Anita Frank - The Lost Ones

Madeleine remained pale and shaken. Rather foolishly we leapt again as the door swung open, but it was only Maisie. Lady Brightwell was quick to reprimand her for not having closed the window. The young maid apologised as she gathered our dishes and meekly withdrew.

I breathed a sigh of relief when our little party retired to the drawing room. Madeleine joined Lady Brightwell on the sofa by the now sedate fire while Miss Scott and I took two chairs a short distance away. It was not long before Lady Brightwell succumbed to the somniferous effects of the flickering flames as they comfortingly crackled around the pine logs. Madeleine opened her book, but I noticed she spent more time staring into space than losing herself within its pages.

Miss Scott pulled out her knitting from the bamboo-handled bag resting alongside her seat. She smiled serenely at me as her dancing needles clicked a tattoo with practised dexterity.

‘Do I see a matinee coat?’ I asked.

Her face lit up and she held the skilled weave of wool up for my perusal. ‘It is indeed.’

‘What a charming pattern.’ I glanced at Madeleine, now drowsily absorbed in the pages of her novel. ‘It’s an exciting prospect, isn’t it? A new life coming into the world.’

The older woman looked wistful and sighed. ‘The most wonderful thing.’ The needles began to clack softly once again, but then came to a stop. She appeared to wrestle with some inner dilemma, but her mind was soon made up. ‘Miss Marcham, may I say how sorry I was to hear about your fiancé? Such a terrible loss for you. I know I only met him briefly at the wedding, but he struck me as being a most lovely young man.’

Startled, I felt a lump block my throat. ‘He was.’

‘Had you known each other long?’

‘We met as children,’ I said, picturing the solemn little boy who had gifted me a jam jar of water boatmen one summer. ‘We shared a godmother,’ I explained. ‘She would take us out on theatre trips and to tea at The Ritz.’ I thought back to a Christmas party where a bout of tonsillitis prevented me from partaking in the festivities, and how an eleven-year-old Gerald had sat at my bedside, entertaining me with card games, insistent he would rather spend time with me than join in with the fun downstairs. In time, I came to learn such loyalty was as characteristic of the man as it had been of the boy. ‘We lost touch, for a while – his family moved abroad – but our godmother brought us together again some years later. She always thought we were meant to be.’

‘You certainly looked very happy together.’

I nodded to dispel unwelcome tears. ‘Well, at least Hector is safe,’ I said, keen to change the subject.

‘Thank God, yes!’ She regarded me intently as she rested her knitting on her lap. ‘A most fortunate posting!’ With the quick movements of a sparrow, she tilted her head towards her sleeping employer, before tilting it again to check Madeleine was not eavesdropping. She lowered her voice, drawing me into her confidence. ‘I have to admit I did stress to Lady Brightwell that if she could bring any pressure to bear to find him something safe, then she should.’ She released her knitting needles and laid her dry hand on mine. ‘Oh, I know some people would say it was wrong to do so – to use one’s connections in such a way. Lady Brightwell struggled with the idea for some time, but I told her firmly, she would never forgive herself if something happened and she had not done everything in her power to protect him.’

She appealed for my understanding, if not my sympathy – perhaps even my approval. I itched to withdraw my hand – there was something sullying about this confession, and I wanted no part of it. After an awkward pause she leant back in her chair and resumed her knitting before continuing.

‘Lady Brightwell saw sense in the end of course and was able to make some suitably discreet arrangements. I’m not even sure Hector is aware, but I for one sleep easier knowing he has been kept from that dreadful slaughter over there. Such a waste of young lives!’ She remembered herself and quickly added: ‘As you, more than anyone, must know.’

I looked across to the dancing flames. I was right – Hector’s family had indeed intervened to keep him from harm’s way. Gerald’s family could perhaps have done something similar, but they had not. I took little comfort from the knowledge that Gerald would never have accepted anything but a frontline command. I wondered how Hector would react if he knew the truth.

Madeleine’s head nodded tellingly. Closing her book, she covered a yawn.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, keeping her voice low so as not to disturb her mother-in-law. ‘I am falling asleep! I think I’ll retire.’

But as she rose, Lady Brightwell awoke with a start. She straightened in her chair.

‘Where are you going?’ she demanded, her voice thick with sleep.

‘I’m sorry, Lady Brightwell, I’m very tired. I should quite like to go to bed.’

‘We usually retire together. Oh well, I suppose in your condition you need your rest. Off you go then.’ She waved dismissively, blue veins bulging down the back of her hand. Madeleine stopped as she reached my chair.

‘Will you come up with me?’ It struck me as more of a plea than a question, so whilst I did not feel particularly ready to turn in, I got to my feet and bade my companions goodnight.

Madeleine left the drawing-room door ajar, permitting a splinter of light to penetrate the dark corridor. She slipped her arm through mine, gripping onto me as we made our way towards the hall. I had expected the electric bulbs to be ablaze, but instead only a little moonlight alleviated the darkness. Madeleine informed me that Lady Brightwell insisted they exercise economy during these tumultuous war years. Whilst I applauded her patriotic sense of duty, I felt unnerved by the shifting shadows that cloaked the vast house.

We made our way upstairs, past the stained-glass window, the moon casting faint and fragmentary light upon the steps. As we reached the landing, I was surprised but relieved to find economy had been relaxed on the first floor – glowing wall lights lit the way to our bedroom doors.

‘It’s such a comfort, having you here in this house with me,’ Madeleine said at last as we stopped beside her room.

‘I can see what a trial these last few weeks must have been for you. I’m sure Lady Brightwell has her merits, but ease of company is surely not one of them.’

‘One gets used to her.’ She hesitated. ‘The nights here are the hardest.’

‘I can see that,’ I said. ‘At least during the day you can find reasons to avoid her company, but you’ll always have to suffer her at dinner.’

By the funny look she gave me I realised we had been speaking at cross-purposes – she had not been alluding to Lady Brightwell at all.

‘I hope you manage to sleep well, Stella. Goodnight.’

Before I could respond, she closed the door against me. I was a little taken aback by her abrupt behaviour, but I dismissed it as acute tiredness and let myself into my room. I kicked off my shoes and padded to my dressing table to begin unwinding my hair.

It didn’t take long to disrobe and pull on the nightdress that Annie had left neatly folded on the bed. I turned off the main light, leaving only the bedside lamp glowing from under its fringed shade. Weary now, I threw back the covers.

Lying on my sheet was a toy soldier.

It was surprisingly heavy given its diminutive size. Puzzled, I turned it over in my hand, studying its perfectly painted red tunic, white belt and black trousers, a red stripe down their sides. The facial features were worn but the detail of its domed bearskin was still discernible, perfect in miniature, while the rifle that rested proudly against its shoulder was slightly bent at the end. Its black boots were soldered onto a small square of lead, painted a vivid green.