Easterleigh Hall at War (19 page)

There was a gasp from Maudie, who was standing in the doorway of the scullery again, but no sound from Evie, his daughter, or Mrs Moore, who knew this man too well. He continued, ‘Well, at least that is some sop, but only some, to make up for the sheer disgrace your pathetic brother has brought to this family. How typical that he preferred shame to death with honour, and taking a Forbes with him too. Cowards have no . . .'

Evie shouted, standing between him and Veronica, ‘Auberon is no coward.'

Lord Brampton lifted his hand to strike her. ‘Address my son correctly.' Evie shouted again, ‘Touch me and I'll rip your heart out.' She snatched up one of the knives he had not managed to knock to the floor. It was the vegetable knife Jack had sharpened all those months ago. It was still as sharp as a razor, and she would use it. ‘Roger tried to hurt me when I wouldn't give in to him years ago, and do you think I'll let you or anyone do it again? Do you think I'll let you hurt your daughter again? Do you, Bastard Brampton? Put your hand down.' He didn't. She lifted the knife. Mrs Moore called, ‘Evie. Lord Brampton, please.'

At that moment Captain Richard spoke from the doorway, but Evie would not take her eyes from Lord Brampton, or he would strike. ‘Evie, put the knife down. If anyone is going to kill him, it will be me.' She looked at him now, and saw that his rage had caused his lips to thin, his colour to rise. ‘I received Enid's message, Mrs Moore. I doubt she's moved that quickly for many a year. Now, Lord Brampton. It is time you left or it is I who will fillet out your heart, God help me, I will.'

At this Lord Brampton laughed, a drunken, frenzied sound. ‘You wouldn't have the guts because if you take one step towards me I will cease
any
sponsorship of this establishment, above and beyond the government grant. I will insist you pay for the upkeep of the Hall. After all, you live here only because I allow you to. Or shall I just close the whole hospital down, and make you and everyone else homeless? How would you like that, eh? What's more, I'll have this bitch arrested and see how she likes that.'

Captain Richard limped towards his father-in-law, his walking stick steadying him. Evie saw his eyes, and they chilled her. ‘You will do none of these things, or your reputation will suffer at this time of your country's need, no matter how many lesser establishments you start in Leeds or wherever else. Come with me, Lord Brampton. Come with me out into the yard and I will tell you exactly what position you are in, or do you wish this discussion to take place in front of your staff?'

Lord Brampton hesitated, unsure, probably for the first time in his life. Evie felt more proud of Captain Richard than she had been of anyone for a long while. Richard stood so close to his father-in-law that it seemed as though they were about to take part in some bizarre dance. Evie almost laughed. Everyone stood or sat motionless, staring. There was only the sound of the damned kettle lid to break the silence. Maudie still stood in the scullery doorway, horror on her face.

Richard rested his walking stick against the table and tried to take the knife from Evie with his one hand but her fingers were locked around the bone handle. Dough had dried on her fingers. She stared down at his hand on hers. He said, ‘I apologise on behalf of my father-in-law for his behaviour towards you, Evie. He will not interfere in the running of this household again, nor touch anyone within it, and you will be reinstated immediately. Do you hear that, Veronica? He will not touch anyone, ever again, within the walls of Easterleigh Hall.'

Evie looked at Veronica, sitting slumped over the bowl next to her, and said to Richard, ‘I saw Aub's poor battered face before the war, again and again; the first time at the stables. I saw Ver's, you saw it too, when she came to see you entrain . . . Fathers shouldn't . . . Bosses shouldn't . . . We need to help our patients, we can't stop doing so, not on the whim of a bully.' She nodded at Lord Brampton who looked dazed now, and confused. He muttered, ‘Aub? Ver? How dare you?' But the heat had gone out of his voice. Sweat dripped from his face on to his astrakhan collar, and the stink of drink was worse, seeming to ooze from the man.

‘He's a menace,' Evie whispered, looking up into Richard's face. He smiled, eased the knife from her and threw it to the table, where it skidded and fell to the floor. No one picked it up. ‘Maudie will have to wash it,' she said. Her shoulder hurt.

Captain Richard picked up his cane and nudged Brampton's arm. ‘We'll leave now,' he said. Brampton tried to thrust him off, kicking at his cane. Richard staggered, his balance always precarious. Veronica vomited into the bowl. Evie left her to Mrs Moore and went to steady Richard. Still the kettle lid clattered.

