Free The Storms of War by Kate Williams Page A

girl a large china doll with yellow hair and a green silk dress and hat. Celia held her out of her box, against the light, decided to wrap her up last. ‘You will be Belinda,’ she said, under her breath. ‘And Missy Cotton will take you.’
    She longed to meet Tom’s sisters; Missy, six, and Mary, who was fourteen and – Tom said – fond of her own way. But Tom refused to bring them to the house and they had never come to the summer party. Michael had pointed out their house in the village once, but it had been shuttered up, no sign of anybody there at all.
    Once, when they lived in London, she had been driving ina cab with her father through another part of the city. Where Hampstead was made up of rows of great houses, bearing down on the road like grandfather clocks, these houses were squat and small, red-brick and huddled together on the dirty roads. After some minutes, they came to a wider road, where the houses had small gates and painted fronts. A little girl walked past holding the hand of her mother.
    ‘This is the home of the Cotton family,’ Rudolf said abruptly, gesturing at the road. A carriage clattered past them, obscuring Celia’s view.
    She grasped the window pane. ‘Which one, Papa? Show me.’
    Her father looked vague. ‘One of those.’ He sat back against the seat, his face disinterested.
    ‘But which one? Can we stop?’ She’d pressed her face on the window, trying to smell what was outside. She wanted to hear the children sing. ‘Let’s go and say hello.’
    He shook his head. ‘They wouldn’t like it.’
    She turned to him. ‘But I want to see where Tom lives. Tell me which one the house is!’
    ‘Now, Celia, your mother is expecting us.’
    The carriage rolled on. ‘Let’s go back!’ she cried, but Rudolf shook his head. Celia craned, trying to see the houses, in the hope that Tom might come out, or one of his sisters.
    When Rudolf had said they would be moving to Stoneythorpe, Celia’s first question had been: ‘What about Tom?’
    She could not be without Tom. Whenever she attended the parties of the other little girls in Hampstead, she yearned to escape the flurry of lemon and pink, dresses and cakes and presents, so that she could play with Tom. They did everything together, from pretending hospitals and schools to racing in the garden.
    Rudolf looked down at her and his face was pure confusion. Then it cleared. ‘He shall come too.’
    Verena drew in her breath. ‘Now, dear, Tom would wish to stay with his family.’
    Rudolf nodded. ‘Well then, all the Cottons shall move toEversley, just nearby.’ Celia clapped her hands. Tom, his mother, his sisters, all together in the manor house.
    Verena’s face flamed. Celia saw her clench her fist. ‘But my dear. Surely not?’
    Rudolf patted his knees. ‘If they wish to come, they shall. We shall find them a cottage nearby, or something similar.’
    ‘That’s you, Papa,’ cried Emmeline, standing. ‘All you care about is the servants.’
    ‘Or at least the Cottons,’ Celia heard Arthur say under his breath. She had given her father a wide smile. In the country, she and Tom could spend every day together.
    Celia tied a bow around a small bunny rabbit and looked at Belinda. She imagined Missy seizing her with a cry of joy, clutching her to her heart, thanking Celia shyly – and then Tom would invite her round for tea. She would sit at the table with Tom’s mother, telling them jokes that made them all laugh. She looked down at her wrappings, the parcels resplendent in tissue and gold. Even Marina Evershold, the neatest girl in the class at Winterbourne, could not have done a better job. Surely her mother could not fail to be pleased with that.

FIVE
    Next day, Rudolf went to London, early, before any of them rose. The day was theirs – to plan the party and for Celia to get in everybody’s way. ‘Oh, Celia,’ Verena sighed, as she looked at a tangled section of bunting Celia had been trying to deck over the tables.