‘And I must say a pot of tea won’t come amiss,’ Nan said when their train pulled in at Richmond station. ‘And here’s Tom come to meet us. How very nice. I hope you en’t been a-waiting long, Tom.’
‘I’d ha’ waited a long time for a day like this, mum,’ he said. ‘Eighty years! My eye!’
And he went on saying ‘My Eye!’ all the way back to Richmond Hill to the children’s giggling amusement.
The house was very quiet, which was a surprise, and the hall was empty, which Nan found rather disappointing because Caroline and Henry were usually waiting there to greet her whenever she arrived, and it seemed odd that they would have forgotten on her eightieth birthday.
‘Where are they?’ she asked the parlour maid.
But the parlour maid looked at Euphemia as though she wasn’t sure what to say. Stupid girl!
‘I expect they’re in the ballroom,’ Euphemia said, taking Everard by the hand and walking up the stairs.
‘Tosh!’ Nan said. ‘They wouldn’t be in the ballroom. The dining room, that’s where they’ll be.’ But the dining room was empty, although the table was beautifully set and for a lot of company as far as she could see.
‘What are they playing at?’ she grumbled to Will as she followed him to the ballroom. ‘They’re not in there either. You’d hear them if they were.’
But Will had flung open the double doors with a flourish. And the ballroom was full of people, all most beautifully dressed, and all absolutely quiet. For a second she couldn’t think what they were all doing there but then the band struck up the opening notes of a song and they all began to sing it. ‘Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you!’ And she knew what a splendid surprise had been prepared for her and stepped forward into the room to receive it, with Harry and little Johnnie leading her by the hand.
The entire Easter family was in the room, Annie and James, fairly beaming at her, and Dotty and her husband and all their children, and Meg and that nice farmer and all theirs. And there was Matilda with Edward and Mirabelle. ‘Matilda my dear, I’m so glad to see you here. How’s your poor back?’ And Henry’s brother Sir Joseph, looking comfortable and portly and kissing her so warmly. And his nice wife. What was her name? And Matty and Jimmy, trying to greet their children and kiss her all at the same time. And dear Caroline, holding onto Henry’s arm and smiling and smiling at the complete success of her surprise. Oh, it was going to be a wonderful party!
They had tea on the terrace and Nan cut her birthday cake with a little help from Harry. After that they all trouped back into the ballroom and the band played country dances until the children were exhausted.
‘How many of them are there?’ Nan asked Annie, as the little slippered feet danced and skipped before them.
‘Dotty has six now, including the baby,’ Annie said, totting them up. ‘And there’s Meg’s seven and Matty’s five, and Caroline’s three and little William Henry. That’s twenty-two, Mama. Twenty-two great-grandchildren.’
‘Such a family!’ Nan said, quite surprised by the size of it.
‘Meg’s two oldest boys want to join the firm, you know,’ Annie said.
‘What could be better?’ Nan said. ‘What could be better? Are they old enough to dine with us?’
It appeared that they were and Dotty’s oldest daughter with them.
‘How they grow up!’ Nan said. ‘Twenty-two great-grandchildren! Imagine that.’
It was a magnificent meal. Nan sat at the centre of the table with Will on one side and Caroline on the other and enjoyed every minute of every dish, especially the first strawberries of the season.
As the sun went down and the servants arrived to light the gas, Henry rose to make a graceful little speech of congratulation.
‘At first,’ he said, ‘I had thought I might compose an ode in honour of this occasion. But I learnt long ago that poetry is not my forte, and anyway I couldn’t think of a rhyme for Easter. Then I thought I might tell you all the history of the Easter Empire. But Caroline pointed out that some of you might like to get to bed before seven o’clock tomorrow morning. And anyway, most of you know it already. So I decided that there really wasn’t anything that could be said, so perhaps you would accept this little birthday present in lieu, Nan dear. It comes from all of us with our love and gratitude for everything you’ve done for us over the years.’
It was a very small package and not weighty, so she undid it very carefully. Inside, in a jeweller’s case padded with white satin, was a lady’s fob watch. It was made of gold and ringed with pearls and the enamelled centre consisted of a single word picked out in blues and greens and purples: ‘EASTER’S’. She pinned it to her dress at once.
