Easterleigh Hall (28 page)

Evie pulled her back, shutting the pantry door behind them so that the whole world couldn't hear. ‘I know I'm lucky, but choose someone else. What about Bernie, he likes you and he's a grand lad.'

Millie shook her head, crossing her arms. ‘He's an under-gardener and Roger's a valet. You might like someone who grubs in the ground but I like clean fingernails and someone with prospects. I'm going to get out of here, just you wait.'

‘But Roger won't . . .'

Mrs Moore opened the door. ‘Come on girls, I won't have this shouting. Get out here now.' She shook her head slightly at Evie. ‘Leave it,' she mouthed. ‘We can only do so much.'

When they retired to bed at midnight Millie lay there silently. Evie said, ‘I'm sorry I upset you, Millie. I just worry about you.'

There was no reply. Perhaps she was asleep.

Veronica and Auberon leaned on the balustrade of the terrace at the end of the party. There was a slight chill in the air. They had begun to come here again now the passing of time was lessening the distress. Auberon ran his hands along the stone, feeling the lichen. Had Wainey felt . . . No, enough. Why was he thinking of death on the day of Ver's engagement? Perhaps because she seemed so unhappy?

She stood motionless at his side, staring down on to the formal gardens, the box hedges so neatly clipped, the daffodils and tulips visible in the bright moonlight. She said, ‘Soon there'll be sweet william and roses and a myriad of others. The air will be overlaid with scent.'

He said, ‘I like your Richard Williams. He's a good man. He was in the Officer Training Corps ahead of me at school. We admired him, really we did, Ver.'

Veronica stepped away, and stared up at the house. ‘I know he's nice. I admire him too. I just don't love him, but as Stepmama says, what's love got to do with anything. It should have something to do with it, shouldn't it, Aub? Sometimes I wish I hadn't become involved with votes for women. It's made me think about my life. I don't want marriage yet, I really don't. I don't know if I want it at all. Look at Father, look at what he's like. Mother wouldn't have married him if she'd known, so he must have changed. Perhaps all men change once . . .'

Auberon put his arm around her shoulders, she was shivering despite her stole. ‘Listen, I haven't a clue, Ver, about love. Yes, I suppose we must change if we marry because it
is
different, but men aren't all like Father.'

‘But how do you know? What makes a man become a brute?'

‘Father's not a brute to you, Ver.'

Veronica pressed her head into his shoulder. Thankfully, his father hadn't laid a serious hand on him for over a year. The strike had been universal, not peculiar to Easton, and Brampton had his own problems with a prolonged strike at the brickworks. ‘He's not a brute to me because he's got you, poor Aub.'

Neither spoke, continuing to look out across the lawn. To the right, the rear stables were just a dark shape but Auberon could hear the huffing of the hunters, the sound of their hooves in the stalls. An owl hooted. ‘Did he hurt Wainey, do you think?'

Veronica swung round. ‘For God's sake, for the last time of course he didn't, that imagining is for books. Don't think of it, Aub.'

He shook himself free of memories. ‘Be happy, Ver. Richard's a good man. Trust him. He might even let you continue with your interests, you never know.'

‘He chose to be a soldier, to fight, to kill?' He felt her shivering again; a breeze had sprung up. She continued, ‘But never mind, he'll be away a lot and anyway, the knot isn't tied just yet, so there's more time for me to be me.' He watched as she turned away from him. She traced shapes in the lichen, then beat it with her fists. She stopped suddenly. Behind them the staff were clearing the ballroom. Soon they would reach the terrace. She spoke again. ‘I'm sorry, Aub, what about you?'

He laughed quietly. ‘I'm almost enjoying life. There's a purpose to getting up in the morning now I'm getting the hang of the mine, and Father's been too busy to pass even a glance over my shoulder. I've had time to think: there was a dog in the yard at Froggett's, so I wonder if Forbes meant him when he said daft beggar? I thought of it as I was talking to Margaret. Not sure why but she does look rather like a dog, or is it a horse?'

Veronica laughed out loud, the only time he'd heard her do that this evening, and slapped his arm. He continued, ‘I fear I've made a fool of myself, a bloody fool. But dear God, I still hate Forbes. I don't like being bested, Ver, but I just must return the cavil. Father's still saying no, but I'm working on it.'

