In Farleigh Field: A Novel of World War II

“Well, he’s one of us now,” Pamma said. “He has a title, just like you.”

“You either inherit a title or you buy it,” Lord Westerham said dryly. “In his case, the latter. And I query how he made all that money, too. There is something too smooth about the blighter.”

“You’re just jealous, Pah,” Dido said with a little grin. “So will you teach me to drive? I could drive us over to the Prescotts tomorrow. I can hardly hit anyone going down our driveway, can I?”

“Absolutely bloody well not,” Lord Westerham stormed.

“Then what can I do?”

“Stay at home and help your mother until you’re old enough, that’s what you can do. Knit socks and helmets for soldiers.”

“Knit things? You’re joking. If I were a son and I was eighteen, I bet you’d be proud if I joined up.”

A spasm of pain crossed his face. “But you’re not, are you? I just have girls, and it’s my job to protect them.”

“If you’re not careful, I’ll run off and marry a gypsy, and then you’ll be sorry.” Dido stood up, dropped her napkin, and flounced out of the room.

“I’ll look forward to buying clothes pegs from you,” Lord Westerham called after her, chuckling.

Lady Esme looked at her husband. “You’ll have to let go of her sometime, Roddy. I understand how she feels. She can’t sit home doing nothing when everyone else is helping with the war effort.”

“When she’s twenty-one she can do as she bloody well pleases,” he said. “Until then, she’s under my care, and I do what I think is best for her. You know what she’s like, Esme. If we let her go off to London, she’ll be back with an illegitimate baby in ten minutes.”

“Really, Roddy. Sometimes you go too far.” Lady Esme turned pink. “I must make sure we all have something decent to wear to the Prescotts. I haven’t had my good frocks out for ages, and Lady Prescott is always so chic.” She looked across at Pamela, who had now risen from the table. “Did you bring an evening dress with you, darling?”

“I left most of my things here,” she said. “Not much chance to wear evening dresses when I’m on night shift.”

“Then pass the news on to Livvy, will you. I’m sure she’ll want to come.”

As Pamela left the room, she heard her father say, “I’ve been thinking this over, Esme, and the more I think of it, the less I want to go. Prescott will be effusive and magnanimous and handing out his single malt Scotch and getting my goat.”

“But we have to go,” Lady Esme lowered her voice. “For your daughter’s sake.”

Pamela paused in the passage outside the dining room.

“Daughter? Which daughter?”

“Pamma, of course. It’s to celebrate Jeremy’s safe return. Jeremy and Pamela, you know?”

“No, I didn’t know. Has he asked for her hand or something?”

“No, but I’m sure he will when the time is right.”

Pamma waited no longer but went on up the stairs. Her face was flushed at what she had just heard. Everyone else assumed she’d marry Jeremy, except Jeremy himself, it seemed. And now another nagging doubt had crept into her mind. Her sister Dido. She had apparently been visiting Jeremy, and then last night . . .

Dido was waiting at the top of the stairs. “Are you sure I can’t come and live with you, Pamma? I’ll go mad if I stay here much longer. They must be able to find me a job where you work. I’d take anything at this stage, even boring old filing.”

“Dido, you can’t go against Pah’s wishes. You know that. Besides, I share a room with another girl in an absolutely awful boardinghouse, and we’re as far out of London as we are here. Stuck in the middle of the countryside with nothing going on. You’d be just as bored as you are here.”

“But you must be working with men.”

“That’s true. Although I wouldn’t call most of them exciting, either. They’re too old or they’re gangly boys with pimples. Nothing exciting, I assure you.” She turned to her sister. “I know. Why don’t you ask Pah to see if the colonel of the West Kents could use you for office duties? That would be a start and get you some experience.”

Dido’s face brightened. “Yes, that would be a start, wouldn’t it. Good thinking, Pamma. You’re not such a bad old stick.”

As she went to walk past, Pamela said in a low voice. “I know you were out last night, Dido. I heard the floorboards creaking and saw you going into your room. Where did you go?” A worrying thought had been playing in her mind that Dido had been to see Jeremy. And Dido didn’t seem to have any inhibitions about sex—positively keen for it, in fact. Had she been giving Jeremy what Pamela had denied him?

Dido grinned. “To the Three Bells with some of the soldiers I met.”

Pamela heard herself give a sigh of relief. “Dido, for heaven’s sake, be careful. Pah would hit the roof if he found out. And soldiers? That’s not exactly wise.”

“It was brilliant. They were so nice to me. They treated me perfectly.”

“Well, I suppose they would, given that you’re the daughter of the house where they’re staying. And you’re a lady.”

“But it wasn’t like that at all. We talked. We laughed. It was so nice to be just like an ordinary person. One of the gang. Is that what it’s like where you work? Do they have to call you ‘my lady’ and rubbish like that?”

Pamela laughed now. “Of course not. And they certainly don’t treat me any differently because I’m the daughter of an earl.”

“That’s what I want. To be someplace where nobody cares who I am.”

Pamela put a hand tentatively on her sister’s arm. “Your turn will come, I promise you. And if this war goes on much longer, then I’m afraid we’ll all be called upon to do our share.”

“Golly, I hope so,” Dido said. “Thanks, Pamma. And you won’t say anything to Pah, will you?”

“I won’t, but you’ll be lucky if someone from the village doesn’t blab. You know what gossips they all are.”

“You really are a good old stick,” Dido repeated.

“Thank you for the compliment.” Pamma smiled as she went into her bedroom.



Phoebe stomped into her room, making her governess look up from the book she was reading.

“Why, Phoebe, whatever is the matter?” she asked.

“They’ve all been invited to a dinner party at the Prescotts, and I’m not included.”

“Well, I wouldn’t feel too badly about it,” Miss Gumble said with a smile at the girl’s scowling face. “I’m not invited, either.”

“Well, of course you wouldn’t be. You’re only a governess,” Phoebe said and saw a spasm of pain cross the woman’s face.

“For your information, Phoebe Sutton, I grew up in a situation not unlike yours. Oh, our house wasn’t quite as grand as this one, and my father didn’t have a title, but it was a good-sized estate. Then my father died when I was up at Oxford, and my brother inherited everything. And his wife told me in no uncertain terms that I was no longer welcome at my old home.”

“Golly, how mean,” Phoebe said.