There was a great deal of discussion about the battle and it all became too much for Mrs Finch, who thought they were still fighting the First World War. She’d begun to fret because she couldn’t remember where she’d hidden the pistol her husband, Albert, had given her to protect her honour should the Hun invade while he was away fighting on the Somme.
Peggy had soothed her and made sure she knew what war they were actually fighting before helping her upstairs and into bed. If the poor old duck got any more confused, she’d have to watch her more closely, and Peggy hoped it was just today’s unfortunate explosion and the news that were upsetting her and that her mind was unimpaired. She didn’t want her going into a home – they were for people who had no-one to care for them, and Mrs Finch was very much a part of her family now.
Peggy poked her head round her bedroom door half an hour later to discover her fast asleep and snoring with the wireless going full-blast on the bedside table. She turned it off and quietly left her to sleep.
Returning to the kitchen, Peggy kept a constant watch on the clock, wondering where Anne had got to. She hoped the car hadn’t broken down on some lonely country road miles from anywhere – it was so dangerous driving about without proper headlights or streetlamps.
Her own car had been locked away for the duration now petrol was so hard to come by, and she missed the convenience of it. But then there was a war on, and she supposed she’d just have to get used to it, and stop worrying about everything and everyone.
As Sally was still at work, Peggy carried Ernie upstairs a short while later, gave him a bath and tucked him in bed before reading him a story. Anne had told her that his and Sally’s reading was very poor, so Peggy had chosen an easy book with lots of pictures and few words, which she let him follow with his finger.
Once he was drowsy, she stroked back his hair, softly kissed his downy cheek, and turned off the main light. She left the door ajar so she could hear if he called out. He hadn’t wet the bed in weeks, and seemed happier and far healthier than the little waif she’d first taken in.
Bob and Charlie were at the age when they could bath themselves, though they made a terrible mess, and it took ages to get them settled into bed. Having read them a story, she firmly turned off the light and shut their bedroom door, before returning to the kitchen.
Cicely was having an early night for once and, with Ron playing soldiers in the church hall, Jim and Sally at work and Alex on standby at the airfield, the house was quiet. She finished tidying up and took out her knitting. Bob had worn straight through the heel of his socks; although she’d darned them, he still needed another pair.
She looked up when she heard the key in the front door, and glanced at the clock. It was too early to be Sally. She put down her knitting, expecting to see Anne at any moment. There was the sound of shoes being kicked off, and the rustle of a coat being shed. Then there was a long silence – followed by a muffled sob.
Peggy was out of the chair immediately. She rushed into the icy hall, took one look at her daughter’s face and wrapped her in her arms. ‘Anne, darling, whatever is the matter?’
‘Oh, Mum,’ she sobbed into her shoulder. ‘It was awful. Simply awful.’
‘Come on, darling. Let’s get into the warm so we can talk properly.’ She steered her into the kitchen and sat her down in the armchair before perching on the arm. ‘What happened?’ she asked quietly, the girl’s heart-rending tears making her want to cry in sympathy.
‘Martin and I are finished,’ she sobbed. ‘It’s all over.’
Peggy waited until the storm of tears had ebbed somewhat before she tried to get any sense out of her. ‘But he loves you – and you love him. What happened to change that?’
Anne blew her nose and angrily took off her suit jacket. ‘His bloody awful family,’ she hissed.
Peggy was startled. It was unlike Anne to swear. Something really bad must have happened today, and she was determined to get to the bottom of it. ‘You’d better start at the beginning, love, and tell me everything.’
Anne’s worst fears had been realised, and she could still feel the debilitating sense of inferiority that his parents had invoked during that torturous lunch.
Her first sight of the long driveway that ran from imposing gates to the even more imposing manor house should have warned her, but she’d allowed her common sense to be drowned with hope. She could still hear Martin blithely talking about the two farms and the pheasant shoot, as he mentioned gamekeepers and gardeners, and pointed out magnificent stables, dense woodland and manicured gardens.