Ver tucked her arm in his. The servants were clearing up the terrace now. It would have been good to walk beneath the moon with one of his dance partners this evening, but they'd all seemed to lose interest when it became clear that he had a job. It was not something they could understand. People of his class should go to their club, hunt, shoot, and fish. At the end of each dance his partners had no longer smiled, but examined their dance cards and darted on to the floor again with someone more suitably connected.

Ver had danced mainly with Richard, but so it was expected. They made a fine couple. ‘Perhaps love will come to you?' he suggested.

Ver's stole had slipped and he adjusted it for her, but still she shivered. He removed his jacket and placed it around her. ‘Perhaps. Aub, I have so much I want to do but if I do it and say no to marriage, what happens? Out on the street with Society turning away? Will I become a punchball for Father? You and I have no money now he's taken control of Mother's inheritance, and I've no training. I'd perhaps be better off being Mrs Moore, or Evie.'

Auberon drew out a cigarette from its case, tapped it, lit it, and inhaled. Evie? Lately he'd been thinking a lot about her. The way she sat at the end of the kitchen table, the sweep of her eyelashes, her hands so deft and fingers so fine. Had she really thought they believed it was Mrs Green who had baked the cakes? Did she really believe that Wainey wouldn't have told them of Mrs Moore's increasing disability and chide them that they must protect their cook? But there was no need for them to do so, because Evie was there.

Veronica said, ‘It's all such a muddle, isn't it, Aub?'

‘A muddle is exactly what it all is.' He drew on his cigarette again. An owl hooted again, a fox called.

Did Evie not know that he would recognise her voice as belonging to the one who had berated a supposed stable boy, a girl who cared that the horses shouldn't die, and the boy shouldn't lose his job, and who had looked on him with such sympathy when she saw his face?

One day soon he would try and find out where the Anston family lived, because he wanted to know all there was to know about her. For a moment he toyed with the thought of . . . But no, his father would say that he was taking them back to the gutter in one generation, and he'd be right. It was hopeless, stupid and hopeless. He shook himself free of such nonsense.

‘We both have things to sort out, Ver.' The servants were taking the chairs from the terrace and returning them to the ballroom. ‘I think I'll return the cavil and let it be generally known, which will leave Father with no way of changing it without looking a complete fool. It's taken me too long to come up with a solution. I feel really bad about it.'

‘He'll punish you,' she said. He peered over the balustrade, wondering what was rustling at the base of the rambling rose. He could see nothing but he'd had time to think and said, ‘Don't worry about that. He's probably too busy to concern himself.' Auberon dropped his cigarette, grinding it out. ‘Do one thing for me. Now the strike's over, please let the kitchen know that we are quite happy with three courses. I can't face the sight of any more feasts, dearest Ver, and Stepmama is complaining at the cost. Your ploy of saying that it was to prepare you for entertaining in your married life has worn thin.'

Neither slept well that night. Veronica tossed and turned at the thought of a life she didn't want, with a man she didn't love. Auberon lay awake because he had a cavil to restore, and an assistant cook who intruded into his thoughts too often.

ON WEDNESDAY 12TH
May 1912 it was announced that the cavil would be reinstated very soon. ‘But I expect we'll only get it if we are all good boys,' Timmie grumbled on the following Sunday. ‘Not that Mr Auberon made the announcement. He got his monkey Davies to do it, the words dropping from his mouth as though they were bloody pearls before swine.'

His mam, busy on the proggy rug, clipped his ear as he passed. ‘By, enough of that language from you, young man. You're sixteen, not a snotty lad any more, and you know your manners so use them, especially in front of your sister and her young man, and be glad the ruling can't be changed now it's been made public.'

Outside the early summer sun was bright but cool.

Timmie sneaked a cake from the plate on the table, which earned him another clip around the ear. His mam said, ‘Pass those to the lovebirds.'

Timmie carried the plate to Evie and Simon, who were sitting on the sofa near the range holding hands and laughing at him. Evie loved being in this house, the family home, loved being in the heart of her family. The three years since she'd been at Easterleigh Hall had brought so many changes, so much improvement, so much happiness. She squeezed Simon's hand. ‘Each time I pitch up, Mam, there's something new. That's a grand little mug on the dresser.' There were spring flowers from the verges in a jam jar, and yet another proggy mat in progress that some of the retired women neighbours were helping with. Her heart swelled.

