Easterleigh Hall at War (40 page)

Tim looked from her to Susan Forbes, who had been there, always. He held up the drawing he had done of one of Grandad's pigeons. ‘It's a belter, isn't it, Granny? Mam's all right. She'll be back if she wants. She always does what she wants, doesn't she?'

Influenza was still raging world-wide, and that included Easterleigh Hall, where it was taking lives. Returning POWs were arriving, skeletal, with injuries often resembling those of miners, which was what many of them had been in the hands of the Germans. Throughout the country there was discontent at the slowness of demobilisation. Yet again Evie blessed Auberon and Richard for bringing their men home so quickly, but Richard wouldn't want her thanks again as he and Veronica suffered with influenza in their suite of rooms. Angela Dore kept James well away in her own quarters, which were now in the cottage that Lady Margaret had vacated.

Matron insisted at the morning meeting around the kitchen table that today, 10th February and her birthday, was the day on which as many VADs as possible must be given notice of release, and nurses too, because they were also getting demobilisation fever, and she had enough to deal with without a load of hysterical females cluttering up the place.

She added, ‘I, however, will remain until the end, because I feel that the huts erected beyond the formal gardens could still be used for anyone in need of convalescence, when you start considering accommodation for your hotel clientele.'

Evie looked up from her note-taking, Ron too. ‘Go on,' she encouraged. Matron's look made it clear that she had every intention of so doing. ‘Well, it's common sense, isn't it? Our wounded are not just going to disappear from the earth in a puff of smoke. They will exist until the day they die, with injuries that will change their lives. We should be here to look after them. Young Harry feels his father's fund-raising group would be prepared to provide money for their care, and indeed, their families, should they wish to come too. These people may come for holidays, for help with false limbs, for whatever is needed, or for longer stays. I hope that whoever else cares to be involved will remain here, at Easterleigh, in that rather nice little cottage which is at present almost derelict. Dr Nicholls has agreed that there is a need, and has intimated he is happy to be involved, as has Sister Newsome. Grace will be happy to join us, on a day-to-day basis.'

Evie and Ron looked at one another. Would Dr Nicholls dare not to be happy to be involved? He was sitting opposite Evie, looking older than his sixty years. His shirts, waistcoats and jackets did up with no difficulty now, so hard had he worked, so little sugar had he downed in these days of rationing. He sighed, nodded and then smiled. ‘I think it's a quite wonderful idea. The war is over, but its consequences remain.'

Ron dug his finger into Evie's thigh. She nodded. He said, ‘I think, don't you, Evie, that this is an excellent idea, especially if Harry's father will handle the economics. Where is Harry?'

Mrs Moore spoke from the end of the table. ‘He's taken Simon out to the hives. He's worried about the cold, and they've lugged some straw to put around them as insulation.' She had been strangely quiet, and now Evie saw that her eyes were overbright, and sweat beaded her cheeks and forehead. Matron saw it too, and pointed to the door. ‘To bed, now. Evie, rum.'

It was the only cure that seemed to do any good. No one knew how else to deal with this virulent strain, but as Dr Nicholls had said more than once, the world was exhausted from more than four years of hell, so had no defence.

Evie nursed Mrs Moore and Mr Harvey herself, for what happened to one, happened to the other; out of love, Evie thought. She tended them both throughout the night, traipsing from one bedroom to the other, with damp facecloths and cool water. They survived but then, as Mr Harvey said, they'd had the best food that Easterleigh Hall could offer.

Richard had hidden more than half Brampton's wine and spirits before Lord Brampton's chauffeur came to collect the contents of the cellar. He had announced the fact only at the end of the war, when Matron and Dr Nicholls had decreed that rum was the answer to influenza. Veronica had actually slapped him, but across his false arm, bemoaning all the times when a bit of wine would have perked up a casserole enormously. Evie had then slapped her for demeaning her cooking. Richard had redeemed himself by uncorking a bottle of burgundy and sharing it between the four of them, because of course Simon was included.

