Easterleigh Hall at War (18 page)

While Evie directed the clearing up at eleven that evening, Mr Harvey completed his rounds, having checked the windows and locked all the external doors, except for the grand hall. The keys were positioned in various places in case of fire though the huge double doors remained unlocked at all times, and an orderly was on duty at the reception desk because ambulances could arrive at any time.

Evie watched Mr Harvey, finding comfort in his steady walk, his upright posture, his pristine suit and shirt, his polished boots, his permanently unflustered demeanour, as he checked the vegetable storeroom skylights. The sky could fall and he would bear its weight on his shoulders. At that moment, just as she was putting on her coat to slip away home, in the boot hall the telephone bell jangled, positioned just below the room bells. It was the one thing that disturbed his stateliness. She watched as he braced himself, and advanced on the enemy before it could stop ringing. The telephone was fixed to the wall. Mr Harvey lifted the earpiece off the rest with two fingers, as though it was destined to explode. ‘Easterleigh Hall,' he pronounced into the mouthpiece as though he was in the pulpit, so solemn was his tone.

He listened, his shoulders drooping further and further: Evie stood in the kitchen doorway. She heard the ra-ta-tat of the voice, but had already realised that it was Bastard Brampton, shouting.

Mr Harvey replaced the earpiece and sighed, unaware, clearly, that he was observed. ‘Bugger,' he murmured. Evie stepped back, slipping into the scullery. She had never seen the butler so disturbed. She knocked a pan into the sink. ‘Hello,' Mr Harvey called. She bustled out. ‘Just finishing, Mr Harvey, and then I'm off home. I do just wish I could use my old room, but best not to tempt fate, as you said the other day. We don't want any surprise check-ups by Nairns.'

He smiled, absent-mindedly. ‘Evie, Lord Brampton is arriving after luncheon tomorrow. It is to be a flying visit, in response to Lady Veronica's news regarding Mr Auberon, and he mentioned something about changes at Easterleigh Hall. I think perhaps it is to do with the budget, and dare we hope for good news? I gather he will visit the mines too.' It was as though he was thinking aloud.

Evie replied, ‘I thought he sounded rather . . . well, loud.'

Mr Harvey raised his eyebrows. ‘Ah, you could hear that in the scullery, could you, young lady? Well, let us just say that I fear that even the news of his son's safety has improved his mood little from last week, when his steelworkers went on strike to prevent him paying German prisoners of war at a cheap rate. Have you heard that there is a similar move afoot in his pits here, should he employ such men? You must be away from here, Evie, by midday. You know his habit of surprises and I suspect he and Mr Nairns confer more, rather than less. There is supposed to be only one cook here. Annie must fade into the background also.'

Evie arrived at her usual time of 5.30 a.m., wishing that she was back properly because although this cycling was helping her recover her fitness, it wasted time which could be better spent at the Hall. She wouldn't use the pickup trap or cart because then she was involving others in her disobedience, as Matron called it, kissing her on the cheek in gratitude. It was Mrs Moore who walked the wards, talking to the new patients, or indeed anyone who needed some food-fussing, while she stayed hidden below stairs. The patients, though, sent messages to Dr Nairns' study demanding Evie and Annie's return, to his fury.

Breakfast was the usual bustling procedure, followed by the morning meeting round the kitchen table. Captain Richard announced that there had still been no movement on Dr Nairns' position over the kitchen staff, and that the doctor had drawn up yet another document, which listed others who should be dismissed. He produced it, and Evie checked down the names. This time the garden staff was targeted, with Old Stan as the bullseye at the head of the list. Evie stared into the distance. How bloody dare he? For the hundredth time she wondered how they could stop all this.

As though he could read her mind Captain Richard reminded them that he was to travel to Durham again for a further meeting with Sir Anthony Travers, who was now in talks with others who might be agreeable to funding the shortfall over and above Lord Brampton's ninepence per patient per day. Not only that, but they were interested in the work scheme for ex-patients.

But when would we know, Evie wanted to ask, but instead she smiled. Richard was to travel alone, leaving Ron Simmons in the office this time. Bravo.

Richard now said, ‘I have informed Dr Nairns, who insists that this funding possibility still allows for no movement on the employment of Evie Forbes, though it could ensure the reinstatement of Annie.' He peered across at Evie. ‘Is she likely to leave Gosforn Auxiliary Hospital do you think, Evie, to return here?'

