The Wartime Matchmakers, page 16
“I’m sorry. I’ll call before I disappear again.”
“Good.” Her aunt flashed a falsely bright smile, as if everything was fine again. Perhaps that was the only way—to sally forth as though the world was not on the brink of war.
“Well . . . let’s see what we can scrape up for dinner,” Isabelle said.
They raided the larder in the kitchen and found enough ingredients to make a potato and leek soup with roast chicken. As they cooked, Isabelle shared the latest drama in the fashion world, and for a moment, things felt blissfully normal.
“Did you match anyone today?” Isabelle asked as she placed their plates on the table and added two glasses of water.
“Oh yes! Do you remember Mr. Russell?” Elizabeth had shared many stories about her clients in confidence with her aunt.
Isabelle nodded. “The dashing redhead?”
“Yes, that’s the one. He came into London today to meet Miss Ford, a stunning young woman who writes magazine articles.” Elizabeth took a bite of her roast chicken and sighed in pleasure. She hadn’t realized how hungry she’d been until now. It had been more than half a day since she’d bothered to eat anything.
“Well, do you think they’ll end up married?” Isabelle asked.
“I hope so. It turns out they’ve met once before, last Christmas at a party, but they never knew each other’s names. Such a chance meeting, and then today . . . to meet again, it was fate.” Elizabeth closed her eyes, replaying the moment in her head.
“You really love it, don’t you?” her aunt asked, a soft smile on her lips.
“What?”
“The matchmaking. You truly find pleasure in it.”
“I do,” Elizabeth agreed. “I’m frightfully good at matching people . . . just not myself.”
Her aunt raised a brow. “Well, you might if you went out a little more. Several gentlemen you met that night at the Astoria last summer have been asking me about you when they drop by for their modeling fittings.”
“I don’t want to date a model. I want . . .” Elizabeth honestly didn’t know what she wanted. She only knew she wanted to be with someone who thought so much of others that he didn’t have the self-obsession of a man like Algernon. She wanted someone who inspired her and made her a better person, not someone who wanted her to be his shadow.
“No models . . . Well, perhaps you ought to put Hetty on the case of your own marriage prospects.”
Elizabeth laughed. “Hetty is far too busy matching our real clients to match me.”
After dinner, Isabelle poured them each a glass of sherry.
“It feels a bit like Christmas,” Elizabeth said as she sipped the dessert drink and relished the way it went straight to her head. For a moment she forgot about gas masks, and anything that made her think of war, and the young men with their distant gazes as they saw what she was too afraid to see.
There was only the murmur of Isabelle’s voice and the way the sherry made her nose tingle. She thought back to what one of those women had said while knitting at the women’s center.
“You must grasp on to the little everyday things—hold them tight and they will keep you sane. For me it’s my chickens. Every morning I retrieve two lovely brown eggs from the coop, and at least I know that I have breakfast.”
Elizabeth knew her everyday things were small, yet they grounded her to the earth, pulling her feet safely back down when the winds of war threatened to blow her far away. Isabelle’s leather handbag by the door, always toppled over because she entered the house in such a flurry of activity. The smell of freshly cut roses in the bureau’s interview room. Hetty’s clever smile as she mated client index cards. Marcus’s youthful laugh and Eva’s steadfast tenderness.
They were such small things, yet they had become Elizabeth’s whole world. She could rely upon these things each day to find joy and comfort. Within her mind, she twisted each one of these small but precious things around each other, forming a glowing rope of memories that mattered. She would wrap her hands around that rope and hang on to it when the world crumbled around her.
CHAPTER 13
December 18, 1939
“We must do something,” Hetty muttered as she stared at the account balance that the bank employee had written down on a slip of paper for her.
Elizabeth leaned from her perch on the edge of one of the old, battered desks in their private office. “Is it really that bad?”
