Chapter 2
Chapter 2
‘Honestly, Geraldine, it’s totally unacceptable behaviour,’ said Edward Fitz-Herbert, as he paced back and forth between his desk and Fitz.
Fitz looked down at the red and gold rug she was standing on. Her father had only returned from his trip abroad the day before and the reprimand she knew would be coming had arrived sooner than she expected. It must have been one of the first things Stevens had told him. Fitz knew she shouldn’t have done the fly-past but at the same time she still didn’t regret it. However, she knew better than to tell her father that. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
Edward let out a long sigh and came to a halt in front of her. ‘Sorry. Are you, though?’
Fitz looked up. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve upset you, Pa.’
He gave her an appraising look. ‘Hmm. That’s not quite the same as being sorry for your actions.’ He gave another sigh and went around his desk, sitting himself down in the red leather chair. He indicated to the chair on Fitz’s side of the desk. ‘Sit down.’
Fitz did as she was told. ‘I’ll apologise to Miss Stevens and the Dowager,’ she said, feeling contrite now. ‘I’ll write a letter.’
‘No. Currently the Dowager has no idea it was you in the plane. Miss Stevens has assured me of that,’ replied Edward. ‘But you can write a letter of apology to your tutor, or rather, your former tutor. Not that it will do any good. She’s given notice.’
Fitz’s eyebrows shot up. ‘She’s leaving?’
‘Yes, Geraldine. Miss Stevens is leaving at the end of the month. So that’s another perfectly good governess you’ve managed to get rid of.’
‘Are you going to advertise for a new governess?’
‘I don’t know, if I’m honest. You’re nearly twenty-one and it really should be finishing school for you. Camilla wants to send Michael to boarding school so there might not be any need for a governess.’
‘Boarding school? Does Michael know? I’m not sure he’d like that.’ Fitz’s own experience at boarding school had been short-lived, ending when the headteacher told her father that she’d be better off with a private tutor who could spend one-to-one sessions with her because Fitz clearly was still suffering the trauma of losing her mother. Fitz had never really agreed with that analysis, but it had meant she could leave behind the unhappy days of boarding school and the bullying she’d endured there for not quite fitting in. She’d never fitted in to the norms of society but it didn’t bother her in the slightest. It was everyone else who had the problem – she was either too bossy, too opinionated, too reckless, too eager. Basically, too much.
‘No, we haven’t spoken to him yet, so don’t go saying anything,’ instructed Edward. ‘The summer holidays are practically upon us so we’ll decide before September.’
There was a knock at the door and in came Fitz’s stepmother, Camilla. ‘Oh, Geraldine, you’re still here. I hope your father has made it clear how disappointed we are with the reports we’ve had from Miss Stevens.’
Fitz bit down the urge to answer back that it was none of Camilla’s business; she didn’t want to upset her father any more. It wasn’t that she disliked Camilla, it was just that the two of them had never really hit it off. Cook said it was because Fitz was so like her mother, Annabelle, the first Mrs Fitz-Herbert. Not only in looks but in temperament, too.
‘Yes, I’ve spoken to Geraldine and explained to her in no uncertain terms how none of her behaviour reported to us by Miss Stevens is acceptable,’ said Edward.
Fitz knew her father was pacifying his wife at this point and she couldn’t help feeling guilty for putting him in this position. She smiled at Camilla. ‘And I’ve apologised and promised Pa in future, I’ll consider my actions before doing anything.’
Camilla raised an eyebrow, clearly not believing Fitz, then offered a tight smile. ‘Very good. That is all we ask,’ she said. ‘Besides, I don’t want Michael thinking that’s how a person should behave. You do need to set a good example.’
‘Yes. I agree,’ said Fitz. ‘Michael should have the right influences.’ Fitz knew she was treading a fine line between insubordination and compliance, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to bow down and conform.
Camilla went to reply, but Edward beat her to it. ‘Right, well, that’s that sorted,’ he said briskly, clapping his hands together and getting to his feet.
Fitz didn’t miss her cue. ‘Thank you, Pa. I’ll write that letter now.’
‘Oh, there was one thing,’ said Camilla. ‘I’ve invited the Montagues over for dinner on Saturday. They’re bringing their son, William, and I’d like you to be there please, Geraldine.’
Fitz’s automatic reaction was to roll her eyes, but she caught a look from her father and managed to stop herself. She owed him after he’d just covered for her. She withheld the sigh that was threatening and turned to Camilla. ‘Of course.’
William Montague was the son of the vicar and Camilla liked nothing more than to try to matchmake Fitz and William up. What was it with everyone trying to marry her off? Or was it they simply wanted to get rid of her, thinking marriage would quell her troublesome ways?
‘And Geraldine,’ called her father as she was about to leave the room. ‘I expect to see you there. No excuses.’
‘Yes, Pa.’
She left the room, closing the door behind her before then poking her tongue out and scowling at it. A stifled giggle behind her, had Fitz spinning around. It was Annie.
Annie looked down and went to scurry past. ‘Sorry, Miss Geraldine.’
‘Oh, Annie, it’s all right,’ said Fitz. ‘Good job it was only you. I’ve got to attend a wretched dinner on Saturday evening and waste several hours being polite to William Montague.’
‘I hear William Montague is quite a catch,’ said Annie.
‘For some, maybe,’ said Fitz. ‘But really he’s a dreadful bore and will send me to sleep talking about the latest addition to his stamp collection.’
‘There might be more to him than that,’ said Annie.
‘I doubt it. I’m sure my stepmother thinks he’s suitable husband material.’
‘He is rather handsome.’ A small blush crept up Annie’s neck to her face.
