The Girl in the Sky

Chapter 1 Cambridgeshire July 1939

Chapter 1

Cambridgeshire

July 1939

Geraldine Fitz-Herbert, Fitz to her friends, put her finger to her lips and winked at her younger brother, Michael, before slipping back behind the long velvet curtain that hung at the window of Badcombe House.

The hard heels of her governess clipped along the floorboards of the corridor, nearing the nursery of the country home where the Fitz-Herbert family had been in residence for generations.

‘She’s coming,’ whispered Michael, Fitz’s half-brother through their father’s second marriage. Her own mother had passed away when Fitz was just eight years old. The new Mrs Fitz-Herbert was much younger than her husband and between them, they’d had Michael when Fitz was ten years old.

‘Shh. Don’t say a word,’ replied Fitz, pressing herself further back against the wall and trying to control her breathing.

The door opened. Fitz heard Michael’s chair scrape on the wooden floorboards as he rose to greet their governess.

‘Good afternoon, Miss Stevens,’ he said.

‘Good afternoon, Michael,’ came the reply. The footsteps came to an abrupt halt. ‘Where’s Geraldine?’ Although Fitz was nearly twenty-one, while her father was away on business and an extended holiday, accompanied by his wife, Fitz had been left under the care of the governess. Fitz was less than happy about this arrangement. However, her father was due to return next week and, as a result, Fitz sincerely hoped she would be free of the governess’s control.

‘I don’t know,’ Michael replied.

‘Is she sick?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Was she here for her lunch?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you don’t know where she is now?’

‘No.’

Miss Stevens let out an impatient sigh. ‘I do hope she’s not misbehaving again. She’s not, is she? Speak up, now and tell the truth. Where is your sister?’

Fitz felt a wave of guilt. She didn’t want to get Michael into trouble but, at the same time, she didn’t want to stay for afternoon tea in the garden with the Dowager of Badcombe and the Dowager’s friends from the local parish, where the conversation would be embroidery, flower arranging, the hymn choice for Sunday service and what nice young man they could introduce her to at the upcoming summer ball.

It was a glorious June afternoon, the sun was shining, the sky was a beautiful blue and the freedom this brought was calling to her. Fitz knew her mind. A mind she did not care to occupy with sewing and the like.

‘I don’t know where she is,’ replied Michael.

Oh, how Fitz loved her brother for not giving her up. Hopefully, the old battleaxe of a governess would go and look somewhere else for her now. Fitz held her breath.

‘I see. I shall have to waste my time trying to find her,’ complained Miss Stevens. ‘I don’t know what your parents will say when they get back from their trip next week. Your sister has been nothing but trouble. Take out your reading book and read silently until I come back to take you down to greet the Dowager.’

The governess left the room, locking the door behind her. Fitz waited until Miss Stevens’s footsteps had faded away, then she was bundling her way out from behind the curtains.

‘Are you really going?’ asked Michael.

‘Yes. I am.’ Fitz rushed over to the bookcase at the back of the nursery. It really shouldn’t be called a nursery these days, as neither she nor Michael were babies. It really should have been renamed as the school room, or prison, as Fitz thought of it. A room where imagination was stifled, traditions were kept and stuffy rules implemented. A place certainly not for children. And if her father knew they were being locked in, she was sure he would be horrified. He and her stepmother had been away for three months now and they couldn’t get back soon enough as far as Fitz was concerned. Then they could sack the dreadful Miss Stevens.

‘When can I come with you?’ asked Michael. ‘Can I come today?’

Fitz gave her brother a sympathetic smile. ‘Not today, but soon, I promise.’ She turned back to the bookcase.

Much as Fitz hated living in such a traditional home, both in structure and in concept, she loved the secret passageways in the building. None of which Miss Stevens knew about, having only been employed for the last twelve weeks. Their previous governess had decided that teaching the Fitz-Herbert siblings was not for her – or rather teaching Fitz wasn’t.

