The chairwoman, Mrs Dale, a widow from Gosforn, said from the stage, ‘Votes before taxes, that’s the message please, ladies. When we have votes we will be empowered to vote in those who will do our bidding. We can then address the ills in our society.’
Evie wondered if Miss Dale spoke to her family as though she was exhorting the masses. How tiresome it must get. She stared at the placard on the floor. There were brushes and black paint near Miss Manton, who handed a brush to Evie. Susan and Miss Lambert who usually sat in the back row were with them. Evie stared as Miss Manton drew the outline of the words as though she was teaching at Sunday school, big round letters, and neat, so neat.
Evie didn’t want to pick up the brush, didn’t want to begin painting words of which she disapproved, or did she? Would it be better to get votes first? Could they do more good that way? Slowly, reluctantly, she began.
When the placards were finished they left, forcing their way through the men who clamoured outside the doors and who stank of booze, grabbing at their hats and clothes. One spat at Evie, but missed. He was no pitman. A pitman would have made his mark. She stood still and started to laugh, a strange, almost silent laugh. Miss Manton pushed her from behind. ‘Come on, Evie, don’t stop, not here.’
Evie jerked herself back to the moment, and followed the woman in front of her, rushing to catch up, slapping away the hands that reached out. She wanted to hurt them, beat them, smash their sneering faces. Perhaps it was right that votes should come before taxes after all? What was right? Was this confusion what Mr Auberon and Lady Veronica experienced?
They struggled to the edge of the crowd that had spilled into the road. If the police came it was the women who would be arrested, not the men, so most hurried away, only lingering if they wished to create headlines by being arrested. Evie and Miss Manton were amongst those who left. They had lives to live, money to earn, brothers to look after. It was then that Evie broke down, crying hoarse sobs, stumbling along the road which led to the trap waiting for them at Miss Manton’s friend’s stables.
Miss Manton swung round. ‘Evie, my dear.’ She reached out, supporting her, urging her forward. ‘Come, we need to be away from this area.’ Behind them the men were shouting and jeering, some following the women who were hurrying along with them. Miss Manton helped her into the trap, urging Sally to trot briskly away. ‘Evie, my dear, are you that unwell?’ she asked.
In hoarse whispers Evie told her of the steps that they had been taking to buy their own small house to be free of the tied system. ‘It’s why Jack fights, it’s why they work extra shifts, it’s why we collect sea coal, sell Da’s leeks, breed pigeons to sell, and now the Bramptons are going to buy the houses from Froggett. I heard the valet tell the chauffeur, and of course they are, why wouldn’t they? How could we be so stupid? Then they’ll own the whole village. We should have known, realised. They are going to reduce the props in the mines. The deputies have to reclaim the old ones. The gaps in between will be wider. The pitmen won’t hear the pine creak before a roof-fall. I can’t think, you see – should I tell Jack? He can do nothing about any of it, so what’s the point?’
While they trotted along, their lantern hanging from the trap, she sobbed and Miss Manton gripped her hand and made soothing noises. It was only when they reached the wall behind which Evie’s bicycle was waiting that she spoke. ‘You must stop calling me Miss Manton, it’s quite absurd. We owe you everything. My name is Grace. Please call me that. You are my friend. You are all my friends. Now, Evie, say nothing to your brother about Froggett, all you have to do is decide whether to tell him of the props. Let me think about the houses; there is often a way around problems.’
Evie shrugged, because there was no way round, though she knew that Miss Manton’s heart was good and she would turn to the power of prayer. Irritation caused her to jump from the trap to the ground. How could she call her previous employer Grace? She’d known her as Miss Manton for too long to call her anything else.
She nodded up at her. ‘Thank you. Your prayers will be helpful.’
Miss Manton laughed. ‘You underestimate me, sometimes prayers need a bit of help. Try not to worry, Evie. Just get better.’
Chapter Nine
EVIE WAS LAYING up the table the next morning for Mrs Moore, whose hands were so puffy they looked like the butcher’s sausages. The servants’ breakfast was finished, the upstairs was under way. Evie murmured, ‘I’ll do theirs on my own and the lunches today, you just talk me through. No one will know. Millie will think you’re training me, and you will be, after all.’
