Lady Wendover returned for the next session, along with all the servants and villagers. The beds began to arrive, and workmen banged from morning to night. Phone calls came from Lady Brampton with a long list of produce requirements for their London home which Stan, the ancient head gardener, flung into hampers and delivered to the station, cursing at the extravagance.
By the end of September all those who had taken the courses had received their certificates. They now knew that of the 90,000 men who landed in France, one in every six had become casualties and the army ranks were dreadfully depleted, and the hospitals dreadfully full. According to a letter received from Grace it was becoming clear to the soldiers, and the nurses and doctors, that the technical development of modern weaponry had rendered the old methods of war obsolete, but had that knowledge reached the generals? At Easterleigh Hall the pace of preparation increased and sleep became a luxury. The staff also received leaflets with instructions for cooking invalid food.
‘Pap, just pap, bonny lass,’ Mrs Moore said, slamming about with pans and sieves. ‘They need fresh fruit and vegetables.’
Evie agreed, adding, ‘We’re not overcooking things either, because as you said we might just as well fling the goodness down the drain. We’ll just cook lightly. Keep the skin on potatoes, that sort of thing, as we did with Lady Margaret. We’ll need two stockpots, we’re going to be a factory down here and we need to feed them when they want feeding, not when the army says they must eat.’
‘You’re right, Evie lass, they’re our soldiers, that they are, and they will have the best. We just need someone to tell her Ladyship and for her to tell Matron.’
Mrs Moore had a renewed vigour, and though her rheumatics were sliding into a bad phase there was a sparkle about her that had been gone for too long.
‘You can run up those stairs now and do just that, then,’ Evie said, preparing a game pie. The grouse and pheasant had been bred and the gamekeeper had insisted they must be shot and he would breed more for next year. They’d need them. There were a great many birds hanging in the game pantry, of which a few had been sent to the Bramptons, but not as many as ordered. Lord Brampton was too busy to shoot, too busy setting up an armaments factory, according to Lady Veronica.
‘You cheeky young madam, as if I’m going to run up those stairs indeed.’ Mrs Moore was laughing as she disappeared into the pantry, then tutting at the stock-taking that needed to be done. ‘We need our staff replenishing yesterday, along with the produce, my girl. You can tell her that too.’
‘Shouldn’t Mr Harvey?’ Evie had rolled her sleeves up to her elbows and was sprinkling flour on to the pastry. She hadn’t time to go upstairs and besides, the kitchen staff stayed below stairs, as Mr Harvey had said, insisting that the rules continued to be obeyed.
‘He’s with Mrs Green sorting out the bedrooms, or trying to get the workmen to sort them out anyway. Stop shilly-shallying, silly lass.’
‘I could say the same for you, hiding in the big pantry, for heaven’s sake, bossing me around as though it was what you were born to do.’ Evie rolled out the pastry and carried it on the marble board to the cold cupboard just down the passageway. She dusted off her hands and pulled a face at Mrs Moore as she entered the kitchen. Mrs Moore only laughed, slapping her bum, before Evie hurried past the bootbox, which was empty. Everyone now cleaned their own footwear, even Lady Veronica.
Evie took the back stairs two at a time. Lady Veronica would be in the ballroom with Dr Nicholls, or so she had told them yesterday over tea in the kitchen, at which all the upper servants gathered regularly now since there was so much to discuss, even Mr Harvey. Quite what he felt about relinquishing his head-of-the-table role to a mere slip of a girl, even if she was a lady, was something Evie longed to know.
As she entered the ballroom she was struck by the change. It was to be the other ranks’ quarters: bed after bed were waiting in rows, with small bedside tables on the left of each, and screens which would ensure privacy when it was needed. There were central tables for recreation. A wooden partition had been erected halfway along to divide those who were extremely ill from those who were in recovery.
Gone was the glory in more ways than one – the chandeliers had been taken down because of the danger of dust falling into wounds. Men hurried everywhere. Hammering made it necessary to shout. Did Simon shout over the shells? Evie shut her mind. Concentrate.
The bedrooms and dressing rooms and whatever other space could be found were being refashioned into individual officers’ accommodation. The nurses and VADs would double up in the servants’ quarters – which were emptier by the day as they left for towns, or the war – and wherever else room could be found.
