The Chocolate Tin

by Fiona McIntosh

  Alex glanced at her father, who gave her a wink.

  __________

  Alex watched Matthew work his charm, his compliments effortless, showing deep interest in the running of the estate and her father’s day-to-day tribulations on the board of the North Eastern Railways, his investments in diamond and gold mines in the Congo and Ghana respectively, while offering generous praise to Mrs Morrison below stairs for the food.

  ‘We keep it simple up north, sir,’ Lambton answered for the kitchen staff, although Alex noted the silver was out: another warning sign of her mother’s intent.

  ‘Well,’ Matthew said, tapping his belly lightly with both hands. ‘That soup alone was hearty and delicious.’

  ‘Cauliflower and stilton. An old family favourite,’ Minerva remarked, glancing at her daughter.

  Alex smiled sweetly on cue over the rim of her wineglass. ‘So, is there any getting around this business of you not being able to join the army and rush off to war?’ she asked. ‘I think it’s most commendable and you would be such an excellent role model for the other men.’

  Again, Matthew didn’t falter. ‘I’ve tried every avenue. Short of breaking the law, there is no path open to me.’

  ‘Not even packing up your boots a few inches?’ she offered.

  Her parents and Matthew chuckled appropriately.

  ‘I doubt they’d fall for it,’ he offered.

  ‘At this stage, anyway,’ she said as playfully as she dared.

  He looked back at her, shifting his gaze from her mother’s increasingly adoring expression. ‘Yes, quite right. Who knows what’s going to happen or the demands Britain will face. If she wants me, I’ll be there for her.’

  ‘Well said, again, sir,’ Charles said, lifting his glass to Matthew and his wife followed while Alex raised hers a moment or two slower and hoped no one noticed the slight reluctance. They sipped their wine, making small noises of appreciation as they swallowed.

  ‘So how about you, Alex – how will you contribute to the war effort?’ Matthew asked, putting down his glass. ‘That’s a fine claret, sir,’ he remarked but his gaze darted straight back to her.

  This was her chance. ‘Er, well, I’m very glad you mention this, Matthew, because I’ve decided I’m going to volunteer as a nursing aide.’ She’d rehearsed in the bathtub and felt she’d mastered hitting just the right choice of words and tone.

  She felt the thunderstruck silence form itself like stone at either end of the table as her parents exchanged guarded but nevertheless shocked glances. She could sense those gazes pass across her line of vision like whizzing bullets but she turned to neither of them yet; it was a legitimate idea, and one neither could surely reject.

  ‘Well, that’s marvellous.’ Matthew beamed. ‘I hear nothing but heroics about the brave nursing teams at the Front who tirelessly patch up men, caring like mothers to perfect strangers. I’m sure the same care is already needed at home.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Alex murmured.

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ Charles muttered, warming to the suggestion, nodding at Lambton, who was attending to topping up the claret. ‘I’m hearing about the high number of soldiers who require intensive care back home.’

  ‘Rowntree’s has handed over its brand-new dining block to become a hospital,’ Alex chimed in. ‘It can seat two and a half thousand workers at one time. Imagine that!’

  Matthew looked suitably impressed.

  ‘I can make myself extremely useful as a volunteer.’ She smiled but shook her head at Lambton regarding more wine.

  ‘I’m deeply impressed by Rowntree’s, and by your plan, Alex,’ their guest praised.

  ‘Are you, Matthew?’ Minerva said, a slight look of wonder now in her expression.

  ‘Yes, I’m impressed by all the women of Britain who are selflessly volunteering every spare hour to help the war effort. Alex’s efforts given to a hospital is a commitment to be applauded.’

  ‘Well, I’m glad our daughter impresses you, Matthew,’ Minerva replied, ignoring Alex’s look, which was intended to wither.

  Matthew regarded her, no longer wearing his monocle, eyes reflecting the candles like he had a secret flame burning within and filled with private amusement, she thought. ‘When did you think you’d volunteer?’

  She dabbed her mouth, hardly daring to believe he was pushing this topic and helping her so squarely. ‘I thought I’d go over to Rowntree’s tomorrow and enquire. They’ve had to do something towards the war effort, as being Quakers they’re conscientious objectors.’ They ignored her father’s grunt as he sipped on his claret.

