A yawn preceded the reply. ‘My eyes are but my blood is full of spices and seems determined to keep my brain awake, why? Don’t tell me you want to read. It’s really late, you know.’
‘No, I don’t, but I do want to tell you a little story before we set off on our tour tomorrow… it’s about your name.’
Another yawn. ‘But I know that story. You were vexed because Granddad insisted on calling Mum after his mother, and you absolutely hated the name Jean, so when I was born you guilted Mum into calling me Maude. Then, at the christening party, when the vicar asked where Maude came from, you confessed it was the name of your first pet, a Jack Russell. Mum went ballistic that I was named after a dog. It still cracks me up, the thought of poor Mum’s face when you told her. You are so mean, Gran, but in a wicked way.’
Maude was laughing out loud and so was Dottie who, once she’d wiped her eyes, decided to set the record straight.
‘Well actually, the truth is you’re not named after a dog… really, as if I’d do that.’
At this, Maude sat up and turned on the bedside light, causing them both to shield their eyes for a moment.
‘Seriously… so who am I named after?’
Dottie sighed. ‘Just turn off that blasted light and I’ll explain.’ There was a click then partial darkness. ‘You, my dear grandchild, are named after a precious friend, someone I absolutely adored and idolised. Her name was Lady Mary Eliza Balfour, Maude to her friends and I’m proud and honoured to say that I was one of them. She was beautiful, clever, refined, mad as a box of frogs, loyal and brave, and a day hasn’t gone by when I haven’t thought about her and what happened.’
‘Oh, Gran, she sounds… wonderful. Were you a bit in love with her, it sounds like you were?’
Dottie smiled into the darkness and wiped away a tear. ‘Oh yes, totally smitten but not in the way you mean, but then again everyone loved her, it was impossible not to. Now shush while I tell you all about her, I’ll get to what happened in my own good time.’
Dottie glanced over as Maude shuffled and turned on her side, her hands were tucked under her pillow. Aware now of being under close scrutiny, Dottie remained where she was, lying under the duvet, staring at the ceiling, travelling through the darkness, back in time, to her first meeting with Maude.
Maude
The Scottish Highlands, 1942
Dottie thought she had never been so cold in all her life as she was bounced around in the back of an army truck, clinging on for dear life as they trundled along winding lanes that were peppered with holes, no, craters. There were five women in total huddled inside and sitting well away from the open back, while up front next to the driver, was a sullen-faced sergeant who had barked orders at them from the second he appeared on the station platform. Not being able to hear his voice or see his scowl was the only upside of being in the back of a bone shaker. Focusing on keeping her suitcase wedged between her knees, Dottie grasped on to anything that kept her body firmly in place on the wooden seat.
It was early April but the northern hemisphere clearly hadn’t received the memo that it was time to warm up and Dottie deeply regretted her choice of clothing because it was no match for the bitter temperature and howling wind that chilled the air further. A quick glance at her companions told her they had all made the same mistake but then again, with rationing and mostly utility clothing to choose from, none of them were likely to arrive prepared for a hike up Everest.
Dottie wondered if the others had the same leaden feeling in their hearts as she, or an apple-sized lump in their throats or a voice in their head that kept saying, ‘What have you done?’ Dottie did not dare think of her mum who, since that night around the table had been stoical and selfless. Even so, Paulette’s voice had been a touch too cheerful as she helped Dottie pack and choose a travelling outfit. She’d been beyond grateful for her mum’s bravery because it helped bolster her own flagging enthusiasm, or maybe it was just nerves and sentimentality getting in the way.
As she fussed with the clothes brush, Paulette had told Dottie she looked perfect in her two-piece, almost mustard-yellow suit, and black court shoes she wore for work, polished up so they shone. Her dad had bought her a tan leather suitcase, brand new, far too big really because inside all she had was her clothing as specified, no personal effects were allowed.
