She sat straight and waited for the shaking to stop, because it would. She remembered Jack saying that he shook after a fight. Tears threatened and she tightened her fists. She wouldn’t cry. Not over Roger. She sat like that until the shaking had quite stopped. It could come again, but not as badly. She heard the clock chime, and stood. She felt a deep satisfaction. No one, ever again, would touch her when she did not want to be touched. No one.
She eased her way down the stairs and up the steps into the yard, refusing to allow herself to look around in fear. She strode into the stable yard, where the servants were not just listening, but dancing. It was then she realised that Simon was still singing. She moved to stand next to Dottie. ‘Shall we dance?’ she suggested. Dottie curtsied. ‘Do let’s, your highness.’
They whirled to a waltz and she ignored her aching limbs, and she ignored Roger as he entered the stable yard. He had a scratch down his cheek and was pale, and he rubbed his abdomen. She was glad, but knew that it would never be over until one of them left.
A dance floor had been set up on the terrace to extend the ballroom, and the bride and groom were dancing. He looking ecstatic, Lady Veronica as calm and collected as always. What must it be like to marry without love? She hummed along to the music, so glad that she was Evie Forbes.
In June when they were sea-coaling at Fordington one Sunday afternoon Jack took Evie to one side, staring at the oily sea as the sun baked down and the breeze was gentle. ‘I’ve asked Millie to marry me, bonny lass.’
She dropped her shovel. ‘You’ve what? Why? I thought . . . Well, never mind what I thought.’ Because what had she thought? She wasn’t sure. ‘Why, Jack?’
He was still looking at the sea. His face had been drawn ever since Timmie died, and the light and energy that had always bounced from him was absent. He said nothing, just rammed his hands into his pockets and shrugged. She swung him round to face her, but he pulled away and continued watching the sea. She stood in front of him. ‘But you don’t love her?’
He squatted and threw bits of coal into the sea. ‘I love the bairn, he’s a little belter and he needs a father. I can’t have him growing up a bastard, and I like Millie. It’s good enough, Evie. We can’t all be like you and Simon.’
The air of sadness which cloaked her brother was almost tangible. ‘Is it really enough for a lifetime, Jack?’
‘At least I have a life. Just listen, Evie. We can’t change what happened to Timmie, but the bairn didn’t ask to be born. I can’t do anything about Timmie but I can do something about the bairn.’ He rose and she hugged him. ‘Jack, please think about this. You have a right to be happy.’
He eased her from him and walked away. She watched, and wanted to run after him, but instead she picked up the shovel again and saw that Simon was near. Of course, when wasn’t he? He came to her, putting his arm around her shoulders. ‘Millie’s just let it out. If it’s what he wants, let it go, Evie.’
‘I don’t understand him. He doesn’t love her.’
‘It’s his decision, and he loves the boy, that’s all that can be said.’ They heard her da calling, ‘We’ve coal to collect, or are you on strike?’
Simon waved. ‘On our way, boss.’ They started up the beach.
Da called again, ‘Come on you two, there’s work to do and have you heard about Jack joining the Territorials, Simon? He’s just told me he took up the whelp on his offer. Davies says that Lord Brampton has decided that it would be a good thing to encourage the men to join, God knows why. He’s offered them a shilling a day on top of their wages. Sounds like an excuse for a holiday to me, and why not?’ Her da was standing up on the cart, looking from them to Jack, who was now working with Martin further along the beach.
‘What?’ Evie exclaimed. ‘The Territorials? Is he mad?’ They approached the cart and Da threw them a sack, his voice harsh as he said, ‘You can’t blame the lads for getting out of the pits for a while.’ Simon asked her to hold the sack, saying, ‘Let me shovel in this lot.’
Evie shook her head. ‘What’s Jack thinking of?’
Simon grinned. ‘I said, hold the sack.’ He waited until she did so, then told her, ‘The whelp asked the gardeners to join after the wedding. Everyone who does is getting one Saturday off a month with pay plus the bob a day while they train, and a paid week under canvas.’ He was shovelling the heap of coal into the sack and the sun glinted on the sea behind them. ‘He said it would be good for him to get to know us better. I don’t want to know him any better, so turned him down.’
