ONE
“I WOULD SAY to the House, as I’ve said to those who have joined this Government, I have nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears and sweat. We have before us an ordeal of the most grievous kind. We have before us many, many long months of struggle and suffering,” intoned Winston Leonard Spencer Churchill to the House of Commons and the British nation in his first speech as the new Prime Minister.
There must have been complete silence in the House, although there was a burst of static over the airwaves as Maggie leaned forward to listen to the BBC on the wireless. She and Paige sat at the kitchen table and clasped hands, listening to the address. Charlotte, better known as Chuck, entered the kitchen quietly and leaned against the door frame.
“You ask, what is our policy? I can say: It is to wage war, by sea, land and air, with all our might and with all the strength that God can give us; to wage war against a monstrous tyranny, never surpassed in the dark, lamentable catalogue of human crime. That is our policy. You ask, what is our aim?
“I can answer in one word: It is victory, victory at all costs, victory in spite of all terror, victory, however long and hard the road may be; for without victory, there is no survival. Let that be realised; no survival for the British Empire, no survival for all that the British Empire has stood for, no survival for the urge and impulse of the ages, that mankind will move forward towards its goal.”
Chuck nodded her acknowledgment of both girls. Together they all listened to the speech’s conclusion in tense silence.
“But I take up my task with buoyancy and hope. I feel sure that our cause will not be suffered to fail among men. At this time I feel entitled to claim the aid of all, and I say, ‘Come then, let us go forward together with our united strength.’ ”
The three girls were perfectly still and silent for a moment, as the words’ gravity washed over them.
“Well, at least it’s the truth,” Maggie said, pushing back a stray lock of red hair. “He didn’t try to pretend everything’s all right and fob us off with easy comfort and lies.”
“I just don’t know,” Chuck said to both girls as a tinny version of “God Save the King” played, and she walked over to click off the wireless.
“Look what happened in Poland. Look what’s happening in Belgium and Holland and France,” Paige said. “Maybe Ambassador Kennedy was right. He said Hitler doesn’t want England. And if we’d just—”
Chuck gave a snort. “Oh, right. And then they’ll stop? You really believe that?”
“This is a different kind of war,” Maggie said. “A people’s war. It’s not just soldiers on the front line, it’s civilians. We are the new front line.” As she said the words, her chest constricted a bit. It was true. England might still be in the “Bore War,” where nothing dangerous was really happening, but things were about to change. Nazis had invaded most of Europe and were undoubtedly moving toward England. Would troops try to invade by sea or parachute down from the sky? Either way, the scenario was grim.
“Yeah,” said Chuck. “We’re as likely to be bombed here in our own home as the soldiers over in France.”
“Stop it!” Paige said, covering her ears. “Just stop!”
Chuck frowned and pulled her bottle-green cardigan sweater around her, rather like a general settling his uniform before going once more unto the breach. “Tea,” she stated in her deep, booming voice, deliberately changing the subject. “We all need tea. There’ll be no blood, toil, tears, or sweat until I have some goddamned tea.”
That was Chuck, practical and pragmatic. More handsome than beautiful, with rich chestnut-brown hair, strong features, and thick black eyelashes, Chuck McCaffrey had worked for U.S. Ambassador Joseph Kennedy, along with Paige Kelly, before the war had started.
Maggie Hope had come to London for another reason altogether—to sell her late grandmother’s great leaking, creaking pile of a Victorian house. But when Britain declared war, and Joseph Kennedy began being quoted in the papers spouting pro-Nazi sentiments, both Paige and Chuck both quit their jobs with the Ambassador—and lost their Embassy housing. Maggie, admiring their resolve, invited them to move in, and they gratefully acquiesced.
Paige and Maggie had met years before either had come to London, at Wellesley College, an all-women’s school in Massachusetts. Paige was a rich debutante from Virginia with perfect waves of glistening golden hair and a heart-shaped face, and Maggie a red-haired and pale faculty brat far more interested in fractions than fashions, but they’d become fast friends nonetheless. Finding each other in London had been pure serendipity; becoming housemates made a pleasure of a financial necessity. The flatmates’ rent, along with Maggie’s work privately tutoring students in math, allowed her to stay in London.