Secrets of Nanreath Hall by Alix Rickloff Page A

in her direction, she felt her breath catch in a throat clogged with unexpected fear.
    The men noticed none of this. They peppered her with questions, showing their new respectful interest.
    â€œWere you at Le Havre?”
    â€œMy brother made it out on a minesweeper the last day.”
    â€œWhat were the beaches like?”
    â€œWere you afraid?”
    Caught off guard, she could think of nothing to say as her heart raced, and sweat washed cold over her back despite the warmth in the room. She stumbled, the cups and saucers on the trolley rattling dangerously. A glass wobbled and fell.
    A hand caught it before it hit the ground. “Easy or young Newsome will be wearing his tea.”
    She looked up to find Flight Lieutenant Lambert, concern etched upon his strong, handsome face.
    â€œWhat are you doing here?”
    â€œOne of my fliers is recovering from rheumatic fever.” He continued to regard her with unspoken curiosity as he placed the glass back upon her tray. “Glad I was nearby to avert a disaster.”
    â€œIt was an empty glass, not a hand grenade.”
    â€œYou wouldn’t know it by the way you looked as it fell.”
    She shook off her memories and turned to the young soldier with a forced smile. “Did you ask me if I was afraid? My greatest fear was fending off a shipload of homesick soldiers with only a tongue depressor.”
    The young man laughed, and the moment passed on smoothly. She completed her round of the salon with no further trouble. Only in the corridor, away from the eyes of the men, did she slump against the wall, hands fast under her ribs to slow her frantic heartbeat.
    â€œMiss Trenowyth? Are you all right?”
    Tony Lambert again. Couldn’t he see she wanted to be left alone?
    â€œI’m fine. Why do you ask?” She straightened, adjusting her apron, touching her veil as if assuring its crispness.
    â€œBecause you’re pale as chalk and look as if you’ve seen a ghost. Did the men upset you with all that war talk?”
    â€œDo you really think I can’t take hearing about the war without falling to pieces? I wouldn’t be much of a nurse if that were the case.”
    â€œBut sometimes the talk stirs memories we’d rather keep buried.”
    â€œI have nothing to bury.”
    â€œNo? I served at an airfield in Poix. The stories I could tell about the evacuations would turn your hair white.”
    â€œI don’t need to hear your stories. I have my own.” She cleared her throat. “If you’ll excuse me, I have patients to see to.”
    As she crossed the hall to return to the main ward, she felt his gaze tickling her spine like a blade. “Remember what we talked about? Don’t let another chance pass you by, Anna Trenowyth,” he called after her. “In these times, there’s no guarantee it will come your way again.”
    â€œYou’re awfully brash.”
    â€œNo, just very mortal.”
    It took a closed door and a gruff order from Sister Murphy before she let out the breath she’d been holding.
    But it took until the very end of her shift before she stopped hearing his words over and over in her head.
    S aturday night. A rare evening off. Anna sat cross-legged on her bunk with emery board and polish at the ready. Not all the hand cream in the world could put right the damage done by constant scrubbing in hot water, but at least her nails would be tidy.
    She’d just finished writing to Mrs. Willits, who’d been true to her word and kept in touch. Anna welcomed the weekly letters from Cardiff, filled with the trials and tribulations of ration coupons and overzealous AR wardens. She usually answered with colorful tales of hospital life and her fruitless attempts at befriending her aunt and cousin, though Tony Lambert’s name seemed to crop up in this latest letter more than she’d intended.
    Anna chose to ignore what that might mean. She wasn’t cut out