“Please,” I said. “Tell me everything.”
And so he did. He told me that she was clever and quiet, and had a wicked sense of humor that was only ever revealed to those closest to her. She adored Jane Austen and took herself off on a pilgrimage to Bath when she was sixteen. She detested the spectacles she needed to wear, then laughed at her own vanity. She went for long walks in the countryside with her sketchbook and her smelly old beagle. She dutifully practiced the piano for an hour each morning but had absolutely no talent for it. She was terrible at tennis and disliked riding, but played a lively game of chess.
“She hated sacrificing pawns, said she felt sorry for how small and defenseless they were—then, while I was busy snickering at that, she’d whip her queen across the board and checkmate me.”
I laughed. “What did she look like?” I asked.
“Very much like you. Perhaps an inch or two shorter, and she was at a distinct disadvantage when it came to the fashions of the day. She was swamped in those long dresses, all those ridiculous pin tucks and frills and lace edgings. She always seemed on the verge of tripping over her hem. And I remember her hair was always falling down. It was the most beguiling thing I’d ever seen. I’d sit there, longing to be permitted to pin those curls back in place. Oh—and she always smelled wonderful, of roses and violets, all those old-fashioned scents.”
I smiled. I loved those scents, too. “What else?” I asked.
“She was very kind. And tactful. For example, if she saw that someone felt embarrassed, she’d go out of her way to draw the others’ attention away from that person, if that’s what was needed, even if it meant everyone would attend to her—and she really seemed uncomfortable when others paid too much attention to her. She was happiest sitting back and observing, I think. She kept a journal—”
“I have it!” I burst out excitedly. “Here, with me, in Geneva! But it’s in code and I can’t understand a word. I’m pretty sure it was the diary she kept just before she went to Montmaray. Do you think you could have a look at it, figure it out?”
“I could try,” he said. “But I’m not sure I’d be able to outwit her, even now. And I’m not sure I’d want to read about myself, aged eighteen—although, no, I’m sure she was kind about me, even in private. And of course, once your father came along, I doubt she wrote a word about anyone else. They were very much in love, right from the start.”
“He was so handsome,” I said. “I remember that.”
“And good-natured,” said the Colonel. “He was a thoroughly nice chap. Actually, Toby reminds me quite a bit of him. Very funny and confident, without ever falling into outright arrogance. Everyone liked him.”
He sighed and gazed off into the dining room, where the waiters were drawing the curtains and snuffing out candles.
“Well,” the Colonel said at last, “enough reminiscing for one night, I think. I’ll see if I can dig out some old photographs for you, though.”
“Thank you,” I said, although the words seemed pitifully inadequate when he’d given me such a gift. I tried again. “You really can’t imagine how wonderful it is to speak to someone who knew her. I remember so little of her.”
“Oh, it’s a pleasure, Sophie,” he said, smiling at me. “One of those aching, tender pleasures, but nevertheless … I meant what I said, you know. That she’d be proud of you, of how brave and clever you’ve been. Of what you’ve done, and of what …”
“Of what we’re about to do,” I said when he failed to finish his sentence. I looked him straight in the eye. “There’s going to be a war, isn’t there?”
He put down his empty glass. “Why do you say that, Sophie?” he asked, giving the impression he was choosing each word with great care.
“Because … because that’s what I was thinking today,” I said slowly. “Watching the Council this afternoon. Thinking about how old and how … impotent those men seemed. I mean, I know the League has stopped wars before but not wars between really powerful countries. The League just stood by and let Italy invade Abyssinia, Germany take over Czechoslovakia … and now there’s all this talk about Poland. You told me at the start of the year that the League wasn’t dead. But it’s dying, isn’t it? I realized that today.”
“It certainly isn’t looking very healthy,” he conceded. He glanced around. We were the only ones in the room. “Sophie—I don’t want to alarm you.”
“There’s nothing more alarming than not knowing what’s going on,” I pointed out.
“Well … it’ll be in the newspapers soon enough, I suppose. You know, of course, that our one hope for peace, our one hope for controlling Hitler, is for Britain and France to make an alliance with the Soviet Union?”
I nodded.
“Well, there was a lot of discomfort in Britain at the very idea of us talking with the Communists. And that attitude hasn’t helped negotiations at all, let me tell you. I’ve been in Moscow, trying to jolly things along. Still, it seemed highly unlikely the Soviet Union would ever consider linking up with Nazi Germany. Communists and Fascists are mortal enemies, they’re violently opposed on every possible issue. Or so we thought. But on Saturday, Hitler and Stalin signed a trade agreement. Then, yesterday, the Soviet Union broke off talks with us. And worse, it seems the Soviets are about to agree to a military alliance with Germany.”
“But then—” I said.