  ‘What about the hospital at Swinegate in the old Methodist Hall? Isn’t that more appropriate, darling?’ her mother pondered aloud. ‘I think Jennifer Houghton’s girl volunteered there and maybe even Alice Trubshaw is already working there.’

  Damn! She’d forgotten about the military hospital.

  At her hesitation, Matthew spoke. ‘Er, I happened to visit a friend on the way here. He’s a newly qualified doctor and working with the military hospital.’

  ‘Did you?’ Alex said, waiting for the inevitable axe to fall on her plan, with Matthew conveniently, no doubt, having the right connections to the wrong hospital.

  ‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘Unfortunately, Lady Frobisher, he mentioned to me that they’re turning away volunteers at the Swinegate facility and sending willing hands to the Friends Hospital at Rowntree’s, where they can use the generous care of women as aides in that new hospital.’

  Alex felt her mouth open and close immediately with surprise, a small square of buttered bread halfway to her slightly reddened lips.

  ‘I’m sure you’ve heard the same, Alex?’ he added, his tone innocent, but was that a wink he’d given her across the table, or a timely twitch?

  ‘Er, yes, that’s – that’s why I mentioned Rowntree’s. Last year in the height of summer a hospital was set up in The Mount School nearby but, for some odd reason, after all that effort to make wards, Council returned them to classrooms before the new term began. So the Rowntree’s huge staff dining hall and training rooms have been turned over to the Friends’ Ambulance Unit as a Quaker hospital. I gather it is taking men so fast they’re desperate for as many volunteers as possible.’

  ‘I think that’s admirable that you would offer your services, darling. Makes me proud,’ her father said.

  Alex glanced at her mother, who lifted a shoulder. ‘Of course, dear, anything’s better than packing boxes on a factory floor. Are you sure you don’t want me to speak to the Houghtons or Trubshaws, though? I’m certain we could squeeze you in at the military establishment if the right pressure is brought to bear.’

  ‘That’s kind, but as Matthew says, they need more people at the Quaker hospital. I can ride my bike, or take the tram there.’

  ‘The pacifist cause has that whiff of cowardice about it, though, darling, doesn’t it?’ Minerva murmured, trying not to sound pompous but in doing so she came across as plainly prejudiced.

  ‘The wounded arriving there are anything but cowards, Lady Frobisher,’ Matthew interjected gently, his smile flashing as he gave her all of his attention. ‘Imagine having your beautiful daughter on the other end of a long ambulance drive from the south. They’ll believe they’ve arrived in heaven.’ He chuckled at his own remark. ‘I know I would.’

  Her mother sat taller. ‘If you say so.’

  ‘What’s more,’ Matthew continued, cutting Alex a brief glance, ‘I believe one of the nephews, is it – certainly one of the boys close to Arnold Rowntree – recently died working with the ambulance unit. Nothing cowardly about an unarmed medic taking his chances at the Front and dying while trying to save others.’ He smiled around the dinner table.

  Alex couldn’t fully trust what was unfolding here. She quickly looked to her father, needing the important confirmation that only he could give. ‘So that’s all right then, Dad? I can volunteer tomorrow at the Friends Hospital?’

  ‘If they’ll take you, then I agree
with Matthew; I don’t care which hospital, so long as they’re giving good care to our soldiers.’

  She looked back at Matthew, doing her best to hide the triumph she was feeling. An invisible thank you from Alex stole across the starched tablecloth towards him, and he silently accepted it.

  He sipped his claret, looking vaguely smug. ‘As it happens, I have to go to the factory tomorrow anyway.’

  She blinked. ‘What exactly is your involvement with Rowntree’s?’

  ‘Our firm is helping with its railway.’

  ‘And is that how our families know one another?’

  He nodded at Charles, who was muttering to Lambton. ‘Your father invested in the railways more than four decades ago.’ He tapped his nose. ‘So wise to get in early as a non-executive director with Lord Coleville, sir. We got involved later but as ordinary shareholders originally, so we went through tough times in the mid-1870s. Now it’s all boom time and our railways are expanding rapidly again.’

  ‘And Rowntree’s? How does that fit into your life?’ she added.