‘Speech!’ her family said, applauding and cheering. ‘You must make a speech.’
‘It’s the perfect gift,’ she told them. ‘I can’t think of anything more fitting. “Easter’s.” How dear you are to think of it.’
‘It was Caroline’s doing,’ Will said. ‘She planned it and had it made.’
‘I might ha’ guessed,’ Nan said, patting Caroline’s hand. Then she returned to her speech. ‘Well now, my dears,’ she said. ‘You’ve solved a little problem for me, so you have.’ And she looked round the table at them, her old eyes sparkling. ‘Ever since Billy’s death I’ve been wondering what the firm ought to be called these days, A. Easter and Sons being inappropriate. Now see. Here’s the answer. Carolina’s answer. Easter’s. We will call it Easter’s, like everybody else does. What could be more fitting?’
It was a popular decision, as all their faces showed.
‘Now, as I’ve told ’ee one thing about the firm, I suppose I might as well tell ’ee another. I’ve been giving a great deal of thought as to what should happen to it when I’m dead and gone.’ And even though they groaned, she persisted. ‘Can’t last for ever, my dears. I’ve made old enough bones as it is. No, no, my time will come. And when it does I’d like to think the firm was in good hands. So I’ve made a decision and a will. As from this summer, Easter’s will be run by a management committee of eight, all with equal voting rights. It’s always been plain and obvious who the eight should be. Henry and Caroline, of course, because they work for the firm, and Edward, for the same reason, with Mirabelle to aid and support him – who better? – and Will and Euphemia, now that Euphemia is an Easter, and Jimmy and Matty for their good sense and compassion. All the London Easters in fact. What do ’ee think to that?’
They approved, clapping their assent and all talking at once, and Nan was glad she’d made her speech sitting down or she’d have had to stand a long time waiting for them to listen again.
But Caroline was on her feet now, holding a piece of paper in her hand. Was she going to make a speech too?
No. She handed the paper across the table to her grandmother, and everybody was attentive, listening for what she was going to say.
‘This letter came for you this afternoon,’ she told Nan, ‘just after you left for Hyde Park. We thought you would like to read it at your party. It’s from Buckingham Palace.’
‘My heart alive!’ Nan said, opening the envelope.
It was an invitation to Mrs Nan Easter to attend a presentation at Windsor Castle in September, with two or three other members of her family, on which occasion Her Majesty Queen Victoria would be pleased to award her with the Prince Albert Exhibition Medal as a mark of Her Majesty’s appreciation for Mrs Easter’s distinguished service to the Great Exhibition.
‘My dear heart alive!’ she said again.
‘An honour, upon me life,’ Sir Joseph said. ‘And richly deserved.’
‘Who will you take with you?’ Annie asked, leaning across the table towards her mother.
‘Why, my three lieutenants, of course,’ Nan said. ‘Caroline and Henry and Edward. My three lieutenants.’
Chapter 37
The presentation of the Exhibition Medals took place on one of those balmy days when summer and autumn interchange and the world is unexpectedly b
lessed with the best of both seasons, a warm, richly coloured day, the sky a high clear dome of midsummer blue above the green Surrey fields, and the trees a glory of red and orange and gold.
‘Royal weather,’ Caroline said as she and Nan and Henry and Edward climbed into her carriage for the short journey from her house to Richmond station. ‘And no more than you deserve, my dear, dear Nan.’ They all looked very grand in their prescribed finery, the two men in morning dress and the women in splendid silk gowns, Nan’s powder-blue and black and adorned with Frederick’s cameo brooch and her new Easter fob watch, Caroline’s dove-grey and pink, set off by Henry’s splendid gift of pearls. She was glowing with animation, her cheeks flushed and those grey eyes sparkling in the strong sunshine. ‘Oh, I can’t wait to get there!’
‘Enjoy the journey first, my darling,’ Henry advised, waving to their servants who had gathered on the garden path to see them go. ‘Have you got everything you need?’ She was so excited she was sure to leave something behind. ‘Handkerchief? Smelling salts?’
