Free The Silver Locket by Margaret James

and servants everywhere.’
    ‘You must have read too many novels. Most of the country houses hereabouts are just like this one.’
    ‘But I don’t want to live in an enormous, crumbling ruin!’ Chloe sat on a dusty chair and wept. ‘I want to live in a town, where there are shops and parks and buses! I want to wear nice clothes from Gamages. I want to have my friends and neighbours round for supper and a little sing-song now and then. I want a garden with herbaceous borders and a chicken coop, so we can have fresh eggs. I want a little house that’s all my own!’
    Alex crawled out of the sap, lit a cigarette and told himself that Chloe was very young. She would adapt to living in rural Dorset, and it would all work out. But even if it didn’t, at least her child would be legitimate, and that was worth a lot.
    He could still remember those first months at boarding school. Michael and he had gone down on the train, and Michael had promised faithfully he wouldn’t tell a soul. But the strain of secrecy had proved too much for him.
    A few weeks into term, they’d had a scrap about some blackbird’s eggs. Contrary to decent sporting practice, Michael destroyed the nest and pinched the lot. Alex had given Michael a black eye, and Michael had called Alex a stupid, pox-faced bastard.
    ‘Language, Easton,’ warned a junior master, who’d happened to be passing and had broken up the fight. ‘If Dr Preston heard you calling other fellows bastards, he would have you flogged all round the cloister.’
    ‘But Denham is a bastard, sir,’ Michael had protested, ‘ and his stinking mother is a whore.’
    ‘Any comment, Denham?’ The master had looked quizzically at Alex. ‘If that’s malicious slander, you can black his other eye. I’ll hold him down for you.’
    Alex had just stared at Mr Lewis in helpless misery.
    One hour later, Michael’s version of the story was all round the school. For the next three years – until he grew big and strong enough to beat up his tormentors – Alex was addressed as bastard with impunity. It was common knowledge that his mother was a harlot, who was anyone’s for half a crown.
    Alex threw his cigarette away. The saps were amateurish, but the explosive was packed in properly, the fuses looked all right, so they were as ready as they’d ever be.
    He went to look for Captain Ford, who wasn’t in the dugout. So he set off down the trench, stepping over men snatching a nap, and stores and boxes of equipment.
    ‘Good morning, sir,’ exclaimed a spruce young corporal, who was carrying a sack that wriggled. ‘Rabbits, sir,’ he grinned. ‘A mother and her babies. My old man was a poacher down in Charmouth and I used to be a butcher’s boy. It’s rabbit stew tonight.’
    ‘Well done, corporal.’ Alex shuddered. ‘Do you know where I’ll find Captain Ford?’
    ‘He’s in Park Lane, sir. It’s the new communication trench.’ The corporal stroked his squirming sack. ‘If you’re going up there, sir, I’d keep your head well down. The Jerries are sending over all the heavy stuff today and they’ve got good marksmen. An officer who came out here from Blighty just a week ago got his brains blown out by a sniper only yesterday.’
    Alex didn’t care if there were half a dozen snipers, if all their sights were trained on him. He’d done his duty by Chloe, who would soon forget him. The child would probably be Henry’s heir, and Chloe would get a pension from the army, so she’d be a fairly merry widow. She could have her little house in some dull, sprawling suburb – herbaceous borders, chicken coop and all.
    He set off down Park Lane, hands in his pockets, whistling tunelessly.
    ‘They’re opening another ward for soldiers,’ said Maria, as she and Rose made beds one gloomy morning in the middle of December. ‘This one will be for amputees and other serious cases, like head injuries.’
    ‘I’ll be staying on Stafford, I suppose?’
    ‘On the contrary.’ Maria