Grace Hardie

by Anne Melville

  ‘Say it,’ she pleaded. ‘Please say it.’

  ‘I love you.’ He pressed her back against the stone with such force that her body seemed to take on the hardness of the rock and her lips bruised against her teeth. Then, as Frank’s footsteps approached, Andy broke away and disappeared silently into the shadows of the wood.

  Would she ever see him again? Grace stood for a moment without moving, her shoulders still pressed against the boulder, her breath still trapped in her lungs. Then, with a sigh, she began to brush down her skirt and fasten her hat back into place.

  When she was ready, she stepped out into the clearing and waited for Frank to appear. His expression was anxious, and at any normal time she would have laughed at the relief on his face when he saw that she was alone. But even her anger at the family’s interference in her life was numbed by the suddenness of her meeting with Andy and their parting.

  And Frank was going to war as well. He had told her that twenty-four hours earlier, but only now did she appreciate that there was to be another farewell. As she took his arm and walked on up the hill, she could think of nothing to say.

  Part Five

  Brothers in Arms 1914–1917

  Chapter One

  The disruption caused to the Hardie family’s life by the war was immediate and far-reaching, but was not expected to be more than temporary. Before Christmas, without doubt, the army would march back from France in triumph and everything would return to normal. In the meantime Frank, one of the earliest volunteers to enlist, was also amongst the first to be commissioned.

  Wearing his second lieutenant’s uniform, he came to say goodbye before leaving for France. Jay borrowed his cap and cane and marched up and down in a parody of drill whilst Frank, entering into the game, barked orders. His delight in the prospect of going to war was plain for all the family to see. He had never given any indication of discontent with his work in The House of Hardie, yet his beaming smile revealed now that in joining the army he was not so much reacting to an emergency as fulfilling a vocation. To express that in words would have been too solemn. Instead he announced that he was off to give the Huns a good hiding. Grace had wept bitterly after Andy’s departure, but it was impossible to say goodbye with anything but a smile to someone so proud to serve his country.

  Patriotism affected Philip in an opposite manner, turning him away from the life he wanted to lead rather than towards it. From early boyhood he had been fascinated by his father’s hobby of breeding new plants. He had planned to follow his years at university, which had just ended, with two years of field work in different parts of Europe, analysing the soil and noting the flora supported by it. Looking ahead, he saw himself as a specialist in the nutrition of plants – in a university, a botanical garden or a commercial nursery. Had he been the eldest son, he would have been pressed to enter the family business. But Frank had taken up the appointed place there, leaving Philip free to pursue his own interests.

  He was still free now. Enlistment in the army was a matter of choice, not of conscription. He had no reason to believe that he would enjoy being a soldier, nor that he would be of much use. Unlike Frank, who was a good shot and a fine horseman, Philip held the lives of animals in too much respect to kill them for pleasure. He would shoot for the pot and, for the sake of other animals, would occasionally take a gun to a fox; but he never hunted.

  For all these reasons, he was slower to act than his brother. But he was young and fit and had no dependants. The finger of Lord Kitchener, he realized, was pointing at him, and he too crossed the Channel to France.

  Kenneth and David, now aged twenty, resisted the wave of jingoism. David, serving his articles as a solicitor, thought it foolish to interrupt his studies until he had qualified. Kenneth, who had gone into the family firm without enthusiasm, might have welcomed a break had it not been for one thing. He was not prepared to kill.

  The death of Pepper eleven years earlier had had as traumatic an effect on Kenneth as it had on Grace. He had put the cat out of its agony because he could not bear to hear its wails; but afterwards discovered that his sister’s grief in bereavement was equally unbearable, leaving him uncertain whether he had made the right decision. When the death of a mere cat caused so much anguish, how could he bring himself to take the life of a man – even a German?

