‘Dr Carlyle must have had her reasons for bringing him here.’ Although Grace had to admit, Marchant had a point. Edward seemed far too fit and healthy for Wilson ward.

But there had been something there, the briefest loss of control, that made her feel there was more to Edward Stanning than met the eye.

Once the medication round was finished, Grace prepared to settle the ward for the night. She turned down the lamps over each bed, then placed a green cloth over her desk lamp to dim its light before settling down to make a start on the reports.

She already knew the night would not be a peaceful one. In spite of their sedatives and sleeping draughts, the men were always restless then. They sobbed and moaned in their sleep, or screamed out orders. Even the mute ones, who never spoke a word when they were awake, cried out garbled warnings of ‘Fire!’ and ‘Watch out!’ They crawled across the floor, slithering under imaginary barbed wire, or sat bolt upright, arms flailing, fending off invisible missiles. It was awful to watch them coming to life, living out their nightmares in their sleep. Grace barely sat for five minutes without having to get up and coax someone back into bed, or sponge their sweating face, or hold their hands until their terrible, breathless panic subsided.

The only one who made no sound was Edward Stanning. He lay on his back, eyes wide open, staring up at the ceiling.

Grace was about to offer him the sedative again then changed her mind and went quietly back to her desk.

Shortly after midnight, the air-raid warning started. Looking out of the double doors, Grace saw the Head Porter marching down the long corridor that ran the length of the wards, followed by a retinue of porters and orderlies, all ringing bells.

‘Gosh, an air raid. How exciting,’ Marchant said.

‘A nuisance, more like,’ Grace muttered. ‘I don’t know why they bother warning us, when we’re not expected to evacuate or anything.’

‘Do you think they’ll come close this time?’ Vivienne Marchant went to open the curtains, but Grace said, ‘No, don’t. Keep them closed.’

‘But I want to look outside. I do love a good air raid.’

‘You might, but the men don’t.’ Grace looked down the ward, where the patients were starting to grow agitated.

‘But it’s such a thrilling sight when all those bombers pass overhead.’

‘Then go down to Monaghan and open their curtains!’ Grace snapped.

Vivienne Marchant flounced off, leaving Grace to walk the length of the ward with her lamp held high, checking on all the men and trying to calm them down.

Then she reached Corporal Frost’s bed and realised it was empty.

‘“It’s a long way to Tipperary, it’s a long way to go …”’

The faint sound, half singing, half whimpering, came from under the bed.

Sadie bent down and found herself staring into a pair of frightened eyes.

‘Are you all right, Corporal Frost?’ He nodded. ‘Why don’t you get back into bed? You’d be a lot more comfortable.’