Mr Harvey entered from the corridor; perhaps he'd been there for some time. She watched him walk over to them in his stately fashion, his shoulders back, his demeanour as calm as usual. He said, ‘May I assist you, Captain Richard.' It wasn't a question. He armlocked Brampton and moved him towards the door, while the captain smiled and followed, treading firmly now, saying, ‘Look after Ver for me, Evie, if you wouldn't mind.' It was the first time they had shared the use of Ver.

‘This way, Your Lordship, up the steps with you,' Mr Harvey said. ‘Geoffrey is waiting with the car for you in the garage yard, but there's time for Captain Richard to have that little word, probably within the automobile, I suggest.' It clearly wasn't a suggestion. Evie realised that it wasn't only Captain Richard of whom she was proud, it was this wonderful elderly man too.

Lord Brampton stopped as they reached the door, and shouted, ‘This isn't the end.' He sounded close to tears.

‘May I suggest that you are just overtired, and in need a bit of a rest? Perhaps a lie-down in a darkened room,' Mr Harvey said, propelling him into the boot corridor.

‘You're dismissed, do you hear, damn you Harvey. Ouch.'

‘Just a tweak of the arm, Lord Brampton, it helps things along.'

Ver vomited again. Mrs Moore sighed. ‘It's a good sign, bonny lass. Means the baby is strong.'

Ver groaned. ‘How long will this go on?'

‘It'll run its course,' Mrs Moore soothed. No one knew if either woman meant the baby or the situation.

Evie took Veronica to her bedroom, calling in on Lady Margaret in the facial injuries suite and asking her for a moment of her time to keep Ver company, if she wouldn't mind. She wouldn't. Evie returned to the kitchen. Maudie came from the scullery, saying, ‘I didn't know Roger had hurt you?'

‘He was a fool and wanted what I wouldn't give.'

Maudie crossed her arms. ‘Is this what happened to Millie, then?'

Evie shrugged. ‘In a way, I suppose. He charmed her, made her love him and had free use of her. I warned her but she wouldn't listen, and she was by no means the first.'

Mrs Moore had removed the kettle from the hob at last, and was pouring tea into the mugs and pushing them towards Evie and Maudie. Joyce and Enid joined them, hurrying in from the corridor where they'd been hiding. Maudie asked, ‘Does she love Jack?'

‘Oh, I just don't know.' Evie's thoughts were chasing about in her head. Maudie took her tea into the scullery, saying as she went, ‘How can a father beat his son like that, and lift a hand to his daughter?'

Evie just shook her head, fearing that the man would never change, fearing what this would mean to them all. Mrs Moore eased herself on to her stool. ‘Anyone would think we didn't have a luncheon to serve. Evie, sort out these dumplings please. Enid, the vegetables need to go in the casseroles, and Joyce, the apples. Chop chop, the enemy is on our back.'

Evie looked at the clock. It was eleven forty-four. Had their world changed in just three quarters of an hour? Were they to close down?

Grace straightened, checked the transfusion tube, and stroked the corporal's hand. He was unconscious but might feel the comfort. He'd been washed, but grime and the stench of war still clung to him. He needed blood before surgery. Her back ached but she was pleased to be back at base camp, because at least last night she'd been able to change her uniform, and shower. Here the guns were loud, but not
as
loud, and though the ground shuddered from the effects of the barrage it didn't throw up dirt and shrapnel. Here it was bugles she heard, not whistles indicating that soldiers like this poor boy were scrambling out of the trenches into the mouths of the guns. Never had she thought she would be so close to the Front. Could she bear to be again?

She held the corporal's hand. He stirred. She soothed, ‘It's all right, you're safe.' He relaxed, still unconscious. Yes, he was safe, and so was Jack. Thank God. She touched the telegram from Evie which had at last reached her, brought down by Angie, who was replacing her at the casualty clearing station, such was the rush and shortage of orderlies.

Outside, trucks ground their gears, a horse neighed. The tent seemed to ooze damp, but of course it did, for the rain was unceasing. A letter had arrived too, with the news of Veronica's pregnancy. Grace smiled as she checked the transfusion, and the lower-legs blood loss. When would they all refer to her by her title, Lady Veronica? Perhaps never? Perhaps at the end of all this? But would it end? If so, how? Would any of these young men be left alive, let alone whole?