  For the moment he felt himself to be useful in England. Business was brisk as the customers of The House of Hardie hurried to fill their cellars while stocks lasted. With Frank away, Will Witney, the manager, was left with sole responsibility for running the firm. He worked mainly from Oxford and was glad to have a member of the family in London. Kenneth did his best to close his mind to the war. But as more and more of his generation changed into khaki he found it necessary to keep his eyes on the ground as he walked the streets of London, lest he should be challenged by a contemptuous glance or handed a white feather.

  More surprising was the transformation of Grace’s life. During the first few weeks of war it seemed enough that she should devote her time to the knitting of socks and jerseys and balaclava helmets, as well as joining in the communal activity of cutting and rolling bandages. It was her aunt, arriving earlier than usual for her regular Christmas stay, who produced a revolutionary suggestion.

  ‘I called at the High on my way here,’ she announced. To any member of the family ‘the High’ referred not to Oxford’s main street but to The House of Hardie’s bow-fronted establishment. ‘Poor Will Witney’s rushed off his feet. One of his cellarmen and both his clerks have left to join up and he can’t find anyone to take their place. He has to have someone strong and able-bodied for the cellar, of course, but he’s seriously thinking that he’ll have to consider young women for the office and the counter. It’s a problem, though – the first girl he tried couldn’t pronounce the names of any of the wines or understand what people were asking for. With all the Christmas business rushing in she simply became flustered and burst into tears. Will’s trying to deal with it all himself, but it’s far too much for him.’

  ‘Poor Will,’ said Lucy, but Midge was not content with such an ineffectual murmur of sympathy.

  ‘I wondered whether Grace couldn’t lend a hand,’ she said.

  Grace was startled. ‘I don’t know anything about selling wine.’

  ‘You know more than most girls. Granted, you may not be able to recommend a particular vintage, as Will can. But you know the names of the châteaux and whether they produce claret or burgundy; the basic things. And you must have picked up some information about champagne while you were in France. Your French is good, so you could help with correspondence. Even keeping accounts is a simple enough matter if you’re shown exactly what to do.’

  By now Grace was alarmed, for she had never been good at figures. Her mother too looked doubtful, although for a different reason.

  ‘For someone like Grace to take employment –’ she began; but her sister-in-law interrupted briskly.

  ‘There’s no shame in that for a young woman these days. I’ve been employed ever since I left university, and no one thinks the less of me for that. Quite the opposite, I hope.’

  ‘To be a headmistress is rather different from serving in a shop.’

  ‘Grace needn’t think of it as being a shop assistant. There’d be no need for her to accept wages if she chose not to. She should see it simply as helping out her own family in an emergency. After all, what happens to your income if The House of Hardie runs into difficulties?’

  Such frank speaking was startling to Grace, who had been brought up to think any discussion of money matters to be vulgar. But her mother, surprisingly, was looking thoughtful.

  ‘It’s true that when Gordon returns – whenever that may be – he’ll expect us to have taken all possible care of the business. Why not go down for an hour this afternoon, Grace? Just to watch and see what needs to be done. Then you could decide yourself whether you wanted to go again.’

  ‘I’ll come too.’ Jay, on holiday from scho
ol, had come into the room in the middle of the conversation. ‘I’il do the adding up, Grace. You’re hopeless at that. You can smile sweetly at the customers so that they buy twice as much as they intended.’

  Jay’s high spirits were always infectious. With him beside her, the ordeal would be transformed into a game. After a few days, no doubt, the pretence of being an accounts clerk or sales assistant would begin to bore him. But he would make a reassuring companion whilst she made up her mind whether she was capable of conducting business with strangers.

  The need for her assistance was obvious as soon as she and Jay stepped through the door that afternoon. The House of Hardie did not as a general rule serve many customers over the counter. It was more usual for wines to be tasted or selected from the list, ordered by the case, charged to account and delivered. Under this system there was no pressure for haste and no need for many wines to be placed on display. The cases were loaded directly from the cellar on to the dray. But the approach of Christmas attracted a different kind of customer. He might wish to buy only a single bottle of wine for a gift or a special celebration; he had little idea of what he wanted; and he would pay cash and take the bottle away. If Mr Witney had to give advice and supervise the till, he was left with no time to deal with the larger orders. There was relief in his smile as he learned why Grace and Jay had come.