She tested the weight of the sack. ‘I wouldn’t have thought Jack wanted to know him better, either. It doesn’t make sense.’
Jack was approaching with an empty sack, which he gave to her. ‘Let me help, Evie.’ He took the full load and swung it up on to his back, calling as he returned to the cart, ‘Accidents happen, Evie, they can happen anywhere, especially in the Territorials.’
Evie let the sack fall and whispered, ‘Jack, don’t be foolish.’ She made to follow him, but Simon raised his eyebrows. ‘He’s not a fool, he won’t do anything silly. Don’t worry, just hold the sack.’ She did so, and the breeze was stronger now.
On Saturday 6th June 1914 there was another wedding to cater for. Again it was at the village church, and again there was a grave to consider. Timmie’s, though, lay far from Miss Wainton’s. Again Edward officiated. Mam held Tim, who shrieked and giggled all the way through the service, and when the couple left the church there was a Territorial guard of honour led by Martin, who took over the sergeant’s position while Jack was otherwise engaged. Her da shook his head. ‘Boys and their playtime. I reckon they just like a uniform, daft beggars.’
The wedding breakfast was held in the village hall and had been cooked by Evie and her mother, with Millie’s help. Millie seemed happy, Jack held Tim and put his arm around his wife. They kissed as they cut the cake. Grace and Evie clapped, but there was a deadness in Grace. Evie said, ‘There’s someone for you, somewhere.’
‘I know there is, I’ve met him.’ Grace’s voice was flat as Jack took Millie in his arms, swirling away to the strains of ‘If you were the only girl in the world’ sung by Simon, with Bernie and Thomas accompanying him. Lady Veronica had given them leave. She had returned from her honeymoon two days before, and Captain Williams had returned to his posting in Folkestone immediately, Lil informed them.
As Jack danced, he saw Evie and nodded, his colour high. He’d been drinking, she could see that, but why not, at his own wedding? He saw Grace, who was talking to their mam, and there was everything in his face. Then he whirled past Evie with Millie. His smile was tired as his bride talked and laughed.
The friends and family danced and sang until midnight, and then she and Simon walked back to Easterleigh Hall. His arm was tight around her, and he pulled her to him, kissed her and against her mouth he said, ‘Can we please get married the moment we have the hotel? It could be a Christmas wedding.’ He laughed as she clasped him tightly. ‘Most certainly, bonny lad.’ Her mouth was as eager as his, but then they walked on and he said, ‘I’ve been thinking, you know, I’d like to join the Territorials after all. I felt out of it today, wishing I could have been one of the guard of honour. Besides, it sounds good fun and someone has to keep an eye on Jack. Just think, Evie, we’ll get paid for playing silly buggers in a field somewhere every Saturday.’
The night was warm, the moon so bright she thought she could have read by it. Sheep baaed as they passed, and an owl flew across their path. She could see the Stunted Tree in the distance. ‘Why not? You’ll be one of the gang again, and not have to fight your way in this time, you’ll just have to play about with guns. What could be more fun? You daft beggars, you.’
Just three weeks later, on June 28 Evie read in the newspaper that the heir to the Austro-Hungarian Empire had been assassinated by a Serb-sponsored terrorist and that Emmeline Pankhurst was still in prison. That same week Lady Margaret arrived, having been released from prison by virtue of the
Cat and Mouse Act. She needed feeding up and then they would arrest her again, and she would go on hunger strike again and so it would go on. Evie and Mrs Moore shook their heads at one another when they heard. Mrs Moore said, ‘I thought Lady Esther had taken the place of Lady Margaret as a friend?’
Evie told Dottie to have a rest in the servants’ hall while the ladies were down for tea, then continued setting out the cakes. ‘I suppose old friends can surmount a division of ideals.’
‘That sounds too complicated for me,’ Mrs Moore sniffed, tucking the Sketch under her arm and taking a cup of tea to her room.
Lady Margaret and Lady Veronica arrived within five minutes and sat in the kitchen sipping tea, though Evie thought they’d have been much better advised to take advantage of the sunshine. Lady Margaret looked almost translucent, but still much like a horse.
‘There, you see, you two,’ Lady Margaret said, including Evie. ‘We’re suffering for you, we’ll get you the vote and what do you do, eat cakes while we starve?’
