“I’ll come with you,” Tom said, his lanky body dancing around us like a skinny clown. “Try and cheer you both up a bit.”
Without a word, Silvie slipped her slim, white hand into his and let him help her up. Then, taking my hand, too, Tom led us back to the Manor.
True to his word, he entertained us with his news from the day, which amounted to someone finding a half-decomposed dead rabbit (which we heard about in gruesome detail), a boy who ate an apple that was full of maggots, and one of the families having to leave early because the mum’s having a baby.
We had cheered up somewhat by the time we got past the orchard, and as we rounded the side of Peasepotter Wood and onto the drive, we saw the crowd of women in front of us, back on the lawn, sitting on benches and drinking tea. Mrs. B. was striding around taking notes on her clipboard, until she spotted us coming toward them, announced something, and then they leaped up and began to clap and cheer.
“You found her!” Mrs. Quail shouted.
“Well done!” one of the Sewing Ladies chimed in, and someone even promised some sweets.
“Good to have you back, Silvie!” Venetia came over, relieved and smiling.
They heartily slapped our backs, and then Mama put her arms around Silvie, who promptly burst into tears again.
“You have to promise to stay with us,” Mama told her, crouching down to her level. “And never, ever run away again.”
Silvie nodded and buried her face in Mama’s neck.
“What about Daddy?” I whispered to Mrs. Tilling, who had come over to stand next to me. “He’ll never let Silvie stay.”
“Oh, don’t worry about him, Kitty.” She smiled, as smug as a cat with her paw on a mouse. “He won’t be a problem anymore.”
I turned to quiz her, but she was gone, off to herald the return of Silvie, and I was left wondering what’s at the bottom of it all.
Tom bounded over, interrupting my thoughts. “You’re quite the hero after all.” He stood beside me, almost touching.
“Of course I am!” I huffed. But then I remembered about my recent mishaps with Venetia and Henry. “Do you really think so?”
He laughed and slapped me on the back, sending me lurching forward a few paces. “You’re the best, Kitty. The fair damsel who saves the day!” Then he took my hand and gave it a rough squeeze.
Sunday, 18th August, 1940
As soon as the all clear sounded, I was on my bicycle and heading through the darkness to Litchfield. I had to be there for the medical team, to help the wounded, but I was mostly worried about the people I knew. Venetia had started work again, and of course there was the Colonel. Might he have been careless enough to not go to the bomb shelter? He mentioned to me only last night how he was fed up with leaving his desk when he was busy, how he’d taken to staying put during the raids.
I cycled fast the whole way, praying he didn’t do so tonight: if there was one time he went to the shelter, please God, let it be this time.
As I came over the hill, I saw the blazes over Litchfield Park. You couldn’t miss them. Surging gusts of flame soared high into the sky, covering most of the main building, with more fires over what had been the outbuildings. I wondered how many people were trapped in the blaze, and I knew right then that, before I went on duty, I needed to see if I could find the Colonel.
I rode in through the gates and asked a man in uniform watching the blaze.
“What happened to everyone? Did they all get out?”
“Not really,” he said in a daze. “One of the shelters gave way, and a lot of people are still missing.” He looked around at me, dismay in his eyes. “They say some people didn’t use the shelters.”
“Where are all the people who work here? How can I find out if my friend is all right?”
“They told them to go home, or to one of the rest centers if their homes have been bombed. Obviously a lot of them have stayed to help, though. Who are you looking for?”
“Colonel Mallard,” I said. “He’s billeted at my house. But he wasn’t there when I left.”
“I can’t say I’ve seen him since the bombs hit. Can’t remember seeing him in the shelter neither.” He pondered for a moment, and I wanted to shake him ruthlessly. Think, man. Think!
But all he did was shake his head.
“Thank you,” I said quickly, hopping back on my bicycle. If the Colonel had made it, he’d have stayed to help the wounded. But where? Litchfield isn’t a big place, but with hundreds of bombed homes to evacuate, who knew where he might be?