Evie shrugged. ‘No idea, Captain Richard.'

Richard exchanged a look with Veronica and then continued, ‘Indeed, Nairns has made the point that Miss Forbes' absence had caused no problems whatsoever, as the standard of service has been maintained.' He grimaced, Veronica groaned, the laughter of the head servants was wry. Mrs Moore muttered, ‘It's not only the troops in the trenches who have to learn not to poke their heads over the parapet, my dear girl. Keep your head down, bonny lass, from now on.'

At the close of the meeting, hurried at the end because of Veronica's inelegant rush for the door, her hand to her mouth, Evie and Mrs Moore embarked on luncheon preparation. It was to be lentil soup, removed by casserole of fowl and dumplings with the usual overload of root vegetables, removed by apple pie and cream. There would be beef tea, fish simmered in milk and egg custard for those who were on light diets. Evie couldn't stop glancing at the clock, her stomach clenched in a way it had not been for a long while. Why was the Bastard coming? Why?

By eleven the kitchen was full of the aroma of casserole and stockpot and the ranges were humming, the furnace gurgling. After glancing at the clock once more, Evie said, ‘Aye, lasses, it's quite time for a cup of tea and soon I must hoy myself out of the door. He said after luncheon but you never know with him.'

Enid broke off from cutting up the root vegetables that would be added to the casserole in half an hour, gathered up some enamel mugs and placed them near Mrs Moore. ‘You be mother, pet.' They were the same age and had been friends since Mrs Moore had cooked for Grace at the parsonage.

Mrs Moore laughed. ‘Be stretching it a bit to be your mother, our Enid.' Evie placed the kettle on the hotplate. As though she smelled the tea, Veronica joined them for some company and to take her mind off her sickness. Tea was one of the few things that she found acceptable. She stood with Enid at the end of the table nearest to the scullery and started to chop up the carrots, staining her fingers orange as they all discussed the rabbits that two of the youngsters from the village had promised but which had not yet arrived. They were destined for the lunch table tomorrow.

‘If we don't get them,' Evie said, ‘how about rissoles for the staff out of the remains of the casseroles today, but what for the patients?' Embarking on the dumplings, she rubbed suet into wheat flour lightly with her fingertips. ‘I'll need some herbs from Old Stan's store at the bottom of the veggie garden, Joyce, when you have a moment.' Herbs would perk up the dumplings no end. ‘We've some bits of streaky bacon which I'll add also, do you think, Mrs Moore?'

Joyce was chopping up the apples for the tart, leaving the skins on because every scrap of goodness was needed, not to mention bulk. Some were already beginning to brown but just as Evie started to say something, Joyce scooped them up and dropped them into the bowl of water she had ready. Evie smiled. Aye, like a smoothly oiled machine, they were.

The apples were stored in a shed that Old Stan had converted, now that the sphagnum moss was dried in the former apple stores. The war had rejuvenated the old boy, and his energy was prodigious. Mrs Moore tapped her recipe bible, her spectacles on the end of her nose. ‘Bacon, you said, Evie? You've reminded me of quiche Lorraine. We haven't made that for a while so we'll let the rabbits hang, if they ever arrive, and put quiche on the menu for tomorrow. Now, how's that dratted kettle coming, Evie?' She looked over the top of her glasses from Evie to the kettle on the range behind her. It was then that they heard a car in the garage yard, the slam of a door, rushed footfalls on the steps. Raisin and Currant leapt off the armchairs, barking.

Veronica paled even further than usual, if possible. ‘Oh God, Father's early. I'll leave the chauffeur to you and go and head him off in the grand hall. Evie, you need to leave the dumplings to Enid, and go. Take the dogs. He thinks they've been put down. Quick, for heaven's sake.' She slipped from the stool as Enid dropped her knife and started round the table towards Evie. Veronica had reached the door into the corridor when they heard the back door burst open. Evie spun round, her hands sticky with dough. The kitchen door had slammed back, crashing into the end of the row of ranges. They all froze as Lord Brampton entered, taking in the room at a glance.

