Chapter Text
May 1932
The afternoon sun laid patterns over the Hastings family's well-kept property. The birds chirped in the bushes and the scent of roses filled the noses of those present. The gardener had just finished trimming the rose bushes. The 10-year-old girl with the dark hair walked upright along the gravel paths. Followed by her energetic young border collie, Max.
So while the only Hastings child walked through the park, as she did every day, she kept calling out precise commands, which the well-trained dog obeyed immediately.
The girl ordered the dog to wait, then she ran with purposeful steps to the other end of the lawn. Her heart beat faster with excitement. Then she called out in a surprisingly loud and firm voice, "Hier!"
The dog, who was trained in German commands, ran off immediately and was at her side within seconds. His paws kicked up the dust behind him before he reached the girl and collected his cuddles.
"Guter Hund!," praised the girl.
A gentle smile that hardly anyone else got to see spread across her face. The dog wagged his tail enthusiastically.
"Sitz!" Max sat down without hesitation.
"Platz!" he lay down on the floor.
"Gut gemacht!" she grinned now as she pulled out the red ball. The dog perked up his ears and didn't take his eyes off the ball for a second. The brown-haired girl raised her arm and threw the ball as far as she could. At the same time, she shouted: "Jetzt!" The dog shot after her and caught the ball out of the air with impressive ease.
A few rounds later, they were both exhausted. Charlotte dropped down into the grass for a moment, her fingers sliding through Max's soft fur. The tranquillity of the moment was broken by the sounds of the mansion in the background—the gentle clink of teacups and the distant murmur of servants.
The mansion was imposing. An architectural masterpiece flanked by precisely trimmed hedges. The Hastings were wealthy and a welcome member of the British aristocracy. Although they had no titles, her father was a respected and highly decorated veteran of the Great War and her mother was a proud woman from the upper classes of France.
Charlotte was the heiress of the Hastings family. As they were not short of money, the child enjoyed a good education. Only the best private tutors were allowed to teach her. At the age of just 10, she already spoke fairly good German and French in addition to English.
Charlotte stood up, brushed off her dress and walked back to the house with Max. As soon as she entered, her eyes fell on her mother, who scrutinised her with a cool but watchful gaze.
"Charlotte, où étais-tu?"
"Dehors, avec mon chien, comme chaque jour, maman."
"Va te changer, on va bientôt manger."
"Oui maman."
Charlotte handed her dog over to a servant who would bathe him. Charlotte herself walked quickly, but never too hastily, to her room and quickly changed her clothes before going to the dining room of the mansion.
At the table, she found her father. "Charlotte," he greeted her.
"Papa."
"How was your day? Did you finish your studies?"
"It was quite good. I did my lessons and practiced with Max in the garden," she told her father about her day until the food was served.
But as soon as the salad was served, she fell silent, allowing her parents to speak.
While Charlotte ate, of course with perfect table manners, her parents talked about politics and what else was going on in the world.
Her role was to listen and only speak when asked, a trait that always earned admiration from the dinner guests.
But the upbringing, perhaps too perfect, was one of the reasons the children of the other families were reluctant to talk to the girl and preferred to avoid her.
Charlotte's only friend was the next-door boy. He lived in a smaller house that was so much more comfortable and welcoming than the spacious and luxuriously decorated Hastings estate would ever be.
Although Tommy secretly thought Charlotte showed too few emotions and expressed herself as if she were in the presence of a king, he still liked to spend time with her.
After dinner, Charlotte ran with her dog along the paths, framed by perfectly trimmed hedges, toward the setting sun. As the hedges grew wilder and the gravel paths were covered in grasses and moss, she spotted Tommy waiting ahead of her.
"You're late!" he shouted at her as soon as he saw her.
She shrugged. "I am here now, is that not what counts?"
"Yup, so I gotta show ya something."
She raised an eyebrow in the same way she had seen her mother do so many times.
Oh no, what was he up to now?
"Don't look at me like that, it's nothing dangerous."
"I promise."
She scoffed.
Nevertheless, she followed him to the back of the garden. There, Tommy stood waiting, pointing to the old oak tree.
"See, nothing dangerous," he grinned at her, pointing to a swing attached to a thick branch of the oak tree. He sat on it and began swinging back and forth, while Charlotte critically inspected the knots that held it in place.
"Are you sure this... thing isn't going to break?" she asked.
"Sure, I made it myself—" he couldn't finish his sentence. Just as he reached the highest point, right before the swing would return to the other side, the rope snapped on one side.
A dull thud echoed through the garden's silence as Tommy hit the ground. "Tommy!" Charlotte's heart raced, her fingers trembling as she rushed to him and knelt in the grass.
She didn't know what to do! What if he was seriously hurt?
She took a deep breath.
What did Papa always say? A Hastings doesn't panic.
She looked at her dog. "Geh, hol Hilfe!" The dog understood the word "Hilfe" and ran to the nearby house with the lights on.
While her dog scratched at the door to summon Tommy's mother, Charlotte stayed by Tommy's side.
"Can you get up?" she asked. He nodded, but as he tried to stand on his left foot, he winced in pain.
"Come, put your arm around my shoulders. We'll get you inside."
This time, they managed to walk slowly toward the house. Tommy's mother came rushing out, alarmed.
"What happened?"
"Tommy injured his foot," Charlotte said, her voice calm, though she had to suppress a slight tremor.
"I can see that, young lady," Tommy's mother said, rolling her eyes a little, clearly annoyed.
She helped Tommy into the house, where she treated his injury as best she could. Charlotte watched with quiet interest.
"Go home now, Charlotte. It's getting late."
Charlotte nodded. She wished Tommy well before heading home with Max.
The next morning, before the sun had even risen over the estate, Charlotte stood in front of her father and asked for lessons in medicine.
She swore to herself that this would be the last time she ever felt helpless, not knowing what to do.