Somewhere in France: A Novel of the Great War by Jennifer Robson

imperceptible nod.
    “I have a favor to ask.”
    “Yes, Lord Ashford?”
    “What I would really love is something rather more pedestrian. Some roast chicken if you have it, no sauce, with perhaps some potatoes alongside? And something green, too?”
    “It would be our pleasure, Lord Ashford. Do you require a first course of any sort?”
    “No, thank you. Just the main.”
    “Very good. Shall I call up a bottle from our cellars for you?”
    “Do you have any of the 1910 Chevalier-Montrachet la Cabotte left?”
    “Of course, your lordship.”
    “That will do. But not too cold.”
    Now that they’d decided on their meal, another topic of conversation had to be found. Lilly was the first to wade into the fray.
    “How was work today?” she asked Charlotte.
    “Uneventful, which is the best sort of day. I expect you would say the same, wouldn’t you, Lord Ashford?”
    “I do wish you would call me Edward.”
    “And I prefer to address you in a formal manner. So please do stop asking.”
    “But Lilly calls you Charlotte. Why mayn’t I?”
    “You know very well why not.”
    Charlotte was acting in a most unusual fashion. Normally she was the very soul of polite and agreeable behavior, but for some reason she appeared to be at odds with Edward. And on Christmas Day, too. Lilly determined to return the conversation to a more harmonious subject.
    “Just before you arrived, Charlotte, we were talking about my work at the LGOC,” she began. “Isn’t that correct, Edward?”
    “Quite correct,” he agreed. “In fact, I was about to share some interesting news with Lilly. At least it has the potential to be of interest.”
    “Out with it, then,” Charlotte said, swallowing the last of her champagne.
    Edward raised an eyebrow at her abrupt tone but continued on without comment. “On the train home from Dover I ran into an old friend from Oxford. David Chamberlain. He’s with the War Office now, though I can’t recall in what capacity. At any rate, he’d been over in France and was on his way home for Christmas.”
    “And?” Charlotte prompted.
    “And he told me that plans are afoot to create a new women’s corps.”
    “You can’t be serious,” Lilly said. She must have misheard him. Or perhaps those two glasses of champagne on an empty stomach were to blame.
    “I’m quite serious. Certainly Chamberlain was. The army badly needs women workers to take the place of men who are working behind the lines so those men can be freed up for frontline service. They’ll be looking for ten thousand women, if not more.”
    “I can’t believe it. When?”
    “As soon as February, I gather. And I think you should consider applying as soon as it’s announced.”
    “Do you think they would take me?”
    “I do. They’re sure to need drivers to ferry about officers, supplies, that sort of thing. You would be helping out but wouldn’t be doing anything dangerous.”
    Lilly looked to Charlotte. “What do you think?”
    “I think you should apply. I’d miss you, of course, but isn’t this what you’ve wanted all along?”
    “It is . . . but it’s been ages since I did any driving.”
    “I’m sure it will come back to you,” Charlotte assured her. “You don’t have to become a driver, for that matter. Most likely they’ll be looking to fill all sorts of positions. There’s certain to be something you can do.”
    Edward reached across the table and took Lilly’s hand in his. “Please forget what I said earlier—my remark about cannon fodder. The truth is that we’re desperate for more men. My battalion hasn’t been at anything like full strength since the summer.”
    “Wouldn’t it worry you? My being so close to the fighting?”
    “Most likely you’d be posted somewhere in England. Although I rather like the idea of your being in France. We could see each other, you know, when I have leave. Experience the heady thrills of Boulogne-sur-Mer together, and all that,” he joked.
    Somewhere in