Fairfield Hall (46 page)

Theo ate hungrily. ‘This is wonderful, Mrs Chadwick. Mrs Parrish is a great cook but she never makes a breakfast quite like this. I love the fried bread.’

‘So, Theo,’ Jim said as he stood up when they had all finished eating and drinking a strong cup of tea, ‘I’ll take you around the other farms and see what’s
what.’

‘Could we pick up Bertie from the village?’

‘I don’t see why not,’ Jim said. It seemed to be one of his favourite sayings.

Theo began work the following day on Home Farm and Bertie was welcomed by Dan Broughton and his family.

‘William’ll show you around and tell you what he wants you to do. There’s not a lot of work this time of year, but if you take to it, there’ll be plenty in the Easter and
summer holidays,’ Dan said. ‘And we’ll be very glad of your help at harvest time.’

Throughout the Christmas holidays the two cousins worked on the estate whilst, unbeknown to them – though they might have guessed, if they’d thought about it
– Charlie, too, was helping out on his grandfather’s farm. He worked with the will, though perhaps not quite the physical strength, of a much older boy. And so the three cousins
immersed themselves in the country way of life and grew to love it.

The following summer, Bertie begged his mother to allow him to leave school. ‘I’ve already stayed on a lot longer than most village boys.’

‘I’ll have to talk to Lady Annabel,’ Nancy said worriedly. ‘She’s paid your school fees all these years. I don’t want to offend her.’

So towards the end of the summer holidays of 1908, Nancy and Bertie climbed into the village’s communal pony and trap and drove out of Fairfield, through the town and beyond it to Meadow
View Farm.

When she saw them, Annabel flung her arms wide and embraced them both. ‘Come in, come in. How lovely to see you.’

When they were seated in Martha’s kitchen, Nancy said hesitantly, ‘M’lady, we can never thank you enough for what you’ve done for us and Bertie would never have had such
a good education if you hadn’t sent him to that school, but – but—’

‘I want to leave, Aunt Annabel. Mr Broughton says I can go and work on his farm full time. He’s got bad rheumatism now and though he still does what he can, William can’t cope
on his own.’

‘And is that what you want to do with your life, Bertie? Be a farmer?’ Annabel asked quietly.

The boy’s eyes shone. ‘Oh yes, Aunt. I never want to do anything else and I never want to leave Fairfield.’

Annabel felt a lump in her throat. How unfair life was. Bertie would have been the perfect future earl and master of the estate and yet he never could be. She raised her eyes to meet
Nancy’s anxious gaze. ‘What do you feel about this, Nancy?’

‘He – he’s done his best – he’s worked hard – at school, m’lady, but he finds book learning hard. He’s struggled to keep up with the other boys
this last year.’

‘I’d hoped Bertie might want to stay on longer – perhaps go to college or university.’

‘He’d not be happy,’ Nancy said softly.

‘Then – if you’re sure – I will write to Mr Roper and tell him you won’t be returning in September.’

‘Oh thank you, Aunt Annabel,’ Bertie cried and without a trace of embarrassment he flung his arms around her.

So, Bertie’s future was settled, but Theo’s was far from certain. He had no choice but to remain at school as his mother demanded. ‘You’re clever enough to go to
university,’ Dorothea declared. ‘You could go to Oxford or Cambridge. It would be such a good grounding for a future earl. You must stay on an extra year and try.’

Theo said nothing. Dutifully, he returned to school and suffered another two years. The work was easy enough for the bright, intelligent boy, but he longed to be back home working alongside
Bertie on the estate and for the first time in his life, he envied another. Charlie had no choice but to continue his education and he knew his mother would like him to go on to some form of
further education. ‘I’m not as clever as Theo,’ he confided seriously. ‘Wouldn’t I be better working here on the farm? Gramps says that one day it will come to
me.’

‘Of course it will, my darling, but a good education is never wasted. At least, stay on until you are eighteen and then you can decide.’

But to the eleven-year-old boy, the grand old age of eighteen seemed a lifetime away.

Late in 1909, to please his mother, Theo sat the entrance examination to Oxford and was accepted at the prestigious university. He began a four-year course in the autumn of 1910 and graduated in
the summer of 1914.

On 28 June, the same day that Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria and his wife, Sophie, were shot dead in Sarajevo, Theo came home to Fairfield Hall.