Fitz located the switch under the shelf and flicked it to one side. She heard the click of the locking mechanism release and then she pushed against the shelf which was, in fact, a hidden door.

‘Be careful,’ said Michael.

‘I’ll be back by supper time.’ Fitz blew her brother a kiss and slipped through the opening into the passageway, before pushing the door back in place. Originally, the passageway would have been used by servants to move around the house unseen, and indeed some staircases were still in use, but this was one of the long forgotten and unnecessary passageways. Fitz took the torch from her pocket and lit the way ahead as she quietly descended the staircase, which ran alongside the main, much grander one. On reaching the ground floor, there was a passageway to the right which took her through to the scullery. All she had to do then was nip out through the scullery door into the garden.

She had just closed the door to the staircase when Annie appeared in the scullery.

She let out a gasp. Annie was the same age as Fitz and had been at Badcombe House for about six months. Her eyes widened at the sight of Fitz in front of her and she looked fervently over her shoulder back into the kitchen.

‘Whatever are you doing, Miss Geraldine?’ she whispered. ‘Miss Stevens has been down here looking for you.’

‘Please don’t say anything, Annie,’ pleaded Fitz, putting her hands together as if in prayer. ‘I’ll be back for supper. I promise.’ She was already heading for the door to the garden. ‘Please, Annie.’

‘Oh, go on, then. Don’t say anything, mind. You’ll get me sacked.’

‘Thank you, Annie. You’re a darling.’

With that Fitz was out through the garden door and racing across the lawn towards the stables where the bicycles were kept. She jumped on the first one to hand and pedalled furiously down the drive of Badcombe House and on through the Cambridgeshire village to the airfield.

She was going to be late if she didn’t hurry.

A few minutes later, she was skidding to a halt at the entrance to the airfield. From her pocket she pulled out a compact mirror and her most favourite bright red lipstick, which she deftly applied. Make-up was frowned upon by her governess who considered it unnecessary, but to Fitz, not only was it something she loved, but it reminded her of her mother who had always worn the same shade.

Fitz cycled through the entrance of the airfield and headed towards the hangars. She could see the figure of Johnny Fisher carrying out the last inspection of the Tiger Moth biplane.

‘Ah, Fitz, there you are,’ he said, as she anchored on the brakes, coming to a halt in front of him. Although Johnny was several years older than Fitz, the two of them had struck up a firm friendship over Fitz’s love, or obsession, as her father called it, with aircraft. Johnny grinned at her. ‘I thought you weren’t going to make it.’

‘Yes, sorry about that. Old Stevens was on the war path this afternoon. Had to sneak out.’ She propped the bicycle up against the hangar. ‘But I’m here now.’

‘What are you going to do when your parents get back?’ asked Johnny, closing the bonnet to the engine and wiping his hands on a rag. ‘You’re not going to be able to sneak out then.’

‘For a start, only my father is my parent,’ replied Fitz. ‘And secondly, I’m going to be twenty-one in a few weeks’ time so technically an adult and neither he nor my stepmother can tell me what to do.’

Johnny raised an eyebrow, an amused look settling on his face. ‘Is that right?’

‘Well, put it this way, I’m not going to give up flying, for anyone,’ said Fitz, running her hand along the cloth of the biplane’s wing. ‘And I intend to make the most of my last week of freedom.’ Although Fitz’s father had paid for her to have flying lessons after she had non-stop begged him for nearly a year, it had been on the proviso she behaved herself. By that, her father had meant not upsetting the governess or her stepmother. So far Fitz had been unsuccessful on both counts, and she rather suspected Stevens was going to complain terribly about her to her father, and with that might come a possible grounding by withdrawing funds to pay for her flying lessons. Still, when her birthday came along soon, Fitz would have access to a small trust fund her mother had left her, and she had already decided she’d use the money to stay airborne.

‘Best we get going, in that case,’ replied Johnny, picking up a flying helmet and handing it to Fitz.

