“Alice and Daisy have nothing,” Emily said. “They need to be needed.”

“Ah. Very wise.” She nodded approval. “I see you are growing into a leader like your father, Miss Bryce. Very well. Alice and Daisy it shall be. Go and fetch them, and have your bags packed in half an hour. Lady Charlton will be sending a motor car for you.”

“Will we be staying there then?” Emily asked.

“You will. I gather there is a cottage on the estate where you will be housed, and you will take your meals at the big house. When you arrive, the handyman will show you where you can find the necessary implements for your work. So work hard and do us credit, Miss Bryce.”

“Don’t worry, we will,” Emily said. She went in to fetch Alice and Daisy. They followed her, mystified.

“’Ere, I ain’t finished me porridge yet,” Alice said. “It will get cold.”

“No time for that now,” Emily said. “We have a new assignment. We’re going to work on the estate of a titled lady.”

“Just us?” Daisy looked back at the rest of the group, still eating.

Emily nodded. “Miss Foster-Blake wanted to send me, and she asked me who I’d like to take with me.”

“And you chose us?” Daisy’s pinched little face lit up.

“I did, because you’re both good workers and because I get along well with you.”

“That’s real nice of you, Emily,” Alice said. “You’re a proper toff, you are. So we’re going to swan it with the aristocracy, are we? Blimey.”

“Don’t thank me until you’ve seen it,” Emily said. “It might be awfully hard work.”

“What can be so hard about tidying up a garden?” Alice chuckled. “She doesn’t grow potatoes, does she?”

A well-worn Daimler motor car arrived in front of the farm about twenty minutes later. The rest of the girls crowded around as Emily, Daisy and Alice loaded their bags on to the board at the back, where an elderly chauffeur strapped them on.

“Some people have all the luck,” Ruby said. “There you lot will be, living in a swanky house and eating good food while we’re stuck here shoving around a lot of sheep and doing muck spreading.”

“We’re being housed in a cottage, Ruby,” Emily said. “And we’ll be estate workers—no different from farm workers, except no sheep.”

The others laughed.

“There might be a handsome footman,” Maureen said. “Emily’s snagged her beau, but you could do worse, Daisy!”

“No, thank you,” Daisy said. “I’ve had my share of big houses and their dramas. I wouldn’t mind marrying a country boy—if any of them come home, that is.”

They fell silent, considering this.

Then Maureen managed a laugh again. “If they don’t, then you’d all better come with me to Canada—hook ourselves up with big strong lumberjacks, eh?”

“I’m thinking of going to Canada,” Mrs Anson said, making them all look at her in surprise. “I’ve a sister out there, and there’s nothing for me in England once the war is over.”

“In you get,” the chauffeur said, eyeing them with distaste. “You can’t keep Her Ladyship waiting.”

The others waved as the motor moved away. They drove along country lanes between fields of sheep and cows until the great curve of Dartmoor rose in front of them, its smooth, bleak hills punctuated with rocky outcroppings and weathered stands of Scots pines, sculpted by the winds. But before they reached the moor, they turned into an impossibly narrow lane, bordered by high hedgerows. They crossed a rushing stream on an old granite pack bridge. A memory stirred in Emily’s head—a family outing up to Dartmoor, to a place that looked a lot like this. She had been four or five at the most. Freddie had been ten. She, always the adventurous one, jumping ahead on stepping stones over the rushing stream, missing her footing and falling into the swiftly flowing water. And instantly her big brother had been beside her, sweeping her up, carrying her to safety. She closed her eyes to shut out the pain, and when she opened them again, there before them was the village.

“Blimey,” Alice said.

“It’s like something from a picture book,” Daisy agreed.

Emily’s spirits rose. The village nestled at the edge of the moor. A great sweep of hill rose behind it, and there was a group of wild ponies silhouetted against the horizon. The village itself was built around a sloping green with a weathered Celtic cross in the middle. On one side of the green was a row of thatched cottages, on the other a pub called the Red Lion, with its sign swinging in the breeze. And at the far side of the village was a church with a tall square tower. The lane continued behind the cottages, between two granite posts and up a curved driveway to a large grey-stone house. The facade was free of adornment, apart from a front porch. A Virginia creeper climbed up one side, its leaves already turning blood red. Scots pines at the rear protected the house from the Dartmoor winds. And around it was a wilderness of land—an overgrown lawn, tangles of shrubs, herbaceous borders high with weeds.

“Blimey,” Alice said again, only this time she didn’t sound so enthusiastic.

Emily nodded. “I can see we’re going to be kept busy here.”

At the sound of the motor, the front door opened and a frail-looking old lady came out. She was dressed head to toe in black, with a high collar and a beaded shawl over her dress. On her head was a black lace cap, and she leaned on an ebony cane. As Emily had time to observe her, she decided she wasn’t as frail as she looked. Her expression was of extreme haughtiness and disdain.