A Season of Secrets

by Margaret Pemberton

‘Course I wouldn’t,’ he’d said stoutly.

  ‘And why is that?’ Jim had asked.

  Hal had been flummoxed at first, and then he’d said, ‘Because, though you’d look like a monster, you wouldn’t be, would you? You’d still be Uncle Jim.’

  Jim had hugged his shoulder. ‘That’s right, lad. And behind Charlie’s monster-face, Charlie is still Charlie. I’m helping him wi’ his gardening late this afternoon. Why don’t you come and help the two of us out?’

  He had, and it was via Charlie that he’d got to know Miss Cumberbatch – and Miss Cumberbatch had turned out to be a long-distance member of the Women’s International League, and political to her fingertips.

  He shut the pen’s gate behind him, aware that he’d been dawdling and that when he joined his father, who was waiting in the fallow field for help with the ploughing, he’d be given a clout around the ear.

  Carrie was also well on the way to being in trouble that morning, for she should have been on her way to school and instead she was on the doorstep of her granny’s cottage, staring aghast at Thea, who had bicycled from Gorton to give her some news that wouldn’t wait.

  ‘You and Olivia aren’t going to be taught by Miss Cumberbatch any more?’ Carrie repeated dazedly. ‘You’re going away to school?’

  ‘To St Ethelburga’s near Norwich. It’s so far from both Yorkshire and London it might as well be in France.’

  Thea looked decidedly fed up, because although she’d been impatient to go to a proper school and be taught with other girls her age and not just with Olivia, she’d imagined it would be somewhere not too far from either Gorton Hall or Mount Street.

  ‘What about Miss Cumberbatch?’ Carrie’s head was spinning. ‘What is going to happen to her?’

  Thea stopped looking fed up and grinned. ‘Something absolutely dreadful. She’s going to join the household at Mount Street as Violet’s governess.’

  Carrie knew Thea was trying to make her laugh, but she couldn’t do so. By now the school bell had stopped ringing and she knew she was going to be horrendously late for class. She didn’t care. ‘And your mother – as well as your father – is going to be living mainly in London?’

  Thea, still straddling her bicycle, nodded. ‘Mama loves Gorton, and she and Papa will be back every opportunity they have. Papa has hopes of becoming a junior minister, and if he becomes one there will be lots of weekend entertaining at Gorton. Other than that, and apart from the servants, no one else will be there. Not Mama and Papa, not me, not Olivia, and not Violet or Miss Cumberbatch.’

  Carrie was carrying her school books in the crook of her arm and hitched them a little higher. ‘I’ll be there,’ she said firmly. ‘I’ll be there, because I was twelve two weeks ago – and I’m now old enough to be a tweeny.’

  Thea stared at her, trying to imagine what it would be like returning to a Gorton where Carrie was one of the servants. It would be extremely odd. How would they be able to spend time together as friends?

  She said doubtfully, ‘I’m not sure it would work, you being a tweeny when you’ve been coming in and out of the house as a friend for four years. I think it might be best for you to speak with Mama – but if you’re going to do so, you’ll have to be quick, as Armitage is driving Mama, Violet and Miss Cumberbatch to London the day after tomorrow. I’m going to be parcelled off with Olivia to St Ethelburga’s the same day, and so if we’re all going to be able to say a proper goodbye to each other it’s going to have to be today or tomorrow. I vote we do it at the vole place tomorrow afternoon, when you come out of school.’

  She hitched herself back onto the seat of her bicycle, a foot down hard on one pedal, her chestnut hair tumbling waist-length. ‘I’m off to the farm now to tell Hal. D’you think St Ethelburga’s will be like the boarding schools in Angela Brazil’s books? All midnight feasts and jolly japes?’

  Without waiting for an answer and no longer looking fed up, her cat-green eyes alight with anticipation at all the fun hopefully lying in store, she pushed off, heading in the direction of the lane that led to the Crosby farm.

  Carrie watched her go, her emotions in tumult. Because her friendship with Thea and Olivia crossed a class divide they couldn’t ever hope to overcome, her former friends at school had distanced themselves from her. Though Carrie had never wanted to be seen as being different from everyone else in Outhwaite, that was how she was now regarded. She would still have Hal as a friend, of course, but nowadays Hal had barely a minute of free time, for after a hard day’s work on the farm he headed straight for Miss Calvert’s house and a long evening of private tuition.

  She bit the corner of her lip, knowing she was going to miss Thea and Olivia far more than they were going to miss her. At St Ethelburga’s they would have the novelty of a new experience and new friends.

  She drew in a deep steadying breath. If she left school and began working as a tweeny at Gorton, she too would have the novelty of a new experience and she’d be able to make friends with the other maids, something she’d not been able to do until now. And Thea was right. It was something she needed to speak to Lady Fenton about immediately, for once Blanche left Gorton for Mount Street there was no telling how long it would be before she returned.

  She stepped out into the street, closing the door behind her and then, uncaring of the explanation she was going to have to give later to Miss Calvert and her granny, she didn’t run down the street towards the school. Instead she headed out of the village, towards the road leading to Gorton Hall.

