Easterleigh Hall at War (25 page)

There, in words of great clarity and force, she told Lady Margaret her opinion of her decision, stressing the need to think of a child in this world as it was now, to think of the father of that child, to think of Mrs Moore who would be denied the chance to make a wedding cake in this time of shortages, and to consider her patients who would wonder why the lovely confident Major Granville was to be denied the role of husband and father, in the eyes of the law.

Lady Margaret tried to interrupt several times. This was a mistake, because it gave Evie fresh impetus. It was only when Lady Margaret held up her hands in surrender and said, ‘Very well, I can see your point, Evie. I will marry Andrew for his sake, and my child's, and for yours, because your anger moves me, and because you drew me back from the darkness when I came to Easterleigh Hall in ruins, after repeated imprisonments. I know how hard it must be because your friend Veronica has a child, I am pregnant and you are not yet able to marry Simon.Therefore, mostly I will do it for you.'

It was almost as though the woman had rehearsed her capitulation. Evie shook her head, silenced for a moment, but not for long. She gripped Lady Margaret's arms, both of them this time, shaking her head repeatedly. ‘No, Margaret, you will not do it for any of these reasons. You will do it for yourself, do you understand? To want something for yourself is not shameful, it's natural, and that is why you must do it, if indeed you do love Major Granville. If not, would you please tell us so I can get Mrs Moore to close her recipe book and let us all escape the misery that will be waiting for us in the run-up to the wedding.'

Lady Margaret leaned against the wall now, covering Evie's hands with her own, her almost black hair streaked with grey, though she was still in her twenties. ‘You know, damn you, Evie. You know why I don't want to marry him, don't you?'

Evie leaned against the wall next to her. ‘Yes, I think perhaps I do. But it won't make any difference, Major Granville will die anyway, within a year or two, or so Dr Nicholls feels. By choosing happiness you aren't tempting fate. Be brave, Margaret. This is harder than any forced feeding, any imprisonment. You are opening yourself to love and you will receive pain, but you will anyway. You deserve this happiness, all these men deserve to see it.' Evie could say no more, because her voice would have failed her.

She squeezed this awkward, difficult and wholly admirable young woman's arm, for they were now both weeping. At last though, all was agreed and she left to seek out Matron, who huffed and puffed in the entrance to the acute ward and then agreed to accept women patients. But of course she did, Evie told herself as she left, because she was an angel who thought she hid it well behind a uniform and a massive bosom. ‘Well, bonny lass, you don't,' she whispered, then shouted over her shoulder, ‘You're an angel, a big one, but an angel.'

Matron did not even break stride as she swept into the acute ward, saying, ‘You, my girl, are a bossy and impossible commandant.' Sergeant Briggs on the reception desk pulled his pencil from behind his ear, pointed it at Evie and grinned. ‘Nah, Evie, don't tell Matron anything nice. She'll breathe fire today just to cover up. Talking of fire, Dottie poked her head in here a moment ago with a message for you. Apparently Mrs Moore is breathing it down in the kitchen, because the clock is ticking and you are still absent.'

Evie stared at him. ‘I have never managed the art of being in two places at once. I will just pop on a pair of wings and flutter back.' She spun on her heel and stamped to the baize door, slamming it behind her, then smiled. The staff liked a pantomime from time to time. As she hit the internal corridor and drew level with the laundry she met Millie, a clipboard in her arm, a frown on her face as she ticked off items. When she saw Evie she said, ‘Well, I think it's disgusting.'

Evie sighed and tried to sidestep her sister-in-law, but Millie rammed the clipboard across her chest. Evie stopped. ‘What is?'

‘Lady Margaret.' Millie's pasty face was twisted with distaste.

‘That's rather rich from you, Millie. I seem to remember that you had a bun in the oven when you married my brother. Have you written to him, by the way?'

Millie shook her head, her mousy hair lank. Behind the girl the coppers were boiling on the ranges while the staff stirred them with wooden poles. ‘Not the baby, for God's sake, Evie, but that face. How the hell can she face what's under the mask every night?' The girl paused for two seconds while Evie studied her, wondering if she could possibly be any more loathsome.

Millie suddenly smiled, as though a light had switched on. ‘Ah, that's right canny. He's going to pop his clogs, isn't he, any day? She'll be rich then. Really rich.'

