She flicked a clean hessian apron from the hooks on the back of the door whilst Annie took the other along the corridor to the laundry. Evie made porridge for the servants’ hall while Mrs Moore finished her tea, sitting on her stool with her back to the ranges, tapping her pencil against her teeth. At last she closed her recipe book and wrote up the lunch menu. At eight the house staff came down, having sorted the upstairs fires, and begun the brushing of the carpets. The dusting would continue during the upstairs breakfasts, along with all other chores that consumed the day.
Putting on clean white aprons, Evie and Annie spooned porridge into bowls for themselves and Mrs Moore, then lifted the huge earthenware pot and staggered into the servants’ hall, setting it down in front of Mrs Green as instructed. Evie, Annie and Mrs Moore sat around the deal table in the kitchen eating their porridge, and all the while Evie waited for Simon and the other under-gardeners to arrive, for they’d have to pass through the kitchen. They didn’t. Perhaps they cooked for themselves in the cottage? But they’d be back at lunchtime, surely?
Mrs Moore nodded at Evie. ‘Good porridge, no lumps.’ Annie grimaced. ‘Better than Charlotte’s, bloody hopeless she was.’
Mrs Moore tapped the table. ‘No need for language, thank you Annie. At least Charlotte was another pair of hands.’
Annie shook her head. ‘We can’t manage, Mrs Moore. We need another two girls, or get Edith back at least. Look at her smirking with the housemaids, silly cow. Can’t you do something? And anyway, you use language.’
Evie watched as Mrs Moore dug her spoon into her porridge again. ‘I do and I shouldn’t. So do what I say, not what I do. So less of the cow, Annie, less of your cheek and yes, I can do something, but at the right moment. Remember that, girls, you go in at the right moment. Until then we have to manage.’ Mrs Moore’s colour was coming back, her hands had steadied but were still so swollen that Evie winced again on her behalf, and almost forgot her own stinging pain.
They had twenty minutes for breakfast, and then Annie and Evie collected the dishes from the servants’ hall and Annie set to in the scullery washing yet more pots, plates and cutlery, sinking her hands into the soda-rich water, the very thought of which made Evie want to hug the poor wee bairn. Meanwhile she and Mrs Moore cooked bacon and eggs, sausages, kidneys, finnan haddock. ‘We won’t do kedgeree but we’ll have to when his Lordship returns,’ Mrs Moore told her.
‘It’s a feast,’ Evie said, thinking of her family and those others in the village and all the pit villages around. ‘It is indeed,’ said Mrs Moore. ‘For just two people.’
‘Two?’
‘Yes, her Ladyship takes hers in her room, just a slice of toast and “I’ll keep my figure thank you very much”, but Lady Veronica takes hers in the dining room, as she’s not allowed the luxury of lounging about. That has to wait until she “comes out” and has done her duty by snagging a husband. Not to mention that we have Mr Auberon, so we have to fill the sideboard. Lady Veronica was happy with a kipper.’ Mrs Moore had some of her smile back now. ‘The lad’s been busy with the demon drink and too fruity with the cards, I gather. He’s wasted his father’s money and that is the number one sin for this family. Can’t say I blame him, poor him, poor Miss Veronica. They’ve been without their mother for so long, and then Miss Wainton, their nanny, who stayed on, died recently.’
Mrs Moore fell silent, her eyes filling. Kev brought in ice to replenish the icebox, clattering through the kitchen in his boots, then down the central passageway to the cool room. ‘Off you go, pet. Fetch bones from the icebox for stock.’ Evie did so before setting the stockpot on to the range and putting in water, bones, root vegetables and a small lump of salt. She then turned the bacon and tossed the kidneys, while Mrs Moore sniffed and sorted out the haddock and toast.
At eight thirty Mr Harvey, Archie and James took up the trays for the dining room and Evie set out the table again for Mrs Moore, who settled down on the stool and thumbed once more through her recipe book for dinner this evening, nodding towards the cupboards beneath the internal windows. ‘Fetch us the sieves from there. We’ll need them for luncheon, and the cutlery. Hurry up now.’ Evie found big long carving knives, small ones for fruit, palette knives, huge spoons, small spoons, and dug out sieves from the bottom cupboard. She placed the wire ones and the hated hair ones side by side. It was anything but a labour of love to force meat or fish through those. She added flour sifters, egg whisks, graters, and in between fed the furnace. It went on and on and Evie felt she’d run a million miles, for she was indeed running, not walking.
