It wasn’t a long journey from Tonbridge Station to Chelstone, and soon Maisie was driving through the village on her way to the Dower House. In front of her, along the lane not a quarter mile from Chelstone Manor, she saw a woman walking at the side of the road, a babe nestled in one arm, while holding what seemed to be a heavy bag in the opposite hand. Even from behind, Maisie sensed a deep fatigue in the woman, as if she were burdened by a heavier weight upon her shoulders. She slowed the Alvis and came to a stop alongside her, wound down the window and leaned across to speak to the woman.
“Excuse me. May I give you a lift somewhere? You have a heavy bag and a baby. Are you visiting?”
The woman nodded, catching her breath. “I was told this was the way to Chelstone Manor.”
“Come on, let me take you. I’m on my way there now.” Leaving the motor car idling, Maisie stepped out and helped the woman and her baby into the passenger seat, placing her bag on the backseat.
“This is very kind of you. My poor feet were killing me.”
“Do you mind me asking—who are you going to see at the manor?”
“I’ve to go to the Dower House, to see a Mrs. Dobbs.”
“Mrs. Brenda Dobbs?”
“Yes, that’s the one. She’s got my boys staying there, and I’ve come to take them home.”
“Take them home? Isn’t that a bit dangerous? They’ve only been here a fortnight. And they are doing so very well in the country.”
“A bit too well, if you ask me. I’ve had letters from them—Mrs. Dobbs makes them write, which is all very nice—and it seems to me they’re glad to get away from London, and us, their family.” She pulled the baby to her. “Anyway, I miss them, what with their father away all hours at the docks, and when he’s not there, he’s in the pub. No, they belong at home, and it’s back home I’m taking them. I reckon that Hitler has forgotten all about us anyway.”
“Mrs.—I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”
“Preston. Mrs. Preston.” She took a deep breath. “No, they’re better off at home. I know all about them being safe, but I’m their mother and I know best, and what’s best is us being together.”
“What about school?” said Maisie, pulling into the driveway that led first to the Dower House, then across extensive lawns to the Manor.
“Bloomin’ ’eck, look at that. No wonder they think this is a nice gaff.”
“Oh, they’re not in that house.” Maisie steered the motor car around to the Dower House’s back entrance. “They’re here—it’s still a fair size, though.” She did not open the door, but remained in the Alvis. “My father has a good way with the boys—that’s Mr. Dobbs. He’s from Lambeth, originally. So was I. My mother died when I was a girl. Brenda was the housekeeper here when my father was the groom—he came down during the war, to look after the horses when the men who worked here enlisted.”
“And how come you got this?” She inclined her head towards the Dower House.
“It’s quite a long story. Now then, let’s go and find your boys.”
Maisie helped the woman from the motor car, taking her bag and leading her into the kitchen, where Brenda was setting the kitchen table for tea, and the girl from the manor who had been sent to help was preparing vegetables at the sink.
“Brenda, this is the boys’ mother, Mrs. Preston.”
“How do you do, Mrs. Preston? You should have let us know you were coming—we’d have put up a welcome tea for you. It’s lovely of you to visit the lads. They’re helping Mr. Dobbs down at the stables at the moment, but they should be back soon. They’ll be very pleased to see you, I’m sure.” Brenda turned her attention to Maisie. “And Anna is out in the garden, with Emma.”
“You’ve got a houseful, then. Just as well I’ve come to take the boys home.”
Brenda raised her eyebrows. “Take them home?” She paused, as if ready to add vociferous commentary, but thought better of it. “Before you do anything, sit down, take the weight off your feet—there’s no need to rush off, not with a babe in arms. And she’s a pet, isn’t she? What’s her name?”
“Violet. Six months old, she is,” said Preston.
“You must be parched and tired. Look, we can make up another bed downstairs for you. Don’t you go hurrying back up there to the Smoke this evening—look at the time already. Have some tea, have a rest. Our young lady here can watch the babe, and then you can decide what to do.”
Maisie nodded at Brenda to signal her approval of the approach, then turned to Preston. “Come on, let me take you into the drawing room where there are more comfortable chairs. And we’ll get you a nice cup of tea.”
Signaling Brenda to follow, Maisie led Mrs. Preston into the drawing room, where the woman walked across to the window overlooking the gardens, holding the baby as if to show her the view.
“This is all very nice, isn’t it?”