Mrs Moore and Mr Harvey rallied out of danger within the week, and Simon returned to Easterleigh Hall after caring for his parents, who had gone down with it. They had also recovered. Veronica and Richard also recovered. Veronica appeared in the kitchen at the end of February, pale but determined. ‘We need to complete our plans, Evie,' she said, taking her place at the morning meeting. This time it was Simon who was glassy-eyed and sweating as he came in from checking the hives with Harry.

Evie led him to her bed up in the attic, and nursed him day and night. She sat beside him on the old attic chair, making him sip water, or rum, calling Matron from her room along the corridor at two o'clock one morning, when he was delirious, calling for Denny, his American friend, singing, then laughing. Together they stripped him, and bathed the fever down, and down, and down, until with the dawn he was calm, and finally slept. Sitting by him as the day grew cold and bright, Evie realised that it was the first time she had heard him laugh, the first time he had sung with joy since his return. She understood, now, that Denny had become his marra.

Simon was slow to recover, and Evie handed much of the cooking to Annie and her mam, who came from the village to stay at the Hall. Mrs Moore was allowed in the kitchen only to make the scones for tea until she was back to full strength. This was Mrs Green's job, but Mrs Green was ill, and failing to thrive. When Simon became more aware on the sixth day Evie propped him up on pillows, and knitted a navy blue scarf for him, or read to him from Mr Harvey's
Daily Sketch
. She had tried Richard's
Times
but it had irritated Simon.

On the eighth day Evie had read the newspaper to him, cover to cover, and started a pullover for Tim, in green. Outside the room the clock chimed midday. She was needed downstairs, but Simon protested. The fire was glowing. It would have broken Lord Brampton's heart to have heat in the servants' quarters, now known as the staff attic. The sky was blue, though it was that pale blue which denoted arctic temperatures. Perhaps she could tempt Simon to check on the bees in a few days, he needed fresh air.

She looked at him. ‘How are you, bonny lad? Shall we try to get you up? Matron says it's time.' He looked up from the song he was writing. ‘Knitting's for old women, Evie.'

She laughed. ‘No it isn't, it's what we had to do in the war and I don't like to sit and do nothing.'

‘Well, you remind me of my mam, sitting there, knit knit knitting.' He was pale, lacklustre, his hair no longer shone. She took his hand. ‘I love you.'

‘Then put down your bloody knitting, and show me.' Flu made people bad-tempered, she knew that, but she still wanted to clip his ear.

She let the knitting drop to the floor, knelt by his bed and kissed him. His lips were dry. She stroked his hair, kissed his eyes, his forehead and again his lips. He brought his arms around her, tightly, his mouth opening, his tongue searching, and she wanted to draw back as he grabbed her breast, then ripped down her apron and unbuttoned her uniform blouse. She tried to pull away. He held her with one arm, saying, ‘Show me you're not an old woman, show me you're hot-blooded. I love you, I need you.'

She weakened and kissed him fiercely now. This was the man she'd loved, the man she'd waited for, the man . . . She shut down her mind as his hand stroked her skin, but the thought grew. Did she really still love him? His hand was clawing at her skirt now, dragging it up. She tried to pull free. He gripped her tightly. ‘You're my lass,' he said. ‘Show me you're my lass.' His face was red, his hand was moving on her thigh, up, up, his eyes were shut. ‘Show me, let me love you, show me you love me. Let's do it Evie, it's been too long to wait. Others do, come on.'

She felt something like passion stir, some great need, but something was wrong. She wrenched free and stumbled to her feet, looking down at the man who had been her lovely lad. ‘No,' she said. ‘Let's marry. To have a child without . . . Well, it wouldn't be right. Look at Millie.'

He flung his arm over his eyes as she pulled her skirt straight, ‘So what are you saying, Evie Forbes? I'm just another Roger, am I? Where does love come into all of this? I've been patient, haven't I?' She tried to adjust her apron, but her fingers seemed to have a mind of their own and wouldn't co-operate. ‘Evie, you're not being fair, you're leaving me out of your life, just like Jack and the others do,' Simon complained.

She stared down at him. ‘Not being fair? I've nursed you day and night, you have a hotel to help run, you will have guests to entertain, a garden to create, a partnership that will flourish.'

He lurched up on to an elbow. ‘It's your partnership, Evie, not mine. You never asked what I wanted.'