Mrs Moore nodded, her face tense with pain. ‘It’s my back and knees too, lass. Some days they are just bad, really bad.’ Her eyes were full of unshed tears. Evie swallowed back her own. At last the aching in her body was easing and her headache just a niggle. Her voice was recovering, too. She reached for the sieves in the low cupboard. At least she had a family; Mrs Moore had no one. Aye, well, that wasn’t right. Mrs Moore had the Forbes family now and that was that.
But what good was that without a family home? Evie threw the sieves on to the table in a frenzy of helplessness. They slid to the edge. Mrs Moore grabbed and missed. They fell to the floor.
Millie was carrying back the empty porridge bowl from the servants’ hall as this happened. ‘Wrong side of the bed this morning, Evie?’ she enquired.
Mrs Moore just stared at Evie. ‘They’ll need a wash now. Take them into the scullery and come back with a smile on your face.’ She wasn’t cross, but concerned. Evie flushed with shame and did as she was told. The scullery was cold, Annie’s and Sarah’s hands were as raw as ever, their sleeves rolled up as far as their elbows. ‘Sorry pets, they slipped out of my hand.’
Annie just nodded. ‘A few more sieves is neither here nor there, I’m surprised a few more things don’t get thrown in this bloody place.’ They all laughed, even Mrs Moore, who had limped to the scullery door.
Millie was behind her, balancing the earthenware porridge bowl on her hip. ‘Can I help with breakfast tomorrow, Mrs Moore, when I’ve finished the porridge? When his Lordship’s in residence they have a lot, don’t they? I could be learning, you know.’
Mrs Moore glanced at Evie. ‘Aye, they do that, lass. And most of it goes in the waste for the pigs, save for the cold meats which he’s requested for breakfast this morning. He should have gone yesterday but here he is, still.’ The look on her face said it all. ‘Evie, take the tongue and ham back to the cool pantry when it comes down with James and Archie. The omelette and whiting will go in the swill bucket along with the kedgeree. Pigs don’t seem as fussy as humans.’
Lil hurtled through the kitchen, skidding to a halt behind Mrs Moore. ‘Why’s his Lordship still here? It makes her Ladyship fuss like the Queen when he’s around. I reckon she runs her fingers along the surfaces too. I’ve just had Mrs Green on my back. I need some tea leaves for the carpets, Evie.’
Evie slipped past Mrs Moore who hobbled back to her stool, pulling her recipe book towards her and Evie’s too. Lil took the tea leaves which were tipped daily into a special sieve suspended over a bucket. She tested them for dryness, waved at Evie and ran back out and up the staff stairs. She’d sprinkle tea leaves on the carpets to attract the dirt before sweeping up with the other maids while the family were having breakfast.
Mrs Moore looked at Evie. ‘Why are you murdering the knife cleaner this morning? What’s happened?’ Evie realised that she was stabbing a vegetable knife in and out of the knife cleaner, and couldn’t even remember walking to it. She shook herself but before she could answer she heard a knock at the kitchen door, heard it open and Simon call, ‘Flowers, ladies. Are we colour co-ordinated today, do you think? I’ve only got daffodils and tulips. Bit of a mixture.’
His voice was strong again. She could have run across the kitchen and hurled herself into his arms, but she sauntered across instead, standing by the table as he placed the basket of house flowers from the spring garden on the chest of drawers near t
he scullery. He said, ‘I’ll take them through to Mrs Green, shall I?’
Mrs Moore laughed. ‘Why wouldn’t you, lad? It’s what you always do, or are you after a cup of tea? You gardeners usually are. Pour the lad a cuppa, Evie. Seems he’s recovered from the chill too. Oh my.’ Her look was knowing.
Millie came into the kitchen and took over the laying up of the table.
Evie busied herself with the teapot, replenishing Mrs Moore’s cup and taking one to Simon, who had taken off his boots in the corridor rather than risk a clip round his ear from Mrs Moore. He smiled, his fingers looking huge around the cup handle. ‘Take a look at these beauties, Evie. What do you think of the ragged tulips? They’re the head gardener’s pet project.’ He was nodding towards the basket, his eyes more insistent than his voice. Puzzled, she looked at the basket and there, tucked between the daffodils and the tulips, was a piece of paper. ‘They’re lovely,’ she said, looking up at him. He nodded. ‘Touch them, they feel like satin.’