‘You know there’s going to be a war, don’t you?’ Theo said to Bertie when they met in The Lyndon Arms after a long day in the fields. It was August Bank
Holiday, but farm work on the estate had not stopped; cows still needed to be milked and livestock fed.

Bertie looked at him wide-eyed. ‘I knew there was trouble on the continent – Mr Broughton was talking about it, but why should it involve us?’

‘It’s all very complicated,’ Theo murmured.

‘And you think I wouldn’t understand it.’

‘No, no, old chap, I wouldn’t think that at all. Truth is’ – he laughed drolly – ‘I don’t really understand it myself properly. It’s all come
about because of the archduke and his wife getting shot.’

‘Ah,’ Bertie said, hoping he sounded knowledgeable, but the truth was he had little interest in politics and even less in world affairs, which he didn’t think affected him. But
now, it seemed that the assassination of someone he’d not heard of before the man got himself shot might have a huge effect on all the young men of Bertie’s country.

‘It’s all to do with complicated alliances,’ Theo went on. ‘The chaps at Oxford were full of it before we came down. Kaiser Bill wants his army to match those of France
and Russia and he’s jealous of Britain’s navy. He’s ambitious but we can’t let him get too big for his boots. He’s been building up his navy and that’s a worry
for us. He’s only just a few miles across the sea. So, for the last few years we’ve been building more battleships too. He’s upset France and Russia by strengthening his army, so
we’re thrown into bed with
them
. That’s the military side of it, but then, there are the alliances.’

Bertie frowned in puzzlement.

‘Germany’s pally with Austria and Italy. That means that Britain, France and Russia have almost been forced into an alliance together. That’s how I see it anyway.’ Theo
took a sip of his beer. ‘And then, of course, there’s the size of their empires that’s a thorn in old Bill’s side. Britain’s covers about a quarter of the world, you
know.’

Bertie’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Really?’

‘And we’re all competing for slices of Africa, grabbing land and wealth by building railroads and plantations. And then, of course,’ he went on, ‘there’s national
pride. You’ve got your larger nations that rule smaller ones and those under someone’s thumb – like a lot of the Serbs are under Austria – want their freedom.’

Bertie shrugged. ‘I suppose that’s only natural. But how’s it come to war?’

‘I think – and, understand, it’s only my opinion – that it’s been brewing for years. It just needed a spark to light the conflagration.’

‘And that was the shooting of the Austrian archduke, was it?’

Theo nodded. ‘It seems like it. He was killed by a Serb and so a few days ago, Austria declared war on Serbia. Now, because of Germany’s alliance with Austria, Serbia looked to
Russia for help.’

‘So that brings France in too, does it?’

Theo nodded. ‘Germany declared war on Russia and then on France.’

‘And you reckon that’ll involve us too?’

Theo nodded soberly before emptying his glass and signalling for a refill. ‘I’ve no doubt about it.’

‘So – what should we do?’

‘There’s a recruiting rally in town on Friday. I was thinking of going. I want to listen to what they have to say.’

‘They’re a bit quick off the mark, aren’t they?’

Theo shrugged. ‘A pal of mine from Oxford wrote to say there have been posters up in London since July. He’s thinking of enlisting.’

‘Then I’ll come with you to the rally,’ Bertie said. ‘But first, it’s my round.’

Ben Jackson had not ventured into Thorpe St Michael very often during the years since his enforced departure from Fairfield, but on the morning he heard that a recruiting rally
was to be held in the town, his curiosity and some vague ridiculous notion that he might be swept along on the tide of patriotic fervour and volunteer his services, lured him into accompanying Joe
Moffatt to market.

The market that day, however, drew little interest and cattle stood miserably in the pens unsold, their owners even more unhappy. The focus of everyone’s attention was on the war and the
young men – and not so young men – marching off to fight.

‘I hope you won’t be volunteering, Ben. I can’t do without my right-hand man.’

Ben pulled a face. ‘I doubt they’d take an old man of forty-eight, do you?’

Joe flicked the reins and the horse moved forward. ‘Might have to if it gets serious – and I reckon it will – but you’re right, it’ll be all the youngsters
who’ll go.’

Ben did not reply. He was thinking about Annabel – as he still did every day of his life – trying to work out exactly how old her son would be now. Sixteen, he decided after some
mental arithmetic, and he gave an inward sigh of relief. Charlie would be far too young to be accepted into the army. But what about the other two boys, Theo and Bertie? Theo, no doubt, would be
kept at home by his mother – somehow she would engineer it – but Bertie might go. Bertie Banks might have to go eventually, even if he didn’t volunteer now.

