Page 89 of The Unknown Birds

He set down his spoon and regarded them, deciding, perhaps, that he could trust them both. “Evacuation plans, in point of fact. No one wants a repeat of the air raids from the last war, and I think we can safely assume Germany won’t use zeppelins this time round. They’ll be faster. More precise. Harder to repel.”

A cold chill washed over Ash, her spoon rattling against her dish. She wanted to ask if he really thought they were likely to be attacked again, but of course he thought so. She thought so too.

“You plan to evacuate the whole of London?” Rook asked.

“I’m afraid not. Just the children and expectant mothers, but from all major cities. It’s an entirely imperfect and inadequate solution, but it’s something.”

“All of them?” Ashley asked. “Even those from the East End?” Even her students?

“As many as we can,” Davies promised. “I’m sorry, I suppose that means you mightn’t have any students left to teach for a little while.”

She shook her head. “No, that’s good. I want them to be safe.”

“What will you do with yourself? A teacher with no pupils? Please don’t say you’ll put on trousers and join up again.”

“No.” She shuddered. “Those days are, as you said, long since past. I was a nurse for the last month of the war. The last war. I suppose they’ll be needed again in spades.”

Davies nodded and turned to Rook. “And you’re still at Temple Church?”

“I am.”

“Would you ever consider coming to work for me?”

Rook’s eyebrows shot up. “At the Home Office?”

“I’m putting together a small department.”

“What, an organist and a string quartet?”

“We’re going to need a crack communications team who actually understands what’s going on—the language of war. I’d like men I can trust—people I can trust, I should say.”

“Of course,” Rook agreed, all trace of teasing vanished. “Anything you need. You know that.”

“Excellent. Grey is also on board—pardon, Dusty. Old habits are hard to break.”

“I understand, Cap,” Rook said with a sly smile.

“You’ll have a place as well, if you find nursing doesn’t suit after all,” Davies told Ashley.

“I’ll consider it. Thank you.” She was honored to be asked, and quite honestly she wasn’t sure how much nursing she could stomach anymore. She wasn’t sure how much of anything she could stomach—she suddenly felt quite as faint as her first day in the trench.

“She’s an excellent writer. Making a name for herself with articles and lectures,” Rook bragged.

“Is that so? What is your subject?”

Ash studied her plate, not eager for attention. “I’ve made something of a study of poetry from the war.”

“Really? How smart. I heard Hal Parry’s family published a volume of his work.”

“Yes.”

“I knew him as a boy. Jolly good cricket player. And Colwyn Phillips was with me at Eton, of course. I imagine a great many were…” he trailed off, lost in thought.

“I imagine so.”

“And I’m really to call you Ashley? As though we’re at boarding school? That’s what your friends call you?”

“Since I’m a teacher, most of the people I spend my time with call me Miss. My given name is Charlotte. Family call me Charley. But to me, I’m still just Ash. Always have been. Ever since…”