She reached forward and lifted the paper slightly, seeing Jack’s writing. She felt anxiety grip her. What had happened? Who was hurt? Hiding her movements, she slipped the note into her apron, nodding her thanks just as Mrs Green peered into the kitchen from the central passageway. She knocked on the window. ‘Bring those flowers at once before they wilt in that heat,’ she mouthed to Simon.
Simon handed back the empty cup. ‘Thanks for the tea, ladies. I will see you when I see you.’ He tiptoed to the door and followed Mrs Green to the cool flower room. He would have to return via the kitchen to collect his boots. ‘I’ll bring the flour from the pantry, shall I Mrs Moore?’ Evie asked.
‘Of course, Evie, or do you think you can make a luncheon soufflé without it, and why we have to have a soufflé at all I don’t know. By the time that Archie gets it up the stairs it will be as flat as a pancake. Bring suet as well, you can make suet puddings using the remains of the upstairs beef bourguignon. Chop the ham and add that too. Put in some kidneys as well, it will reinforce the gravy, but slice and sluice them first. We can use up the upstairs desserts but make a rice pudding as well, or some will go hungry.’
Evie was already in the pantry. She half closed the door and made a pretence of collecting the foodstuffs, but instead drew out the note and made herself read it, not wanting to, but knowing she must. Which one had been hurt? Was it Da or Timmie? It couldn’t have been Jack, for how could he have written?
For a moment she couldn’t understand what she was reading, and had to slow down, take a deep breath and read it again.
I need to see you. Miss Manton has been around with word from the parson. They have told me the news about our dream. We should have guessed, shouldn’t we? Anyway Miss Manton has a suggestion. We have said no but she says we can’t refuse until we have talked it over with you. Meet me at 3 at the bothy. Si says it’s easy to slip out then when you all have some time free. Jack Anston
On his return Simon fixed her with his eyes. She nodded. ‘I meet him at three in the bothy,’ she mouthed. ‘No one is hurt.’ He smiled, and she walked to the big pantry, close by him. Millie was in the servants’ hall, the scullery maids were in the scullery, and Mrs Moore was studying the menus for this evening. He reached out and held her hand. ‘I’ll try and be there,’ he whispered. ‘I’ve missed you. I wasn’t feeling well, I was moody. Forgive me.’
‘Always,’ she said, wanting to feel his arms around her. How would it be? The only men to hold her had been her da and brothers. She blushed. He left.
The morning passed much as always. Evie prepared stock for soup. She checked the menu and frowned at the mayonnaise for the cod. ‘A particular favourite of his Lordship,’ Mrs Moore muttered. ‘If the wind changes, Evie Anston, your face will stay like that.’ They both laughed.
‘I’ll make the mayonnaise. I think I can manage that,’ Mrs Moore said, setting herself more firmly on the stool and picking up an egg. She winced as she tried to separate the yolk from the white and the yolk broke on the shell. Evie said, ‘Let me.’
She called Millie over. ‘Clean the eggshells and put them in the stock please, and whisk it vigorously. You’ll see that the addition of eggshell will bring the scum to the surface. You can then spoon it off.’
She cracked another egg open, and tipped the shells from side to side until the albumen had separated from the yolk. She summoned Millie again. ‘Put these shells in too.’ She obeyed. ‘Separate the next egg yourself.’ Millie did so, frowning with concentration. ‘Excellent. Take the shell and whisk quickly now.’
Mrs Moore smiled at her, sipping her tea which was laced with gin. Evie wished she wouldn’t do this, for someone would notice, one day. ‘You’re a good teacher, Evie.’
‘That’s because you are.’ Evie stirred in the olive oil one drop at a time. What had Miss Manton said to her family? What? She stirred, watching the clock, seeing the hands crawl round, trying not to see Roger peering in through the window as he passed along the corridor.
