Hannah watched as he reached forward and broke off a hazel twig, ripping the young wood from the branch so that it left a jagged tear of white wood against the brown bark. Arthur motioned towards the slightly raised shape and she was reminded of Miss Fletcher as she pointed out some of the intricacies of algebra, which Hannah could still not abide even though she had been fully qualified for well over a year now.
‘Are you listening, Hannah? Can’t have inattention at the back of the class, you know.’ Esther laughed and Hannah joined her. Harry was still off to one side, still looking at the trees. She walked across and tugged at his sleeve; it was damp where the drips from the overhead branches had soaked in. He turned and his face was pale, his eyes looking at some distant thought. She shook his arm.
‘Teacher’s begun,’ she said, and drew him with her, back into the group, seeing his eyes lose their blankness as they focused on Esther. She realised again that Esther was his world and she felt inexplicable fear for him and a sense of exclusion for herself.
‘Please may I have the attention of the class or there will be no dancing tonight after dinner.’ Arthur put back his head and laughed as Esther grabbed Harry’s arm.
‘Dancing,’ she whooped. ‘I just love dancing. But, Arthur, how good of you. How splendid of your parents. Just for us?’
‘Certainly not, my dear. We have asked just a few young notables, those that Harry already knows, and it is all in honour of this dear boy who will soon be leaving us to cover himself in gold-dust and hang diamonds from his ears, or rather your ears, dear Esther.’
Arthur bowed towards her, his stick dug into the ground now and bending beneath his weight. His polished boots were encrusted with mud and his nose was red. ‘We’re having Mother’s cousin to dinner beforehand, though, and her husband, the Master of the hunt.’
‘Come on, Arthur,’ Hannah called. ‘Please can we have this lesson and then rush back for some tea or no one will be fit for dancing; we’ll all be frozen to the spot and they’ll have to break off our legs to move us at all.’
Arthur raised his eyebrows. ‘I shall begin. You talk of being frozen, well, in this deep cavern is about four tons of ice.’ Hannah moved forward, her cold hands forgotten. ‘The grooms rush out along with the gardeners at the first heavy fall of snow and gather up stacks of the stuff then bring it here.’ He banged with his foot on the ground. ‘There is a brick-built chamber below that slightly raised roof but you can see that all of it is underground really. They trample it down until it is hard ice and then seal it. And so you shall have your champagne cooled in ice tonight as usual.’
‘How long does it last?’ asked Esther, and Hannah nodded.
‘Surely when the summer comes it all melts,’ Hannah said.
Arthur shook his head. ‘You can see for yourself.’ He pointed with the hazel twig to the stable walls. ‘It’s north-facing here and besides the trees act as a barrier to any sun.’
Harry nodded. ‘He’s quite right. Last summer there was still more ice than we could use. Do you remember, Arthur, we had that tennis party?’
Arthur nodded. ‘But come along. I think I can hear Mother. We’ll get back for tea.’
Arthur smiled and moved to take Hannah’s arm, flicking at his leg with the stick as they walked back towards the gothic house through the yew hedges, leaving the stables far behind them.
The dining-room was warm and large. A fire burned in the grate, the marble surround reflecting the leaping flames, the brass fire irons alive in their glow. Hannah sat back against the embroidered satin dining-chair, her body vibrant from the afternoon air. She felt loose, relaxed, and smiled across the table at Arthur, He was talking lazily to his mother, his mouth half-smiling as it usually was, his wrists strong against the starched white cuffs of his dinner shirt, the black of his jacket smooth and well fitting. She knew he had seen her because his fingers waved discreetly in her direction and he nodded slightly. Lady Wilmot’s cousin sat at his right hand but talked to Harry who was further down the table. Esther was next to Lord Wilmot and leant forward now to smile at Hannah.
Earlier the dressing gong had sounded while they were playing cards on mahogany loo tables in the library. Arthur had held the door for the two girls and asked Harry to pour another sherry for the two men because the dinner bell would be another hour yet and he for one did not need that long for a bath and a change of clothes. Hannah had pulled a face at him and his laugh had followed her up the wide stairs past dark oil paintings of earlier Wilmots.
