, of course we will, if we can,” said Annabelinda.

“That would be wonderful. I was just thinking…”

We waited for her to go on, but she said, “Oh, no…it would be asking too much.”

“What were you going to say?” asked Miss Carruthers.

“Well…Oh, no, I can’t. You’d think me…Oh, no.”

“Please say it,” I said.

“Well…if I could travel with you…Georges need not come as far as the coast. He could go straight to Paris and find out about joining the army. I need not go to Aunt Berthe. If I could come with you…if you would help me.”

Annabelinda and I exchanged glances. We should arrive home with a baby, a school mistress and a girl who had been a stranger to us on the previous night. It would be a surprise—I might say a shock—for my parents. But these were unusual times and when tragedies overtook people, one must do all one could to help them. I was sure my parents would understand that.

Annabelinda said, “We could, couldn’t we, Lucinda?”

“Yes, I should think so,” I replied. “Yes, you must travel with us. I’ll take you to my home. We don’t know what is happening there. My mother will surely know someone who needs a maid…that’s if you don’t mind what you do.”

“Do you really mean that?” Andrée asked.

“Of course.”

“I hope there won’t be any difficulty in getting you into England,” Miss Carruthers said. “I don’t know what the regulations are. Wartime, you know, and all that.”

Andrée looked alarmed. Then she said, “I have my papers. I was in England only last year, visiting my aunt. It was all right then.”

“The major will be able to make it right, I’m sure,” said Annabelinda.

Andrée was talking excitedly. “Oh, how can I thank you? I feel so much better. I really couldn’t face Aunt Berthe, and there’s poor Georges. If I could come with you, he could go straight to Paris. It would be such a help to us. I just have a feeling that this is going to work out well for us. We both want a complete change. We want to get away from all that…”

Her voice broke, and we all murmured our understanding and sympathy.

While we were talking, Marcus and Georges came in. They were beaming with pleasure.

“It’s done!” cried Marcus. “It’s all right, thanks to Monsieur Latour.”

“I just found the trouble,” said Georges modestly. “I’ve always enjoyed tinkering with cars.”

“So it is all right for us to leave?” asked Miss Carruthers.

“Absolutely,” replied Marcus. “But look at the time! It’s almost noon. I suggest that we all have a meal here at the inn. We should have to stop for food otherwise…on our way. I’ll tell the landlord.”

Andrée Latour said to her brother, “Georges, I have some wonderful news.”

“Why? What’s happened?”

“These kind people are going to allow me to travel with them. And, Georges, I am not going to Tante Berthe. Please don’t try to persuade me to. I have made up my mind. They are going to help me find something I could do….”

“Andrée, you must go to Tante Berthe. You have to. It’s the only thing to do.”

“No, no. Listen. Mademoiselle Greenham and Mademoiselle Denver, they will take me to their home. They will find a place for me. I can work where I want to. I will try anything—anything—rather than go to Tante Berthe. So you see, Georges, you need not come with me to the coast. You can go straight to Paris. I couldn’t bear to go to Tante Berthe. Georges…say you are pleased.”

Georges was looking bewildered. I could understand. He would be leaving his sister with strangers. In ordinary circumstances that would have been out of the question, but these were no ordinary circumstances.

“But…I…I’m sure…” he began.

“It’s all so simple,” I put in. “I’ll take her to my home with us. My mother will be very helpful. She always is. My father is a Member of Parliament and there are always people around. They are certain to know someone who wants help in the house.”

But Georges was still looking uneasy and quite bemused.

We ate a good luncheon and talked a great deal.

I fed Edouard, and afterward Andrée took him onto her lap. To my surprise he did not protest.

“What a good little boy he is!” she commented and kissed the top of his head. Edouard grunted in a manner intended to express approval.

The thought occurred to me that Andrée might help with him. We should have to have a nursery for him and we should need someone there.

I felt as though I were living in a dream. Every little detail seemed of the utmost importance. If the car had not broken down, we would have set out early this morning as we had planned; we would have said good-bye to Georges and Andrée and almost certainly would never have seen them again.

How strange life was! One could never be certain what would happen next—particularly in a situation like this.

There was barely room for Andrée in the car, but we managed. Georges followed us along the road in his own car.

We should be together until he branched off for Paris. Andrée took Edouard from me and sang a little song to him:

“Il pleut, il pleut, bergère,

Presse tes blancs moutons.

Allons à la chaumière,

bergère, vite, allons…”

Edouard, who was beginning to fret, watched her mouth closely as she sang, and a beautiful smile spread over his face.

There was no doubt that he liked Andrée.

There was a tearful scene when we parted from Georges. That dream-like quality had returned. Everything that was happening seemed so extraordinary. Andrée, a stranger this time yesterday, was now one of us.

What would happen next, I wondered?

And so we made our way toward the coast.

We reached Calais in the late afternoon and soon learned that there was no hope of a sailing that night, so we put up at an inn close by the harbor. There was an uneasy atmosphere throughout the town. People looked dismayed and bewildered. We were in a country that had recently been plunged into war. The enemy were making rapid progress through Belgium and were almost at the frontier—a feat they had achieved in a matter of days.