‘I knew it was a mistake the minute I saw that house,’ she said, her voice rough with tears, as she kept tight control of her emotions. ‘Martin never warned me it was a manor house, set on an estate that has been in the family for at least five generations.’
‘Good heavens,’ gasped Peggy. ‘I never realised. He seems so ordinary.’
Anne gave a bitter laugh. ‘He’s not ordinary at all,’ she replied. ‘He was educated at Eton and Oxford and followed his father – Air Marshal Black – into the Royal Air Force as a Commissioned Officer. His father has the ear of the War Cabinet, his sister is engaged to some idiot with a title and no chin – and his mother is on just about every committee known to the human race.’
‘So’s your Aunt Doris,’ she replied dryly. ‘But that doesn’t make her anything special.’
Anne could feel the return of that awful humiliation. It swept over her, making her feel nauseous. She had been greeted coolly by his mother whose first scathing glance had condemned her as ‘not one of them’ and his father had glared at her from beneath his heavy brows as if she was some poacher caught with a brace of pheasant under her coat. His sister and her fiancé were distantly polite and, after a detached greeting, had proceeded to ignore her.
A parlour maid had taken her coat and hat and, after a stilted, bland conversation over sherry, they’d gone into the dining room. Another maid had served at the table, which had been laid with a confusing amount of cutlery and glassware. She had felt his mother’s eyes on her, watching and waiting for her to pick up the wrong piece of silverware. It had made her clumsy, and she’d knocked over a glass of red wine which spread with distressing rapidity over the pristine white linen tablecloth.
‘I do know which knife and fork to use,’ she said bitterly, ‘but with them watching me I got clumsier and clumsier. The wine went everywhere, and although she said it didn’t matter, I caught the look she shot at her husband. It was as if it simply confirmed that I didn’t belong at her table, let alone in her house.’
‘Oh, Anne, darling. How awful for you. What horrid people.’
‘As if that wasn’t bad enough they started to interrogate me. They wanted to know where I was educated, where I taught, what my father did.’ She fell silent, mortified that she’d been made to feel ashamed of her family.
‘Perhaps they were just interested?’
‘No they weren’t. They simply wanted to make it abundantly clear that I wouldn’t be accepted into their privileged, blinkered little world. His mother even managed to mention some girl called Annabelle at every opportunity – and ever so subtly suggest she had high hopes of her and Martin becoming engaged.’
‘What did Martin have to say about all this?’
‘He was furious,’ she admitted. ‘He told his parents that he was horrified they had behaved so badly and that, whether they liked it or not, Annabelle and he had long since split, and now could barely stand one another.’
‘Good for him,’ murmured Peggy.
Anne lit a cigarette and stared into the fire. ‘We left halfway through lunch, and Martin was so angry he was driving far too fast. I was frightened we’d have an accident and begged him to stop for a while so he could cool down.’
They had sat in the car without speaking for a while, both too upset to say anything. Anne could barely see through her tears, but she’d been determined to remain calm and in control of her emotions as Martin smoked one cigarette after another in furious silence.
‘You obviously had to discuss things,’ said Peggy, sitting opposite her and taking her hand. ‘I hope neither of you rushed into hasty decisions because of what happened?’
‘Martin finally calmed down enough to speak coherently,’ she murmured. ‘He was full of apology for his family’s disgraceful behaviour – and said he’d been shocked at how hostile they’d been. He went on to explain that he and Annabelle had met at Oxford, and both families had hoped they would marry – but it had never been a great love affair, and had soon petered out, and now she was engaged to some boffin at the MoD.’
‘I’m very glad to hear it,’ said Peggy, ‘but I get the feeling that this entire episode will have a lasting effect on both of you.’
‘It shook me rigid,’ she confessed. ‘But Martin’s more determined than ever that we should marry. He begged me to ignore his parents’ old-fashioned views.’ Anne looked at her mother through her tears. ‘But how could I, Mum? Girls like me don’t marry men like him. I don’t fit into their world, and sooner or later it will become obvious even to him.’