“Lizzie, we have seven pounds and six shillings in the Marriage Bureau’s accounts. That’s all. I can fund next month’s rent and Eva’s salary, but we’ll need a steadier income like we had before September or we’re finished.”
Hetty folded up the bank letter and was amazed at her own self-control not to tear it up in frustration. They had worked too hard for the business to fail now. Things had been booming, with money rolling in from registrations, until the war started.
Then people stopped calling, the letters dwindled to a stop, and the postman no longer had to make two trips, which suited him fine since he now had a wife to go home to . . . a wife they’d found for him. They needed a way to generate interest in the Marriage Bureau again, or else they would be in dire need of a miracle to stay in business.
Elizabeth took a seat at her desk and began to sift through the letters that had been delivered half an hour ago.
“We could start collecting our after-marriage fees. We’re owed quite a bit,” Elizabeth suggested as she opened one of the letters and began to read it.
“We are, but it’s still not enough.” Hetty tapped her fingers on her chin, brooding as she tried to come up with a decent plan.
“Oh goodness!” Elizabeth leapt out of her chair and waved a letter in the air. “Mr. Russell has done it!”
Hetty wasn’t following her friend’s train of thought. “Done what?” She grasped the letter and read the news for herself.
“My dear matchmakers, it is my sincerest delight to inform you that Miss Penelope Ford has accepted my proposal of marriage. We are to be married on Christmas Day at my house in the country. You and your staff are invited to join us for the wedding and the Christmas Day feast afterward. I have reviewed my contract, and the proper fee is enclosed, along with a little extra because I cannot imagine living one more day without Penelope in my life. We might never have found each other again had it not been for the efforts of the Marriage Bureau.”
“Seventy-five pounds.” Elizabeth waved the banknotes about with childlike glee. “We did it! Oh, I’m so happy, Hetty. Isn’t this wonderful?”
Hetty read the letter again, feeling that same joy sweep through her too. It wasn’t the first letter bearing such good tidings, but it was a rather important one. He’d paid one of the higher after-marriage fees.
“We are going to the wedding, aren’t we?” Elizabeth asked.
“Absolutely.” Hetty decided in that moment they could all do with a bit of a holiday.
Eva’s head appeared around the office door as she lightly knocked to get their attention. “Er . . . sorry to interrupt, but two clients are here. They have a few things to say to you.” Eva bit her lip, and Hetty’s joy evaporated.
“Which clients?” she asked, trying to think of anyone who might be unsatisfied with their business.
“Oh, just come and see,” Eva said, and this time she was smiling. “You will want to, I promise.”
Hetty followed Elizabeth into the interview room and saw Major Taylor in the open doorway that led to the reception downstairs.
“Major Taylor,” she greeted. “Is everything all right?”
The solemn, handsome major smiled as he removed his cap and tucked it under one arm.
“I have come to tell you in person nothing is all right. Everything is rather perfect, actually.” He reached behind him to pull someone into view who had been hidden behind his muscular frame. Sarah Sykes, who looked stunning in a cream-colored day dress, held a small bouquet of lilies. She was a breath of springtime in the midst of a bitterly cold winter.
“I would like to introduce you to my wife, Sarah Taylor. As of nine o’clock this morning, I am a happily married man.”
Sarah beamed up at the major’s face, and a deep blush spread across her cheeks.
“Isn’t it wonderful?” Sarah asked. “My mother couldn’t scare him off,” the young bride added proudly.
“I admit, she was a formidable opponent, but we won in the end.” He smiled down at his bride, and Hetty wanted to clutch her chest and swoon, as Elizabeth would often do. This truly was a love match, just like all the others, but Major Taylor would always be special to her and the Marriage Bureau. He had been the very first client on their books and the first to be interviewed. She’d often spent time the last few months dreaming of finding him that perfect woman, and now she had.
“All he had to do was say ‘Madam’ in his wonderfully deep voice, and my mother all but snapped her heels and saluted him.” Sarah giggled. “And my father simply adores him.” At this, the major blushed like a schoolboy.
