Easterleigh Hall (3 page)

Her da stopped. Neither man said a word for at least a minute. Neither of them moved. Evie knew that she would never forget that moment – two statues standing in front of the fire, flanked by Da's chair and her mam's. There was just the ticking of the clock, the crack, spit, hiss of the fire which lit up the clothes horse, the bath, the mat, the sideboard they had found on the beach along with the driftwood and the coal, the dresser.

‘Think about it lad, we'll be going from twelve-hour shifts to eight hours next year and are we being consulted about the terms? The union agents are taking it upon themselves to hack a deal. Have you heard what they're talking about? Has anyone? We're being left out and the talk is of a strike because of it. Who knows how long we've got to build up our strike money, and our house money? Who knows how long I've got to try to bridge the gap, if I can. There's work to do.' Da was stabbing his pipe at Jack, whose head was thrust forward as though he could hardly contain himself, though he let his father continue.

‘Bastard Brampton is licking his chops because he's going to use this change for his own good. He's an owner and they'll most of them do the same, you know they will. Yes, he'll abide by the act, put on an extra shift but he won't make up the piece rate to compensate for the shorter shift, he'll bloody well cut it, if the past is anything to go by. We'll all suffer. I'll likely get to hear about the changes early. I'll tell you. You and Jeb'll get sorted in advance. I'll try and get the deputies softer towards the men, more careful with their safety checks. We're losing too many men, far too many. I've been thinking about this for a while.'

It was more of a speech than Evie had ever heard from him in her life, and his breath was coming in gasps. Jack stepped forward. Evie dragged him back. Jack shouted, ‘D'you think me and the lads don't know all this, so don't try and make yourself out to be a bloody knight on a white charger. Nothing'll change Brampton or his damned management and yes, we'll no doubt strike because I'm not expecting the skies to part and a miracle to happen and where will you be? Well, you won't be with us, you'll be the same as a blackleg, because you've changed sides. You've shamed us, man. You've bloody shamed us.'

Evie turned on Jack. ‘Listen to Da, he's using Brampton. Listen to him. He's using the bosses to get what he wants while he can. He's using them to bring improved safety.'

Jack shook his head, gathering up his cap and scarf from the floor, heading for the back door. ‘He's betrayed us, that's what he's done. Our own da has betrayed us. He's Brampton's man now, a bloody scab.' The slam of the door was all that was left. Evie and her father looked at one another. He was shaking his head at her. ‘You understand. At sixteen, you understand. I'll be out alongside the men when there's a strike, and back to a hewer after that. But Evie, I might leave things better. Ben, me marra, understands. He's paired up with his brother, and the shift is onside too.'

She nodded. ‘All we can do is to use those Bramptons, Da. That's all we can do. I'll talk to our Jack at the Gala.'

Her father sank into his armchair, coughing, trying to get his breath. ‘Aye, well he'll likely put up a good showing at the fight. He'll be so damned angry he'll pulverise anyone who puts up against him. We should put on a bet.' His laugh was hollow.

‘You know he's fighting, although at Christmas you said enough is enough?'

Her father raised his head. ‘I know most things that go on in this house and I know also that we're all trying to do the best we can. You do what you want, lass, but don't tell your mam I'm in on it, she likes to think she's got a secret.' His smile was tired, the hand which he held out to her was calloused and embedded with black. She gripped it tightly. ‘I'll talk to him, Da,' she repeated.

Her da said, laughing as he coughed, ‘He'll take it hard, you and me going over to the dark side.' The laugh didn't reach his eyes.

‘I might not get it.'

‘But one day you will,' he said.

IT WAS A
ten minute walk to Old Bert's Field, and Evie heard the steam engine pumping out its music the moment she stepped from the scullery into the yard. It was a glorious evening, and the excitement would have made her smile, if she wasn't already. She touched her hair. There was little wind and she felt hopeful about the curls she had rescued by tying up some strands with bits of rag and hanging over the range.

She left by the back gate, hurrying down the alley, pausing as Mrs Grant called to her from the communal tap. ‘You have a good time, our Evie. Make the most of your last day. Glad you have the job. That Miss Manton is a good sort and a bloody good boss, for one who's little more than a bairn herself. By, she must only be twenty-seven, if she's even that?'

