“No, I can’t say he does—yet. But he will, by Tuesday or Wednesday, I would imagine.”
“You’re going over there, aren’t you, miss? To Belgium.”
“Very briefly, yes.”
“Do you think you’re close, miss?”
“Sorry to rush, Billy. I’ve got to go now—Dad and George are waiting.”
“George? The chauffeur?”
“Billy, I’m a good driver, but I don’t want to get behind the wheel of Lady Rowan’s new horsebox.”
Billy was silent for a couple of seconds before speaking again. “Oh, now the penny’s dropped,” he said. “I don’t like to speak out of turn, miss, but I wouldn’t want to see you set yourself up for another upset.”
“The hospitals, Billy. On Tuesday. I’m depending on you.”
“If the old lady exists, I’ll find her.”
“It’s not like you, Maisie, to go off and do something on the spur of the moment,” said Frankie Dobbs as he sat beside her in the Bedford-Scammell horsebox, with Lady Rowan’s chauffeur driving. “I mean, it’s not as if you know the child, and she could be gone in a day or two. They’re bound to find her people—the billeting officer said they were looking, and as she’s not been evacuated with children she knows, they’re likely to send her somewhere else.”
“I think the billeting officers are under water, and they’re probably just glad enough to have her settled somewhere.”
“And where did you say you saw it?” asked Frankie.
“Just up the road, not far now. It’s called Cherry Tree Farm. Here we are, George—along here on the left. It’s a bit of a tight turn.”
“I can turn this twelve-tonner around inside a matchbox, don’t you worry,” replied the chauffeur.
As the horsebox pulled up in front of the farmhouse, the farmer came to greet them, wearing the same old brown corduroy trousers, a pair of worn leather hobnail boots, and a gray shirt with the sleeves rolled above his elbows. He wore a tweed flat cap, and carried a shepherd’s crook. A border collie stood at heel.
“Heard that lorry coming a mile off—not seen one of them yet. She’s a beauty. And it’s nice to see you again, Miss Dobbs,” said the man, as he began to walk around the horsebox, admiring the vehicle.
“Mr. Epps,” Maisie said, drawing his attention back to her. “This is my father.” She turned to Frankie. “I had to see Mr. Epps on business yesterday, and that’s when I made the arrangements to come back today.”
Frankie touched the peak of his flat cap, and the farmer nodded by way of a response.
“My father is the best judge here—I didn’t want to make the purchase without his advice.”
“Wish my daughter were like that—you never know what she’s going to come home with, and none of it good for a farm,” said Epps. “Went up to London she did, a year ago in May. Said she was fed up with mud and chickens. She’ll be back, mind—yes, she’ll be back.” The farmer sighed and shook his head. “Right, let’s get on with it. The lass is this way—brought her up from the field this morning.”
Three quarters of an hour later, Maisie and her father were on their way back to Chelstone. Apart from a conversation with George about what goods might be rationed, and whether the motor cars would be mothballed until after the war, Maisie’s father said nothing until they had almost reached Chelstone.
“Well, I hope you know what you’re doing, love,” said Frankie, looking out of the window, then back at his daughter.
“But what?”
“I didn’t say a but.”
“I heard it, though.”
Frankie was silent. Maisie knew he wanted to speak, but was aware of George’s presence. He lowered his voice, though George would have had trouble hearing their conversation over the roar of the engine.
“I think what you’ve done is very nice and all that, but are you sure you’re not trying to make up for something? There, that’s what I wanted to say.”
Maisie felt her face redden. She knew what her father was alluding to.
“Not at all. But these evacuee children are a long way from home—it’s a long way for a child, anyway. I wanted to do something special for them.”
“Or just for one of them?”
“I didn’t know the boys would be leaving—and in any case, I have a feeling Mrs. Preston will be back with them in short order. A good number of London’s deserted schools have already been requisitioned for army use—for bomb disposal crews, soldier billeting, ambulances, and the like.” Maisie did not want to pursue the subject; instead she asked George if he wanted her to get out and direct him through the manor gates.