Timmie made his way to Da's chair, put his feet up on the fender, and read
The Times
. Evie sank back against Simon, relaxed and joyous, though it had been a difficult morning with Millie flouncing about the kitchen, and sneaking out into the yard presumably to meet Roger. ‘Leave it all behind, pet,' Mrs Moore had said, packing up some ham for her to take home for Simon's family and her own. ‘The girl will come to her senses, and believe me she's not the first to have fallen slobbering at his feet – can't see why, never have been able to, but there you are.'

‘Was there never anyone for you?' Evie had asked.

‘The Boer War has a lot to answer for,' Mrs Moore replied, placing the ham in Evie's basket and covering it with old rags so no nosy parker could see. Who had Mrs Moore lost? Evie knew better than to ask, because the cook's face had closed. As she and Simon cycled to her mam's they had talked of that war but it was difficult to think what it could be like, out there in the sun fighting people who disappeared into the veld. ‘Exciting, I should think,' Simon said. ‘But war can't happen now we've got all these alliances in place.'

They soared down the hill and she shouted, ‘Then why are we building so many warships? It's been going on for almost six years and what's it all for? They say we're in a race with Germany, so what happens when someone wins?'

Simon laughed. ‘Howay, it's not about that, you daft beggar, it's about putting money in the pockets of the steel men like Brampton, so come on, it's not our problem.'

‘And why has Christabel Pankhurst rushed off to Paris to live in safety, leaving her mother, sister and others to carry out her orders and get imprisoned? I heard Lady Margaret say it's so she can lead the campaign undisturbed, like any good general. How very nice for the woman.'

Now, here in the kitchen she wondered again, about the warships and about Christabel and about when exactly the cavil would be brought back, but Simon was squeezing her hand, then kissing it as he heaved himself to his feet, stretching his arms and rolling his shoulders. ‘I'm going to check on your da and the pigeons,' he said, reaching across and stroking her cheek before heading for the back door.

Timmie leapt to his feet, thrusting the newspaper down the side of the chair. ‘I'm coming with you and then we'll go down to the club. Jack said he'd meet us there.' The door slammed behind them.

Evie moved over to sit opposite her mother at the kitchen table, taking one of the proggy tools, and starting to force strips of fabric through the hessian to create yet another rug to sell at the market. They were popular because Mam took care with the pattern, mapping it out on the hessian, rather than doing it just as the colours came. ‘Your Simon's a bonny lad. They're a nice family, so they are,' her mam said, discarding a brown strip in favour of a bright green. ‘Grace is popping in to see you before you head back, she wants an update on Mrs Moore. She's with the old 'uns next door, tinkering in the garden I expect.'

‘I want to talk to her too, Mam. I need to see if there is any way she could take in Mrs Moore if the family find out about her rheumatics. She's getting herself in a grand old do about it again. I think Veronica and Auberon would be all right, but I know Her Supreme High and Mighty won't.'

Her mam forced another green strip through the hessian and pointed to a spot on the rug which should also be green. Evie obeyed, knowing better than to ignore. Her mam said, ‘We can bump Timmie in with Jack and take her in ourselves if it comes to it, so just enjoy the day. Now, tell me more about Millie and this beggar Roger. It's hardly her fault she's a bit dippy, you know, pet. Her father was smashed up so bad in the pit accident that there was nothing they could see that reminded them of him, and then she had to live hand to mouth with her aunt. She's never felt safe, that's the problem.'

Evie nodded. ‘I know, Mam, it's just that she's a slow worker and won't listen. By, not to mention we've tried again and again to tell her about Roger.'

Her mam grinned, her hair so much glossier than it was when Evie first went to work at the Hall, and her lines seemed fewer. Life was good for her in the cottage and she loved having the garden, rather than a yard, tending the vegetables while Da concentrated on the leeks for the annual show. She also had chickens and a pig down the end, and had passed their allotment on to someone else. ‘You're a fast worker, Evie, you mustn't measure everyone by your standards because it'll make a bad teacher of you. And, bonny lass, would you listen if we said Simon was not the man you thought he was?'