“Then Germany can march into Poland unopposed. Actually, the Germans and the Soviets will probably divide Poland up amongst themselves.”
“And Britain’s promised to help Poland, hasn’t it?” I said. “If Poland gets invaded, Britain and France have to come to its aid.”
He looked very grim. “Not only that, but once Hitler has no need to fear the wrath of the Soviet Union, he can turn his army and his air force to the west and the north. France, Belgium, Holland … England.”
“When?” I whispered. “How long do we have? Months?
Weeks?”
“Days,” he said flatly. “That’s why I came to collect you, that’s why I’ve booked seats on that flight to London tomorrow morning. I didn’t want you stranded here when war was declared.”
“But—but you could be wrong!” I said desperately. “It could be another false alarm, like the Sudetenland crisis last year, when everyone was digging trenches in Hyde Park!”
“Sophie, I hope I’m wrong. But …”
He shook his head, then reached over and grasped my hand, knowing I was thinking of Toby and Simon, of all the young men already in uniform. We sat there in silence for a moment.
“Then—was it all a waste of time?” I said, struggling to keep my voice even. “Coming here, to Geneva? If the League is dying, if the newspapers will be full of Stalin and Hitler tomorrow, if Europe’s going to explode into war any day now—was it all a waste?”
“Was it?” he said.
“No,” I decided. “It wasn’t a waste for us. It was important to try. It was important to tell people. And it showed us what we could achieve when we worked together, if we were … brave and clever and persistent, all those things you were saying.”
“You’re going to need those qualities in the months to come,” he said. “We all are.”
The few people who remained in the hotel lobby were wandering towards the doors. The staff were closing shutters, flicking off the electric lights, one by one. The Colonel and I stood up, and I pulled my wrap around my shoulders.
“I’ll tell you something else,” said the Colonel.
“What?”
“I’m very glad that you’re on my side,” he said with a smile. “You FitzOsbornes are formidable.”
“Even in exile?”
“Especially in exile.”
And then he held out his arm, and I took it, and we walked off into the darkness.
Author’s Note
This novel is a blend of historical fact and imaginative fiction. Real people and groups mentioned include Horatio Nelson; Machiavelli; King Canute; Karl Marx, Engels,
Trotsky, and Stalin; Mussolini; Amelia Earhart; King George VI, Queen Elizabeth, Princess Elizabeth, and Princess Margaret; President Franklin D. Roosevelt; Sir Oswald Mosley and the British Union of Fascists, also known as the Blackshirts; Lord and Lady Londonderry; Prince Rainier of Monaco; Lady Redesdale and her daughters Unity Mitford, Diana Guinness, and Nancy Rodd; Miss Betty at the Vacani School of Dancing; Monsieur Raymond; Greta Garbo; Queen Victoria; King James I and George Villiers; Oscar Wilde; the National Joint Committee for Spanish Relief, Aid Spain, H. W. H. Sams and Leah Manning; “Potato” Jones, “Ham and Eggs” Jones, and “Corn Cob” Jones; Lady St. John of Bletso; Queen Elizabeth I; Rosalind Christie, the daughter of Agatha Christie; the Archbishop of Canterbury; Göring; Hitler; William Caxton; Samuel Pepys; John Milton; Neville Chamberlain; Stanley Baldwin; Mrs. Simpson and the former King Edward VIII; Winston Churchill; Franco; General Mola; King Alfonso of Spain and the Infanta María Cristina; Archduke Franz Ferdinand; Lord Rosebery; the Duke of Devonshire and Billy Hartington; Earl Fitzwilliam; the Rector of Stiffkey; Ernst Toller; Thomas Inskip; Sir Alexander Cadogan; Anthony Eden; the League of Nations; the Duchess of Kent; the Kennedy family; Lewis Carroll; Queen Mary; Guy Fawkes; Casanova; the National Unemployed Workers’ Movement; the suffragettes; Gandhi; Otto Rahn; Vivien Mosley; the Electress Sophia of Hanover and King George I; King Zog of Albania; and Joseph Avenol. Where real, historical people appear in the novel, I have used their biographies, their own writings, and other evidence to try to make their actions and words as true to their known lives as possible. However, the FitzOsbornes, Stanley-Rosses, Bosworths, Pembertons, Elchesters, Adams-Smythes, and other characters are figments of my imagination.
