Maisie shook her head and released Lady Rowan’s hand, patting it as she did so.
“I am here today.” She reached for the ignition and started the engine again. “In Spain I was reminded of all the losses people endure. Tragedy is so personal, but it doesn’t mean it hasn’t happened before, to someone, somewhere—it’s what helps us to understand and bring solace to others, knowing something of what they feel. And look at the family I have now—you, Lord Julian, my father and Brenda, and Priscilla, Douglas and the boys.”
“And Anna,” said Lady Rowan.
Maisie felt the piercing blue eyes upon her, and another unspoken question hanging in the air. She slipped the motor car into gear. “Yes, and Anna.”
The long snaking line of people waiting to enter Westminster Abbey almost took Maisie’s breath away. Unable to park near the abbey, she pulled in as close as she could to the gates to allow Rowan to step out of the Alvis. She then drove off to look for a suitable place to leave the motor car, which she found just off Great Smith Street. She ran back to the abbey to rejoin Lady Rowan, who informed her that because she “knew people” there were already places kept for them, so they wouldn’t have to stand. But as she was about to follow her mother-in-law into the abbey, she had second thoughts.
“Rowan—I’m going to join the queue. I want to stand with the crowd. You should sit down as soon as you can—keep a seat for me, and I’ll find you.”
Lady Rowan looked at the growing line of people—there must have been thousands of men, women and children—and nodded. “The king said it should be a National Day of Prayer, that we should come together, as a people, to pray to be delivered from the approaching tyranny.” She cast her gaze back to Maisie. “Yes, join the throng, Maisie—if my hip were not nipping at me, I would too. But it’s one of those days when I must give thanks for the privilege of good connections and a reserved seat. I’ll see you inside.”
As she was moving to the end of the line, Maisie heard a voice call out.
“Oi, Miss! Oi, Miss—it’s us over here. Come on.” She looked into the line of people, and saw Billy, Doreen and Margaret Rose, all waving to her.
“You don’t mind if the lady joins us, do you, mate?” Billy turned to a man and his wife standing behind them.
“All right by me.” The man stepped back. “Come on, slip in here, love.”
“Thank you, sir—I am much obliged to you.” She turned to Billy and Doreen. “It’s lovely to see you here—all three of you.” She put a hand on Doreen’s arm to emphasize her greeting, and smiled down at their daughter. “Hello Margaret Rose—oh my goodness, you’ve grown. You’ll be as tall as Bobby soon.”
The child looked down at her feet, and ran her fingers through the halo of blond curls that fell across her forehead, a mannerism that made her appear even more like her father. And when she raised her head, her cornflower blue eyes staring at Maisie, she said, “Mum and Dad told me we had to come, because even if you didn’t believe in God, you had to give him a chance when things get very difficult. And everybody has to pull together.”
“Quite right,” said the man who had allowed Maisie to slide into the queue, as Margaret Rose hid her face in her mother’s skirts.
“From the mouths of babes,” said a woman in front of them.
There was little time for a long conversation with Billy, but there was an opportunity for a brief chat. “Is Bobby at home?” asked Maisie.
Billy sighed, and exchanged glances with his wife. “Yep, he’s at home. And that’s where he’ll stay if I’ve got anything to do with it.”
“Billy—he only—” said Doreen.
Billy shook his head. “Nothing like having a sixteen-year-old know-all in the house, is there? He’s gone and signed up to be a mechanic for the air force. Says it’s not dangerous, that he’ll be working on the aeroplanes, not in them. Well, that’s all very well, but they could just as well send him up, in time.”
Doreen looked at Maisie and raised her eyebrows. Maisie realized, then, that the woman who had previously suffered such debilitating mental illness was now calm, and was likely the one keeping a level head.
“What do you think, Doreen?”
The woman linked her arm through her husband’s, as if to chivvy him into a better mood. “We’ve got young Billy over there in France, so it’s easy to think Bobby should wait, just a bit, before he goes in for anything to do with the army or air force or whatever. But one thing occurred to me—because we always call them ‘young Billy’ or ‘young Bobby’ it’s too easy to forget they’re men. They know what they want, and I don’t think we should hold Bobby back. Not if this is what he’s got a knack for—we can’t expect him to want to work in that garage down the road forever, can we? And it’s a good opportunity for him to get a proper profession with real prospects, isn’t it?”
“It’s a difficult situation, especially as Bobby needs your consent,” said Maisie, drawing her attention from Doreen to Billy. “I know he’s named after your brother, and you thought the world of him.”
“Two peas in a pod, me and our Bobby,” said Billy.
Maisie watched as Doreen bit her lip and turned away, then at once swung round again, her cheeks flushed. “And you haven’t forgiven the fact that he died too young fighting over there, have you? But your son—our son—is not your brother. The way I see it, you have a choice. You can either acknowledge him and the fact that this is what he wants. It’s something he has a talent for, and he landed this opportunity with no help from anyone—and that’s no mean feat, Billy. No mean feat on the part of our Bobby. Or you can withhold consent, which means you can do something you were powerless to do with your brother, his namesake—and that is to stop him.” She had kept her voice low, but every word carried the weight of her frustration with her husband. “The truth is you could never have stopped your brother, because he knew what he wanted, and he wanted to prove himself to be a man worthy of his country’s respect. Bobby is old enough to go to this air force college, to learn a new trade and then to take up a new job. And if you’re trying to save him, my love—just you remember how Sandra’s Eric died. Poor girl lost her first husband when he was working on an engine in a small garage. There’s no accounting for fate’s timing. No accounting at all.”
Billy was silent, staring at his wife. “I’d forgotten about Eric,” said Billy, distracted.
Maisie stepped forward as the queue moved. She made no comment that might come between man and wife. They had almost reached the entrance to Westminster Abbey when she heard Billy break the silence with Doreen. “Anyway, I’ll think about it.” She looked around at the same time as Doreen leaned toward Billy for him to put his arm around her shoulders.
“Right,” said Maisie. “We’re almost at the door. I have to go in that direction now—Lady Rowan has saved a seat for me. I’ll see you tomorrow, Billy. In fact, I can take you all down to Hampshire, because that’s where I’m planning to go.”
“Oh, Margaret Rose and I are staying—we’re not going to the country,” said Doreen.
“And that’s another nice bag of worms opened up, just as we’re about to go into a church!” said Billy. “Mind you, if there’s an invasion, it might be better for my girls to be closer to London.”
Maisie looked from one to the other. “Well, the offer’s there—I can take you all, if you wish. Anyway, Billy, we must speak tomorrow morning at the office in any case. About Archie Coombes.”
“Oh yes, Archie Coombes. He’s a different kettle of fish, no two ways about it. I’ve a few things to report on that young man.”