Priscilla took a sip of her drink, then another. “I’m sure you saw the newsreel at the cinema, when they were telling us that everyone should do their national service. You and Tim are always going off to the pictures together, so I would be surprised if you hadn’t.”
“Yes, I’ve seen them,” said Maisie, folding her arms and leaning closer. “What are you up to, Priscilla?”
“See, it’s Priscilla now—you always call me Priscilla when you’re worried or you think I’m up to something. I should start calling you Margaret or addressing you as Lady Maisie, or whatever title you’re entitled to use.”
“Stop trying to distract me—tell me what you’ve done.”
“It was the reel about preparations for civilian casualties if—and perhaps I should say when—Hitler’s Luftwaffe boys are sent to bomb us that caught my attention. They’re recruiting women who can drive to train as ambulance drivers, with extra points if you know some first aid. So I thought to myself, I’ve done it before and I can damn well do it again. I can drive, I can tend a wound, and I have experience—I’m not a girl anymore, but I bet you I’m as fit as a twenty-year-old.” Her eyes widened as she explained. “That’s another thing—you have to attend fitness classes, just to make sure you can run into a building and run out again with a wounded person.”
“Have you signed up?”
“Not yet. They boys were having a row yesterday, the RAF against the navy, with Tarquin saying it was all a waste anyway, and if no one fought, there wouldn’t be a war, which got him a semi-friendly pummeling. Anyway”—Priscilla took another sip of her gin and tonic—“anyway, I thought, that’s it, I will not be the only one in this family not doing my bit. Even Cook says she will volunteer with the WVS. So I’m ready, and no one can question my abilities, which I must say are quite considerable—I’ve driven all over Europe. And I was with the First Aid Nursing Yeomanry for four years during the last war, behind the wheel of something a lot harder to start than any ambulance working today.” She paused, took another sip of her cocktail, then held the glass up as if toasting Maisie. “You should do it. It’ll mainly be nighttime work, plus you can drive—and after Spain, especially, you’re well placed to tend the wounds of war, now aren’t you? And we have to work in pairs, so perhaps we could be a team.”
At that moment, the door to the drawing room opened, and Timothy and Tarquin rushed in with the news that they’d followed their older brother and seen him kissing a girl. Priscilla dismissed her two younger sons, admonishing them for telling tales.
“When does Tom leave, Pris?”
“He has a few weeks’ grace. You’ll come to our special family supper, won’t you? I believe he has to be at Cranwell on October the second, so on the first we’ll send him off with a good meal inside him, at the very least. And I do hope he behaves himself with this girl. You know what they’re like at that age.” She sighed and finished her drink. “I wish that were my only worry—it seems so insignificant.”
Maisie nodded, reaching for Priscilla’s hand and feeling her friend’s tight grasp in return. “I’ll be here for Tom’s going-away supper—I wouldn’t miss it.”
Chapter 13
It was dark by the time Maisie arrived home to her garden flat, and she was careful to close the blackout curtains before turning on a light. She knew that if even the slightest chink of a beam from her window were visible from the street, the Air Raid Precautions man would be knocking at her door, admonishing her for risking life and limb, and those of her neighbors, with her carelessness. According to Billy, the blackout had already caused accidents, with pedestrians losing their way or stepping out in front of unseen motor cars, headlamps covered lest they be spotted by an eagle-eyed Luftwaffe pilot intent upon killing anyone, anywhere.
“I tell you,” he had warned, “the way things are going, the blackout’s going to do away with more people than blimmin’ Hitler. Never mind a gas mask, they should have given us all a white stick—I mean, Hitler don’t need to bomb us, he only has to wait until we’ve knocked each other out and just wander in with his troops.”
The telephone was ringing by the time she’d picked up her notebook, ready to review all she had learned since Francesca Thomas arrived unannounced in her garden.
“Maisie. Francesca Thomas here. I understand you’ve been trying to get in touch with me.”
“You have an efficient assistant,” said Maisie, twisting the telephone cord around her fingers.
“Taking a message is not efficient, it’s expected. But yes, he’s efficient.”