Esther had her own room near Harry and had emerged at the sound of the dinner gong in a pearl-coloured dress which Hannah had not seen before. She looked quite beautiful. Hannah looked down at her own dress, pale cerise but not as low at the neck as Esther’s. The table was lit by candles held by elaborate silver candelabras with discreet silk shades, though electric lights hung from the ceilings nearer the walls and illuminated more paintings, but this time they were landscapes and still life. A silver epergne held an exotic flower arrangement of orchids and ivy which trailed across the mahogany table. Hannah wanted to reach across and run her fingers over its variegated surface. It almost reached her fan, which rested on the table – mother-of-pearl and lace. Her ivory one was locked away, together with the jewellery box. Esther had wanted to borrow it to use with her pearl dress but Hannah did not want hands other than hers or Joe’s to touch it though she had not said this to her cousin.
The damask napkins placed in front of each guest were folded into the shape of a mitre though Lord and Lady Wilmot’s were in the shape of a fan. Hannah could see the table and guests reflected in the mirrors either side of the fireplace, which in turn picked up the reflection caught in the pier glasses between the windows, and no, she would not compare this with the rooms in which her Sunday ladies lived, not this evening, not this weekend.
The conversation was desultory; Hannah turned to one side to listen to Sir Edward Frank who lived a bare mile from Arthur.
‘Should be a good day for the hunt,’ he said and Hannah nodded. ‘Your first time, is it?’ he continued.
Hannah laughed slightly. ‘Very much so, I’m afraid. My riding has been limited to Hyde Park.’
He leant forward and his breath smelled of sherry. ‘Sunday morning canter, is it?’
Hannah hesitated. ‘Sometimes,’ she replied eventually, looking across the table at Harry, who was watching her closely. But now the servants brought in turtle soup from behind the large screen which shielded the doors leading to their entrance and the first of the five wine glasses were filled.
Dover sole followed the soup and a fine cool white wine and Arthur leant forward. ‘It’s been stacked in ice all day.’
Hannah nodded and smiled. The heavy smell of the candles lay over the table and the Dover sole was good and the conversation which ebbed and flowed was calm and easy.
It was good to be able to put a full stop to effort and thought, to pause a moment and regain some energy, some ideas, she thought. Everyone should have the chance – including her ladies. And so here they were again. Cutlets of lamb were served and their smell overrode the candles which flickered and rolled their heat over the guests so that the men grew hot, but the women, with their bare shoulders, were comfortable. Yes, her ladies should have the chance of a moment’s peace, the chance to feel their bodies loose and relaxed as hers now was. But how could they?
Yes, how could they, Hannah thought, lifting her cool glass and pressing it to her lips, not drinking yet but thinking. If she needed a holiday, how much more did the women who ate the buns that she and Miss Fletcher cooked; and so too their children and their men.
But now Lady Wilmot was speaking to her and Arthur was smiling as his mother talked, leaning back in his chair and drinking his wine, as Hannah pulled herself back into the room and replied.
‘Yes, it really was a beautiful part of the country, though I found it a little cold around the ice store.’
She heard his laugh and looked at him, beginning to
laugh too and his mother did also. Her limbs felt looser still.
She nodded as Lady Wilmot spoke again; her voice was kind, her eyes soft. She looked at the candles, at their flickering flames and then back to the flowers, the paintings, the people, and knew the value of letting go, even if it were only for two days.
And so the lamb gave way to Apple Charlotte and slowly she heard the fire crackling again and caught the smell of the candles, heard Harry laughing and Sir Edward wondering if there would be snow tomorrow and she hoped there would. Fresh and white and clean for miles and miles and she looked at Arthur again and he smiled.
‘Russian caviare, my dear,’ said Lady Wilmot.
The shape was sharp and strong. The grapes which were served afterwards were firm and fresh and the colour of the leaves which were budding on the pear tree. Was Mother all right, was the thought that snatched at her again.