Evie laughed. ‘No need for the telegraph round here.'

‘Nay, lass, we all have big lugs in this alleyway. We'll miss you though, and don't you worry about your Jack. He'll settle and see how it's right for you, just like he will about your da.' Her sacking apron was splashed with water and black from her man's bath. She was scrawny and thin but as strong as an ox, and had bred six children without trouble, though one had died last year in the pit. The purple beneath her eyes had deepened daily since then.

Evie shook her head. ‘I haven't told Jack yet, Mrs Grant. I don't want anyone to say anything until I've seen him.'

‘No one will, you mark my words, and this will be the best day, knowing you've got it but haven't started rolling up your sleeves and being put in your place from morning to night.' Then she laughed. ‘Take no notice of me. I'm just jealous.'

Evie sped on. Miss Manton had come just ten minutes after Jack had stormed away. Her mother had peered into the kitchen first, and shooed Da out into the yard to check on his pigeons. He had winked at Evie as he went. Miss Manton entered the moment he had gone, her hair escaping from beneath her hat as it always did, holding out her hands to Evie. ‘Clever you,' she'd said. ‘I need to find a new cook, but it'll have to be someone special to come up to your standard.'

Miss Manton had gripped Evie's hands, her leather gloves soft but cold from the wind. ‘You are on the way, dear girl. Now remember what I told you about Mrs Moore. Her hands are so bad that she can't do her job properly. The rheumatism is in her back and legs too and she needs your help in order to keep her job, but she doesn't know she does. Do you understand what I mean?' She'd given Evie no time to reply, rushing on. ‘Yes, of course you do and in this way you'll learn more quickly. I'm also afraid that she is drinking to help with the pain. Be aware, be kind. Protect her. Work hard, make something of yourself. Your brother will come to understand.'

She'd spun on her heel. ‘Now I must run. I am going to the Gala, for Edward is to bless it. I'll break the news to him that you are no longer in our employ. Trust me, my brother will be downcast, he so adores your forequarter of lamb, not to mention your honey-roast ham.'

Then she stopped, and took an envelope from the pocket of her tweed coat. She turned once more. ‘For you, Evie, with my gratitude for your efforts on our behalf, and I hope to see you at the Suffragette meetings on a Sunday, or even a Wednesday afternoon, when you can get away. Get a message to me and I will meet you in the trap at the crossroads near Easterleigh Hall and we can talk French as we journey. You know I feel how important another language is, especially when owning and running a hotel as you intend to do one day. You are a force of nature, my dear, isn't she, Mrs Forbes? She'll end up with the Claridge's of the north-east, mark my words. Mrs Moore knows more French than she lets on, too, so if you get the chance . . . Goodbye now.'

She was gone, like the whirlwind she was, always rushing from one place to the next. She'd make someone a wonderful wife, she had once said, if she had any intention of marrying. But she wanted to be her own woman and she would be, once they had the vote.

Evie reached Old Bert's Field to find it thronged with people and music and laughter, and over everything there was the smell of suckling pig slow-roasting over the pit. The Easton and Hawton Colliery banner rested near the entrance. It had been sewn by the local women decades ago, and would have been blessed by Edward Manton and the Methodist minister at the start of the proceedings. They took it in turns, year on year, to be first with the blessing, and it made her mam laugh. ‘Why they can't just do it together I'll never know, but even in religion someone has to win,' she'd said.

Evie felt in her pocket. Miss Manton had given her two guineas which were already in the savings pot but she had received her wages as well, a shilling of which would be spent tonight.

She almost hugged herself as she wove her way between her neighbours and friends, all wearing their best clothes and freshly greased boots, longing to tell them that soon she would be a cook of renown. The grass had been cropped by sheep loaned by Froggett so there was a fair smattering of sheep droppings but who cared, this evening was for fun. She ran through her plans again. She was going to work just five years for Lord Brampton, gleaning all the skills possible, and then she'd move to a hotel to get the experience she'd need for the future. The family could sell the house they would have bought by then and move into their own hotel. Her cooking would help bring them customers, and the men would never go in the pit again.

