The organist was playing “The Lord’s My Shepherd,” and her gaze went up to the great blue stained-glass window, mellowed by the clouds. They had been married there, all those years before, and like a tragic parallel, she recalled every step up the aisle with her father as she clasped Christopher’s little hand in hers and stepped hesitatingly toward the altar.

The poor boy was shaking. He couldn’t understand. His father had been gone so long he barely remembered him. All he knew was his mother falling apart, sliding into a tide of water that dragged her out to sea, further away than they could ever reach.

“Come on,” she whispered when they came to the front. “We have to sit in here.” They filed into the pew, Audrey beside the aisle, Zelda on the other side of the boys.

The vicar began. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…”

    Audrey’s mind traveled back to her wedding. Although it was modest, there had been more people than there were today. Family and friends from London, Somerset, all over the country had come to join the celebration. It had felt inevitable that they should be together.

Was his death inevitable, too?

Tears plummeted down her face, but she neither tried to stop them nor wipe them away. He had left her, deserted her, leaving three boys, debts, and a house falling down around her ears.

Slipping down into the pew, she began to cry, massive gulps of tears welling up from deep inside.

How could he?

Suddenly, she felt a figure push into the pew beside her from the aisle, and an arm went around her shoulder, pulling her in tightly. It was a swift, urgent movement, full of energy and warmth.

She looked up.

Of all the people in the world, it was the person she least expected.

“W-why—” she gasped.

“I couldn’t bear to see you up here all on your own.” Lady Gwendoline took out a handkerchief and handed it over. “Whatever happened between us, Aude, Matthew’s death is truly dreadful.”

Audrey began to weep again, allowing herself to be pulled into her sister’s shoulder. It seemed so natural, so instinctive, and she felt herself let go under Gwendoline’s support. At that moment, when she was so utterly alone, Gwendoline was the only person who could have possibly made her feel part of something greater—her own family.

And, overriding years of harsh words and malevolence, she had come.

The service went on. It wasn’t a long one, and soon, to the sound of “Abide with Me,” Gwendoline helped Audrey to her feet and out of the church.

Lady Gwendoline remained with her, quietly greeting people and accepting their condolences. She knew that Audrey needed her, speaking on her behalf, holding her upright when she felt like crumpling on the ground, letting the earth swallow her.

    Ambrose came to pay his respects. “Matthew was a very special person, Audrey,” he said, his blue eyes shining into hers. “And you are, too. Matthew was lucky to have found you, and although you must miss him with all your heart, please remember that you are still special, and you are still alive.”

She pressed his hands with her fingers, unable to speak.

He wished her well, and slowly went on his way.

After the short line of mourners had been greeted, the boys leaving ahead of them with Zelda, the two sisters stood together, alone, at the church door.

“Why did you come?” Audrey asked, looking out into the bleak clouds.

“I came to pay my respects. Matthew was a good man. I should have told you that many years ago.” It was plainly said, like it was a straightforward matter of fact. “And then I saw you up there, with no one to put an arm around you, and I couldn’t—” A lump in her throat made her stop, maybe because she’d remembered their closeness as children.

“Thank you,” Audrey said, taking her hand. “It was kind.”

Lady Gwendoline looked at the ground. “Well, I wonder if sometimes—” A confused frown came over her face. “Sometimes life doesn’t turn out the way we expect. Sometimes we need to stand together.” She seemed to collect herself, meeting Audrey’s gaze.

Audrey pressed her hand. “Are you all right, Gwen? Did something happen?”

Lady Gwendoline let out a fragile laugh that fizzled quickly. “Sometimes we give our loyalty to the wrong people.”

“What do you mean?”

Lady Gwendoline pulled her hand away, then linked her arm through Audrey’s. “Never mind that now. I’m here to take you home, help you cook a memorial dinner fit for a king.”

    “I wasn’t going to bother. No one’s going to be there.”

“Well, let’s do something for the boys, then. I know a good eggless chocolate cake recipe.”

Audrey shook her head. “Not another of your Ministry of Food creations.”