“We came to say thank you and pay our after-marriage fee.” He cleared his throat, and Eva collected the money and wrote him a receipt.
“Oh, Major, we are terribly happy for you both,” Elizabeth said, wiping tears from her cheeks. “And we desperately needed good news today.”
A sharp, disciplined look becoming of his rank came over his face. “What? Has something happened? Tell me and I shall endeavor to help at once.”
Hetty jumped in before Elizabeth said too much about their situation. “It’s just a little slow at the bureau, that’s all. It seems war is consuming everyone’s minds and not love.”
“It’s been like that for many businesses,” the major added thoughtfully. “Have you reached out to the newspapers? That was how I found you, and they are hungry for good news right now. Ever since we lost the HMS Courageous off the coast of Ireland, it’s been one bit of bad news after the other. England needs help. Remind everyone what we are fighting for. It’s not just the ground beneath our feet. It’s the people fighting beside us, the ones we love.”
As he spoke the word, he directed his gaze at his wife. Hetty saw the fear and pain in his new bride’s eyes beneath the flame of love. Major Taylor was going to fight, and there was always the chance he could be lost. No, Hetty would not even think it.
“You’re right. We will contact the papers this afternoon.”
The loss of the HMS Courageous to a U-boat had been a huge blow to England’s sense of safety. It was the first ship to be lost, but it would not be the last. People would need to be reminded that love gave them everything to fight for.
“We had better get home,” Major Taylor said. “I have only one week before I ship out, and I wish to have as much time as possible to enjoy my honeymoon.”
He pressed a kiss to Sarah’s cheek, and the young woman’s eyes half closed as she briefly held on to his arm.
“We’re so happy for you both,” Hetty said in the best imitation of her father as she saluted him. He winked at her before he and Sarah took their leave.
“England stands a chance with men like Major Taylor,” Eva said, her voice soft and hopeful.
“Yes, yes it does.” Hetty swallowed as a wave of emotions rolled through her. “Lizzie, let’s go pay a call on those newspapermen.”
“Good idea.” Elizabeth plucked her red wool coat off a rack and adopted a serious expression that matched Hetty’s determination. They set off to save the Marriage Bureau and hopefully do their part to save England.
As luck would have it, every single newspaper was quite excited about revisiting the Marriage Bureau story. Now that the bureau had so many success stories to share, the journalists leapt all over the tales of the recently engaged or married couples. Hetty had contacted several of their newly married clients and obtained permission to share their stories with the papers.
By Christmas Eve, the bureau was seeing clients come in again, and the mailbag once more grew full of letters. Hetty felt as though she could relax a little. They were to leave for Mr. Russell’s home later that afternoon. She was all packed up, as were Marcus and Eva, and ready to leave for the station.
The front doorbell rang. Hetty answered and was stunned to see Charles. They had spoken often since September and shared biweekly lunches, but he hadn’t brought up their kiss that day in the river. The magic that had dwelt in the water of the River Hamble had been overshadowed as pressing ration concerns and blackouts consumed so much of everyone’s thoughts. Here he was, standing at her door, his charming grin gone. He was serious, his eyes full of a depth of emotion that worried her.
Charles removed his hat and managed a rueful smile. “Hetty, would you take a walk with me?”
“A walk? Charles, I must catch a train soon . . .”
“Please. It will not take long.” The intensity in his gaze sent a ripple of apprehension through her. “Please.”
If there was one thing in the world Hetty could not resist, it was a gorgeous man who said the word please.
“Eva, I’ll be back soon,” she called out before she retrieved her coat and followed Charles down the steps and onto the street. He crooked his elbow out toward her in silent offering. She tucked her arm in his, and they walked a moment in companionable silence before they reached the nearest street corner.
“War is here, Hetty, and I have a duty to my country. I’ve decided to enlist. I wanted to tell you before I leave.”