  It was surprisingly easy to be businesslike, Grace discovered. Mr Witney was available to give advice; but for straightforward transactions she sent Jay down to the cellars to collect whatever was required whilst she made out a bill and copied the details on to a sheet of paper. Someone else could add up the totals and alter the stock-sheets later.

  Jay, for his part, was quick to improve on the system of making frequent journeys to collect single bottles. He carried up a whole case at a time, setting out the unsold bottles on a table behind the counter. It was quickly discovered that these sold themselves, since customers unused to buying wine found it easier to point than to make a pretence of understanding the list. Within the space of only an hour the two young Hardies transformed a high-class vintner’s establishment into an ordinary retail shop. If Mr Witney found the change disconcerting, he did not say so, but at the end of the day thanked them sincerely and hoped they would come again.

  As Grace expected, her younger brother’s enthusiasm was short-lived, ending on Christmas Eve. The House of Hardie’s reopening after the two-day Christmas holiday coincided with the first snowfall of the year, and Jay decided that tobogganing was more fun than acting as an errand boy.

  But Grace – to her own surprise – was enjoying the experience of work. She had expected to feel shy, but instead was flattered by the courtesy with which she was treated. Mr Witney made a point of addressing her as Miss Hardie in front of the customers to make it clear that they were being served by a member of the proprietor’s family. Her aunt had been right to suggest that even such a small talent as being able to pronounce the names of wines correctly would breed confidence; and her willingness to undertake the front-of-shop duties meant that the manager was able to hire an accounts clerk without any knowledge of wine, so that no bookkeeping was required of her.

  The feeling that she was being useful and appreciated gave her such pleasure that Grace volunteered to attend regularly until the war was over or her father returned from China. It had not occurred to her before that life at Greystones was lonely or boring, but now she looked back almost with wonder to those days when she met no one except her family and the servants and it was an effort to pass the time.

  The first day of the university term was exceptionally busy. Every undergraduate must have emptied every bottle in his rooms before returning home for Christmas and now, in January, needed to replenish his store. When would closing time come and give her a chance to sit down?

  At the very last moment – indeed, it was later than the last moment, for the new accounts clerk had already left and Grace herself was fastening her cloak – a young man arrived at a run to knock at the door. Had he been dressed in civilian clothes, Grace would not have admitted him, but through the green glass of the window she could see by the street light that he was in uniform. A man who was fighting for his country must not be inconvenienced by closing hours. She opened the door.

  ‘I know I’m too late.’ The young officer was breathless from his dash. ‘But it’s practically a matter of life and death. I mean, I’m leaving for France tomorrow. Tonight is my last chance to say goodbye to my friends. Think of me as expiring of thirst in the middle of a desert and you as the only oasis.’

  ‘What is it you’d like?’

  ‘A case of champagne. You’re an angel.’

  As Grace opened the door more widely to let the stranger come in she was conscious that Mr Witney, working late in his office, had stepped quietly out to make sure that all was well. The rules of chaperonage seemed to have been abandoned with the outbreak of war, but Mrs Hardie had only been prepared to let her seventeen-year-old daughter help out in The House of Hardie on condition that she was never left alone on the premises.

  The lieutenant took off his cap as he stepped inside, revealing dark wavy hair above a fresh complexion. His eyes were bright with the success of his dash to beat the clock and the prospect of his party. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘ten bottles would do, to save trouble.’ He had noticed that on the counter stood an opened case from which two bottles of champagne had already been sold. ‘The college porter’s on his way with a trolley. I didn’t want to risk hearing you say that you couldn’t deliver in time.’

  The porter arrived at that moment.

