***Chapter 16***

***August 1939***

Jimmy had of course been in the drawing room many times before. With its large fireplace, luxurious carpet, grand piano and antique furniture, it was a place where the Maddocks liked to relax and perhaps take a light afternoon tea while discussing political matters or household affairs. Not only did it catch the sun and give panoramic views of both the rolling hills of Whistledown and the distant Yorkshire Moors, but it housed too an elderly wireless and a brand new television set, the latter which filled the staff with almost reverential awe and gave them much cause to boast in the village shops. As was the fashion in those pre-War days however, it overflowed with clutter and fuss and Jimmy didn't envy Edith who, as soon as pretty little Theresa had coaxed the fire into new morning life and exited with soot-blackened nose and arms, marched in with dusters and polish.

In the hearth, two ornately-decorated Victorian fire screens jostled for space with the brass fireside set and two large bronze elephant sculptures. Surrounding the mahogany pendulum wall clock and always making Jimmy shiver with horror, stuffed animal heads, relics from a bygone era, stared glassy-eyed. Several paintings adorned the walls: a portrait of Lord and Lady Maddocks (Arthur had inherited the title a few years earlier when eldest brother Geoffrey refused it); a stern-looking ancestor pondering over some thick tome; a snow-covered Yorkshire landscape with shepherd and sheepdog busy herding their flock; a winter woodland, solitary and eerie by moonlight; a busy Thames teeming with ships and colour; a group of wild, free horses gathered by a stream, a gift from said Geoffrey and which, Jimmy had noticed, since the tragic accident when Prudence was thrown from Magic and disfigured her nose, had been demoted to a half-hidden corner.

The mantelshelf too was crammed with ornaments and photographs. One in particular never failed to capture his interest. It did now in the silence punctuated only by the clock's loud ticking. It was a large, silver-framed picture of the Maddocks family taken several years ago.

On a long seated couch, mother and father sat at either side of three of their brood, all boys, who seemed to range in age from around ten to fourteen. Their round, podgy faces might simply have been puppy fat but it could equally have been an unfortunately inherited trait of their portly father, who looked to be a man who had great appreciation of good food, good wine and his own importance. The fourth boy, a tall, skinny youth in his teens, who more closely resembled his slender, pretty mother, stood at the back, both hands placed on the couch behind each parent. Perhaps it had been the photographer's original intention to show the heir to the vast Maddocks fortune embracing his wealth, but if so in this he had been thwarted. "Dotty Geoff", as Jimmy had often heard Arthur and Prudence disparagingly refer to him, smiled for the camera but his gaze strayed towards the window, where an inquisitive squirrel sat watching from a tree branch. There was something about that amused gaze and the open window that intrigued Jimmy. He was not given to "flights of fancy", as his wife Rose would say, yet he felt, like himself, there was a love of the great outdoors and animals in this boy. This man.

For Geoffrey Maddocks, unmistakeably the boy in the picture sat, in army uniform, in the very same room, drinking a glass of brandy.

"Jimmy, we have an extremely serious matter to discuss with you…"

Arthur had paused and Jimmy clutched his doffed cap, bewildered by the presence of the newcomer.

"This is my brother Colonel Geoffrey Maddocks. Geoffrey, this is Jimmy Turner of whom we spoke."

"Indeed. Pleased to meet you," the Army man replied in the same cut-glass accent, and to Jimmy's surprise stood in order to warmly shake him by the hand.

"Likewise," he stammered in return, wondering if the world had turned on its head and toffs were to respect the lower classes now.

"Please take a seat. May I offer you brandy or whiskey? Or would you prefer to take it in tea?" Arthur had already picked up the decanter from the tray set out on a nearby coffee table.

"Or we could send for coffee…?" Prudence added, her finger hovering over the old-fashioned bell-pull that would alert the duty kitchen maid, further confounding Jimmy, who pinched himself to be sure this wasn't all some peculiar dream.

"Just tea would be fine, thank you, ma'am." Jimmy was too stunned to feel like drinking anything at all but thought he ought to accept for politeness's sake. He sat rigidly on the very edge of the easy chair Arthur had indicated, thinking whoever was duty maid would swoon if she could see him now. It was the Thirties and folk said class barriers were being torn down and rightly so in these more modern times, but Jimmy was of the old school and ill-at-ease being treated as an equal.

"I won't beat about the bush," Arthur continued as he poured from the large silver teapot into a delicate china cup that Jimmy, more used to the thick, chipped kitchen mugs, was very anxious about breaking. "Jimmy, you must know by now we regard you more as a friend than an employee. You may recollect our conversation that bleak winter's day a few years ago when I told you we may have to prepare for War? I must take you into my confidence again."

He wiped a hand across his face and sighed heavily. "We fully expect Mr Chamberlain to make such an announcement in weeks, perhaps even days. Follyfoot Farm is to be closed. We intend to relocate as many staff as we can to new places and positions and have already begun the process. And we need someone we can trust, who would, I might add, be very admirably recompensed, to live and work with us in London… "