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

Piccadilly.
    Please complete the enclosed forms and return them to my attention at your earliest convenience. As well, please note that if you are successful in your application, you will be required to pass a medical examination.
    Yours faithfully,
    Miss Annabelle Hopkinson
    Assistant Administrator
    Women’s Army Auxiliary Corps
    The application form didn’t seem especially alarming, although she was required to state her father’s occupation—how should she answer? member of the House of Lords?—as well as details of her education, scant as it had been. It asked her to specify what sort of work she sought, and also to provide the name and details of people who could act as character references.
    Charlotte could certainly provide one of the references, but a second was sure to be difficult. The problem, of course, was that she’d led such a sheltered life. She’d only ever worked at the LGOC, had never gone to a proper school, had never really moved beyond her parents’ circle of friends and acquaintances. She read the form again: one reference was required from “a lady,” while the second had to come from a “mayor, magistrate, justice of the peace, minister of religion, barrister, physician, solicitor, or notary public.” She had no personal physician, hadn’t established any kind of relationship with the vicar at St. Michael’s Church, where she and Charlotte went to Sunday services, and she’d never consulted a lawyer of any description.
    But she did know a surgeon.
    S URELY IT WASN’T possible that most of the night had passed by while he attended to his patients’ charts, filled in forms, wrote letters to the bereaved, and filled in yet more forms. Robbie stole a look at the clock on the far wall: nearly four o’clock in the morning. He decided to admit defeat for now and leave off the final pile of papers that awaited his attention.
    While he’d been working, another delivery of post had come in from home. He went over to the bank of pigeonholes by Matron’s desk, extracted a wodge of papers from his compartment, and sorted through them rapidly. Asinine directives and demands from higher-ups went straight into the rubbish. There was a notice from his bank, probably to confirm the additional funds he’d asked them to send to his mother. And, last of all, a small, thin envelope, addressed in handwriting so familiar he didn’t need to turn it over to confirm the sender.
    He hurried back to his quarters, hoping against hope to find them empty, and was rewarded by the sight of an empty tent; Tom must still be working away on the compound fracture that had come in earlier. Only then did he tear open the envelope.
    21, Georgiana Street
    London NW1
    Monday, 5 March
    Dear Robbie,
    I hope this letter finds you well. I have some exciting news: this morning I received an application form from the new women’s corps. They’ve asked me to come for an interview on March 26. The one difficulty is that I require two letters of reference, one from a lady (I shall ask Charlotte) and the other from some sort of official. I apologize in advance for the imposition, but could I prevail upon you to provide the second reference? I will leave off now as I want to send this out with the evening post.
    Lilly
    P.S. The reference should be sent to Dr. Chalmers-Watson, Women’s Army Auxiliary Corps, Devonshire House, Piccadilly, London.
    P.P.S. Thank you!
    So the women’s corps Edward had told her about at Christmas hadn’t just been talk, after all. He told himself he was glad, for Lilly’s sake, that it had come to pass. As for how he felt about it? That was a thousand times more difficult to gauge.
    He was delighted for her, of course; this was exactly the sort of work she had been hoping to do all along. And it was doubtful that the War Office would knowingly expose women to danger, so he didn’t have to fret about her safety as such.
    He had to admit he was nervous about her joining the motor corps, for driving was