What next? was the question on everyone’s lips.

All through the night I could hear the rhythm of the waves as they rose and fell. Tomorrow, I kept saying to myself, I shall be home.

Marcus was in his usual high spirits. The following morning he went off to assess the situation and to make arrangements to get us out of France as quickly as possible.

He was gone some time, and when he returned, he found us all eagerly awaiting him in the parlor. He told us there were difficulties, but he hoped to sort them out before long. The fact was we could not leave immediately.

All through that day we waited, and by nightfall we were still at the inn.

The next day Marcus went off in the early morning again. He said he might be a while, but he was sure we should be able to sail the next day.

I was surprised to discover that people can get to know each other more thoroughly in such circumstances than in months of conventional living.

I was drawn toward Andrée, largely because she had taken to Edouard, and he to her. She appeared to have a knowledge of the needs of babies. When he cried or had a bout of indigestion, she knew how to soothe him. She would rub his stomach, talking to him as she did so. The snatches of French songs that she sang to him always seemed to amuse him.

It was evening. Marcus was still out trying to arrange for us to get on a ferry. We had had dinner and had gone up to the bedroom I shared with Annabelinda and Edouard, who was fast asleep at this time. Annabelinda, Andrée and Miss Carruthers had joined us there.

It was an attic room with a ceiling that sloped almost to the floor on one side, and there was a small window which looked out on the harbor.

We were talking in a rather desultory manner when suddenly the atmosphere changed and it became a time of revelation. I do not know how these things happen. It might have been because we were all uneasy and that gray sea outside seemed like a mighty barrier between us and England, reminding us of the difficulties, mocking us as it beat against the harbor walls, reminding us that we were far from home, that we might be caught up in this war and never cross that sea.

Perhaps I was too fanciful and the others were not thinking along similar lines, but the desire to get close to each other seemed to be with us all, to brush aside that façade we showed to the world and to reveal ourselves as we really were.

Andrée began it. She said, “I feel something of a fraud. It is not the tragedy I have made you think it is for me to be here. I have dreamed and longed to start a new life. I have hoped and prayed that it would come about. Perhaps I prayed too fervently. Perhaps if you believe that something will come to you, if you pray for it night and day, it comes…but not in the way you think…but in God’s way…and you have to pay for it.”

She had our attention, even Annabelinda’s, whose concentration was apt to stray if the subject did not include her.

Andrée looked around the room at each of us in turn. She went on. “Has it occurred to you that people are hardly ever what they seem? We all have our secrets hidden away. If we brought them out…if we showed them…we would not be the people others believe us to be.”

“I daresay you are right,” Miss Carruthers said, “but perhaps it is more comfortable to go on as we are. More pleasant…making life run more smoothly.”

“But sometimes there are occasions when one wants to confess,” said Andrée. “To examine oneself, perhaps…to find out all sorts of things one did not know about oneself.”

“Confession is good for the soul,” said Miss Carruthers. “But perhaps it is better not to make a habit of it.”

“I was thinking of myself,” went on Andrée. “You are all so sorry for me. I lost my home…my parents. ‘What a terrible thing,’ you say. ‘Poor girl! What a tragedy she has gone through.’ But I did not love my home. For a long time I have wanted to get away from it…and my parents. I knew I would never be happy until I did. My father was a farmer…a deeply religious man. There was little laughter in our house. Laughter was a sin. I yearned to get away. I went to my aunt in England. She had married an Englishman. I was to help her when her husband died. It was as bad as being at home. I vowed I would never go back to her. Then you found me upset at Le Cerf. It was going back to her that I was so miserable about…not the death of my parents and the loss of the home I had wanted to leave. I never loved my parents. We had no tenderness from them. I was beginning to think I should never get away unless I ran away. I often contemplated it. And then suddenly…that explosion…the farm destroyed…it was gone. They were gone. And I am free.”

“Well,” said Annabelinda. “We shan’t be sorry for you anymore.”

“That is what I want. I feel free. I feel excited. A new life is opening for me.” She turned to me. “I have you to thank. I can’t tell you what your promise to help me means to me.”

“It is so little,” I said.

“I see that it means a great deal to Andrée,” put in Miss Carruthers. She turned to Andrée. “Well, my dear, you have been frank with us and I admire you for it. You have made me consider my own case.”

It occurred to me then how much she had changed. She was still in a measure the old formidable Miss Carruthers, but a new woman had emerged, the woman who was showing herself to be as vulnerable as the rest of us. She went on. “One cannot go on teaching forever. There comes a time when one has to stop, and then…what is to become of one? For me, there is my cousin, Mary—one might say the counterpart of Andrew’s Aunt Berthe. I was an only child. My father died when I was eight years old, my mother had died soon after my birth. Uncle Bertram, Mary’s father, was in comfortable circumstances. He was my mother’s brother. He helped a good deal. He took over my education, but he never let me forget it. He is dead now, but there is Cousin Mary to remind me of my debt. And you see, there is no one to whom I can go but Cousin Mary. Hers is the only home I have. Holidays, when I have to leave the school, are something I have always dreaded….”