‘Yes, yes,’ she smiled at him. ‘Everything. You and Nan and my three dear babies and all our family. What more could I possibly want?’
‘Then I suppose we may drive on,’ Henry said to the coachman.
‘I don’t mind a-comin’ back if Mrs Henry does forget something,’ the coachman confided cheerfully. ‘After all, it ain’t every day a’ the week you sees the Queen, God bless her.’
They went bowling off along Richmond Hill, with the sun warm on their shoulders and the luscious valley of the Thames spreading peacefully below them.
The train was waiting for them in the station, with the station master in excited attendance ready to hand the ladies aboard and add ‘my own felicitations to this happy day, ma’am. Which I mean to say you got the weather for it.’
‘We have indeed,’ Nan said, settling the width of her skirt into the limited space of the corner seat. ‘We had it laid on special.’
They were warmed by sunshine all the way to Windsor and the three younger members of the family got steadily more excited as the royal town drew nearer.
‘There are so many people travelling today,’ Caroline said as they passed yet another crowded train. ‘How wise we were to sell books on railway stations.’
‘Travel is the passion of the age,’ Henry said. ‘Pretty soon it will be as easy to travel to Egypt or China, say, as it is to take a train to London.’
‘If that’s true,’ his wife said, ‘then perhaps Easter’s should be negotiating for bookstalls on continental stations’
And although both men laughed at the idea, Nan took it seriously. ‘Why not?’ she said. ‘A capital notion.’
But then their engine was swaying along the line curving into Windsor itself and there was the castle looming above them, turrets and battlements stone-massive and the royal standard fluttering from its flag-pole like a tethered bird.
By now the sense of occasion seemed to have affected the engine, for it stopped with a flourish of whistles and then spent several seconds screeching like a parrot and emitting huge clouds of white steam into the red and gold girders of the high roof, in a dramatic demonstration of its power. There were porters everywhere, assisting the honoured travellers out of their carriages and into the cabs that would carry them at exorbitant expense the few yards uphill to the palace. The fore court was full of arrivals, all of them expensively dressed and many of them more than a little anxious. There was no doubt that it was a state occasion.
I have come a long way to be part of such a crowd, Nan thought, as her cab drove them through the stone archway into the courtyard of the palace. ‘When I was young,’ she said to her three young lieutenants, ‘I saw the old French king having his head chopped off. And now the English Queen is a-going to give me a medal.’
‘Did you really?’ Henry said, impressed by the revelation. ‘Were you actually there?’
‘Right in the front row,’ she said, her old eyes looking inwards at the memory. “Twas a mortal cold day, I remember. The people danced. And sang. You never heard such singing. And now I’m here.’
‘That’s progress, Nan,’ Edward said. ‘What could be better?’
The cab had drawn up before an entrance hung about with flags. ‘I saw her grandfather bathing in the sea once,’ Nan said. ‘The poor old mad King George. Naked as a babe newborn so he was, poor man, and shivering fit to crack his teeth.’ How the memories came crowding. ‘And her uncle, the Prince Regent, driving about town with his mistress, fat as pigs the pair of ’em. I could tell ’ee some tales about this royal family.’
‘I hope to goodness she won’t go saying things like that when the medal is presented,’ Henry said quietly to Caroline as the old lady was eased out of the cab. ‘I had forgotten how unpredictable she is.’
‘Never fear,’ Caroline said, gathering her skirts delicately together before she stepped out too. ‘An indiscretion of that magnitude would be bad for business, and she’s far too good a business woman to make such a mistake.’
They followed their grandmother into the palace, through staterooms hung with ancient portraits and windows draped with ancient curtains, in a long subdued procession until they reached an anteroom where they were greeted by half a dozen uniformed flunkeys and asked with silken deference if they would be so good as to wait.
‘There’s Mr Chaplin,’ Nan said, nodding a greeting across the room, ‘and Mr Cubitt, the builder feller. Why, we’re all in trade.’
‘And what could be more appropriate,’ Edward said, ‘when the exhibition was laid on to show “the words of industry of all nations”?’