‘Just as I thought,' he roared, striding to the table, slapping his cane under his arm and tearing off his gloves and homburg, which he threw amongst the prepared carrots and turnips. His grey hair was in disarray, his pale blue eyes barely visible in the fury of his crunched-up face, the astrakhan collar of his black coat dappled with drizzle. He shoved aside Joyce, who dropped the chunks of apple she was about to put into the bowl, staggered, but managed to catch hold of the end of the table, shock in her eyes. ‘Just as I bloody well thought,' he ground out again. The dogs whined and hid under the table.

Mrs Moore sat on her stool, slumped as though the air had gone from her body. Evie could hardly breathe. Automatically she rubbed the dough from her hands back into the bowl. None must be wasted. Lady Veronica stood motionless, one hand on the door handle.

Brampton threw his cane on to the table, knocking two sieves, several spoons and some knives to the floor. Pushing aside Enid he reached for Evie, gripping her shoulder and swinging her round. The pain almost made her cry out. She smelled the alcohol on his breath. Lady Veronica shouted, her hands gripped in front of her now, as though protecting her child, ‘Her shoulder is healing, leave her alone, Father.'

He flung Evie back against the table; the bowl of dough juddered. Her shoulder throbbed. He stabbed at her with his forefinger. ‘You're a Forbes. Do you think I wouldn't recognise the name when that fool Nairns sent me his list? We employed you as Evie Anston and you, Veronica, you knew about this, and why aren't those dogs dead? Bloody Hun creatures.' He glared around the kitchen. Maudie was standing in the scullery doorway, gripping her hessian apron. She darted back out of sight. Mrs Moore reached out her hand. ‘Please, Lord Brampton . . .'

He roared again. ‘You, you old woman, should not even be working, so useless are you, so just be quiet.' The kettle was boiling, rattling the lid. The range was belting out heat. He was close to Evie now; she could see the pores on his nose. ‘You were ordered not to cross the threshold again, but here you are, with everyone knowing, thus making a fool of me. I will not have a Forbes in my employ. Your brother led strikes, and bought the houses that should have been mine. What might you be bringing about here, and what about the mine? Are you encouraging a strike there? Too much of a coincidence, isn't it, bloody Forbes everywhere, like a plague? Hey? Hey?' His spittle pitted her face.

Evie forced herself to stand erect, her shoulders back, her head up, ignoring the stabbing in her shoulder and Mrs Moore's pull on her skirt, her whispered, ‘Evie, take care, lass.'

‘I cook, that's all I do, for the patients that come to the hospital here in Easterleigh Hall, which as you might remember you insisted your daughter establish. She is the commandant, not Dr Nairns, and it is she who should be running it.' She had kept her tone even and calm, though her hands were fisted to such an extent that her nails dug into her skin and the sweat of fear ran down her back.

He stepped even closer, so that there was barely an inch between them, and now the lid of the kettle was rattling fit to bust. ‘How would you know what I have insisted, unless my daughter has shared more than she should with a minion? A minion that confronts and abuses the Medical Officer in this establishment, just as any Forbes would.'

‘Father, leave her.' Veronica was as white as a sheet, her hand to her mouth.

Enid and Joyce were stepping away from the table, fear in every shaking step. He bellowed, ‘Did I give you permission to move?'

Veronica spoke again, opening the door into the corridor and gripping it so tightly that her knuckles were white. ‘She confronted Nairns because he was dismissing staff we need. You weren't here. You don't know what happened.'

Her father didn't even look at her, but kept his eyes locked on Evie. ‘I know that I have the pleasure of a nest of Forbes under my roof. Not only his sister but his wife, his parents, and his child on these premises. I will not have it. I will not be disobeyed in this fashion.'

He swung round then and looked towards Lady Veronica, who had her hand to her forehead, wiping the sweat from it. Oh God, she's going to vomit, Evie thought, before calling for a bowl.

Mrs Moore rushed to the scullery and back again, a damp cloth and a bowl clutched to her. She placed them on the table, and she and Enid forced Lady Veronica to sit at the table, fanning her. Evie went to Veronica's side.

Her father stared, moving back to the end of the table. Veronica shrank from him. Mrs Moore whispered to Enid behind his back. Enid nodded, grabbed Joyce, and they were out and up the steps to freedom. Brampton leaned on the table, putting his weight on his hands. ‘Am I to understand that you and your cripple of a husband have managed to start off a child at long last?'