I could not believe I was listening to Miss Carruthers, who had always been so unassailable.

“And now,” said Annabelinda, “you are going to her…and there could be no school for you to return to.”

“That is how life goes,” said Miss Carruthers. “We must needs accept what is meted out to us.”

I think she was already regretting her frankness. I felt a fondness for this new version of our severe mistress, which would have been impossible at school.

I started to tell them about myself.

“I have had a very happy childhood,” I said. “My father is a Member of Parliament. He is often away, and then, of course, when we are in London, he is busy at the Houses of Parliament; and when we are in the country, there is constituency business. My mother and I have been very close to each other all my life. She is the most understanding person I know.”

“How lucky you are!” said Andrée.

“I have always known it. I think she is a particularly wonderful person, because she suffered a terrible tragedy when she was young. Her father, of whom she was very fond, was shot dead when she was with him. He was on his way to the Houses of Parliament, and she was saying goodbye to him as he got into his carriage. She saw the man who did it, and it was her evidence that convicted him. He was an Irish terrorist, and it had something to do with Mr. Gladstone’s Home Rule Bill, which my grandfather was opposing. It took her a long time to get over it; she married and that went wrong. But eventually she and my father were married.”

“And lived happily ever after,” added Annabelinda.

“Well, they did,” I said. “They had always loved each other, but all those terrible things happened…not only to my mother but to my father, too. He was missing at one time. They thought he was dead. That’s quite a story.”

“Do tell us,” said Andrée.

“I don’t really know what it was all about. They don’t talk of it much. But it was when they thought he was dead that my mother married this other man. One day I think she will tell me more about it.”

“What an exciting time she must have had,” said Annabelinda.

“Excitement is not always a happy state, Annabelinda,” remarked Miss Carruthers. “You learn as you go through life that there are events which are exciting to anticipate, amusing and entertaining to relate after they have happened, but extremely uncomfortable when they are in progress.”

“Now it’s your turn,” said Andrée to Annabelinda.

“Oh, my mother is a beauty. She’s had an exciting life. She lived in Australia for a time. When she came back to England she married Sir Robert Denver. I’ve got a brother, too. He’s Robert, after my father. He’s nice but rather dull.”

“He’s not dull,” I protested. “He’s just…good.”

“Oh, well…”

“Why should good people be called dull?” I demanded hotly. “I think they are a whole lot nicer than selfish people…and more interesting. Robert is one of the nicest people I know.”

“And she knows so many,” mocked Annabelinda.

“You ought to be proud of him,” I said.

Annabelinda grinned. “Robert,” she said, “is very fond of Lucinda. That’s why she likes him so much.”

Before I could speak, Andrée said, “This is like a confessional. Why is it that we all have the urge to lay bare our souls tonight?”

“It’s rather fun,” said Annabelinda. She caught my eye and grinned at me. She had told us nothing about herself. Her secrets were too dangerous to be divulged.

“I know what it is,” said Miss Carruthers. “It is the uncertainty of our lives. We are waiting…listening to the waves. There is a wind blowing up. Shall we ever be able to get away? It is at such times that people feel the urge to reveal themselves…to show themselves to the world as they really are.”

I believed there was some truth in that, but Annabelinda would never reveal her weaknesses.

At that moment Edouard woke up and began to cry.

Andrée immediately soothed him, and Annabelinda said, “Marcus will have arranged something. It won’t be long now before we are home.”

We spent another night in that inn, and in the early morning of the following day we boarded a Channel ferry. At last we were on the way home. Marcus had made it possible.

I sat on deck in the semidarkness, holding Edouard on my lap. Andrée was beside me.

“I don’t know what we should have done without you,” I said to her. “I know so little about the needs of children.”

“You learn quickly,” she said. “It comes naturally to some of us. I don’t know what I could have done without you. When I think of how you have helped me…”

“We must all help each other at times like this,” I replied.

Annabelinda was close by with Marcus Merrivale and Miss Carruthers. I felt very comforted to watch them.

How silent it was! There was a coolish breeze sweeping over the sea. We were all tired but too keyed up to think of sleep.

When I shut my eyes I could see the remains of the cottage. I could see Marguerite’s appealing eyes. And I knew that was something I should never forget.

I looked across at Marcus Merrivale. His task was nearly over now. He would deposit us at my parents’ house and then report to Uncle Gerald. Mission accomplished!

I smiled. What a fine man he was. What a hero! Not once had I seen him in the least perturbed. He had accepted everything with something like jaunty nonchalance and a certain belief that he would be able to overcome all difficulties. And he had.

We shall see him again, I assured myself. My parents would want to thank him, and he was, after all, a friend of Uncle Gerald’s.

That thought gave me a certain, warm comfort.

And then in the dawn light, I saw the outline of the white cliffs.

We had come safely home.