  He grinned. ‘As you likely know, it has its own platform.’

  ‘I didn’t know if the halt was a genuine station, or simply decorative,’ Alex admitted as the staff moved in silently to clear breadcrumbs and add fresh plates. She looked to her mother, who shrugged.

  ‘Don’t look to me, darling. All railway conversations are tedious.’

  Matthew laughed. ‘Haven’t you seen it in action yet, Alex?’

  She shook her head, embarrassed. ‘I have no reason to go to that side of our city.’ What she didn’t say was that her mother would prefer she not be seen anywhere near the city’s major income generator.

  ‘Well, we must rectify that for you. That’s how all the chocolate is shifted; it’s railed south to its hungry consumers. Rowntree’s can’t rely on roads alone so it has a dedicated siding, platform, even carriages. It brings in its workers and it takes out its products – all very well run, I might add.’

  ‘Well,’ her mother suddenly said, not wishing to be entirely excluded from the conversation, ‘I knew a little but I wasn’t aware it was so advanced.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Matthew pressed, sounding important. ‘The Filey branch line runs through the factory as it heads north to skirt New Earwick and then follows an easterly direction all the way to the coast. It originates from Selby.’

  ‘And that’s why it’s called Selby Halt,’ Charles said, nodding to himself. Alex threw him a look that said Why haven’t you mentioned this before? Except why would he, she answered herself silently.

  ‘Labour comes in from far and wide, arriving via Selby Halt to work at the factory,’ Matthew explained.

  ‘So how do you fit in again?’ she asked.

  His voice was patient and thus appealing. ‘Our firm has been contracted to assist with some expansion and extra equipment, what with all the requirements for the war.’

  Alex frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, Rowntree’s isn’t just handling chocolate right now; apart from diversifying and providing a hospital, it has put itself out to offer loading of other supplies and transport via Selby Halt.’

  ‘Probably through guilt,’ her mother threw in and sipped some water, making a face as though it were pure lemon juice she tasted.

  ‘That’s not fair,’ Alex admonished. ‘The Quakers sound as though they’re doing their absolute best to contribute to the war in ways that don’t involve killing.’

  ‘This is true,’ Matthew agreed. ‘And if you just focus on the chocolate that the factory is producing for the soldiers alone, tonnes of it has to be transported to the Front but that means getting it from northern England to our southern docks fast.’

  ‘It’s exciting to think our city is providing so much assistance,’ Minerva offered, determined to stay in the discussion.

  Lambton was back, quietly directing her staff with the tiniest movements of one hand and eyes silently speaking plenty. ‘Beef pie, Mrs Morrison’s famed potato casserole and winter vegetables from our own patch,’ she announced as the girls put down warmed plates loaded with a golden crusted hunk of pie, oozing a rich, onion-scented and near licorice-coloured gravy with a peppery, deeply meaty aroma. Alex could taste it already from the familiar, comforting smell that harked back to her childhood. They were all instantly occupied, serving themselves from the various dishes of vegetable accompaniments glistening with dabs of butter, and finally the servants withdrew from the table and everyone’s plates steamed temptingly.

  ‘Enjoy your dinner, ladies and gentlemen,’ Lambton finished, shepherding the two women out of the room so that conversation could be resumed. The housekeeper, who clearly loved playing butler, closed the door behind the staff but waited in the shadows of the dining room. Lambton missed nothing, Alex knew, and she threw her a soft smile.

  ‘As to the chocolate itself,’ Matthew continued, now that their quartet picked up cutlery and resumed eating, ‘the next few months form a critical time, I gather, where speed is needed to get the product south.’ He forked a neat piece of pie into his mouth and chewed. ‘Oh, I say, this is extraordinarily good,’ he exclaimed, casting a glance at Minerva.

  ‘Yes, absolutely delicious, darling,’ Charles added as though Minerva had slaved all day making suet pastry.

  ‘The secret’s really in the gravy,’ Minerva added with a conspiratorial giggle. ‘A dash of stout makes all the difference.’

  ‘Is that what it is?’ Matthew charmed. ‘I shall have to beg, borrow or steal this recipe for Mother.’

  ‘Well, you’ll need to turn that charm on Morrison. She doesn’t part easily with her recipes,’ Minerva admitted, finally coming clean.