It was the fear of further imprisonment talking, no doubt, but Evie still wanted to remove the cakes. Lady Veronica winked and Evie stifled a smile.
Lady Veronica said, passing one of the wicked cakes, ‘Dearest Margaret, do treat yourself, and why not let someone else create mayhem while you just stand on the sidelines for a while? People could so easily be hurt or killed. There are other ways, and we should be insisting on votes for all classes, not just the higher echelons. But this is old ground, and none of us will change our minds.’
Lady Margaret pushed away the plate. ‘Your branch is just so smug. You just don’t understand. If you thought about it you’d know that if we get the vote for us it will be a foot in the door, and people like Evie will be given it in due course when we have made sure they know how to handle the power.’
Lady Veronica was rising now, her napkin crumpled at the side of her plate. ‘Thank you so much for tea, Evie, but it’s time we left you to your work.’
She put a hand under Lady Margaret’s elbow and helped her to rise. Lady Margaret shook her head. ‘I’m not going until I hear what Evie has to say.’
A lot, thought Evie, but merely replied, ‘People like me would prefer to have it now, if you don’t mind, Your Ladyship, along with the rest of you. We do have minds and we do feel we should take a hand in the governance of the country just as much as you.’
Lady Margaret flushed. ‘Well, you would say that, how could you do otherwise? You wouldn’t want to jeopardise your position here, would you, by disagreeing with Lady Veronica? I gather your employers have no love for the Forbes, so you must feel rather insecure.’ Her face was thin and sallow, despite the flush that was rising up her neck. Her hands were trembling. There were deep rings around her eyes, which were full of fear. She was hitting out like a small child.
Evie said gently, ‘You’re not well. Best go and lie down.’
Lady Veronica led her friend from the kitchen, calling back, ‘Thank you, Evie, for the tea, of course.’
That evening, after dinner was cleared, a dinner which had included calf’s-foot broth and stewed rabbit in milk, and the kitchen was on the way to being spotless under Dottie, Sarah and Annie’s strong hands, Evie slipped out for some air, as usual. She and Simon strolled along the paths, breathing in the roses which were planted to the right of the walled garden specifically for picking. He snipped off one and trimmed off its thorns. They didn’t need to speak any more, just be. He held her hand lightly while they discussed how many hotel rooms they could manage, and which would bring in sufficient income to keep them all. Simon wanted them to be able to hold wedding receptions, and she thought that if they had the correct costings it would be an excellent idea. ‘But we’d need gardens for the guests to stroll in,’ she said. He laughed. ‘I rather thought you’d say that.’
Darkness had not fallen yet, and as they wandered towards the east wing she thought she saw someone moving about near the rear stables that housed the carriage horses and the hunters, including Prancer. No, not near, behind. Simon had seen something too, and they started forward, then stopped. ‘It’ll be Norman checking Prancer, he took a bit of a tumble on the cobbles,’ Simon said, pulling her to him and kissing her. ‘I need to go in soon,’ he murmured. ‘The old man’s on the warpath because his under-gardeners have all been out after hours. He thinks the summer sun’s gone to our heads.’
She reached up and drew his head down, and kissed him long and hard, releasing him only when she felt him begin to laugh. ‘I’m so in love with you and so excited. We’re on our way, Evie. We’re really on our way.’
The horses seemed to be joining in, neighing and stamping over in the rear stables. Evie grinned, and pointed. ‘You see, they agree.’
Simon moved forward. ‘What’s that?’ He pointed and at first she could see nothing, but then she saw smoke, or was it? Though it was still vaguely light, it was difficult to make it out. They moved closer, and could smell it now, and there it was, seeping out of the hayloft above the stables. ‘Dear God,’ Simon gasped.
‘Not the horses,’ she whispered. They were running and now the smoke was billowing, and they heard the neighing, and thuds as the horses kicked out in the stalls. ‘Come on.’ Simon grabbed her and together they ran along the path, the roses snagging her skirt. She tore free. ‘You go on, you’re faster,’ she shouted.
He reached the stable yard ahead of her, heading for the double doors. She saw him pull, then curse. ‘They’ve been padlocked.’
