Veronica said, ‘It’s all such a muddle, isn’t it, Aub?’
‘A muddle is exactly what it all is.’ He drew on his cigarette again. An owl hooted again, a fox called.
Did Evie not know that he would recognise her voice as belonging to the one who had berated a supposed stable boy, a girl who cared that the horses shouldn’t die, and the boy shouldn’t lose his job, and who had looked on him with such sympathy when she saw his face?
One day soon he would try and find out where the Anston family lived, because he wanted to know all there was to know about her. For a moment he toyed with the thought of . . . But no, his father would say that he was taking them back to the gutter in one generation, and he’d be right. It was hopeless, stupid and hopeless. He shook himself free of such nonsense.
‘We both have things to sort out, Ver.’ The servants were taking the chairs from the terrace and returning them to the ballroom. ‘I think I’ll return the cavil and let it be generally known, which will leave Father with no way of changing it without looking a complete fool. It’s taken me too long to come up with a solution. I feel really bad about it.’
‘He’ll punish you,’ she said. He peered over the balustrade, wondering what was rustling at the base of the rambling rose. He could see nothing but he’d had time to think and said, ‘Don’t worry about that. He’s probably too busy to concern himself.’ Auberon dropped his cigarette, grinding it out. ‘Do one thing for me. Now the strike’s over, please let the kitchen know that we are quite happy with three courses. I can’t face the sight of any more feasts, dearest Ver, and Stepmama is complaining at the cost. Your ploy of saying that it was to prepare you for entertaining in your married life has worn thin.’
Neither slept well that night. Veronica tossed and turned at the thought of a life she didn’t want, with a man she didn’t love. Auberon lay awake because he had a cavil to restore, and an assistant cook who intruded into his thoughts too often.
Chapter Fourteen
ON WEDNESDAY 12TH May 1912 it was announced that the cavil would be reinstated very soon. ‘But I expect we’ll only get it if we are all good boys,’ Timmie grumbled on the following Sunday. ‘Not that Mr Auberon made the announcement. He got his monkey Davies to do it, the words dropping from his mouth as though they were bloody pearls before swine.’
His mam, busy on the proggy rug, clipped his ear as he passed. ‘By, enough of that language from you, young man. You’re sixteen, not a snotty lad any more, and you know your manners so use them, especially in front of your sister and her young man, and be glad the ruling can’t be changed now it’s been made public.’
Outside the early summer sun was bright but cool.
Timmie sneaked a cake from the plate on the table, which earned him another clip around the ear. His mam said, ‘Pass those to the lovebirds.’
Timmie carried the plate to Evie and Simon, who were sitting on the sofa near the range holding hands and laughing at him. Evie loved being in this house, the family home, loved being in the heart of her family. The three years since she’d been at Easterleigh Hall had brought so many changes, so much improvement, so much happiness. She squeezed Simon’s hand. ‘Each time I pitch up, Mam, there’s something new. That’s a grand little mug on the dresser.’ There were spring flowers from the verges in a jam jar, and yet another proggy mat in progress that some of the retired women neighbours were helping with. Her heart swelled.
Timmie made his way to Da’s chair, put his feet up on the fender, and read The Times. Evie sank back against Simon, relaxed and joyous, though it had been a difficult morning with Millie flouncing about the kitchen, and sneaking out into the yard presumably to meet Roger. ‘Leave it all behind, pet,’ Mrs Moore had said, packing up some ham for her to take home for Simon’s family and her own. ‘The girl will come to her senses, and believe me she’s not the first to have fallen slobbering at his feet – can’t see why, never have been able to, but there you are.’
‘Was there never anyone for you?’ Evie had asked.
‘The Boer War has a lot to answer for,’ Mrs Moore replied, placing the ham in Evie’s basket and covering it with old rags so no nosy parker could see. Who had Mrs Moore lost? Evie knew better than to ask, because the cook’s face had closed. As she and Simon cycled to her mam’s they had talked of that war but it was difficult to think what it could be like, out there in the sun fighting people who disappeared into the veld. ‘Exciting, I should think,’ Simon said. ‘But war can’t happen now we’ve got all these alliances in place.’
