The Care and Management of Lies by Jacqueline Winspear Read Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jacqueline Winspear
Thea’s hands. “Oh, dear. I did forget. We hadn’t heard from you, so I decided to come. Tom agreed with my decision. I came up on the train. We thought you might have been upset when your friends backed out of the excursion you’d planned. Don’t you think they were a bit hasty, in calling a halt to it all?”
“Hasty? Well, I might have risked it, but . . . Kezia, don’t you keep up with what’s happening?” Thea bent down to take Kezia’s leather case, but Kezia shook her head and reached for the handle.
“I can manage. And what do you mean, don’t I keep up? Of course I do, but you know how the farm can be.” She held her case in two hands. “And you should see Charing Cross—it’s packed with Belgians, and people trying to organize them, running round with ledgers, taking names, and doing their best to help out. I think everyone’s just overwhelmed by it all. And when I changed trains at Tonbridge, there were notices warning of delays due to troops being moved to the coast.”
Thea led the way back up the staircase towards her room. She responded as if she had not heard Kezia. “Didn’t you take account of what it’s like on the streets as you came from the station? Everyone’s waiting for news. And you would think it was the Jubilee, what with people drinking and dancing.” She took Kezia’s case and put it in her wardrobe. “If you didn’t notice, you must have walked here with your eyes closed.”
“Of course I noticed, but it seemed so strange to me, that people would celebrate the idea of going to war.” Kezia faltered, and she felt her eyes water. “You don’t think it will actually happen, do you?”
Thea nodded. “I don’t think there’s any going back now. And that puts us in a difficult position. Mrs. Pankhurst is coming out in support of the government by ceasing our battle to finally get voting rights for women. Frankly, I’m not sure where that leaves us. And as far as war is concerned, I’m for the pacifists, you know.”
“The pacifists? You mean, you wouldn’t support your country if it happens, if we go to war?”
“Oh, Kezia, you are a strange one, surely you are!” Thea folded her arms and stood by the window, looking down at the street. “I have friends who are German. Emily is walking out with a German boy, and he’s even met her parents and they like him very much. Now they’re frantic.” She sighed. “It’s all coming down like a pack of cards. And you know who it will hurt most at the end of the day? You, Tom, and me, people like us—and all those people walking along the street.” She pointed towards the window. “Everyone out there.”
Kezia hated to see Thea so impassioned, so taken; it was as if she were in pain. She had seen it so many times over the years—Thea, always standing for something, whether it was small children who came to school without food in their bellies, or London’s women of the night, many just girls, and most of them with little choice in how they could earn their keep. Kezia wanted to bring Thea out of herself, to stop her fretting about things she couldn’t change in the world. She wanted them to sit down together and share their confidences, as they had years ago. She had imagined Thea being so thrilled to see her, she’d want to go out window-shopping, or take an evening walk through the park. Kezia had brought cash from the tin in the bottom dressing-table drawer; her mother would doubtless agree that now would be a good time to dip into the fund, to give them both a good supper. She had hoped to see something of her best friend of old once more; she missed Dorrit.
“Come on, Thea, let’s go out to a dining room, somewhere we won’t be expected to have a chaperone. We’ll have something lovely to eat. It will be my treat.”
“Delving into your nest egg, Kezzie? Or is the harvest looking to be better than expected?” Thea’s response cut like a blade.
“This is my money,” said Kezia, who had
“Hasty? Well, I might have risked it, but . . . Kezia, don’t you keep up with what’s happening?” Thea bent down to take Kezia’s leather case, but Kezia shook her head and reached for the handle.
“I can manage. And what do you mean, don’t I keep up? Of course I do, but you know how the farm can be.” She held her case in two hands. “And you should see Charing Cross—it’s packed with Belgians, and people trying to organize them, running round with ledgers, taking names, and doing their best to help out. I think everyone’s just overwhelmed by it all. And when I changed trains at Tonbridge, there were notices warning of delays due to troops being moved to the coast.”
Thea led the way back up the staircase towards her room. She responded as if she had not heard Kezia. “Didn’t you take account of what it’s like on the streets as you came from the station? Everyone’s waiting for news. And you would think it was the Jubilee, what with people drinking and dancing.” She took Kezia’s case and put it in her wardrobe. “If you didn’t notice, you must have walked here with your eyes closed.”
“Of course I noticed, but it seemed so strange to me, that people would celebrate the idea of going to war.” Kezia faltered, and she felt her eyes water. “You don’t think it will actually happen, do you?”
Thea nodded. “I don’t think there’s any going back now. And that puts us in a difficult position. Mrs. Pankhurst is coming out in support of the government by ceasing our battle to finally get voting rights for women. Frankly, I’m not sure where that leaves us. And as far as war is concerned, I’m for the pacifists, you know.”
“The pacifists? You mean, you wouldn’t support your country if it happens, if we go to war?”
“Oh, Kezia, you are a strange one, surely you are!” Thea folded her arms and stood by the window, looking down at the street. “I have friends who are German. Emily is walking out with a German boy, and he’s even met her parents and they like him very much. Now they’re frantic.” She sighed. “It’s all coming down like a pack of cards. And you know who it will hurt most at the end of the day? You, Tom, and me, people like us—and all those people walking along the street.” She pointed towards the window. “Everyone out there.”
Kezia hated to see Thea so impassioned, so taken; it was as if she were in pain. She had seen it so many times over the years—Thea, always standing for something, whether it was small children who came to school without food in their bellies, or London’s women of the night, many just girls, and most of them with little choice in how they could earn their keep. Kezia wanted to bring Thea out of herself, to stop her fretting about things she couldn’t change in the world. She wanted them to sit down together and share their confidences, as they had years ago. She had imagined Thea being so thrilled to see her, she’d want to go out window-shopping, or take an evening walk through the park. Kezia had brought cash from the tin in the bottom dressing-table drawer; her mother would doubtless agree that now would be a good time to dip into the fund, to give them both a good supper. She had hoped to see something of her best friend of old once more; she missed Dorrit.
“Come on, Thea, let’s go out to a dining room, somewhere we won’t be expected to have a chaperone. We’ll have something lovely to eat. It will be my treat.”
“Delving into your nest egg, Kezzie? Or is the harvest looking to be better than expected?” Thea’s response cut like a blade.
“This is my money,” said Kezia, who had