‘You know, I wish we could swap places,’ said Fitz. ‘Then I could go to the pub with Johnny Fisher and have a much more agreeable evening.’ Fitz sighed. ‘Alas, I don’t think we can pull that one off. So I must suffer for my crime of passion and love affair with the sky.’ Fitz grinned at Annie. ‘Ignore me, I’m being dramatic.’
Annie giggled but stopped abruptly as the door opened and out came Camilla.
‘Is everything all right?’ Camilla asked.
‘Yes,’ replied Fitz. ‘I was just asking Annie if she could make sure my blue dress was clean so I can wear it on Saturday.’
Camilla looked between Fitz and Annie. ‘Right. I’m pleased to hear that you’re already thinking ahead. Now, Annie, run along and do whatever it is you’re supposed to be doing.’
Fitz spent the afternoon duly writing the letter of apology to Miss Stevens and resisting the urge to add a postscript that she wasn’t sorry in the slightest. She wasn’t sorry the old battleaxe was leaving, either. Her father had declared the summer holidays were to commence a week or two early so that it would give him time to appoint a new governess for Michael, to start at the beginning of September, if that was what they decided, or to enrol the boy in a boarding school.
Fitz had just finished her letter of apology when the door opened, and her father came into the drawing room.
‘Ah, there you are,’ he said. He ran his fingers around his chin, smoothing down his beard. A habit that Fitz recognised when her father was concerned about something.
She placed her ink pen in the well. ‘Is everything all right?’ she asked, getting to her feet.
Her father indicated to the sofa and for Fitz to sit down. He stood in front of the fireplace, his hands now behind his back and a frown creasing his forehead.
‘It looks like bad news about a finishing school on the continent,’ he said.
‘Oh, really?’ Fitz kept her face neutral. Inside she was mentally jumping up and down for joy. She’d love to go to Europe but not to a finishing school.
‘Things aren’t looking good with Germany. I’d sooner you stayed here in England, where you’ll be safe.’
Fitz had overheard a lot of talk about Germany between her father and stepmother and then again at a dinner party last week. It seemed to be the main topic of conversation.
‘What shall I do instead?’ she asked.
‘I’m considering the options,’ replied her father. ‘Camilla has suggested you go to stay with her relatives in Scotland.’
‘Scotland! Why would I want to go there?’ Fitz couldn’t think of anything worse than being hundreds of miles away from home stuck up in Aberdeenshire with nothing to do, with a family she didn’t know. Ugh. Perhaps that was the whole idea. Somewhere to keep her out of trouble.
‘It was simply a suggestion,’ said her father.
‘One I don’t much care for,’ she found herself replying before she could check herself.
Her father frowned at her. ‘Geraldine,’ he said, in warning.
Fitz quickly apologised. ‘Sorry.’
Her father gave a nod of acknowledgement before speaking again. ‘I think while there is so much uncertainty, you should stay here at Badcombe House.’
Fitz breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Thank you, Pa.’
‘But on the condition you don’t do anything reckless or anything to upset Camilla. And I mean it this time.’
Fitz realised she had been played. Walked right into the trap her father had set for her, maybe unknowingly. The brains behind the barter would, of course, have been Camilla. Fitz didn’t want to make things difficult for her father and she reluctantly agreed to the deal.
She spent the next few weeks keeping a low profile and only went down to the airfield once a week for a quick fly in the Tiger Moth. As long as she didn’t perform any more antics like before, she was safe.
As the summer holidays drew to a close, the tension between Britain and Germany was at its height. So much so that Fitz had been denied access to the airfield.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Johnny. ‘But no civilians are allowed on the airfield now. The RAF are going to be taking it over.’
‘Are things that bad?’ asked Fitz, pushing back a wisp of hair that had escaped from the pins.
‘Yep. Things are going to kick off any day now with Hitler. That’s the word on the base anyway. You mark my words.’
Fitz had cycled back to Badcombe House utterly dejected, not only at the thought of war, but at the idea of not being able to fly.
Gazing up to the sky as she cycled along Church Lane towards home, she caught sight of a plane, the engine growing louder as, turning, the pilot lined the aircraft up with the runway. He dropped lower and lower as he brought the plane into land. Fitz wished she was up there in the clouds.
Johnny’s prediction turned out to be accurate. It was a week later when Fitz had been out for a cycle ride in the morning and had arrived back at Badcombe House, having deposited her bike in the garage.
Fitz came in through the kitchen and was surprised to see there was no sign of Cook or Annie.
She could smell the chicken roasting in the oven and the potatoes were simmering on the stove unattended. How odd. She glanced at the clock, it was just gone eleven-fifteen.
Fitz left the kitchen and went through to the front of the house. From the sitting room, she could hear someone talking on the radio.
‘This is London. You will now hear a statement from the prime minister.’
Fitz stepped into the room and was surprised for the second time that morning to see not only her father and Camilla sitting by the radio, but Cook, Annie and George the gardener were standing there, too.
Her father looked up at her but didn’t smile. With his brow furrowed and his mouth downward, Edward looked incredibly worried, and fear coursed through her. His eyes were dark with consternation. The last time she’d seen such a grim expression on his face was when he had told Fitz her mother had died.
Neville Chamberlain’s voice was the only sound in the room.
‘I am speaking to you from the Cabinet Room of number ten, Downing Street …’
Edward silently beckoned her over. Fitz perched on the arm of the chair, clutching her father’s hand. She looked around at the others in the room. Every single one of them looked incredibly solemn as they focused on the radio broadcast. A few minutes later, it was over.
‘Oh, dear Lord,’ said Cook, her hand going to her throat. ‘We’re at war.’