There’s no fear of that, Esther thought grimly. I’m hanging on tight to you, mester.

They stayed the night at an inn in Dover, although Esther could not accustom herself to someone else waiting on her. As soon as the maid appeared in her bedroom with a jug of hot water for her to wash, Esther made to take it from her. In the dining room, when the waiter brought her food, she stood up to help him. At the end of the meal she began to clear away the crockery. Blushing, she realized her mistake and sat down again. The squire, noticing her confusion, kindly made no comment, but merely patted her hand and exchanged a word with the waiter, thoughtfully taking the attention away from Esther.

The following morning as they took their leave, she was carefully counting out her coins to pay the landlord, when the squire whispered, ‘Put your money away, my dear, the bill is all settled.’

She looked up at him, ‘Oh, Squire, you are kind.’

Esther was quite relieved to leave the inn, having felt very out of place.

There was worse to come. The ship crossing the Channel rolled and tossed and Esther was sea-sick. The squire was solicitous, but, she noticed, even he looked a little pale by the time they landed in France. Then, what they saw in this strange land obliterated any memory of the fearsome journey. Their own minor discomforts paled into insignificance compared with the destruction and desolation they now beheld.

How the squire found a means of transport, Esther did not know. It was a dilapidated trap pulled by a scrawny pony, yet better than anything owned by the inhabitants of the towns and villages through which they passed.

The people she saw were hunch-backed with misery. Little groups, whole families with children in tow, seemed to be on the move, pushing all their worldly belongings in carts, going somewhere, but not seeming to know where, or to care. As they passed through villages, Esther realized why. Houses and cottages lay in ruins, some reduced to a mere pile of rubble, whilst others had every window broken, the glass hanging jaggedly from the woodwork. Doors hung drunkenly off their hinges, open to the street and huge holes gaped in the sides of houses. People sat about dejectedly, the spirit pounded out of them by the four years of relentless war being fought all around them. Small children wandered alone, dirty and unkempt, their feet bootless even in the cold of winter. These people had watched their homes being shot to pieces, their land ravaged.