‘They’re from the vine which we saw in the conservatory,’ Arthur told her, his smile back, his eyes unclouded, and she turned from the swaying pear tree back to this flickering room. ‘The head gardener cuts them on a long stem and leaves them for as long as needed in water and charcoal.’
He plucked one from the stem which lay on his plate. His fingers were strong and wet with juice. He sucked it and his lips were full and would taste of grapes if he kissed her now.
And then Hannah heard Esther. ‘You should ask Hannah to tell you what good works she does on her Sundays.’
Hannah looked round sharply, seeing Harry turn also. Lord Wilmot was sitting back in his seat holding his claret between him and the candelabra, narrowing his eyes as he swirled the glass to catch the light. Esther was tapping his arm with her fan.
‘Now, that is something I thoroughly approve of,’ said Lord Wilmot, his voice emphatic, his speech slightly slurred with too much wine. ‘Women going about doing their charitable duty. That’s the way it’s always been, that’s the way it should be. A bit of charity to the deserving poor.’ He stabbed his finger down the table towards Hannah. ‘The deserving poor, mind you.’
Hannah smiled and nodded at him, and then at Esther. Why do you do it, Esther, Hannah wanted to ask. Leave things alone. And what do you mean by the deserving poor, she wanted to shout at the fat Lord who was busy feeding his two chins. She looked across at Harry, her anger showing until he met her gaze with a question in his eyes, and she dropped hers again.
Lord Wilmot was louder now and his wife said. ‘Not now, dear.’
But he continued. ‘That’s the way things should be. All this change is a downright crime. Now that those damnable Liberals have had that election landslide they think they can bring in a clutch of do-gooding reforms when good little women like Hannah have been looking after things quite nicely enough for all these years. You’d think the King would put his foot down but he’s too busy enjoying himself these days.’
Hannah continued to look at her plate because she knew that Harry was looking at her, willing her to meet his eyes.
‘Have another glass of wine, Sir Edward,’ Arthur offered, gesticulating to the butler. ‘Father, would you care for one too?’ He looked across at Hannah and raised his eyebrows and she shook her head. She doubted that he could distract his father.
Sir Edward spoke now. ‘Just one more glass please, my boy.’ Then he turned to Lord Wilmot. ‘You’re quite right of course, David, old boy. It is just damned nonsense to give out old age pensions and bring in National Insurance when what we need are more Dreadnoughts. It’s no good launching just one, they need a fleet to compete with the one the Kaiser’s building up.’ He was leaning forward and Hannah could not see past him.
‘Quite right,’ she heard Lord Wilmot call down the table. ‘Specially after that charade in Morocco when the popinjay Kaiser went parading for all the world as though he thought to challenge the French and our alliance. Damnation, that Lloyd George is a menace. Doesn’t he realise we’ve got to show that we’re up to any nonsense the Germans might care to throw our way. Anyway, the workhouse has always been quite adequate up to now.’
And Hannah sat quite still, seeing Joe at the reins of the cart, seeing Bernie at the door of his cottage, feeling the wind and the spongy moor; seeing the Sunday women who were so tired and ill and who might also go to the workhouse. But no, and she wrapped the napkin round her fingers so that it was too tight and her bones were pushed one against the other. No, she must stay calm, she must not give herself away. She kept the napkin pulled tight.
‘The workhouse is not ideal,’ she heard herself say, but quietly, and only Sir Edward heard and turned to her.
‘But, my dear, not for you or I of course, but the poor are different. They don’t feel things the way we do.’ His smile was kind and his breath heavy with wine now and she wanted to lift him and drag him down to the matchmaker’s room and make him see, for isn’t that what Joe had done with her? But no, she must not think of him now; he was gone.
Arthur was looking at her, his eyebrows raised and a quizzical smile twisting his face. Harry had heard the conversation too but merely looked at her, his face expressionless. She turned back to Lord Wilmot who was talking, his voice loud.