The pain of leaving her family was still raw and stung like her frozen toes and feet. Dottie had refused to let them accompany her to the station and instead said goodbye at the door of the café. Her dad with his wobbly bottom lip, her mum unable to speak while her face drowned in tears and Delphine, skin ashen, lips set in a stiff line, her ice-blue eyes bright and focused. After she had kissed her parents, Dottie clung to her grandmother’s bony frame that despite its outward frailty afforded a vice-like grip, spindly arms wrapped tightly around her.
When she finally let go, Delphine whispered in Dottie’s ear. ‘I am so proud of you my brave, brave girl. Never forget how much we love you. Come home to us soon, we will be waiting.’
How Dottie had made it to the bus stop without looking back she would never know but once she had boarded the number nine and knew she was out of sight, the shaking subsided as did the tears that welled. Telling herself this was the start of a great adventure, Dottie had spent the rest of the journey staring out of the window, trying not to imagine what was ahead of her or how they were coping at home. They were sad she’d miss her twenty-second birthday the following month, but it was just a day. This was war and just like the thousands of men who had said goodbye to their loved ones and faced the unknown, she was determined to face whatever was thrown at her.
After the jeep rattled over a cattle grid then thankfully came to an abrupt halt, they alighted one by one, all of them landing in a quaggy puddle, mud splattering their stockings. When it was her turn, Dottie sighed, ignoring the squelch, more relieved to be stood and in one piece as she took in her surroundings.
Encompassed by pine forest, she would have been completely disorientated had she not known from the station sign that they were in Aviemore, the mighty Cairngorms that rose in the distance confirming her Highland location. Before her was Glenmore House, its name carved into the sandstone above the doorway of the huge Victorian hunting lodge. With whitewashed walls and pointed apexes, the sash windows like watchful eyes looking over the vast estate, guarding what was to be her home for the months ahead.
The sergeant in charge had lost none of his bluster during the journey and it was clear he was starting as he meant to go on, ordering everyone to gather their belongings, form a line, two by two, and make their way inside. The women obeyed and walked briskly, as did Dottie who was glad to be out of the biting wind that carried a hint of icy rain.
There had been no time to chat to anyone on the station platform and Dottie found it ironic that five women had made such a long and solitary train journey when in fact they could have helped each other pass the time. But when you were told to tell no one who you were or where you were going, it was hardly surprising that silence had been Dottie’s only friend.
There had been a few swear words and yelps, the odd, ‘Are you okay?’ during the truck ride to the lodge but once inside, still wearing looks of bewilderment, the women remained silent. The wood-panelled entrance hall with a wide uncarpeted staircase was lit by wall lamps that glowed in the fading light and here, the sergeant ordered them to wait for further instructions then left them alone, the sound of his boots pounding the floorboards as he marched off.
Dottie sensed everyone was relieved by his absence as they took the opportunity to warm up in front of an open fire, a small comfort in a very strange place. Within minutes, pinched white faces and fingers soon looked rosier and wind whipped lips loosened, as one by one, they introduced themselves.
The boldest of them was a stocky brunette who had turned her back to the fire but kept her arms behind her back, hands facing the roaring flames. She reminded Dottie of a tweed-clad schoolteacher as she spoke in a broad Yorkshire accent.
‘Well, he were a right bundle of laughs, weren’t he? The miserable old get. Thank God he’s buggered off. Let’s hope it’s the last we see of him. I’m Penny by the way, Penny Perkins and I’m from Leeds. Where are you lot from?’
There were mutterings of hello then a well-spoken voice from the left drew everyone’s attention to a petite blonde with flushed cheeks, who raised her hand as she spoke. ‘My name’s Camilla Ludlow and I’m from Winchester, very nice to meet you all.’
Dottie went next and then it was the turn of the two women on either side of Penny. The first stepped forward as she introduced herself as Ivy Doyle from Glasgow, her accent strong and her voice just as bold which made Dottie feel quite envious of her assumed confidence. She was followed by the remaining member of their group.