“Enlist?” Hetty choked on the word as terror tightened her muscles and her stomach roiled.
“Yes. My father fought in the Great War . . . I must honor him and his service with my own.”
“No,” Hetty said, her tone heavy with a natural command that came from being a brigadier’s daughter.
Charles’s lips twitched as though he was almost amused. “Hetty, this is my choice.”
She pulled her arm free of his, frowning.
“So you enlist and go to war in France, fight the Germans, and die?”
“I should hope you have a fair bit more confidence in me than that.” He was half teasing, but her fury was building, and she was in no mood for his gallows humor.
“Charles . . . you can’t,” she whispered. “You can’t.”
“I have to. They’ll need men like me over there. I’m a crack shot, and I don’t fear much.”
Her voice pitched up a desperate octave. “You should be afraid of dying!”
This time, his smile was sad. “I’m more afraid of losing you and England to the Nazis. I would die a thousand times if it meant protecting you and our home.” She let him pull her into his arms, but she balled a fist and smacked him in the chest.
“And then you go and say a bloody awful romantic thing like that,” she gasped and buried her face in his chest. She inhaled, taking his scent so deep into her that she vowed she would never forget it.
“I know we said we would talk about this another time. But that time is now.” Charles moved one hand up her back to cup her neck. She lifted her head to stare at him.
“Don’t you dare,” she warned.
His gaze intensified on her face. “Marry me, Hetty. Send me off with your love, and I promise to come back alive.” He cupped her cheek, his thumb stroking her skin and making her shiver as she longed to agree, to give him anything he wanted in that instant if only he’d stay. He made her want to break all the rules she’d made against falling in love again after her failed marriage to Roger. Charles made her believe that happy endings and fairy tales weren’t just for young children and dreamers like Elizabeth.
When he held her like this—his warm, hard body pressed to hers, the strength of his arms about her, and his eyes so full of promises she knew he’d keep—it made her want to cry. Cry for everything she’d wanted in life and love, cry for the thought that she’d lose herself if he didn’t come home. It made her weak at the knees and damned light-headed. She didn’t want to feel like this, to feel vulnerable and raw.
Tears stung her eyes, but Hetty shook her head. “No. You come back alive and then I’ll marry you. Damn you . . .”
She pulled away without a backward glance and rushed away from him.
Elizabeth sat on a bench in the train station, her battered suitcase at her feet as she held the latest letter from her little brother, Alan. She had heard from him, but after the HMS Courageous was sunk, he had only scratched a few hasty lines on the paper. “I’m safe. Don’t worry. I’ll miss you at Christmas.”
She desperately wanted to read the letter, but she was so afraid that it might be the last words she would ever have from him. If she didn’t read them . . . maybe that would keep him safe. It was ridiculous and made no logical sense, but with everything around her feeling like it was a dark storm gathering upon the horizon, she found herself more superstitious than she’d ever been in her life.
“Stop being such a ninny.” She slid a finger around the seal to open the letter. It wasn’t long, but it was far more than his last cryptic missive had been.
My dearest Lizzie,
We will be at sea again by the time you read this. I cannot share more details than that, but there’s talk of someone being assigned to the HMS King George V next October. I rather hope it’s me. The ship is a beauty.
When I was last at home a few weeks ago, I went home to see Mother and Father. They know about you and the Marriage Bureau. Father was quite angry at first, but Mother was a little intrigued by the idea. She said that at least you are supporting yourself, and that seemed to ease Father’s tensions a bit. Maybe someday they will see you for what you are and love you as I do. Never let the world change you, Lizzie. By the way, I’m sending several of my shipmates to the Marriage Bureau’s address. We sailors need lovely ladies to fight for too.
She read the letter three more times, savoring each word from her little brother. She decided to send a letter to Uncle George for Christmas. Isabelle, Alan, and Uncle George were everything to her, and she would see neither Alan nor Uncle George for a long time. She could feel deep in her bones that the war would take those years from her.