While Montmaray does not exist, most of the world events described in the novel actually occurred. These include the bombing of Guernica; the evacuation of Basque children to Britain; the coronation of King George VI; Japan’s invasion of China; Italy’s invasion of Abyssinia and Albania; the War of the Stray Dog; the Anschluss; the signing of the Locarno Treaties; the Sudetenland crisis and the German invasion of Czechoslovakia; the Night of Broken Glass; the exhibition of Picasso’s Guernica at the Whitechapel Art Gallery; and the protests held by the National Unemployed Workers’ Movement. It should be noted that Sophie’s knowledge of world events is often restricted to what she has read in the newspapers, and this is sometimes incomplete or slightly inaccurate (for example, while the newspaper headlines of the time stated that Hitler was best man at Mosley’s wedding, Hitler was actually the guest of honor). Montmaray House, Milford Park, the village of Milford, and Astley Manor are fictional, but most of the other places mentioned in the novel are real.
Information about aristocratic life in 1930s England came from In Society: The Brideshead Years by Nicholas Courtney; Black Diamonds by Catherine Bailey; Grace and Favour: The Memoirs of Loelia, Duchess of Westminster; and London: The Glamour Years, 1919–1939 by Susanne Everett. Several books by Anne de Courcy—including 1939: The Last Season; Society’s Queen: The Life of Edith, Marchioness of Londonderry; and Debs at War, 1939–1945: How Wartime Changed Their Lives—were invaluable, particularly for providing descriptions of debutante life and the Season. Fashion Sourcebooks: The 1930s by John Peacock and The Private Life of a Country House by Lesley Lewis were also helpful. H. V. Morton’s London and The Penguin Guide to London by F. R. Banks supplied useful information about London.
Information about Sir Oswald Mosley came from Blackshirt: Sir Oswald Mosley & British Fascism by Stephen Dorril; Diana Mosley by Anne de Courcy; and Harold Nicolson: Diaries and Letters, 1930–1939, edited by Nigel Nicolson; as well as from Mosley’s own writings, including Fascism: 100 Questions Asked and Answered and The World Alternative. Lynne McTaggart’s Kathleen Kennedy: The Untold Story of Jack’s Favourite Sister provided most of the information about the Kennedys, although I also used Times to Remember: An Autobiography by Rose Fitzgerald Kennedy; Why England Slept by John F. Kennedy; and The Sins of the Father by Ronald Kessler. The strange story of the Rector of Stiffkey came from several sources, including The Age of Illusion by Ronald Blythe.
The Long Week-end: A Social History of Great Britain, 1918–1939 by Robert Graves and Alan Hodge; The Diplomats: 1919–1939, volume 2, The Thirties, edited by Gordon A. Craig and Felix Gilbert; and Human Smoke: The Beginnings of World War II, the End of Civilization by Nicholson Baker provided useful information about political events in Europe in the 1930s. Information about the Basque children came from various sources, including the online archives of Spanish Refugees and Basque Children (www.spanishrefugees-basquechildren.org). The United Nations Geneva website (www.unog.ch) and the online photo archives of the League of Nations (www.indiana.edu/~league) were also very helpful.
Quotes from the following books, newspapers, and magazines were used:
Julius Caesar by William Shakespeare (this page, this page, this page, this page, this page)
Ballads and Songs by John Davidson, cited in H. V. Morton’s London (this page)
“The Tragedy of Guernica” by George Steer, from The Times (London), 28th April 1937 (this page–this page)
“Potato Toasted,” from Time magazine, 26th April 1937 (this page)
Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen (this page)
Seven Plays by Ernst Toller, cited in Wild Mary by Patrick Marnham (this page)
Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll (this page and this page)
“It Is Peace for Our Time,” from the Daily Mail, 1st October 1938 (this page)
The Covenant of the League of Nations (this page and this page)
Toby also misquotes a line from Gilbert and Sullivan’s The Pirates of Penzance on this page. And, yes, the opening words of The FitzOsbornes in Exile pay homage to the first sentence of Dodie Smith’s wonderful novel I Capture the Castle.
Thank you to Zoe Walton and Nancy Siscoe, for their patience and invaluable editorial advice; the hardworking teams at Random House Australia and Random House Children’s Books (U.S.); and Rick Raftos and Catherine Drayton.
Table of Contents
Cover
Other Books by This Author
Title Page
Copyright
Contents
The FitzOsbornes of Montmaray
16th January 1937
19th January 1937
22nd January 1937
23rd January 1937
26th January 1937
25th February 1937
17th March 1937
29th April 1937
18th May 1937
27th May 1937
6th June 1937
7th June 1937
21st June 1937
6th August 1937
23rd October 1937
20th December 1937
12th January 1938
21st February 1938
15th March 1938
11th April 1938
6th May 1938
8th May 1938
7th June 1938
21st July 1938
9th August 1938
22nd September 1938
28th September 1938
2nd October 1938
14th November 1938
30th November 1938
20th December 1938
10th January 1939
15th February 1939
17th March 1939
27th April 1939
25th May 1939
17th July 1939
21st August 1939
22nd August 1939
23rd August 1939
Author’s Note
Michelle Cooper, The FitzOsbornes in Exile
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