They soared down the hill and she shouted, ‘Then why are we building so many warships? It’s been going on for almost six years and what’s it all for? They say we’re in a race with Germany, so what happens when someone wins?’
Simon laughed. ‘Howay, it’s not about that, you daft beggar, it’s about putting money in the pockets of the steel men like Brampton, so come on, it’s not our problem.’
‘And why has Christabel Pankhurst rushed off to Paris to live in safety, leaving her mother, sister and others to carry out her orders and get imprisoned? I heard Lady Margaret say it’s so she can lead the campaign undisturbed, like any good general. How very nice for the woman.’
Now, here in the kitchen she wondered again, about the warships and about Christabel and about when exactly the cavil would be brought back, but Simon was squeezing her hand, then kissing it as he heaved himself to his feet, stretching his arms and rolling his shoulders. ‘I’m going to check on your da and the pigeons,’ he said, reaching across and stroking her cheek before heading for the back door.
Timmie leapt to his feet, thrusting the newspaper down the side of the chair. ‘I’m coming with you and then we’ll go down to the club. Jack said he’d meet us there.’ The door slammed behind them.
Evie moved over to sit opposite her mother at the kitchen table, taking one of the proggy tools, and starting to force strips of fabric through the hessian to create yet another rug to sell at the market. They were popular because Mam took care with the pattern, mapping it out on the hessian, rather than doing it just as the colours came. ‘Your Simon’s a bonny lad. They’re a nice family, so they are,’ her mam said, discarding a brown strip in favour of a bright green. ‘Grace is popping in to see you before you head back, she wants an update on Mrs Moore. She’s with the old ’uns next door, tinkering in the garden I expect.’
‘I want to talk to her too, Mam. I need to see if there is any way she could take in Mrs Moore if the family find out about her rheumatics. She’s getting herself in a grand old do about it again. I think Veronica and Auberon would be all right, but I know Her Supreme High and Mighty won’t.’
Her mam forced another green strip through the hessian and pointed to a spot on the rug which should also be green. Evie obeyed, knowing better than to ignore. Her mam said, ‘We can bump Timmie in with Jack and take her in ourselves if it comes to it, so just enjoy the day. Now, tell me more about Millie and this beggar Roger. It’s hardly her fault she’s a bit dippy, you know, pet. Her father was smashed up so bad in the pit accident that there was nothing they could see that reminded them of him, and then she had to live hand to mouth with her aunt. She’s never felt safe, that’s the problem.’
Evie nodded. ‘I know, Mam, it’s just that she’s a slow worker and won’t listen. By, not to mention we’ve tried again and again to tell her about Roger.’
Her mam grinned, her hair so much glossier than it was when Evie first went to work at the Hall, and her lines seemed fewer. Life was good for her in the cottage and she loved having the garden, rather than a yard, tending the vegetables while Da concentrated on the leeks for the annual show. She also had chickens and a pig down the end, and had passed their allotment on to someone else. ‘You’re a fast worker, Evie, you mustn’t measure everyone by your standards because it’ll make a bad teacher of you. And, bonny lass, would you listen if we said Simon was not the man you thought he was?’
Evie retorted, staring at her mother in s
hock, ‘But he is.’
Mam laughed now. ‘Aye, and you’re surprised when Millie responds in just that way?’
Evie put down the strips and the tool, defeated suddenly. Was she a bad teacher? She dragged herself back to the moment and to the kindness in her mam’s eyes, and smiled. ‘Yes, and of course Roger might have changed, though pigs might fly. Anyway, it’s none of my business.’
‘Yes, I think that about says it as it is and I’ve had more than enough of this rug, I fancy another cup of tea.’ Her mother gathered up the strips, tools and hessian, folding up the rug with the bits inside. She put it in the basket in the corner and tested the kettle on the range. ‘Pop next door, pet, don’t wait for Grace to come. Bring her back for a cuppa if she’d like one. Do you think she’s different these days? Do you think she has a Simon in her life? There just seems to be a bloom about her.’