Smoke was coming out under the huge doors, neighs had turned to high-pitched shrieks.
Evie rushed for the alarm bell, clanging it, shouting, ‘Fire, fire!’ Simon hunted for a steel bar, a brick, anything, and found a shovel leaning up against the wall. He bashed again and again at the padlock. The banging and the bell were causing even more panic. The thuds of hooves and the cries of the horses could be heard above everything, and now there was the crackle of fire. ‘God, Evie, it won’t break, the bloody thing won’t break.’ Evie rang the bell harder and harder, almost screaming, ‘Fire!’
Stable lads were coming now, with Norman in the lead, and at last the padlock burst. Evie and Simon rushed in with the lads but the air gave the fire fresh impetus, and the straw flashed into flames. They were thrown back but were unhurt. All around was the crackle of burning hay and straw and the high pitched whinnying of the horses. They were joined by Archie and James under the command of Mr Harvey, but he was elbowed aside by Norman, who issued orders. They all began to open the stalls, leading the horses out, the hunters rearing and bucking through the smoke and flames.
Under-gardeners arrived too and the head gardener, Stan, ordered them back out to pump water from the pond. Evie returned, heading for a back stall, grabbing the halter of a bucking mare, feeling no fear as she led her out, seeing Simon doing the same, avoiding the flames, coughing in the smoke, ducking as burning straw floated down from the loft.
Roger rushed in and tore the reins of a hunter from a stable lad. ‘You go back for another.’ He led it out into the open, leaning back against the huge shoulder, slowing the horse to a walk. Evie was just behind him and took the mare to the side, stroking her, whispering, ‘It’s fine, girl. It’s fine.’ The mare was skittering, snorting, and then she reared. Evie kept hold of the rope, searching for Simon. Was he safe?
There he was, with Prancer, handing him to a stable lad who instantly calmed the beast. Another lad took Evie’s mare. The under-gardeners were bringing up the pumps and spraying the building with hoses. Steam rose. She saw Mr Auberon and Lady Veronica, she with a shawl around her, he in his shirt and trousers. He shouted, ‘Not you, Ver. Stay out.’ Evie watched as he ran into the stable and there was a crash of falling timber. ‘Aub,’ Lady Veronica screamed.
A stable lad was leading out a hunter which reared in panic, his blanket singed. Evie held Simon back as flames burst through the hayloft windows, and then the final horse bucked and reared out of the stables, led by Mr Auberon. It w
as Big Boy, who had a stitched thigh from a hunting accident two weeks before. Mr Auberon was smoke-covered, his shirt black with soot. He passed close by. Evie said quietly, ‘You could be taken for a pitman.’
He looked at her. ‘That’d make me proud, Evie Forbes.’
There was a burn on his arm which was blistering. ‘You’d best get that tended,’ she murmured. He replied, ‘It’s little enough after Timmie.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘But it’s something.’ There was no anger in her any more. There had not been since she had fought against Roger. In many ways Mr Auberon was a good man, but he’d made mistakes, though who hadn’t?
Lady Veronica rushed up and dragged him away, while a stable lad took Big Boy. Evie remembered that other night in the front stables, what seemed like years ago. Who knew how anyone would react when beaten by their own father? For the first time for a long while she felt a renewal of sympathy for him.
Out in the yard Roger was telling of his exploits but Simon said, ‘Howay, you daft beggar, you took the horse from a lad and sent him back into the inferno.’ That was all; it was enough.
Over there, in the background, was Lady Margaret. Lady Veronica was dragging Mr Auberon past her. Something was said and by morning Lady Margaret had gone. The stables were a soaked and smoking wreck. Everyone was told it was a freak accident, perhaps a lightning strike, perhaps a hoof against stone causing a spark.
Lady Margaret never came into the conversation and she mustn’t, because otherwise she might one day shout out Lady Veronica’s involvement in the suffrage movement. Everyone knew, however, that it was the policy of the Pankhursts to carry out arson attacks on private property. Did the stupid girl always do everything she was told, Evie wondered.
Within the week the rebuilding of the stables had begun, and Captain Williams had returned to check that Lady Veronica was safe and sound.
Easterleigh Hall Page 28
