The day of the evacuees it was as though Evelyn was in a snow globe and somebody had picked it up and shaken it roughly, so that she and everything that was familiar to her came loose and floated about.
There were fifteen evacuees in total, and they were sent to Castle du Rêve because their homes and schools in London weren’t safe any more. Evelyn didn’t know much about the war, because whenever her parents talked about it, they spoke in whispers that hung in the air like cobwebs, too high for Evelyn to reach and untangle. But she had gathered that the southeast coast, places dotted around Hastings, like Silenshore, were much safer than London, and that this was the reason for other children coming, rather suddenly, to live with them.
On the day that they were due to arrive, Evelyn waited impatiently at her bedroom window. She was frenzied with excitement, her fingers tapping on the sill restlessly. She had told herself she shouldn’t move from this spot, because she didn’t want to miss the first glimpse of the other children. She didn’t want to miss anything. Evelyn’s bedroom was in one of the turrets of the Castle du Rêve, with rounded walls and an arched window that rose so high it almost touched the ceiling. Through her window, beyond the shining leaves of the trees outside, Evelyn could see the silver sea and a boat bobbing in the distance. She wondered how the evacuees would arrive.
A year ago, Richard the chauffeur would perhaps have brought some of the children back in his long black car. But he’d gone to war now, his face red with excitement about what Evelyn thought might be a more thrilling life. She wondered if Richard might be back soon, when the war was all done with. She’d heard whispers of their daily, Elizabeth, leaving them too, her father hissing that she’d simply have to stay, that they couldn’t do without her, and her mother sighing, and then her father saying they’d just have to see what happened. If Elizabeth was going, nobody had told Evelyn, but then again, nobody ever really told Evelyn anything, even though she was almost eleven.
When Evelyn had been sitting at her window for what seemed like a whole year, an ugly red bus swung into the drive. She watched, her stomach flipping with excitement as children jumped down from the doors of the bus, each holding a suitcase. How on earth would Evelyn pack if she were to leave the castle suddenly? She’d want to take all sorts of things: the hairbrush that her mother had given to her on her birthday, her books, her paints, her special cup that she drank her milk from. Had these children left behind all of their favourite things? She wanted to ask them, to know everything about them this minute. She jumped to her feet and ran along the corridor outside her bedroom, past golden-framed paintings of her grand ancestors, down the wide staircase that swept down the centre of the castle. She reached the front door as it was being pulled open by Elizabeth. The smell hit Evelyn moments later: a strange, potent mix of unbathed flesh, urine and what she could only imagine was the city and its rats and smoky grey houses.
The children looked younger than Evelyn, except for one girl with long legs who was much taller than all the others. They were louder than she’d expected them to be, some chatting, some coughing, others simply making noise by shuffling their feet and banging their brown cases down. They all wore labels around their necks and Evelyn squinted to see what was written on them, but couldn’t make out anything except for blurs of numbers and letters.
As she crept closer towards them, some of them noticed her. A boy smiled, revealing crooked teeth with a gap in the very middle. When the tall girl smiled and said hello to Evelyn, she revealed the very same teeth. Brother and sister, Evelyn realised as she stared and stared. Some of the children didn’t smile at all. Some held onto one another’s hands and looked away from her, up at the wooden-panelled ceiling. Others looked down at the polished floor. One boy ran his dirty shoe along it, as though he was testing out ice for skating on.
Evelyn’s mother and father appeared at the door behind the children within a few moments. Her father nodded at the group, and her mother touched a few on the shoulder gently as she passed them to enter the castle. Evelyn thought about the children’s own mothers and how they might feel about all this. What would it be like to say goodbye to your family? Quite exciting, she supposed.
‘Welcome to Castle du Rêve,’ Evelyn’s mother said, her voice tinkling in the big hallway. ‘I’m Catherine du Rêve and this is my husband Robert. We hope you’ll all be comfortable here.’
Some of the children laughed and Evelyn felt herself turn red as she wondered what was funny. But her mother didn’t seem to notice.
‘Elizabeth, our daily, has made up plenty of beds in our spare rooms. If you’d like to get settled, then perhaps have a look round before teatime at five that would be fine. There are some rooms we’d rather you left alone, if you’d be so kind. Elizabeth will show you around and tell you which places must be avoided. I’m very sure we will all live quite peacefully together.’
Evelyn joined in with the line of children as they stormed up the stairs of the castle, their cases banging, their voices high and loud. She felt like one of them, like she belonged with them.
This, she thought happily, will change everything.
The tall girl was called Mary and she was thirteen. The little boy with the matching gapped front teeth was her brother, Sid, and was ten, the same age as Evelyn. Sid was rather loud and ran everywhere instead of walking. Evelyn liked them the most. The other boys seemed to have less energy than Sid. There was a little fat boy with a coat that was too small for him and he was called Derek. He said very little and stared up at everything as though he had no idea where he was. When eggs were served for breakfast the day after they all arrived, he poked at the slimy yolk, his freckled nose wrinkled.
‘What is it?’ Evelyn saw him whisper to Rita, who was eleven, and had long ginger hair in a tatty plait down her back. Rita shrugged and sliced hers, then popped a piece into her mouth. ‘Don’t know,’ she said as she chewed. ‘But it tastes strange.’
Most of the children talked non-stop. It was as though they had all been best friends forever, but, as Mary told Evelyn, most of them had never met before coming to the castle.
‘I’m lucky because I’ve got Sid here with me,’ Mary said, before taking an enormous bite of toast. She chewed for a while before carrying on. ‘Your parents didn’t want to take him at first. They’d got enough of us, I reckon. But I said I wouldn’t get on that bus unless he did too. So here he is. But we didn’t know any of the others before yesterday, and I don’t think any of them knew each other.’ Mary swallowed and smiled, and Evelyn saw that the crooked teeth were a pale shade of mustard. Mary didn’t seem to care and smiled broadly as she talked, which made her look pretty all the same. ‘Perhaps,’ she continued, ‘we’ll see more of our friends who we know from home when we go to school. We’re going to the school on the High Street. Do you go there too?’
Evelyn shook her head. She’d seen the school before when she’d walked with Miss Silver to the promenade: a tall building that was surrounded by what looked like marshy fields. She’d never been inside, but imagined it to be loud and full of strong smells like ink and cabbage and boys. ‘No,’ she replied quietly. ‘I have a governess, so I do my lessons here in the castle.’
‘At home? That must be a bit lonely. I can’t say I fancy staying at home all day every day.’
‘It’s boring,’ Evelyn said. ‘That’s why it’s good that you’re here.’ She wished that she could have breakfast with Mary every morning. It was only because Evelyn’s father had gone out early that day that Evelyn had been allowed to sit in the kitchen with them, instead of in the dining room.
‘I’m not sure it should be a regular habit,’ Mrs du Rêve had said that morning. ‘Your father won’t like it. But perhaps, as they’ve just arrived, one day won’t hurt.’ She’d stroked Evelyn’s hair and smiled her beautiful smile.
‘Your castle is wonderful. But I don’t know if I’d much like not having any school friends. You’re missing out a bit,’ Mary said now, as she cut into her egg decisively.
‘Yes,’