‘Draw breath, Evie,’ Mrs Moore said, pulling out the stool next to hers. ‘They won’t be back down with the dishes for twenty minutes at least, then you’ll have to start running again.’ She pushed across the lunch menu while she continued to leaf through her recipe book. ‘I said, sit down and have a look at these, they’ll do for luncheon, don’t you think? You get off and get herbs from Simon, Annie.’
Damn, Annie was getting Simon and she was left with clear soup, and what else? Ah, chicken in aspic and a cold dessert.
‘No fish course?’ Evie queried, her mind still on Simon.
Mrs Moore shook her head. ‘Five courses at dinner, only three for luncheon. It’s a different matter when they’re shooting, or have guests, or Lord Brampton is in residence, but we’ll sort that out when we come to it.’
Evie rested her elbows on the table but wanted to sink her head on to her arms and sleep for England, and the upstairs breakfasts weren’t even down yet. ‘Don’t the under-gardeners eat in the servants’ hall?’
Mrs Moore licked her finger and turned the page of her bible. Evie looked across at the chicken quenelles recipe Mrs Moore was perusing, and her heart sank. The hair sieves would have to come into play. But the page was turned and she sighed with relief and repeated, ‘Don’t the gardeners eat with us? And what happened to Miss Wainton?’
Mrs Moore placed her bible down carefully, looking out to the corridor. Evie followed her gaze, but there was no one there. Mrs Moore removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes. ‘Miss Wainton brought them up after their mother died. Lady Veronica was ten and Mr Auberon was twelve when that happened. It was before they bought Easterleigh Hall. The family made their money with the steelworks really, and a brickworks, and then bought into the collieries. Mrs Brampton was a lovely woman, they say. Kind, sensible and brought those children up to be decent people, or she would have done. She got it started, let’s say.’ Mrs Moore hesitated. ‘Now, don’t go tittle-tattling this all over the place, young Evie. I’m telling you because I know Miss Manton is a good judge of character.’
Evie touched Mrs Moore’s arm. ‘I won’t, I promise.’
‘Well, as I say, she died. Miss Wainton stayed on and really mothered the children. She came with the family to Easterleigh Hall when that jumped-up bully was made a lord. Can’t imagine what the Liberal Party was thinking of, but they say he gave them a big donation so that explains it. The Tories probably got his jumped-up measure and wouldn’t play his game when he was toadying up to them. It’s a disgrace, the sort of people who buy titles these days.’
Evie smiled. ‘I can see you really like this man.’
Mrs Moore grunted. ‘If I did I’d be the only one.’
Evie saw Mrs Green walking along the corridor from the stairs. Mrs Moore picked up the bible again and replaced her glasses. Evie fetched the chopping boards, saying quietly as Mrs Green opened the linen cupboard alongside the entrance to the servants’ hall, ‘Except for his present wife, presumably? Wives usually like their husbands, don’t they?’
Mrs Moore laughed so loudly that Mrs Green turned round, her arms full of linen. Mrs Moore ignored her and Mrs Green continued on her way. ‘You’ve a lot to learn, young Evie.’
‘Oh, didn’t you like your husband then?’ The moment the words were out Evie knew they should have stayed in.
‘A husband? Why would I want one of those? Not many men I could stomach looking at
over the breakfast table day in and day out. All cooks are called Mrs. Don’t know why and don’t need to know why. No, this Lady Brampton is of the proper aristocracy and her family haven’t a bean. She followed her nose and it took her to Brampton’s trough. He wanted the kudos of marrying aristocracy so it’s a marriage made in heaven you could say, except she didn’t like Miss Wainton any more than did his Lordship, and when Mr Auberon went to university Lord Brampton gave the poor woman her cards. Last year it was. She . . . Well, she died. I miss her. She was my friend. The children lost their second mother and gained Lady Brampton. What a prize that must have been.’