It had been such a splendid summer carnival they’d almost forgotten its origins. ‘Well, Easter’s is industrious enough, in all conscience,’ Nan said, leaning on her stick. ‘Especially now with trade picking up so well.’
The procession was on the move again, shuffling slowly through a pair of gilded doors at the other end of the long room, where two more flunkeys were directing people to right and left. They passed a blazing fire, enjoying the wafted heat; conversation reduced from a buzz to a murmur and finally faded away altogether; the skirts of the ladies hissed in rhythm as they glided forward. There was something hypnotic about their progress, something soothing and somnambulent, as if they were no longer part of the world.
It was no surprise to any of them that they emerged into a room of such dazzling splendour that the sight of it made them blink. They were lotus-eaters, dreaming towards magnificence. It was only to be expected.
Two enormous gold chandeliers bore crowns of blazing white candles above their heads, and beneath them, the room was so ornately gilded that it seemed a shimmer of solid gold from one end to the other. There was a throne set at one end, surrounded by a gilded arch and backed by a curtain a-dazzle with gold thread, and a gold-frogged military band at the other, sitting patiently on a gilded plinth, their instruments polished to a gleam. The portraits were gilt-framed, the chairs held out golden arms, and above it all the ceiling was so heavily encrusted with gold that it looked more like a warrior’s armour than decorated plaster. An overwhelming room.
The assembled guests shuffled and shifted and were discreetly rearranged by two gently perambulating officials, and then suddenly the doors at the throne end of the room were swung open and there were the Queen and Prince Albert, he tall and formal in his dark morning dress, she in the full glory of the pink and silver gown she’d worn to open the exhibition, diamonds and all.
She made a short speech in a high clear voice, welcoming her guests and thanking them ‘each and every one for the sterling service you have done to ensure the success of the Great Exhibition’. Then, while the orchestra played martial airs, she walked along the lines distributing her medals.
Henry and Edward smiled encouragement at Nan and one another, and Caroline tried to wait with suitable patience. They had come so far, she was thinking, all of them, by hard work and endurance and never being infra dig, and now here they we
re, two men and two women, two women, successful in a business world where women weren’t supposed to venture, waiting to be honoured by the Queen. She had always said anything was possible, and now after everything, after the trial and brain fever and Uncle Billy’s death and everything, she was being proved right. By the time the Queen walked towards them and it was the moment to drop the deep curtsey she’d been practising, she was breathless with the thrill of the occasion.
But Nan was calm, as if she’d been meeting royalty every day of her life, standing very straight and very still, with her gnarled hands resting on the ebony head of her stick, every inch the grand lady.
‘Mrs Easter,’ the Queen said, swaying gracefully towards her, ‘you gave us so much assistance in your stalls and your shops. We could not have spread the word without you, I believe. They tell me that you were the founder of the firm.’
‘Yes, Ma’am. I was.’ And all so long ago. Nearly sixty years. Walking the streets of Mayfair with her little cart.
‘You must be very proud,’ the Queen said.
Until that moment it hadn’t occurred to Nan to be proud of the firm she’d founded. It was simply a fact of her life, that was all, the firm and the family, the reason for being alive. But, ‘Yes, Ma’am,’ she said. ‘I suppose I am.’
‘Quite,’ the Queen said. ‘So you should be.’ And then, as she turned to her equerry to pick Nan’s medal from its cushion, she added something that made all four Easters catch their breath, it was so unexpected. ‘I believe we have something in common, Mrs Easter, you and I.’
Nan stood still while the medal was pinned to her bodice. The pause was necessary because she wasn’t quite sure what she ought to say. But at last, she ventured, ‘Indeed, Ma’am?’
‘Yes,’ the Queen said, giving the old lady a smile of quite melting sweetness now that the little ceremony was over. ‘We have both founded an empire, have we not?’
A Note on the Author
Beryl Kingston was born in Tooting in 1931. She was eight when the war began and spent the early years of her education in many different schools, depending on her latest evacuation. As an undergraduate she attended King’s College London, where she read English.
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