In the ballroom Lady Veronica and Dr Nicholls were poring over a large sheet of paper on which four chunks of builders’ wood stood, holding it down at the corners. Lady Veronica looked up at Evie’s approach, startled, then alarmed. ‘Is all well, Evie?’ Then she turned to Dr Nicholls. ‘This is Evie Forbes, my . . .’ She paused. ‘My friend who creates miracles in the kitchen with Mrs Moore, and will be the powerhouse of our patients’ recovery.’
Dr Mason Nicholls smiled at Evie, his uniform stretched across his belly, his buttons looking for all the world as though they were about to fire off in all directions. A sight too many pies in the beggar’s gut, Evie thought; he’d be a useful weapon on the front line. ‘Hello Evie, how is your mother, and what about your father now?’
‘Grand, Dr Nicholls. You look a picture in the uniform. You be careful or all the ladies in the village will be after you.’
He roared with laughter. They were all shouting above the builders’ noise. There was dust in the air, and sawdust on the dust sheets, and motes danced in the sun as it streamed through the windows which would need drapes, surely? ‘Mrs Nicholls would certainly have something to say about that. I was just explaining to Lady Veronica that we won’t be receiving cases straight from the battlefield, but we will be having men suffering from the after-effects of gas gangrene as well as other wounds. It’s new to us. There is anaerobic bacteria in the Belgian soil, it’s mainly agricultural after all, and we’re seeing it infect the simplest of wounds, and all that can be done is amputate. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.’
Evie wouldn’t think of anything other than the men hammering, and the man behind Lady Veronica carrying in some two-by-four planks of wood. Lady Veronica was checking her lists. ‘So we will be receiving amputees, lots of ’em,’ the doctor said.
‘We’ll win but it will break our hearts in the doing of it,’ Evie murmured, thinking of Grace. The other two just looked at her. ‘Indeed,’ said Dr Nicholls, all laughter gone and his face a picture of sadness.
Lady Veronica swallowed, looked out of the windows and after a moment turned back to Evie. ‘You needed to speak to me?’
‘Mrs Moore wants you to know that the kitchen will be supplying anything and everything, but never the pap described in the leaflets we were sent. Instead the food will be lightly cooked, the vegetables al dente, the fruit as plentiful as possible and as the goodness is in the skin no peeling will be done, even of carrots. We will be on call twenty-four hours a day, because the sickest of men will know when they want to eat, the army will not. In fact, much as we did with Lady Margaret, if you remember.’
Dr Nicholls was grinning. ‘I rather think I can detect an Evie Forbes directive in there somewhere. But yes, I agree completely. I will instruct Matron.’
Evie left them, wanting very much to be a fly on the wall when anyone tried to instruct Matron in anything.
By November the opposing armies had ground to a halt, each in entrenched positions. Edward received a letter from a friend and told Evie’s da, who told her, that it was felt this situation would vary very little with each subsequent month that passed. Indeed, all that altered were the soldiers because each day young men queued outside recruitment offices to replenish the dying platoons. ‘These in their turn will die, won’t they,’ Mrs Moor
e said to Evie.
In late November the first of the wounded arrived at Easterleigh Hall. Millie had decided to take the Red Cross course and help upstairs, to the kitchen’s utter relief. Judging from the regular nurses who sat in the servants’ hall or cluttered up the kitchen on that first day, her decision was not received with total joy, for she was worse than useless. Lady Veronica did not achieve a much better report because she didn’t know how to sweep the floor properly or boil up the facecloths, or wash the sick bowls before sterilising them, she explained in the kitchen after her shift.
‘I’m a complete fool, though I manage to produce sparkling bedpans,’ she sighed. ‘They taught that on the course. How absurd, and appalling that I know so little.’
The next day Evie led Lady Veronica into the scullery and tied a hessian apron around her waist. Lady Veronica looked over her shoulder and laughed. ‘A charming bow would be nice.’
Evie grinned. ‘You get what you’re given in our neck of the woods, Cinderella.’