Mrs Moore flexed her hands again and glanced at the clock over the dresser. It was nine fifteen. ‘They used to come down for a cuppa in the afternoon with Miss Wainton, but not when Lady Hoity-Toity was in residence. Sometimes they still do, but not often.’ Mrs Moore crossed her arms and hitched her bosom. ‘Now, have you finished the laying up? We have a lot to do. And no, the gardeners don’t eat here. They have a good plain cook from Hawton who cycles over to do for them in Southview Cottage, except when we have someone new, like you yesterday, for them to gawp at. And don’t go getting too stuck on one or you’ll be out of your job. No followers allowed.’
The trays were brought into the kitchen from upstairs and still Mrs Moore hadn’t told her how Miss Wainton died. Mrs Moore waved at the trays. ‘Throw the leftovers into the bucket for the pigs, and make a start on these dishes, pet, until Annie gets back. She’ll be chatting to the gardeners. Anything in trousers and she lights up, and I don’t mean cigarettes, though she’ll likely be having a Woodbine an’ all.’ Mrs Moore wiped her hands across her apron.
Evie wanted to run out and haul Annie back, well away from Simon, but took the trays into the scullery, disposed of the food in the bins and ran hot water into the sink, something that she still could not get used to. At Miss Manton’s she had heated it on the range. In went the soda crystals, followed by her hands, and she winced but was glad because it took her mind off Simon, but just for a moment. Were his eyes on Annie’s, his hand on hers? What would it feel like to hold a man’s hand, to feel his mouth on hers? She shook her head and washed the plates and bowls first, and then the cutlery, determined to leave the pots until last, by which time wretched Annie should be back. She was, smelling of her cigarettes. She flounced into the scullery with a flea in her ear from Mrs Moore, replying, ‘Well, I wasn’t that long.’
Evie said nothing, just wiped her hands and left the scullery. She wanted to ask where she’d been but didn’t want to hear the answer. There was rosemary and sage on the table, and Mrs Moore stood near the door to the internal corridor with her arms akimbo, her face grim, listening to Mrs Green who was whispering in her ear. Finally, she nodded and Mrs Green left.
Mrs Moore swung round. ‘Evie, take all these things off the table and find a clean tablecloth from the cupboard drawer over there.’ She hurried to the table, closing her recipe book and brushing her apron smooth. ‘Be quick now, we have a visit from her Ladyship for which we must send up prayers of eternal gratitude.’ Her sarcasm could hardly have been thicker.
Evie just stared at all the knives, sieves, spoons and Uncle Tom Cobley and all. Off the table? Mrs Moore clapped her hands. ‘Come on, we can’t have anything that reminds upstairs of the frantic little legs paddling away to keep them gliding on their bonny lake. She’ll want to talk about a dinner party, it’s the only time she deigns to visit the bowels.’
Evie felt her stomach twist with nervousness. Her Ladyship? Here? Soon a pristine white cloth covered the scarred pine. ‘Evie, into the scullery with you now, and listen and learn how to get what you want. Did you hear that, Annie? Not a sound from either of you. Everyone else will stay out of the way until she’s been.’ Indeed, the corridor was deserted.
Annie and Evie silently dried up the dishes, leaving the door into the kitchen strategically ajar. Now they could see but not be seen. There was a brisk knock on the kitchen door and in her Ladyship swept in her elegant grey morning dress, her hair freshly dressed by Miss Donant. Evie and Annie stood quite still with the dishes and tea towels in their hands. Mrs Moore offered Lady Brampton the stool. She refused. Well, of course she would, Evie thought. She wouldn’t want to place that upper-class bum on something used by the servants.
Lady Brampton stood tall, but rested a hand on the tablecloth and looked at Mrs Moore’s forehead. ‘Now, Mrs Moore, his Lordship will have returned in just under two weeks, Saturday, and I just wanted to warn you personally that we have dinner guests on that same evening. I have a few ideas for a menu. It could be twenty-two, but at the moment it’s twenty. I have informed Mr Harvey that we’ll need all the leaves in the table and I will discuss flowers with him. I would like colour co-ordinated food – cream and white.’ She was speaking as though she was working her way down a list which only she could see.
Evie and Annie stared at one another. Colour co-ordinated food? Cream and white? For heaven’s sake, what next? Mrs Moore’s face was a picture and her bust impressive as she drew herself up to her full height, which slightly topped Lady Brampton’s. ‘That is perfectly all right in theory, Your Ladyship, but I would like to think you have not yet sent out the invitations because I cannot guarantee to be able to cater for fourteen guests, let alone twenty-two.’