The town was busier than usual and an excitable crowd had gathered in front of the town hall where the recruiting rally was to take place. Every time a man in uniform appeared, they cheered
enthusiastically. Joe and Ben stood to one side, but near enough to hear the speeches and see what was happening. Three officers stood on a hastily erected platform and when the first one stood up
to speak, Ben drew in a sharp breath as he recognized him: James Lyndon, Earl of Fairfield. He ought to leave now, Ben thought, but he didn’t want to be thought a coward by sneaking away
before the call to arms had even begun. So he stayed where he was, but tried to keep out of sight from the dais.

James spoke eloquently, his obvious love for the army life dripping from every word. His patriotism shone through and even Ben, who heartily disliked the man, could not help but feel a grudging
admiration for such dedication. Even before James had finished speaking, young men were pushing their way to the front of the crowd and mounting the steps into the town hall to ‘take the
King’s shilling’. Each one was greeted with a roar of approval from the crowd. Right at the back, unseen by anyone who knew them, Theo, Bertie and Charlie stood together. Charlie had
driven in with his grandfather, who was at this moment pushing his way through the throng to speak to Ben.

‘What do you think, old chap? Shall we do it?’ Theo murmured to Bertie, hoping that Charlie would not hear.

‘Not now. Not here. Your uncle would try to stop you, though’ – Bertie laughed ruefully – ‘I doubt he’d make the same effort for me.’

‘Right then, we’ll go to Lincoln. End of next week all right for you – at the crack of dawn on Friday morning? Will Mr Broughton let you have time off, d’you think,
without asking too many questions?’

‘I’ll try. Where do we have to go?’

‘I’m not sure. Probably the barracks on Burton Road. I’ll pick you up in the brougham. I’ll drive us there.’

Behind them, keeping very still and quiet so as not to draw attention to himself, Charlie listened to every word.

Another officer was now addressing the crowd and James was standing at the back, his gaze roaming over the gathering. His glance, trained to observe, picked out Ben Jackson standing with another
man. And pushing his way towards them and greeting them both with a clap on the shoulder was an older man. James squinted. He couldn’t be sure, for he had only met him once at the wedding,
but he thought the old man was Annabel’s grandfather. So, he thought, Jackson was not only still in the area, but also in contact with Annabel at the very least. No doubt they were still
lovers, James thought morosely.

Any thoughts of reconciliation died in that instant and he resolved to do what his sister asked and begin proceedings – if it were possible – to disinherit Annabel’s son. But
his intentions were swept aside when Jenkins met him on the driveway on his return to Fairfield Hall.

‘We’re to return to barracks at once, sir.’

‘What on earth are you doing here?’

Theo and Bertie gaped at Charlie who grinned back at them. ‘I’ve come to join up, of course.’

‘Oh no, you haven’t,’ Theo exploded. ‘You’re only sixteen.’

‘I’m seventeen next month and I’ll tell them I’m nearly eighteen. They’ll take me then. They’ve taken Eddie Cartwright and he’s only a year older than
me.’

The two older boys glanced at each other, their faces grim. ‘Well, we’ll tell ’em,’ Theo said. ‘We’ll tell the officer you’re only sixteen.’

‘We’re not going to let you enlist, Charlie,’ Bertie said softly. ‘Your mam’d flay us alive if she found out we’d not stopped you.’ They glanced at each
other again, their shared affection for Annabel surfacing. ‘And we – we can’t bear to think of her being upset.’

‘What about your mams?’

‘Don’t, Charlie. Don’t remind us. We’ve
got
to go. We’re twenty-two and twenty-three. We’ve no choice.

‘Yes, you have,’ Charlie countered, determined not to be outdone. ‘You work the land. They’re saying that maybe farm workers won’t have to go. At least you could
wait until they bring in conscription – if they do.’

‘Oh, it’ll not get to that,’ Theo declared confidently.

Bertie’s mouth was a thin, determined line as he muttered, ‘We’re going anyway.’

‘Then so am I. I want to be a soldier like my father. I want to make him proud of me.’ They stared at Charlie as he added falteringly, ‘Even if he doesn’t think I’m
his.’