‘Oh, Anne. I’m so very sorry.’ Peggy clasped her fingers. ‘But you mustn’t let those people make you feel unworthy. You have a great deal to be proud of, and have every right to keep your head high and rise above their snobbery.’
‘Easier said than done,’ murmured Anne.
‘You said it was over between you,’ said Peggy. ‘Did you mean that, Anne?’
She nodded and blew her nose. ‘Martin pleaded with me to reconsider – to take time and think about it, and not rush into any hasty decisions. But it would only delay the inevitable, and cause us both more hurt. I told him it was over – and I meant it.’ Her voice broke on a sob.
Anne could still see the devastation in his eyes, could hear him pleading with her – threatening to keep ringing and writing until she changed her mind. She’d been so tempted to give in, and to hell with his damned family. But she knew it could never work. Not ever. ‘But I love him so,’ she whispered. ‘I really do.’ The tears streamed down her face. ‘Oh, Mum. What am I going to do without him?’
Peggy held her close, murmuring soft words in her ear, rocking her as she’d done when Anne was small. But her mother’s words and her embrace couldn’t mend her broken heart, couldn’t stem the bitter tears, or erase the humiliating knowledge that she wasn’t considered good enough to be Martin’s wife.
Sally had come in quietly, expecting everyone to be asleep. She’d taken off her shoes and was about to creep up the stairs when she’d heard voices in the kitchen.
About to go in and say good night, she’d frozen outside the door when she’d heard Anne’s heart-rending sobs. Through Anne’s tears, Sally had heard every word she’d said. And, as she’d listened, she’d felt a chill run through her that dashed the small ray of hope that had burnt so brightly all day.
Anne was the most educated person she knew, with a degree and everything. She spoke nicely, was pretty and had lovely manners, knew how to dress and how to hold her knife properly – Sally had been taking note of all this, and had tried to copy her, but there was so much to learn it was difficult to remember it all. How could anyone possibly think Anne wouldn’t make a perfect wife?
Furious that someone as lovely as Anne should be so badly treated, she’d remained in the hallway, tempted to rush in and offer her own comfort. But as she listened to her tale of woe, a dawning sense of dread came over her. If Anne wasn’t considered good enough, then what chance did she have of ever being someone’s wife? She couldn’t read and write very well, her mother was a good-time girl and the family came from one of the poorest streets in Bow.
She thought of John Hicks, and the fledgling hope she’d carried through the day withered and died. He might not be from a posh, wealthy family, but he was educated, talked nicely, and was in a position of command at the fire station. He probably saw her for what he thought she was, and had decided she’d be just the right girl for a bit of fun.
Sally felt the heat of her tears roll down her cheeks. A girl like her wasn’t good enough for a man like him – just as Martin’s family didn’t think Anne was good enough for them. The class system was rigid, the barriers sharply defined, and only trouble could come for anyone who defied those barriers.
As Anne burst into tears again in the kitchen, Sally crept up the stairs, grabbed the coat she used as a dressing gown, and silently closed the bathroom door.
Stripping off the overall and stinking knickers she’d been forced to wear all day, she hung the damp, but clean skirt over the back of the chair and had a strip wash. Using the same water, she laundered the knickers, pulled on the coat and tiptoed back to her room. She dragged the nightdress Peggy had lent her over her head and crawled into bed. It was a long time before she fell asleep.
Chapter Eight
Sally gave Ernie a lick and a promise with the flannel after breakfast and combed his hair, which she noticed could have done with a trim. ‘Are you feeling all right?’ she asked. ‘Only you look a bit pale.’
‘Yeah, course I am,’ he replied, grimacing as the comb snagged on a tangle. ‘Ow,’ he protested, ‘that ’urt.’
‘Sorry, luv, but if you keep wriggling …’ She eyed him closely. He looked tired, with dark rings under his eyes – but he’d slept well. ‘Perhaps I should keep you ’ome today,’ she murmured.