  Alex frowned at their guest; her interest had been piqued by his previous remark about the chocolate schedule. ‘Why are the next few months so critical?’

  ‘That’s a bit curious of you, isn’t it?’ her father wondered.

  Matthew put his cutlery down and sipped from his claret, clearly enjoying the spotlight. He touched lightly at his mouth with his napkin, leaving no stain upon it, and grinned, taking in everyone with his pleasure and ensuring all eyes were on him. ‘It’s perfectly all right, sir,’ he assured, ‘there is nothing confidential about this detail.’ He turned the full weight of his patient gaze on her now, as though needing to single Alex out for special attention and to demonstrate that he took her and her question deeply seriously. ‘I don’t know if you’re aware but last Christmas Princess Mary caused a happy storm of delight for our British, Colonial and Indian armed forces when she organised a public appeal to send a gift to every sailor afloat and every soldier at the Front.’

  Alex nodded. ‘I heard the appeal raised more than £160,000.’ She was determined to show she did pay attention to topical issues and her head was not stuffed full of shallow thoughts.

  ‘A most tidy sum,’ he admitted, ‘and this meant the giving of that gift could be broadened to include everyone wearing the King’s uniform.’ He paused dramatically and Minerva filled the momentary silence with a sighing smile.

  Alex took the opportunity to eat and look away from Matthew, who she could see was just getting warmed up. She let Mrs Morrison’s sticky gravy soothe her with its faintly sweet quality achieved from the patient sweating down of onions until they tasted like a savoury toffee that made the overall flavour so intense. But she realised she wasn’t giving him the eye contact he required.

  ‘. . . even spices and pencils,’ she heard before he coughed gently.

  ‘And so the railways are connected how?’ she continued, to show him she was paying attention even if he was hogging the conversation . . . not that it mattered; her father was happily busy with his pie and her mother wasn’t at all interested in this conversation unless it kept eye contact between her daughter and their guest.

  ‘Ah, well, getting that amount of product in one blitz proved a mountain too high. The delivery of the gift had to be staggered. The recipients were divided into thr
ee groups, A, B and C. I don’t believe the C group received its gift until well after Christmas.’

  ‘Ah, I see the dilemma. That is a pity,’ she remarked.

  ‘Indeed. Christmas must have been so very hard in the trenches.’ She could guess what was coming, and was excited by the inside knowledge, but politely allowed him to have his moment. ‘Rowntree’s is doing a King’s Chocolate Tin in a repeat to keep morale up but they obviously want the chocolate and accompanying goodies to be delivered as swiftly as possible to the men at the Front, who need their spirits boosted after more than a year of life in the trenches.’

  ‘My word, yes!’ Her mother joined in, just short of cheering.

  Her father was busy soaking up the last of the gravy with a neat square of pastry he’d saved just for that purpose. Alex smiled to herself, realising she had either inherited the trait or developed it watching her father for years eat so quietly, intently and neatly.

  ‘That’s exciting,’ she admitted, placing a neat forkful of the pie into her mouth and chewing carefully.

  ‘I’m glad you agree, and so our firm is involved in helping this year with the logistics of getting the King’s Tin from York to the quartermasters around Europe as fast as we possibly can.’

  ‘Admirable, Matthew,’ her mother cooed.

  ‘So when does this happen?’ her father finally said, his plate devoid of food, his cutlery neatly positioned at six-thirty.

  Alex was facing the bank of curved windows with their achingly pretty stained glass. The curtain had not yet been drawn and night had fallen heavily so she could now see all of them seated in reflection. It made for a cosy family scene of happiness and she sighed inwardly, knowing this was what her mother craved. It was obvious they liked Matthew; her mother’s interest aside, she could tell that her father was impressed with him too, and why not . . . there were no rough edges to Matthew that she could tell. Yet she questioned his sincerity and couldn’t comprehend her own suspicions. She put them down to the fact that they’d only just met and therefore it was perfectly natural to be hesitant. That said, he was easy to talk to, certainly lively company, had excellent manners, was gentle on the eye, appeared to possess no outwardly poor habits and he’d already assisted her immeasurably. She snapped her attention back to the conversation.