She made mushroom soup while Millie prepared the vegetables and checked on the suet puddings that Evie had made. Mrs Moore talked Evie through the drying of mushrooms while the puddings simmered. Evie next passed the mushrooms through the wire sieve and then the hair sieve, which was like ramming a camel through the eye of a needle. Millie groaned, ‘I couldn’t do that.’
‘It’s all down to elbow grease, and you must do it if you want a good mushroom soup,’ Mrs Moore insisted.
At last it was the servants’ lunchtime. Evie barely tasted hers. Roger asked Mr Harvey if he didn’t think it was quite the best beef pudding he had tasted. Mr Harvey said, ‘On this occasion I do have to agree with Roger.’ Evie thought Mr Harvey looked as though he had sucked a lemon as he concurred with the valet.
Then luncheon was ready to be taken upstairs, with the soufflé looking encouraging as the footman took the tray. It didn’t last the distance, Archie told them when he returned with the empty dishes. Mrs Moore shook her head. ‘Empty plates tell their own story. It might have lost its bounce but not its flavour – just the right hint of cheese, Evie, clever girl.’
The fish was transported heavenwards, and still Evie watched the clock. Apple tart, fruit and cheese followed, then coffee. At last it was two thirty.
Mrs Moore retired to her room. Evie had already prepared the scones and fancies for the afternoon tea. Mr Auberon would not be down today but would be at the colliery with his father. Lady Veronica and Lady Brampton were visiting friends in Gosforn but would return to take tea at four in the drawing room.
Evie said to Millie, ‘I must have some fresh air, I’ll be back by quarter to four.’
She rushed from the kitchen, up the steps and out into the yard and there was Roger, lounging against the wall. He straightened. ‘Ah, I hoped you’d come.’
Behind him Simon appeared. He came forward, saying, ‘Roger, I wanted to talk to you about the duties of a valet. You must be pretty good to be entrusted with the care of Mr Auberon. I want to better myself. Can you help me, just for a moment?’
Roger hesitated, irritation clear, but then he smiled at Evie. ‘We’ll talk later,’ he said.
Over my dead body, she thought and slipped across the yard, smiling her gratitude at Simon. She hurried down the path to the side of the walled vegetable garden rather than through the stable yard to the path alongside the yew hedge, for with Roger on the loose it was as well to disguise her destination. She then cut along through the silver birches and primroses to the bothy, checking all the time that Roger had not slid away from Simon and followed.
Jack was in there, standing by her bike, smoking a Woodbine. She ran to him. ‘I was so afraid,’ she murmured. ‘I thought you were hurt.’ It was then she saw Miss Manton standing in the lee of the entrance, in shadow. She was also smoking. Evie was speechless. Miss Manton held up the cigarette. ‘A secret vice,’ she said. ‘I succumb under pressure and Jack was good enough to oblige.’
Evie checked outside again. No one was coming. T
here was just the blue sky which she had not noticed before, and the blossom on the cherry trees which intermingled with the silver birches and which she must have run past without noticing. She looked from one to the other. ‘What’s going on? I have to be back soon. Please, someone tell me.’
She stepped towards Jack but now her lovely strong brother was crying. She was scared. She went to him, but Miss Manton called, ‘Evie, we need to talk.’ She was stubbing out her cigarette beneath her boot.
‘Edward and I need an investment. We have money from the sale of the bakery and we have decided to buy the three houses from Froggett. Well, two actually. We intend to lend you enough to make up the shortfall from your savings so that you can buy the end one, the one with three bedrooms. It will need work, but the one you were thinking of is too small, the middle one is too big.’ Miss Manton was talking so quickly that she ran out of breath and stopped.
Evie tried to catch up with her words and when she did she could see why Jack was crying. They had been offered a chance that they couldn’t possibly accept. It was worse than no hope at all. Miss Manton had found the breath to speed on again, snatching off her modest felt hat as she did so, waving it at them both. Her auburn hair fell to her shoulders. Something had given way in her bun. ‘You gave us back Edward’s life. How can we accept that gift unless we give you one in return? How can you be cruel enough to expect us to live with that huge obligation? The loan will be interest-free. Your family call it charity, Evie, but can you see that it is not? It is a transaction. A life for a life.’
Easterleigh Hall Page 14