Evie stopped at the door, startled. ‘I never thought of her in that way. She’s a bit old for that.’
‘By, give the woman a chance. She’s only thirty. I reckon it’s her choice she’s not married, because she told me she needs to make something of her life and fears she’d have to give it up when a man and children came along. Now why d’you think she’d feel that way?’ Her mother’s smile was wry as she cast around the room, full of drying pitmen’s clothes.
Evie had struggled with the thought of marriage herself, because there was nothing more she would want in life than to be Simon’s wife and have his children, but she wanted to be a person too, with her own hotel. It was all so difficult.
‘Away with you,’ her mam said. ‘You’ve got the look that tells me you’ve the worries of the world back on your shoulders. Go and get Grace and let’s have a laugh.’
‘How’s Da’s cough?’ she asked her mother over her shoulder just before she left the room.
Her mother smiled. ‘You know how it is, now off you go.’
Evie said quietly, ‘We can start looking for a hotel in a couple of years. I reckon I don’t need to work in Newcastle, I’ve learned enough about housekeeping by watching Mrs Green, and I know about budgeting from her and Mrs Moore. We can start small, Mam, just a few rooms, probably in Gosforn and we’ll do the best food ever. We’ll get Da out of the pit, we’ll get them all out, never you worry. We’ll make them safe.’
Her mother nodded. ‘Aye, pet, happen we will.’ It was what she always said. She hung the tea towel over the fender to dry.
Evie left the house through the front door, walking along the path with leeks planted, spring greens almost over, peas coming along nicely. Today they weren’t gathering sea coal, because they gave themselves a Sunday off a month. They wouldn’t have to do it for much longer, they really wouldn’t. The house loan had been paid off within the first six months, with Jack and Timmie working twice as hard to make up the low coal grade. Evie had added her wages, her mam had sold her vegetables and proggies, Da had bred his homing pigeons for sale, Timmie had sold the rabbits he’d poached, Jack had fought and was still fist-fighting with ever more aggression. Evie had asked why. He’d just said why not, when you’ve been given dirty placements.
‘No,’ she’d said, ‘there’s something more.’
‘Leave it, hinny.’ He had sounded tired and jaded. His nose was beginning to flatten under the blows and his right ear was thickening.
She walked down the track along which the cottages ranged. The retirement cottage had proved to be a blessing, a complete miracle as they kept people from the workhouse. Grace was in the front garden now, the brim of her hat being pulled and pushed by the wind that was tugging at Evie’s skirt and plucking at her blouse and shawl. Evie looked at Grace very carefully, and saw the beauty of her face now. There was, well, not youth, but something soft, calm, and lovely.
Grace came to the gate, a trowel in her hand, a wide smile lighting her face. ‘Evie, how lovely.’
The front garden had been given over to vegetables, just like Mam’s.
In the house next door there was a family whose father had lost a leg in the pit at the close of the year. ‘I’ve got him out of his bed at last. All he needed was to feel he could be useful,’ Grace declared, kissing Evie on the cheek, and then rubbing the dirt off. ‘Sorry, I’ve made you grubby so I must be earth-smeared.’ She rubbed at her own cheek, but Evie laughed and took over. ‘Let me, you’re making it worse.’
Over to the right, way above and to the north of them the stunted tree on the hill was visible, bending over as the wind began to assert itself. She stood back. ‘There, spotless, almost.’
Grace grinned. ‘Come in and survey my estate.’ She led the way to a swathe of newly dug earth. ‘Rather late to sow, perhaps, but the beans might have a chance.’ She knelt on an old sack. ‘Mr and Mrs Joyce are in the back sorting out the compost.’
‘Talking of Mr and Mrs Joyce, Mrs Moore is fretting about her own retirement.’ Evie crouched and handed the first of the broad bean plants to Grace, who dug a hole, planted and firmed it up. Grace’s voice was thoughtful. ‘Fretting, whatever for? There will always be room for her, but you’ll have your hotel sooner rather than later and she could be useful, bless her. Your da left it to me to tell you that Edward and I will buy your house when you find your hotel.’