  ‘Take them to Mr Jordan’s set,’ the lieutenant instructed him. Then he turned back to Grace. ‘I’ve got an account with you, of course, but I want to settle it now. There’s four terms’ steady drinking down to it already, and I shan’t be coming back into residence. Well, that’s probably obvious. And if there should prove to be a bullet with my name on it, I wouldn’t want my last thought to be that I owe The House of Hardie for a lakeful of champagne.’

  ‘We can’t deal with that now, I’m afraid, Mr Jordan.’

  ‘Bailey,’ he said. ‘Christopher Bailey. Mr Jordan is the friend who’ll be acting as host for my farewell, though he doesn’t know it yet. I’ve already given up my rooms. No, of course, I’ve kept you late already. I can’t expect you to stay on just for the sake of my conscience.’

  ‘Could you come back tomorrow?’ she asked.

  ‘Bleary and hung-over; but yes, if you’ll promise to attend to me yourself. I’ll report at noon. Did I mention before that you’re an angel? Six happy gentlemen will bless your name tonight.’

  Grace tried not to laugh as she bade him goodnight, but that evening she found herself smiling as she recalled the brief conversation – and next morning it was the first thing she mentioned to Mr Witney.

  The manager opened the book in which personal accounts were detailed. During his four terms at Oxford Mr Christopher Bailey had been a regular customer without, however, taking advantage of the amount of credit required by some of the bloods.

  ‘Tell him not to trouble himself,’ he instructed Grace. ‘When the war’s over we’ll talk about it again.’

  ‘He’s anxious to settle his affairs. In case – in case he should be killed.’

  ‘All credit to him. But we won’t put his anxiety to the test.’ Mr Witney gave the sudden grin which invariably made Grace smile in sympathy. Anyone who met the manager of The House of Hardie in the street would be impressed by his gravity. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man who wore his formal business suit of frock coat and dark trousers with dignity. But when he came indoors and took off his high hat, the thick bristle of red hair which stood straight up from his head made him appear years younger. His face was as freckled as Andy’s and his eyes were as bright and alert as those of Grace’s father. He had been employed by The House of Hardie ever since he fell through a carelessly-opened trapdoor outside their premises at the age of twelve, laming himse
lf for life, and his loyal hard work had made him almost one of the family. His forehead wrinkled now with earnestness as he explained.

  ‘It was one of the first things that your grandfather taught me when I came to work here in Oxford,’ he said. ‘When it comes to choosing which tradesmen to patronize, the aristocracy – and other gentlemen as well – will always be most loyal to those they owe the most to. Give a young gentleman generous credit for three or four years while he’s at university, and he’ll be a faithful customer for the rest of his life.’

  Grace considered this dictum doubtfully. She had no money of her own to handle; nor did she take any part in the spending of the household budget – she had, in fact, no idea of the cost of anything except, now, wine. But the idea that bills need not be paid was as instinctively displeasing to her as obviously it was to Mr Bailey.

  In this case, however, there was a different consideration. It did seem right and proper that a young hero who had pledged his life to defend his king and country should be excused payment of his debts. It would give her pleasure to tell him so, with the manager’s authority. She waited eagerly for Mr Bailey’s return.

  He came half an hour before his promised time – not bleary-eyed at all, but as full of energy as on the previous day. Mr Witney, calling Grace to attend to him, used her name, as was his custom, and the young officer remarked on it at once.

  ‘The daughter of the house? I didn’t realize yesterday that I was so privileged. We drank to you last night, of course – but because I didn’t know your name, the toast had to be to “the angel in the High”.’

  Grace did her best to conceal her pleasure under a pretence of businesslike efficiency as she explained that he had no need to settle his account.

  ‘You mean that if I’m lucky enough to survive the war, I shall be rewarded by realizing that I’m still in debt?’ He sounded doubtful whether to accept the arrangement, but then smiled cheerfully. ‘Oh well, thanks. There’s no doubt that trying to settle everything at once imposes rather a strain on the exchequer. And my father’s on your books at Pall Mall, so I shan’t disappear into thin air.’