Evie hated her more than she ever had before, and slapped her, right across the chops. The crack echoed down the passageway, followed a beat later by Millie's howl. Evie shoved her clipboard aside and strode on, storming into the kitchen, with Millie's voice calling after her. ‘I'll pay you back, Evie Forbes, you see if I don't.'

No one said a word. Mrs Moore merely lifted her head from the recipe book and muttered, ‘Cake?'

‘The best we can manage,' Evie said, changing her apron for a clean one, her hand stinging, and proceeded to tell Mrs Moore what had happened, and even Mrs Moore was silenced.

On Tuesday 4th July 1916 Major Granville waited with his best man, Captain Richard Williams, in the front pew of Easterleigh Hall's chapel. Edward Manton stood in front of the altar in his cassock, looking older, his hair quite grey though he was only thirty-two.

Lady Margaret's parents had decided to attend, to Lady Margaret's displeasure, and sat in the front on the left-hand side of the church, accompanied by Lord and Lady Brampton, to everyone else's displeasure. All four looked as though they'd sucked on lemons, and there were no others from their circle in attendance. On the right-hand side sat plain Mr and Mrs Roger Granville and a large number of their friends, many in mourning. The rest of the church was taken up with VADs, Lady Margaret's friends, many of whom had shared imprisonment with her, Major Granville's friends, John Neave who had snatched a few hours out of his weekend leave, and a good smattering of patients, men and women, including Ron Simmons, who had returned to take up his post alongside Richard as the assistant financial administrator of the work programme and the hospital. He was complete with a reasonable nose now, and a pretty VAD on his arm. Sir Anthony Travers had sent his apologies but Harry was there, of course, and not alone. He was surrounded by all the laundry staff and numerous VADs, not to mention two nursing sisters.

Evie had grinned when he had slipped into the chaos of yesterday's kitchen as though he had the troubles of the world on his shoulders, and shared with her the fact that not only Annie, the laundry girls, and the housemaids wanted to hang on his arm, but also the VADs and nurses and he didn't know how to choose. ‘Take the lot of them and one day someone will steal your heart and that will be that. Until then, make all their worlds happier,' she had advised.

Mrs Moore, Annie and Evie sat in the back pew with Mrs Green and Mr Harvey, as good servants should, and besides, none of them wanted to meet Lord and Lady Brampton. Several from the facial unit slipped into the pew in front, to be joined by Sergeant Briggs. He turned round and whispered, ‘It will be you, one day, Evie Forbes, but we've got to get Mrs Moore hitched first and that could take some while. She's so choosy. She turned me down only last week.'

Mrs Moore slapped his arm as the pianist lurched into the wedding march, and in came Lady Margaret, with her carefully designed dress hanging in such a way as to disguise the child she was expecting in three months' time. She looked beautiful, her hair fell in soft folds, her face was fuller, more gentle, loving, and Evie felt a tug at her own heart, and called silently for a miracle, for life to be extended for Major Granville, who had just been decorated for his bravery. He had been standing beneath the cedar tree as Evie passed this morning at dawn, on her way to the hives, just to check that the bees were still there. It was what she did, because if they hadn't left, no one would die today. She had walked towards him. He had held out his scarred hand, and gripped hers.

‘You have read the newspaper? You have seen the lists?'

Evie had nodded. ‘The Somme is supposed to be a place of tranquillity,' she murmured. ‘We are expecting the convoys of wounded soon.'

He had said, confused, ‘Tranquillity?' His eyes, within the mask, searched her.

‘Aub told me that the Somme is Celtic for tranquillity.'

He took her other hand. ‘I thank God he is safe, and your brother, Simon, even Roger. You will tell Auberon, when you see him, that I had a great admiration for him, a great love. He is one of the best young men I know.' His voice was urgent. ‘You see, there is so much I want to do, and say, but I know I haven't the time. I know that Easterleigh Hall will look after Margaret, Veronica has promised that. I ask you to help too, Evie.'

She did not belittle him by denying the need. She merely agreed, and passed on her way. Please, bees, be here, day after day.