They heard the front gate opening and the sound of boots on the path. Evie recognised her brother’s stride. ‘Jack.’
She flew down the path and into his arms, and his hug was as tight as it had always been. ‘Jack, I’ve missed you, man, but I’ve no news, or no more than you know. I didn’t know when the cavil was coming off or I would have told you.’ He kissed her cheek and set her down and she saw that he was not looking at her, but over her shoulder. ‘Good afternoon, Grace.’ Jack snatched his cap from his head.
Grace started to rise from her knees. He slipped past Evie and held out his hand to help. She dusted off her hands and took his. ‘You’re always so kind.’ She sounded different.
‘No, it’s nothing.’ He sounded strange too. Evie looked from one to the other wondering. There was a silence. Grace examined the trowel in her hand and he perused the garden. ‘It’s looking good,’ he said in the end, waving his hand towards the newly planted leeks. ‘Good to get the broadies in too, and the potatoes will need earthing up soon.’ Evie listened and watched. Jack added, ‘I can earth them . . .’
Timmie came running along the lane then, calling across him, ‘Jack, why are you here? You said you’d be at the club. You’re always here. Grace must be tired of you, man, gawking at her garden.’
Jack blushed and walked back down the path. ‘How could I not be here, with Evie home?’
‘Well, don’t mess about. Da’s already gone and Si too. You can see Evie another time, man. Da said I could have two pints today, so hoy away with you.’
Jack put his hand on the gate and turned to Evie. ‘Another time then, Evie, or Timmie’ll have my guts for garters. Grace, it’s been grand to see you. Let me know if you need help with more digging, or earthing up.’ He slipped his cap back on, turned, cuffed Timmie, got him in a headlock and dragged him down the road.
Evie stared after him. Grace came up behind her and put an arm around her waist. ‘You have two wonderful brothers, they are both so helpful, and your father too. But at the moment what I’d really like is one of your mother’s cakes and a cup of tea.’ She smelt of lavender and the earth but her voice was just a little bit different.
Evie cycled back alone. Simon had gone with the others to the club, where women were not welcome, and she missed him. Although sitting with her mother and Grace eating too much cake had its attractions, it didn’t compare to his company. Her mother had tutted, ‘It’s men, they need their lives.’ Evie had muttered, ‘And we don’t?’
There was little light with the moon behind racing clouds, but her eyes adjusted and she could see well enough as she reached the bothy, quietly propping up her bicycle and padlocking it. Grace had sent a note for Mrs Moore and she checked it was still in her basket. It wa
s. She hurried down the back path alongside the walled garden, past the vegetable stores and then the corner store where Roger had grabbed her. Instinctively she moved to the right here. She had almost turned the corner when she heard a giggle from the store and ‘Shh, be quiet.’ It was Roger. Was it Millie too? She stopped, about to turn, and then her mother’s words echoed. She should mind her own business, and she’d done all she could.
She moved on, hearing the dachshunds barking and skittering in the stable yard. She looked to the left and there was Mr Auberon by Tinker’s stall. He was often there, but never smoked now. She hurried down the steps and into the kitchen. The servants’ hall was busy with laughing housemaids and footmen, dancing to the fiddles of Bernie and Thomas. She slipped along the passageway and pushed Grace’s note beneath Mrs Moore’s door before joining the dancers, and singing for them. Millie was absent all evening.
Chapter Fifteen
SUMMER FADED INTO September and Da’s leeks were ready to be pulled for the village show. Grace’s retirement gardens were grand too. Some produce was sold at the market, some would be entered for the show, which was to be judged by Mr Auberon.
On the day of the show the meeting room at the club reeked of onions and leeks, and when the judging was finished and the villagers were allowed in there was a yellow rosette placed by Evie’s da’s leeks and it was Grace who had First Place. Bob Forbes smiled and shook her hand. ‘It’s all in the digging,’ he said.
‘And the muck,’ Grace replied.
Evie looked closely at the leeks. Were Grace’s really best, or was Mr Auberon biased as always? She couldn’t tell.
Easterleigh Hall Page 22