She walked to the window and stared out across the hills to the sea at Fordington. The waves would be crashing, the sea coal would be there for the picking. Wasn't the hotel their dream? She rubbed her forehead. It always had been, hadn't it? What else would bring them security and a chance for him to sing? She couldn't think any more.

She turned, and smiled. ‘I think you miss Denny. He's your marra. Can't we try and get hold of him? He might like to come and stay, what do you think?'

Simon turned on his side, away from her. ‘He said he'd telegraph by the end of February. Fat liar, he is.'

‘It's only the first week of March, bonny lad. He'll contact you, and then we can arrange a visit, if you like.'

There was no answer, and she left. The kitchen needed her. It was easier to cook than to try and see inside someone's head, including her own.

On 10th March Simon received a letter from Denny. He came into the kitchen reading it, his face alight. As she looked up from her breadmaking Evie recognised that it was the same look that had lit up those blue eyes when he had been with her, before the war. ‘He's worked it, his father wants to meet me, give me a chance, on Broadway,' he told her.

Opposite Evie Mrs Moore stopped in her kneading. Evie went on kneading at the same pace, refusing to pound the dough again and again as everything in her screamed for her to do.

Simon came to her, slipping his arm around her. ‘It's my chance, Evie. Can you see that? I'll be back in no time, then we can sort out what we do. We could live in America, how would you like that?' It was then that Evie knew that
this
was his dream, not the hotel. She held her hands in the air, the dough sticky on them, and hugged him with her arms alone. ‘You must go, of course I see that.'

He left from his parents' house. Evie, Jack, Mart and Charlie came to see him off. He slung his kitbag into the back of the cart and they shook his hand, patted his back and Jack told him to come home soon. Evie just smiled, hugged him tightly, and waved him away. ‘He'll be home, bonny lass,' Jack said.

‘Aye, he'll see his friend Denny and perhaps realise that his friends are here, and he's not always the outsider,' Charlie said.

Jack and Evie watched the cart disappear down Wenton Street in the lee of the slag heap that was still spewing sulphur, the winding gear of the pit beyond. Mart said, ‘Not still on about that, is he? He chose . . .' Jack cut across him. ‘He'll have a grand time and get it out of his system and see just what he's got waiting for him here, a bossy lass with a bloody good hotel in the making.'

Evie went on looking in the direction that Simon had gone. She had no idea what she felt.

In April Mrs Moore and Mr Harvey tied the knot, with Edward Manton officiating. Mrs Moore had wanted Mrs Green to be her matron of honour but the influenza had claimed her, to the deep sorrow of everyone who knew her, so it was Evie who walked down behind her and Jack, who was giving Mrs Moore away.

‘We're not love's young dream,' Mr Harvey said at the wedding tea in the marquee which was set up on the front lawn again, because the last of the patients had been moved to the huts, and work had begun on restoring the Hall to something of its former grandeur. ‘But our love is deep, nonetheless.'

Richard gave the best man's speech. He said that Mrs Moore was a treasure to behold, at which she flapped her serviette, and that Mr Harvey was the person he most respected in the world, a man of honour and courage. He concluded with the words, ‘Mr Auberon sent his very best wishes and hopes to see you very soon. He knows, though not as clearly as I, that we could not have weathered the war without you.'

Evie looked askance at Veronica, who shook her head, whispering, ‘No, he's making it up, we haven't heard a word, and has Simon written again?'

Evie had heard twice, first a telegram informing her of his safe arrival, and then a letter describing the auditions, the excitement, the roar of Broadway, the fun he was having with Denny and his family. She wrote weekly, but of course she had more time than he, now that she only had the family, the staff, and those in the huts to cook for. She shook her head.

After the wedding tea Ted's taxi arrived bedecked with white ribbons, and bows on the door handles. The bridal pair were holidaying in Scarborough while the conversion of the hunters' stable into a ground-floor apartment and an upstairs apartment was completed. It only needed decorating, so they would return in two weeks.

Jack and Martin tied cans to the taxi, which clanked off along the drive while they all waved farewell, Evie and Veronica laughing together about Ted's mutterings as they departed. Richard put his arm around his wife, and murmured, ‘I give it till the crossroads and then he'll be out of that car and ripping them off.'