Chapter 1

Debris of Ivory and Silk

Two flashes of light. The dark of the room interrupted. Two explosions. One. Two. With each one, the ground seemed to shake, the bedposts shudder. Though whether that was real, or just because people seemed to expect, to want, to feel something in an instance of such destruction, it was almost impossible to tell.

Emma Swan lay on her bed, eyes wide open, counting seconds under her breath. Before she had hit sixty, she heard the phone ring and she sat up, knowing already what the phone call would be about. Beside her, in the dark, another woman sat up also. She had thought she was the only person awake in the room, but it seemed she was not the only person whose sleep was affected by the war.

'Two bombings in the last five minutes.' A woman walked into the room and clapped her hands for attention. She was short and old, far older than an ambulance station leader ought to be. But she was fierce and single-minded on the job, which is exactly what was needed of her. 'Swan, Red, you take the first one. Blanchard, Gold, you take the second.'

'Good Lord, Granny, you're supposed to give us a warning.' Red was next to Emma, and it seemed she had been sleeping and was woken up only by the explosions. 'Some of us were kipping.'

'Dreaming, Red? Of soldiers coming home to scoop you up in their arms?' Blanchard asked, a smile on her face.

'More like real chocolate, and hose without holes in.' Red replied, causing the women to laugh before Granny clapped her hands again to silence them.

'Women, you have jobs. Two bombings already, before even a warning could be given. That's real people out there who need you. And the night will only get busier.' Granny took a step to the left to free the door. 'Now go.'


'Could the Germans not give it a rest for a night? That's all I'm asking, one night,' Red grumbled as the women made their way to the ambulances in the basement, fixing their tin hats as they did. Blanchard and Gold, Mary Margaret and Belle, had already left in their vehicle, both still taking their job as seriously as they should. Emma and Ruby were not. 'I just want one night where I can drink gin without fearing it'll affect my steady hand, and a full night of sleep. Surely Hitler could give a girl that?'

'I don't quite think you're top of Adolf Hitler's priorities, Rubes.' Emma looked over at her, dark hair swept back under her hat, lips full and red despite uniform restrictions, eyes glinting mischievously, and she couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. 'I mean, you are hardly the image of the perfect Nazi woman.'

'No, I leave that to you, Emma Swan. Blonde, bland, boring. Why, you would make a superb German should we lose this war.'

'It's blasphemous just to suggest a thing.' The women climbed into the ambulance, Emma in front of the wheel. 'Where are we going, Red?'

'West End. Going to see how the other half lives for a night.' Red nodded as Emma put her foot down on the accelerator and drove out onto the street. 'And can we avoid using big words right now. I'm not yet fully awake.'


If she wasn't yet awake, the night drive woke her. After the raid, the streets were empty, eerily so. The smell of the bombs sat in the air, unshifting, unrelenting, as though to serve as a heavy warning to anyone brave enough to still be out. The streets were dark except for patches of light under the lamps, just enough to illuminate the debris of past bombings. Empty houses with collapsed rooves, windows shattered into thousands of dirty pieces. The drives through London after a bombing were rarely chaotic, but Red found it impossible to sleep on them. The silence scared her, far more than any warning siren or bomb explosion. The silence caused her head to hurt, her ears straining for any sound of life besides her own.

That all changed when the ambulance turned down the road that had been hit. No longer was there just smell. Smoke billowed from the bombsite. Dust and debris began to cover the window screen, limiting sight even further. Emma had to drive slower, listening to the sound of the ambulance tyres on the road, no longer able to trust her vision. In the darkness, she could make out a faint light approaching. The warden. Emma pulled over slowly and the two women climbed out.

'Ah, ladies.' The warden was small and fat, his belly hanging over his trousers despite his upright posture. He carried himself with an air of self-importance, even in the wake of such an event. Most likely he was the servant of one of the houses on the street. That meant status. 'Ladies, I was expecting better time. This really is an unacceptable response time in such dreadful circumstances. You are aware we are in the middle of a war?'

'No, really? Well, I never thought that.' Red rolled her eyes and the warden gasped audibly, which would have been comic if not for the situation.

Emma thought to defuse the situation. 'What happened?'

