unemployment in wartime.”
“What will you do—work in a factory?”
“I’m going to join up. It said on the wireless that seventeen thousand women joined the A.T.S. yesterday. There’s queues outside every town hall in the country—I seen a picture in the paper.”
“Lucky you,” Margaret said despondently. “The only thing I’ll be queuing for is a plane to America.”
“You’ve got to do what the marquis wants,” Jenkins said.
“What does your dad say about you joining up?”
“I shan’t tell him—just do it.”
“But what if he takes you back?”
“He can’t do that. I’m eighteen. Once you’ve signed on, that’s it. Provided you’re old enough there’s nothing your parents can do about it.”
Margaret was startled. “Are you sure?”
“ ’Course. Everyone knows.”
“I didn’t,” Margaret said thoughtfully.
Jenkins took Margaret’s case down to the hall. They would be leaving very early on Wednesday morning. Seeing the cases lined up, Margaret realized that she was going to spend the war in Connecticut for sure if she did nothing but sulk. Despite Mother’s plea not to make a fuss, she had to confront her father.
The very thought made her feel shaky. She went back to her room to steel her nerves and consider what she might say. She would have to be calm. Tears would not move him and anger would only provoke his scorn. She should appear sensible, responsible, mature. She should not be argumentative, for that would enrage him, and then he would frighten her so much that she would be unable to go on.
How should she begin? “I think I have a right to say something about my own future.”
No, that was no good. He would say: “I am responsible for you so I must decide.”
Perhaps she should say: “May I talk to you about going to America?”
He would probably say: “There is nothing to discuss.”
Her opening had to be so inoffensive that even he would not be able to rebuff it. She decided she would say: “Can I ask you something?” He would have to say yes to that.
Then what? How could she approach the subject without provoking one of his dreadful rages? She might say: “You were in the army in the last war, weren’t you?” She knew he had seen action in France. Then she would say: “Was Mother involved?” She knew the answer to this, too: Mother had been a volunteer nurse in London, caring for wounded American officers. Finally she would say: “You both served your countries, so I know you’ll understand why I want to do the same.” Now surely that was irresistible.
If only he would concede the principle, she could deal with his other objections, she felt. She could live with relatives until she joined up, which would be a matter of days. She was nineteen: many girls of that age had been working full-time for six years. She was old enough to get married, drive a car and go to jail. There was no reason why she should not be allowed to stay in England.
That made sense. Now all she needed was courage.
Father would be in his study with his business manager. Margaret left her room. On the landing outside her bedroom door she suddenly felt weak with fear. It infuriated him to be opposed. His rages were terrible and his punishments cruel. When she was eleven she had been made to stand in the corner of his study, facing the wall, for an entire day after being rude to a houseguest; he had taken away her teddy bear as a punishment for bed-wetting at the age of seven; once, in a fury, he had thrown a cat out of an upstairs window. What would he do now when she told him she wanted to stay in England and fight against the Nazis?
She forced herself to go down the stairs, but as she approached his study her fears grew. She visualized him getting angry, his face reddening and his eyes bulging, and she felt terrified. She tried to calm her racing pulse by asking herself whether there was anything really to be afraid of. He could no longer break her heart by taking away her