She handed Lady Veronica a broom, took one herself and demonstrated how to brush without drenching the world in dust. She then led her to the zinc-lined sinks, filled them, placed cloths and scourers into her hands and soda crystals in the water, and insisted she wash pots properly. Annie and Mrs Moore stood by the range, their hands over their mouths until their laughter became too loud, at which point Evie ejected them, while Lady Veronica stared at the ruin of her hands, then plunged them yet again into the hot water, shouting over the clatter at Evie.
‘I must learn to cook as well. They are setting up little kitchens so that the men can make themselves coddled eggs if they feel the need, and things like that. Or if they can’t then the nurses will.’
She came down again the next morning, and while Millie was upstairs reading to a sergeant in the Fusiliers who had been shot in the face and whose eyes were in jeopardy, Evie taught her how to make cocoa, and then a roux.
‘I’m a complete fool,’ Lady Veronica repeated. She poured in milk, stirring continuously.
‘No, you’re a high-born woman with a social conscience. I don’t see anything foolish in that.’ Evie looked at the clock. ‘But I need you out of the way now, because we have a million lunches to prepare. Go and find someone to inflict your new-found skills upon.’ Mrs Moore was studying the lunch plan, running her finger down the page. Annie was preparing the table. The new scullery maids were managing very well with no old hands; they had come up from the village, fresh from school. The servants’ hall was filling with staff, nurses and orderlies, with Mr Harvey back in his place at the head of the table.
Out in the corridor a bell rang, the front hall bell. A visitor? Normally the orderly on the desk handled these. Archie left to answer it. ‘I want to finish this,’ Lady Veronica protested. Evie took over. ‘You’d better go. What would the neighbours think?’ The two of them laughed. Lady Veronica hurried to the kitchen door.
‘Apron,’ Mrs Moore called. Lady Veronica pulled it off and threw it on to a stool. ‘Good shot,’ Evie called. They fell silent. Shot? No. Lady Veronica rushed out, pinning up strands of hair that had escaped.
She was only gone ten minutes before she reappeared but this time with Lady Margaret, looking thin, worn and old.
There was utter silence. Evie, Annie, and Maud, Barbara and Sheila, the three new scullery maids, exchanged looks. Mrs Moore just stared at the young woman, then at Lady Veronica.
‘Lady Margaret is here to help,’ Lady Veronica said, carefully looking at no one, her voice strained. ‘I thought I’d make a cup of tea for her, if that’s all right with you?’ She directed her question at Mrs Moore and then Evie. Both nodded.
Lady Margaret was settling herself on a stool where she had sat all those months ago, before she had burned the stables. Had everyone forgotten that, Evie wondered. For pity’s sake, she could have killed people, let alone the horses. Lady Margaret was staring at Lady Veronica as she put the simmering kettle on to the hotter range plate. ‘You’re doing that?’ She sounded outraged.
Lady Veronica had moved to the dresser and was collecting enamel mugs. As she returned, she gave Evie and Mrs Moore a quick grin. ‘Yes, I am. There’s a war on and I need to increase my skills so Evie and Mrs Moore are teaching me. Aren’t they wonderful? There’s so much I don’t know, it’s absurd. I think we could all do with some tea, don’t you?’ If Evie lived to be a hundred she would never forget the amazement on Lady Margaret’s horse-face, swiftly followed by further outrage.
Lady Veronica mashed the tea in the pot and poured for them all. She pushed a mug to Lady Margaret, who picked it up as though it was something she had found under her shoe, and then replaced it. ‘Perhaps you’d like some milk in your tea, Margaret?’ Lady Veronica said firmly. ‘We don’t always have time for the niceties, so we use what is to hand. If you wish to stay here and help you must accommodate the changes.’
There, it was said. Everyone else in the kitchen found something fascinating to look at, staring at it as though they had found the mystery of the universe. Lady Veronica added milk to her tea. ‘Come on everyone, let’s sit down and catch up on the day.’
Yet again Lady Margaret’s outrage rose a notch as they did so, each taking a stool. Evie said, ‘I will take over the roux, Lady Veronica. We’re having mullet with a fairly bland sauce.’
Mrs Moore read out the menu, and Annie and Maud talked quietly together. Lady Margaret finally poured a little milk into her mug and drank it, examining the lip carefully before she did so. Clearly the interloper would welcome a steriliser in the kitchen, as well as those provided for the nursing staff.