The warden seemed grateful of the interruption, if only just to show off his understanding of the events. 'The only building hit was number 12. But it was a direct hit. Two occupants, the ex-MP Leopold Fabell and his wife, Regina. The fire brigade have already recovered them. They have a number of servants, but I don't believe any were in the building when the bomb hit.' As he spoke, Emma and Red fetched their equipment from the ambulance, bandages and blankets, as well as a stretcher. The warden offered no help, but did lead them to the building with the aid of a torch. 'I suppose, in a way, the hit was lucky. These streets are wide and the houses are totally detached. Good God, imagine the destruction if this was one of those East End streets!' Emma didn't say that she didn't need to imagine the scene, that just the night before they'd been on an East End street after a bombing. Three houses destroyed. No survivors. 'Well, this is the house.'

The warden shone the torch up at the building, and Emma and Red got a full glimpse of the destruction. The building had been white, before the bombing, but now the remaining structure was covered in soot and ash. As they walked closer, the grit in the air become more and more irritating, getting into the eyes and up into the nostrils. Under foot, glass shattered and belongings that had survived the blast were trodden. Though even in the soot and smoke, the wealth of the occupants was clear. The debris was made up of ivory and silk. There were smashed plates of real china. Real fur throws were charred on the floor. Looking at the piles of expense, even broken and burnt, Emma could understand exactly why looting was such a problem in the war.

It became clear as the three walked further through the debris that the damage had been to the front of the house alone. The rest of the house stood almost unaffected, with the only sign of the explosion a few smashed teacups in the back room, which Emma presumed to be the servants' quarters, given the plain walls. Once they passed beyond the back room, they arrived into the garden.

There were two people on the ground. Or, more precisely, one person lay on the ground moaning and one person sat delicately on what Emma presumed to be a stool in the dark. The moaner sounded male, he must be the MP, which meant the other figure was his wife. There were two other people stood in the garden also, both holding flashlights. Emma could faintly make out the fire brigade's symbol on their clothing. At the sight of the ambulance service, they approached.

'Swan. Red. Fancy meeting you two again.' The speaker was covered in soot, her face almost completely black. Her hands also. But that didn't stop her winking at Ruby. The other woman stood silently behind her.

'Dorothy, thought I shook you off last week?' Ruby replied, coolly but for the glint in her eye.

'Dotty. And a girl can still dream.' She smirked, but that seemed to signal the end of the conversation, and after her tone became serious. 'Ok, there are two casualties. Over there, Mr Fabell, serious. He needs urgent care. Ruby, you come with us and we'll take him on the stretcher. Emma, can you deal with his wife? She's refusing to let us touch her to check for injuries, she says she wants a 'proper' check. Given a lack of complaint and how seriously her husband is injured, we've just left her to it, but now you're here, can you try? Ruby, with me.'

Emma sighed as she watched Ruby and the fire brigade approach the man on the ground, still moaning. Whilst she was grateful of a night free from the gore they would be facing, she could do without some privileged aristocrat throwing a strop because of a few pieces of home décor. Still, she smiled and approached the woman sat on the stool.

'Excuse me, Mrs Fabell? My name's Emma Swan, I'm one of the ambulance drivers. I really need to examine you. Can you tell me please if you have any pain? Or if you feel nauseous or giddy at all?'

'How is he?' Mrs Fabell responded, ignoring Emma's questions, instead looking over at her husband on the ground.

'He's being treated by my colleague and he'll be taken to hospital as soon as possible,' Emma replied, still trying to keep her tone fairly light. 'But now I need to examine you.'

With that, Regina Fabell turned her head back towards Emma. In the light of the torch, the ambulance driver could get a better look at her patient. Mrs Fabell was younger than her husband, much younger, perhaps even half his age. She was slender and dark, with short hair that just about reached her shoulders. Her eyes were almost black, if not for a spark of something in them…calculation, perhaps? Curiosity, at least. It was difficult to tell with the lack of light. Her face was covered in soot, but underneath Emma could still make out a strong bone structure. A bone structure made for a woman who needed to look good whilst looking down on others. This was a woman born into the upper classes. Emma suddenly felt very self-conscious.

'You need to examine me, do you, Miss Swan?' Regina asked, her voice cutting into the night air. 'It is Miss Swan, presumably, I can't imagine a husband being comfortable with this.'