“This one’s rather good, actually. Let’s give it a try. For us. For Matthew.”

And together, slowly and carefully, they walked down the path to the church gate and headed down the lane back to Willow Lodge.

Gwendoline’s Eggless Chocolate

Sponge Cake

Serves 4 to 6

For the cake

? cup sugar

? teaspoon bicarbonate of soda ? cup milk and water mixed ? cup butter or margarine 1 tablespoon golden syrup or treacle 1? cups flour

? cup cocoa

? teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon baking powder

For the icing

? cup butter or margarine 1 tablespoon cocoa powder ? cup milk powder 2 tablespoons sugar ? teaspoon vanilla essence

Preheat oven to 350°F/180°C. In a saucepan, dissolve the sugar and bicarbonate of soda in the milk and water. Add the butter or margarine and syrup or treacle and mix slowly but well.

Sieve the flour, cocoa, salt, and baking powder into a mixing bowl. Add the mixed ingredients from the saucepan and mix well, again slowly. Pour into two cake tins and bake for 20 to 25 minutes. When cooked, leave the cakes in their pans until cool.

Next, make the icing. Melt the butter or margarine, then mix with the cocoa powder, milk powder, sugar, and vanilla essence until soft and shiny.

Nell

The following Sunday afternoon, Nell found herself dashing through the flower-filled meadow to Rosebury Wood. Never, in her short life, had there been such a perfect Sunday afternoon. The bees buzzed and the warm air was still and fragrant beneath the cloudless blue heavens. Golden sunshine swathed the countryside, as if there couldn’t possibly be a war going on, not here, not anywhere.

As she dashed onward through the fragrant wild blooms—poppies, dandelions, and foxglove—Nell glanced uneasily at the horizon, always anxious that a dozen Messerschmitt bombers would thunder over her tranquility, ruining this one, crucial afternoon with Paolo. But only the coo-cooing of the wood pigeons could be heard, the occasional hoot of a barn owl.

It felt like the most crucial day of her life, a pivotal moment that she would look back on with a nod of recognition.

Nothing will ever be the same.

She nipped quietly over the crest of the hill and down, down toward Rosebury Wood. At the edge of the trees, she looked through the shadowed path. Had she gone insane, creeping into the countryside to meet a young man, the enemy no less? He could take advantage of her if he wanted, kill her even.

Fenley Hall was there behind her—safety. She could turn back now, hide away in her little room, pull the blankets up over her head, block her ears until she couldn’t hear the sound of her own heart.

    Her own heart.

She stopped. The thought of going back to the small room—her small life—made her shake herself with renewed bravery. She had already changed from the girl she had been only a few months before. Meeting Paolo, the contest, and now Mrs. Quince’s illness had all made one thing certain: She wanted more from life.

She took a deep breath, said a short prayer, and headed into the wood.

Darkness surrounded her. The deep scent of the trees—oak and chestnut, the occasional pine—enveloped her, and the soft rustle of leaves from foxes, birds, and other creatures put her on edge.

Suddenly a great dark bird flapped into her face. She screamed, batting it away and tripping over a shrub onto the ground.

From there, she watched the bird flap away, up through the trees into the sky beyond.

Was it a bad omen?

She sat up, rubbing the dirt from her hands and collecting her breath.

It had been wrong to come. What had she been thinking? Her rightful place was below stairs, a kitchen maid, a nobody. All these thoughts about wanting more were dreams. She wasn’t built for a different life. She was too shy, too scared.

In her fright she’d scraped her leg. A thin trickle of blood slid down, bright red, and she took out a handkerchief and quickly tied it.

At first, she didn’t see the figure, but as it grew closer, she glanced up.

Someone—something—was heading her way.

She began to struggle to her feet, to get away.

The footsteps hastened, the figure closer and closer.

And then she heard the voice, soft and calm. “Nell! It’s me, Paolo.”

A choke of relief came to her throat as he came into view, his slim frame with his hand out toward her.

    “What happened? I heard you scream and I came.” He went to put his arms around her, but stopped himself, stooping to look at her leg. “Are you hurt?”