At the end of each day Evie, in lieu of Mrs Moore who was resting her eyes in her room, had been joining Matron, Lady Veronica, Mr Harvey, Mrs Green and Dr Nicholls in the front hall, sitting around a small table while they discussed the patients’ progress and needs. Evie would bring them up to date on availability of food and proposed menus. Special diets were also discussed, and this evening, a few days after Lady Margaret had arrived, she suggested that they make a nominal charge for the cakes they supplied for the patients’ visitors, who congregated in the newly designated tea room, formerly an anteroom leading off the hall. ‘The money could be put to good use buying books and games for the patients, and even the staff,’ Evie finished.
Dr Nicholls smiled at her. ‘Why not?’
Matron shrugged. ‘Nothing to do with me. What about Mr Harvey, Mrs Green and Lady Veronica?’
Evie checked with them, but they were already nodding, and making a note in their little books. Maud had wonderful handwriting and she could write the notices of charges that could be pinned on the tea-room door and placed on the table. Evie then asked if Lady Margaret could manage the money on top of pouring tea, for it was she who had volunteered to run the tea room. ‘If she can then it will permanently release Lady Wendover to help in the wards, which is where she’d like to stay. After all, she did do the course with us.’ Everyone agreed.
‘What an asset she is,’ Matron declared. ‘A woman who is not afraid of rolling up her sleeves, just like you, my dear.’ She smiled at Lady Veronica.
‘I roll up my sleeves and have for years,’ Evie muttered.
‘And you have lovely arms, too, my dear,’ Matron said, laughing.
They discussed the new intake of men. There were nine amputees who had arrived in ambulances. There were several patients wounded by shells and progressing well. Three had gone home on leave. ‘In order to become fit enough to return to the charnel house in due course,’ Dr Nicholls said, which was his usual response. Christmas was coming and there was no festive cheer in their hearts but always cheer on their faces.
Archie appeared then, from the tea room, stooping to whisper in Lady Veronica’s ear. She looked startled and then furious. ‘Excuse me, I’m needed. Evie, perhaps you’d come too? Archie, would you hurry and find the two visiting relatives who have received white feathers while I discuss the matter with Lady Margaret. Try and find them be
fore they reach the patient and urge discretion on them. We can’t have any loss of trust or confidence.’
Lady Veronica rose, and Evie too. The others stared from one to another, and then at the tea room. ‘Please,’ Lady Veronica said, ‘carry on. I don’t want this to become obvious.’
To Evie, as they walked steadily but unhurriedly, she said, her voice cold and grim, ‘Perhaps you would take Lady Margaret downstairs, by the ears if you like, and I’ll talk to the visitors.’
In the tea room several families were standing at the refreshment table, as though struck by lightning. Three young men stared at white feathers they had clearly just been handed by Lady Margaret. Evie marched round the back of the table and firmly took her by the elbow. Lady Margaret resisted. Lady Veronica addressed the young men, who had dropped the feathers on to the table as though they were red-hot. ‘I am so very sorry.’
Evie said quietly into Lady Margaret’s ear, ‘If you don’t come with me, I will hit you, very hard.’
The woman strode with Evie through the hall to the green baize door at the back, every inch of her defiant. In the kitchen Evie shoved her on to a stool, hissing, ‘How bloody dare you?’ Maud came to the entrance of the scullery, a cloth in her hand, her mouth open.
‘We’ve been told to by Christabel. She said white feathers are to be given to all men of military age out of uniform. This is our new cause. We will show that we are fit for the vote with our war work, and this.’ Lady Margaret’s face was pale but determined.
Annie had been knitting khaki head-warmers for the troops at the table while a white soup simmered for a young soldier. He had been unable to eat for the last two days but had suddenly fancied soup, like his mother made. Annie dropped several stitches.
Evie snapped, ‘So, you want all the miners out of the pit, all the essential workers to be slaughtered on the front line, all those men convalescing and on leave to strut about in uniform. Do you intend to do everything you are told for the rest of your life, you silly lass? How on earth do you think you’ll be fit to have a view on the government of this country if you follow rubbish like this? So just how do you propose that we run the country with no men?’
Easterleigh Hall Page 34