For now, none of that mattered, nor the ache in her legs, her back, her neck, nor the blisters on her heels from boots that had rubbed as she rushed around the aid station, treating the minor injuries, and sending others on to the casualty clearing station. Jack was safe; Tim had his father, Millie her husband.

‘Penny for them, or should I say a dollar?' It was Slim, standing too close to her. ‘Maybe I can guess. He's safe and perhaps you're thinking we can go to the
estaminet
to celebrate?'

The corporal groaned. ‘Hush, you're safe,' she soothed again. ‘I'm tired,' she told Slim. ‘There's a lot of work to do.'

He moved to the foot of the bed, checking Corporal Young's chart. ‘You said you couldn't meet with me until Jack was safe. He's safe, Gracie. Can't you let me in?'

She stayed by the transfusion stand and could feel the telegram in her pocket and knew what she had really known all along, and her pride in Jack grew with each word she said. ‘He's safe for now, but he'll fight, like our Evie with that damned Brampton. Our Jack will carry on fighting. He'll make their job difficult, and he'll escape, or die trying. That's our Jack. So I can't come to the
estaminet
to celebrate, because he'll never be safe until this war is over, or perhaps not even then, if he goes back in the mine. I'm sorry, Slim, really sorry. You're a lovely man and a wonderful doctor.'

‘You don't mind?' His voice was gentle.

She smiled, holding the corporal's hand, because he was awake, but talking to Slim. ‘Of course I mind, but I wouldn't have him any other way.'

He said, ‘I'll keep trying. You're a special woman, Gracie, and you deserve better than to go through life alone.' He left. Grace stared at the tent opening. Alone? The thought chilled her, but then she touched the telegram again. With Jack alive in the world, she wasn't alone.

IN A FIELD
not too far from Lille, Jack, Simon, Charlie and three of the Lea End lot, Tiger, Dave and Jim, hunkered around the empty can a German guard had tossed to them, and which they'd suspended from a makeshift tripod over a weak fire made of sticks they'd collected. ‘Dawn's too bloody early this time of year,' Charlie grumbled. Around them everyone was doing the same, on grass that was dry, and flattened by the prisoners, who slept beneath the stars. A few had tents, a few were in the barn, but that comfort was confined to those who were sick. When the water was passably hot they tipped in the camouflage coffee, which was burnt barley, and let it brew.

The dawn chorus was the usual rattle and roar of the guns, even two kilometres behind the lines. The star shells, used by both sides to spot wiring parties in no-man's-land, had ceased with the dawn.

Simon nudged Jack. ‘What d'you reckon we'll be doing today, Jack?'

‘Whatever our masters tell us, but what you lot won't be doing is eating the crusts you should have kept for your five-course breakfast, but which you ate last night, again, before slipping between your linen sheets and wool blankets.' The men hooted. Si grunted, ‘Chance would be a fine thing.'

Dave poked the fire with a stick, watching it smoulder, before ramming it into the ground. ‘Should have been born an officer then, laddie. They'll be waking up between sheets that their batmen will have washed, dried and spread with rose petals, won't they, Jacko boy?'

Jack dug into his pocket and brought out his bread, so hard it could have doubled as a hammer. He soaked it in his coffee, then shared it out. ‘This is the last time,' he warned. Charlie muttered, ‘You say that every time. Doesn't your stomach lining stick to itself at the end of the day then, Jack? Mine hurts.'

Dave cuffed him, and gave him half of his small piece. ‘That's because you're a growing lad whereas we're just canny raddled old men.'

Si laughed, cramming his piece into his mouth, and licking his fingers. ‘Speak for yourself, bonny lad. I'm in me prime.'

The Feldwebel, who spoke a little English and had worked as a waiter on the Strand, approached. Jack asked him where they were to go today. Gerhardt looked around, eased his rifle on his shoulder. He was nearly sixty and relieved to be too old for the front line, he'd told them. ‘The dye works again. You break up the machinery, legally this time, Jack, so you won't end up punished for sabotage. It must all be in bits. No use, no more. They will watch you close, in case you try to get to your lines again.'