She meant comfortable with his wife being an ambulance driver, but it could have meant being comfortable with his wife looking so disgusting for all the warmth in her tone.

'Yes, it is Miss Swan.' Emma nodded. 'And yes, I do need to examine you.'

Regina stared at her for a moment longer before rolling her eyes. 'Fine. Make it quick. I can assure you I am well, but I imagine you have to check for yourself. This would be a poor war effort if we just took everything anyone said for the truth. Why, we'd all become Chamberlain overnight.' She watched with her dark eyes as a noticeable blush spread across the ambulance driver's cheeks. 'Don't you have the stomach for satire, Miss Swan?'

'I have the stomach for anything. I lack the class for satire,' Emma responded. 'Now, please, you need to be still whilst I examine you, else it will take far longer than necessary.'

'And we'd hate for that to happen,' Regina said sarcastically before indeed sitting still whilst Emma carried out the medical examination. She answered questions swiftly when Emma asked them, hesitating only when asked, quietly, if she could possibly be expecting, and that was only to let out a low chuckle. 'I would rather have been killed by the Germans, Miss Swan.'

'You are completely fine, Mrs Fabell.'

'I was already aware of that. The check was for your peace of mind.'

'I would recommend not doing anything overly taxing for a few days, in case of delayed shock. And if you do begin to experience any pain, you should see a doctor immediately.' Emma paused for a second. 'Do you have somewhere to go, Mrs Fabell? You are aware that you can't stay here? Nor will it be possible to move any items that you may have here until the building has been checked?'

'And leave everything for looters?' She raised a singular eyebrow. 'I have people who can do that for me, Miss Swan. As for my wellbeing? As charmed as I am that you are concerned, I am not delusional, I know full well I need a new place to stay. I have that under control.'

She spoke confidently. Indeed, she looked confident, and yet Emma could not help but think of the debris on the ground and notice the glint in Regina's eyes seemed less bright than it did before. She wanted to say something, do something that would brighten it once more.

'Emma.' She turned to Ruby shouting her across the garden. 'Mr Fabell needs to go to the hospital. We need to take him now.'

Emma nodded, as Regina stood up at the news of her husband. The ambulance driver turned back to her and she sat down again. 'We're taking your husband to the hospital. You may come if you want…'

'No, thank you.'

'Then you'll need to phone the hospital for news.' Emma fished in her pocket for a piece of paper and a stub of pencil and she quickly wrote down two phone numbers, resting the paper against her hand. She gave the paper to the MP's wife who said nothing of the fact the first number was for the closest hospital, rather than the more expensive practice she was no doubt more used to. The bombings did little for London other than cause class forgetfulness, it seemed.

Emma turned to leave when Regina asked, 'This second number, Miss Swan?'

'My number, Mrs Fabell, if you need anything at all.'


Red yawned as the ambulance stopped inside the basement in the early hours of the morning and the two women half stumbled out. Both women had gone over 24 hours without sleep, and both now felt it immensely.

'It seemed Hitler heard you asking for a night off, Rubes, and instead gave you a full night of work.'

After the first call, there had been four more bombings. The last two had been particularly unpleasant. Even after two years of war, it seemed there were still sights that could shock you, Emma thought.

'I knew there was a reason I didn't like him.' Red tried to scowl, but she was even too tired for that. 'Still, don't think I didn't see you, Swan.'

'See what?'

'Your number to the MP's wife? What was her name? Rachel?'

'Regina,' Emma corrected her, removing her hat to push a hand through her hair. 'And I was just trying to help. She lost her home tonight. And she husband's in hospital.'

'Aw bless.' Red cooed. 'And her lover will be right over to take her back to her country manor, where they won't leave bed for a week now her husband's out of the way. You're too naïve, Swan.'

'She's a woman who deserves sympathy, Ruby.'

'And she'll get some from her upper-class twit friends, and her upper-class twit family. By next week she'll have a new home and her husband will be better and their lives will be back to how they were before- spending money like always and pretending the war doesn't exist. Meanwhile the women who deserve sympathy will be dead from hunger and disease whilst their husbands are getting their heads blown off in France. Save your help for those who need it, Swan. And, trust me, she is not one of them.'