She laughed aloud. It had seemed a dream until today, but now it was going to become a reality. She was taking that first step and no one would stop her, not even Jack. She just had to make him see the sense of it, and about her da too. That was all there was to it.

She was almost running now, heading for the shooting gallery, for it was here that Simon Preston would be, or so Jack had said. She dodged to the right past Mr Burgess, whose waistcoat buttons stretched too tightly across his belly as always, and he hailed her. ‘By, young Evie, you're a sight for sore eyes. Where's your da then? Need to buy him a pint. Celebrate Jack's win.'

She slowed but didn't stop, turning and walking backwards as she answered him. ‘He'll be over by the pigeons. They're behind the beer tent, I think.' Ah, so the lad had won but she knew he would.

Then she was flying on again through the crowds, slowing only as the shooting gallery came into sight. She patted her hat, touched her curls, straightened her bodice, hating her corset as always. She fluffed out her skirt, checked her gleaming boots and walked slowly, looking everywhere but at the gallery, letting her breathing calm, hoping Simon Preston was there but not daring to search for him. The spring evening was darkening as the clouds built. Would it rain? She hoped not.

‘Evie.' Jack was heading towards her from the direction of the beer tent, shouldering his way through, tipping his cap in apology. His face was bruised, his eye swollen, his nose looked broken: there was blood leaking from it. He had been drinking, his gait was unsteady. He was being slapped on the back by those he passed. He was close enough now for her to smell the beer on his breath.

‘Evie, you should have put a bet on me.'

She said, ‘Are you all right? Our da did put a bet on. He believed in you. He always has. You should believe in him.' His arm was round her. He pulled her to him and whispered, ‘I always used to.'

He oozed sweat. She drew back.

‘Evie,' she heard again. Simon was ambling towards them from the shooting gallery. ‘Evie, Jack said you might be here.'

His red hair shone, his face was tanned in a way a pitman's would never be. Gardening suited him, the daylight suited him. He was beautiful. Jack turned, staggering slightly. ‘Well, Si Preston, time you had a beer and swilled out the rotten taste of Easterleigh Hall.' He slung his arm over Simon's shoulders, winking at Evie. ‘Or are you going to have a few minutes with our Evie because you're not let out much, lad, are you?'

Simon mock-punched Jack. ‘You won, man. Never in doubt. I saw the end, by, you were on fire.'

Jack shot a look at Evie. ‘Not to be wondered at, is it.' His voice was harsh.

‘Jack,' Evie warned, wanting to pull him away now, wanting to take him home before he flared again.

‘So, come on Evie, when do you start? Me da told me the news. Tomorrow, is it?' Simon was grinning at her. ‘T'other one fell by the wayside, so they say. It's the talk of the servants' hall.'

Evie felt herself grow cold and then hot. She took hold of Jack's arm. ‘I'm going to get him back to Mam, Simon. I'll come and find you later.' She ignored Simon's look of confusion. Jack was swaying, a frown gathering. He let himself be led a yard or two, but then he pulled free and lurched back to Simon, gripping his shoulders. ‘When does she start what? Where? What servants' hall?'

Simon flashed a look of dawning comprehension at Evie who shook her head, her mouth dry. She half raised her hand, but to no purpose. She couldn't stop this now.

Jack shook Simon. ‘What the hell is going on around here?'

It seemed to Evie that the music was pounding more than ever, that the raucous shouts of a group of pitmen nearby were even louder. Groups were gathering into tight knots, some talking, some tossing coins and betting on the outcome. Some had fallen silent as they watched them. One man, Martin Dore, Jack's marra, was walking unsteadily towards them, his face flushed, the drink in him. He had a glass in his hand, half full.

‘Jack, not here.' Evie tugged him along, waving Martin away. People started to talk amongst themselves again, and always the music played. Jack hesitated and turned back to Simon. She dragged at his arm, speaking urgently. ‘I have another job, that's all. I'm to be assistant cook for the Bramptons. I have a plan. I need Easterleigh Hall. I am going to use them. I want a training, for us. I'll explain but not here. Come on.'