Now Lady Veronica followed, as Margaret's Matron of Honour. Harry and one of the Germans had worked with Old Stan to create the bouquets of white roses, with some pale pink blooms from Bernie's rose, planted by Simon at Christmas. They had also worked on the church, and decked it in the tranquil colours of green and white. Myrtle had been included, for constancy.

Though the service passed quickly, the kitchen staff left before the end to put the final touches to the wedding breakfast, which had been a trial to produce, as Lady Margaret insisted that the restrictions that Evie and Mrs Moore had set in stone for the staff should be maintained. There was a preponderance of rabbit, which would please Lord Brampton, whose favourite it was, but practically no one else, since they felt that they were beginning to grow fur, and their two front teeth were lengthening of their own accord. Harry had muttered, ‘Don't even mention my ears, they are elongating and they twitch, I swear they do.'

The situation hadn't been altogether helped by Major Granville announcing that carrot patties would just make his day, though the red cabbage fricassee had helped somewhat. Mrs Moore had put her foot down at the mention of nettle soup. Instead Evie had got hold of cow-heels and between them they produced Italian soup, as herbs were plentiful. There would be no dessert, but Mrs Moore's cake would come into its own.

She and Evie had used only honey in the cake, which was sponge. After test-tasting they declared it practically inedible, as somehow honey wasn't sweet enough, crestfallen though Harry was at the news. It was now a multi-layered jam sponge, thanks to the greengage jam from Mrs Green's pantry. Mrs Green had arrived with her bounty on a tray and a puzzled expression on her face. ‘I must check my record book,' she had said. ‘I seem to be missing several jars. But perhaps I forgot to note it.'

At the wedding breakfast, set up in the marquee on the lawn, John Neave joined their table, looking strained and preoccupied, as did most soldiers on leave. He raised his glass to Evie. ‘Wonderful effort, as always, Evie. Mrs Moore too, of course.'

Within seconds, he was joined by Harry. Evie groaned. ‘The incorrigible duo are back together.' They laughed and John told them of his need to leave within the hour, if he was to catch the train. ‘Get your foot blown off next time, old man,' Harry said, ‘then you can help me with the bees. Much more conducive to a quiet life.'

‘Nothing would please me more,' John said, grinning across the table at Evie. ‘Then we can annoy old Nicholls by smoking under the cedar tree again.'

Everyone served themselves from the buffet table, at Lady Margaret's request, as it seemed the quickest way. Mrs Green slipped on to the seat next to Evie. ‘I see that you signed the greengage jars out in May. I do wish you had told me, Evie.'

Mrs Moore looked askance. ‘Evie, that is Mrs Green's empire, and well you know it.'

‘I didn't, unless I was sleepwalking,' Evie responded, but was then distracted by Veronica, who touched her shoulder. ‘There's to be dancing after all, Evie. We have the fiddler from Easton arriving in half an hour, and then Old Stan's nephew too, but we need someone to sing.' They all thought of Simon, but Evie shook the image from her mind. ‘We have the dinners to prepare, Ver. Surely there's someone else.'

John Neave called across the table, ‘Just half an hour, Evie. It will be a happy memory to take back to France, there's a good girl.'

Harry nudged him. ‘After you, Evie, we can ask Susan from the conservatory ward.'

Susan Forbes agreed. ‘She has the voice of an angel and is feeling well enough. I asked her earlier. It's just the first half-hour when she is having her dressings changed that she can't manage.'

Evie laughed. ‘Ah, so I'm just the finger in the dyke.'

‘Definitely,' Veronica said, smiling at them all and returning to her son and husband.

The dancing continued for two hours only, for there was a hospital to run, patients to tend, meals to prepare and perhaps convoys to expect. Evie, Annie and Mrs Moore clattered into the kitchen, confident that the cake had been the success they had intended, and there they found Lord Brampton's chauffeur, with Millie, filling wicker hampers with pheasant which the old gamekeeper bred for all-year use, hams, eggs, and preserves from Mrs Green's pantry, plus two sacks of sugar and heaps of vegetables. Mrs Moore placed herself between the chauffeur and the hampers. ‘Just what do you think you are doing?'

The chauffeur explained that Lord Brampton had given him orders to fill the hampers with stores from Easterleigh Hall, and that Millie had agreed that he could. Millie stood quite still, her hands in her apron pockets.