The Gray Ladies

Chapter 1 - Rosalind Gray

The bombs dropped on London with a jolly whistle like that of the chef in our household. One shrill tune and the world around us rocked. Mother sat opposite me in the shelter with an arm around both of my younger sisters. They flinched each time the bombs made impact whilst dust rained from the ceiling.

"Breathe." I said, taking Clara, the youngest one's, hand. "Just breathe."

"I'm scared." She sobbed.

"She's fine." Mother snapped, pulling Clara from my reach. "It's okay." She said in a softer tone. "It'll be over before you know it."

"Please, mother." Clara begged. "Can I sit with Rosa?"

"So be it." She hissed, Clara crossed to my side of the bunker and I wrapped my arms around her trembling shoulders.

For a while there was silence. The sound of the planes moved away from us, heading south at my guess. Then the all clear came, the same horrid monotonous horn that blared out across town every time the enemy had retreated. The staff were allowed out first, making it sure it was safe to let out the family they served before retreating inside to survey any damage we might have and clean up.

"We were lucky this time, ma'am." Mr Gillies informed mother. "No damage, just a few portraits fallen from the walls."

"Thank you, Mr Gillies. Could you have the kitchen staff whip something up for the children? To calm their nerves."

"Of course."

"Rosa, be a dear and take the girls to their room. Get them ready for bed."

"Yes, mother. Come on, Clara. You too, Anna."

Dutifully, the girls followed me upstairs, neither arguing with mother that they weren't tired. If mother gave a demand they always followed it, especially when she was in one of her moods. Once I had them washed and changed into their bed clothes Mrs Swan came in with a tray of snacks and a pitcher of milk before setting down on the small glass table by their bedroom chairs.

"Must we go to sleep?" asked Anna, sipping on her milk. "I'm a teenager now, can't I stay up late?"

"You know you don't want to make mother cross, Anna."

"You make mother cross all the time though, Rosa." Clara noted tartly.

"Yes, but I am older than both of you. Once Will gets back from the war, I'll move out and we'll get married."

"If he gets back from the war." Mumbled Clara.

"Hush, Clara! Don't say such horrid things." Anna scolded her younger sister.

Anna at fifteen looked very much like my father when he was alive. She had long curly auburn hair, a freckled face, she had large green eyes and was taller than most girls her age. Nine-year-old Clara was more like mother, her skin white as milk but with rosy cheeks and lips, misty grey eyes and a small bob of black hair. I was like neither. Father always joked I was the milkman's daughter. Here I stood, twenty-four with wild brown hair, bright blue eyes and a short but curvy figure.

"What do you say?" Anna continued.

"Sorry, Rosa. I'm sure Will is fine."

"Enough chit chat." I clapped my hands to silence them. "Time for bed."

They groaned their complaints but did as they were told climbing into the beds, in the room they shared, before pulling their sheets right up to their chins. I read a chapter from their favourite book and left shortly after I was sure they were asleep. When I reached my room it was just in time to see a few small stones rattling my window.