‘Well, if Lloyd George thinks the House of Lords is going to approve any budget which wants to tax the landowners in order to pay for his bits of nonsense, he’s got another think coming. Good God, the world’s going quite mad.’
The servants were removing the wine now and Lady Wilmot was waiting to withdraw the ladies. Conversation had begun again around the loud voice of the host but again he broke in.
‘And as for these Pankhurst women and the trouble they cause; it’s an absolute disgrace.’ He pointed his finger at Hannah again and she felt herself stiffen. ‘We need more like you. Good sense of duty.’
Hannah saw Esther begin to smile and now she allowed the anger to rise in her at the opulence of this house, the ignorance of its people, at the endless handbills, the tame constitutional lobbying of the suffragists, at the government imprisoning the suffragettes on grounds of assault when they stamped on policemen’s feet. Words hot and angry began to form in her mind and she wound the napkin round, tighter still. She looked up and saw Harry watching her again and as her rage seemed to leap across the space between them she saw him shake his head at her sharply and begin to speak.
Did he know what she had wanted to say? How could he know after all these years of not seeing her, not hearing her? She held the napkin tighter still but listened as he said, ‘This will all seem very far away next month when I’m on the ship.’ He looked back at her again. ‘But there should be quite a few Cornish hard-rock miners to keep me company once I arrive.’
Hannah looked from him to Lord Wilmot, who looked confused at the turn of the conversation though Lady Wilmot took it up immediately.
‘A good life-style, too, I should think.’
‘Yes, indeed. All those blacks to wait on you,’ Harry said, looking at Hannah. Thinking that now she could vent her anger on something that was further away from home because he was beginning to realise that the private Hannah was no different at all from the Hannah he had grown up with, and that indeed she had a secret, and one that he thought he knew.
‘They’re slaves,’ Hannah retorted, leaping at the chance to voice an anger which was truly meant but which would not endanger her work or her hopes. ‘That war was fought to give taxpaying foreigners the same rights as the Boers – but what about the natives?’
She was keeping her voice flat, her body still, but her eyes looked directly into Harry’s now and he saw the anger, the fire, and he was glad.
Sir Edward shook his head, his voice kind. ‘Now then, my dear, how can you have rights for people who are basically unequal? That would be mere sentimentality.’
Arthur was leaning back in his chair, his eyes lazily watching her.
‘But why are they unequal? It is their land.’ Hannah still kept her voice quiet and flat.
Lord Wilmot interjected now. ‘Because we beat them.
It’s as simple as that. Think of that Darwin you young people are so fond of quoting. It’s the survival of the fittest, isn’t it? They weren’t fit to win, therefore they deserve nothing better.’
Harry lifted his glass and drained it. He glanced at Hannah and smiled, and she knew, as the conversation started around her, that her brother had understood as he had once done and had arranged an opportunity for her to release some of her rage without doing damage to her cause, and for a moment the blank space in her was filled.
The guests arrived for the dance at eleven o’clock. Musicians had not been hired because Arthur wanted to use his new gramophone. He pulled Hannah over to the table which held the wooden box with its convolvulus horn of blue and gold. He turned the handle until he could turn it no more and Hannah watched his face as he pressed his lips together, watching his shoulders as they moved beneath his jacket. He turned the handle until there was a click and then a sound like something breathing; the black circle revolved and Arthur’s steady hand placed the needle on the edge of the disc. As the music rose he took her hand and they drew together.
His arm was round her now and his breath was in her hair and on her neck and as they danced and whirled around his leg touched hers and her body sometimes swung against him.
‘I’m sorry about my father,’ he said. ‘He is so old-fashioned and behind the times.’
She was glad he was there, for she needed someone to hold her and laugh with her and so they danced until their feet were sore and champagne was brought in silver ice-buckets. At one in the morning his parents retired, together with Sir Edward Franks and his wife. Then they danced again and this time Arthur held her tightly and as they neared the curtains which shielded the conservatory he bent and kissed her neck.
A Time for Courage Page 20