There was an appalled silence. Evie felt her own jaw sag. Lady Brampton looked as though she had been slapped around her chops. ‘I beg your pardon, Mrs Moore? I don’t believe I heard you correctly.’
‘Let me repeat myself then. I cannot guarantee that we can any longer cater for fourteen guests . . .’
Lady Brampton gestured sharply. ‘Yes, I heard that. But I don’t understand.’
Mrs Moore crossed her arms and said firmly, ‘We should have two kitchen assistants and two scullery maids at the very least. We are without one scullery maid and have no kitchen assistant. I gather it is a question of cost. May I respectfully suggest that we cease importing provisions from Newcastle and Durham which require packaging and cartage costs and return instead to supporting the local co-operative store and the farmers, not to mention Home Farm whose task and duty it is to provide for the house, rather than concentrating on your London and Leeds establishments. To buy locally would not only be cheaper but the produce is fresh and good. It will also act as a symbol of support from Lord Brampton to the area. With the money we save we can pay for three more girls, which should suffice for now. This will facilitate any number of dinner parties.’
An even more appalled silence fell. Mrs Moore was sweating: it beaded her forehead, cheeks and chin. Evie hoped that this wonderful woman would hold her nerve in the face of her outraged employer, whose colour was high. Nothing was said now, not by either woman. But then, Lady Brampton spoke, her voice high and tight as though someone had stuck a pin in her bum. ‘Yes, very well, you will organise the change in delivery arrangements and discuss with Mrs Green and Mr Harvey your staff requirements, and be mindful that they must be in place by the end of April. I will approve two new staff, not three. One kitchen assistant only.’ She marched to the door and then stopped, turned. Evie held her breath. ‘I will expect exemplary food from this moment forth.’
‘You will receive exemplary food, Your Ladyship, as always. Colour co-ordinated for the dinner party.’
Lady Brampton swept from the room, clutching her skirts close in case she brushed against something or someone unpleasant. For Evie this was one of the best and most triumphant moments of her life, and proof that the lady of the house would do anything to keep a cook who created exemplary food. Annie nudged her and they grinned. Annie whispered, ‘Better not let the food go downhill.’ Well, it wouldn’t, for no matter how bad Mrs Moore’s rheumatics became she, Evie Forbes, would cover for her and keep the standard as it should be. At that moment Simon entered from the bell passageway with a basket full of flowers.
Evie came from the scullery, smiling at Simon. Mrs Moore asked her to clear the tablecloth. Cons
cious of Simon’s eyes on her as she did so, she said, ‘I’m sorry you will only have two more girls.’
Mrs Moore tapped her nose. ‘Always ask for more than you need. They’ll never agree and will always offer under, it makes them feel they’ve won, when in fact we have. We only needed two, I can’t have silly girls cluttering up my kitchen.’
Evie laughed, Simon too, though he looked puzzled. ‘What’s the joke?’ His eyes really were the most vivid blue.
Lady Veronica sat in the window of the Blue Drawing Room overlooking the formal gardens at the back of the house. The cherry blossom was wonderful after such a winter, but when wasn’t it harsh? She looked beyond the box hedges, seeing daffodils and plants that had yet to flower. She loved it here, harsh winters or not; however, she did not love luncheon with her stepmother. She did not love luncheon full stop. What on earth was the point of trying to stuff three courses into a gut that was pinched into nothing by a ridiculous corset? It was not something Wainey had thought sensible or right; she had hooked her own and Veronica’s stays up as loosely as possible.
At the thought of Wainey she swallowed, hardly able to bear the misery. Why had she done it? Her vision blurred and she could no longer see the balcony outside the long windows. In the summer it had always been glorious to sit there as the last of the heat fled the day, but she didn’t know how she could ever enjoy it again.
She turned at the sound of her stepmother’s voice. ‘Really, where is your brother? There is no need for him to slouch so long over the luncheon table after we withdraw. Look at the time, it’s now early afternoon and he could be occupying himself in some way.’
Veronica said, ‘I expect he is occupying himself, probably enjoying a cigarette.’ Her voice was carefully neutral.
Easterleigh Hall Page 7