Fitz quickly pulled the helmet on and connected up the headset so she could communicate with Johnny up in the air. He’d been giving her flying lessons, in between his job as a flying instructor and a commercial pilot, for the past six months.

‘Oh, look out, lads,’ came a voice from across the hangar. ‘Female pilot about.’

Fitz looked over as three aircraft mechanics wandered into the hangar. The one who had called out was Henry Simpson, who found it highly amusing to rib Fitz about her learning to fly. He never missed an opportunity to make fun of her. The other two men with him laughed.

‘Take cover!’ one of them called out.

‘I hope you’re insured, Johnny,’ said Henry as they neared. ‘I heard you both had a near miss last week.’ He was referring to an incident where the control tower had cleared Fitz for landing but hadn’t realised another plane was attempting to land at the same time, due to a misfiring engine. Fitz had caught sight of the wounded aircraft out of the corner of her eye and had pulled the Tiger Moth she was flying up, narrowly avoiding a mid-air collision.

‘It was not a near miss,’ retorted Fitz, unable to stop herself from responding. ‘Anyway, it was the control tower that messed up.’

‘Yeah, of course it was,’ said Henry, winking at his mates who sniggered.

‘Actually, if it hadn’t been for Fitz’s quick thinking, it would have been a collision,’ said Johnny. ‘She showed a lot of skill to avoid a nasty accident. I know plenty of men who wouldn’t have used their initiative.’

Henry shrugged. ‘You’re best off sticking to your bicycle, love. Much safer for everyone.’

‘Just ignore him,’ said Johnny, before telling Henry where to go in no uncertain terms.

Fitz settled for scowling at Henry instead of giving him a piece of her mind. She really should ignore him like Johnny said. It wasn’t the first time one of the men had been condescending about her flying and, sadly, it probably wouldn’t be the last. Fitz would continue to do what she did best, and that was to prove them wrong by being a highly accomplished pilot, like Johnny said she could easily be. Henry could laugh all he liked – at the end of the day he was stuck under a plane while she was up in the skies.

They taxied their way down to the end of the small airfield in the Cambridgeshire countryside and made ready for take-off. Fitz’s stomach fluttered with excitement as they began to build up speed, her heart beat hard against her breastbone and her pulse pumped fast through her veins. None of it was from fear, though. It was all from anticipation.

She loved that feeling of weightlessness when the wheels of the Moth no longer had contact with the ground and her stomach gave a small jump as her body caught up with itself. And then they were climbing up in the sky, above the tree tops, as the gap between plane and earth extended and extended.

Fitz glanced down as the buildings became less distinguishable and the fields a puzzle of all shades of green and gold. She grinned madly to herself. Nothing on earth could match this sense of freedom.

‘You’re doing great,’ came Johnny’s voice through the headset. ‘Where are we going?’

‘Oh, you’ll see,’ Fitz called back into the mouthpiece. She smiled to herself. She really shouldn’t do this, but it was far too tempting not to.

She steered the Moth back around towards Badcombe village, dropping in altitude as first the church spire came into view and then the imposing building of Badcombe House and the fields beyond.

‘What are you up to?’ asked Johnny.

‘Just going to say hello to Michael!’

‘Why do I get the feeling I’m going to regret this?’ came the reply.

Fitz laughed out loud, throwing her head back and grinning wildly. She took the Moth lower than she had before, her eyes fixed on the field ahead and the gardens of Badcombe House. She could see the afternoon tea party, that Stevens had wanted her to attend, had begun. She swooped in low and howled with laughter to herself as she turned the biplane around and took another fly-past. She could see Michael jumping up and down, waving madly at the Moth.

‘All right, Fitz, that’s enough,’ said Johnny. ‘You’ll get me grounded at this rate.’

Fitz laughed again. ‘Don’t worry, I think I’ll be the one getting grounded but it was so worth it.’