  Blanche was in Thea and Olivia’s bedroom supervising the packing of two enormous tin trunks bearing St Ethelburga’s address when the butler, Heaton, informed her that Carrie was at Gorton Hall and wished to speak with her.

  As it was a school day and as Carrie should have been in school, Blanche was bewildered. It occurred to her, though, that Ivy Thornton might have been taken ill. ‘Tell her I’ll speak with her here,’ she said to him and then, to the maid who was stowing a pile of navy serge tunics into the trunk marked with Olivia’s name, she said, ‘That’s all for the moment, Helen. I’ll ring for you when I’ve finished speaking with Carrie.’

  ‘Yes, m’lady.’ Helen almost ran in her eagerness to be back below stairs, where she could tell everyone that Carrie Thornton was having a private chat with her ladyship.

  ‘Is anything wrong, Carrie?’ Blanche said the instant Carrie entered the room. ‘Is everything all right at home? Your granny isn’t ill, is she?’

  ‘Oh no, Lady Fenton.’ Carrie was appalled at the thought of having caused Blanche even the slightest twinge of anxiety. ‘Thea bicycled to Outhwaite this morning to tell me that she and Olivia are going away to school the day after tomorrow and that you are leaving Gorton Hall as well this week – and there’s something very important I wanted to ask you before you left.’

  Blanche regarded Carrie with affection. Her welcome of Carrie into the house four years ago as a playmate for Thea and Olivia had been an overwhelming success. Before her arrival Thea and Olivia had often squabbled, and picked on Violet. Since her arrival they did so far less, for Carrie was a natural-born peacemaker.

  Blanche had been standing at the open door of Thea’s wardrobe selecting dresses, as well as school clothes that had to be packed. Now, despite having very little time in which to finish organizing her daughters’ departure for Norfolk, she sat down.

  ‘What is it you wanted to ask me, Carrie?’ she said, happy to spare a little time for this child she liked so much.

  ‘I was twelve at the beginning of the month, Lady Fenton,’ Carrie said sunnily, ‘And I’d like to know, please, if I can begin working at Gorton Hall as a tweeny?’

  Blanche stared at her, not knowing which aspect of Carrie’s request appalled her the most; that she was cherishing an ambition to become a tweeny – and at Gorton – or that she thought she could leave school and become one now that she was twelve years old.

  ‘I had no idea you had ambitions to go into service, Carrie.’

>   Even as she said the words she was shocked at how naive she had been where Carrie was concerned. What had she thought Carrie was going to do on leaving school? When Thea and Olivia left St Ethelburga’s they would most probably, like other girls of their class, go to a finishing school in Europe. Then, when they were eighteen, they would be presented to Their Majesties at court and, as debutantes, enjoy a London Season where, at countless parties, balls and high-society events, they would meet eligible young men of good family. After that, as night follows day, there would be engagements and high-society weddings at St Margaret’s, Westminster.

  It wouldn’t be like that for Carrie.

  When Carrie left school she would have to find work and, unless she wanted to leave Outhwaite, her choice was limited to either farm work or domestic service. And domestic service, for Outhwaite girls, meant Gorton Hall.

  Oblivious that there could be a problem with her request, Carrie said confidingly, ‘I’ve wanted to go into service for as long as I can remember, Lady Fenton. And as I love Gorton Hall so much I wouldn’t want to do so anywhere else. Besides, if I was in service anywhere else, I wouldn’t be near to Granny – and I wouldn’t like that, and neither would she.’

  Blanche took a deep steadying breath. ‘You can’t become a tweeny yet, Carrie. Not anywhere. A law was passed several months ago that has raised the school leaving age to fourteen.’

  Carrie looked stricken.

  Blanche, knowing that she was now going to have to deal her an even worse blow, leaned towards her, taking Carrie’s hands in hers. ‘What I am going to say now, Carrie, is going to seem very unfair, but I want you to try and understand and not be too unhappy about it.’

  She paused, searching for the right words. Not finding them, she said gently, ‘Because you have been an almost daily guest at Gorton for so long now, it isn’t going to be possible for you ever to work here as a servant. The rest of the staff would feel far too uncomfortable about it – and it would drastically alter your relationship with Thea and Olivia. What I would like to do is to speak to a friend of mine, Lady Markham. She has a country home at Richmond and I am certain that when you are fourteen, and if you still want to go into service, she would be delighted to employ you as a tweeny. Richmond is a not-too-far bus ride away. You will be able to see your granny quite easily whenever you have time off. Lady Markham has a reputation for being fair and generous with her household staff, and I think you would be happy at Monkswood.’

  Carrie stared at her, struggling desperately for understanding. How could she be a tweeny at a strange place called Monkswood, when all she had ever wanted was to be a tweeny at Gorton Hall? And why should the other staff at Gorton feel uncomfortable with her, when she had always exchanged cheery hellos and goodbyes with them? Another, even more terrible thought struck her.

  With a face the colour of parchment she said tremulously, ‘If I become a tweeny at Monkswood, will I have to stop coming to Gorton Hall?’

  The question – and Carrie’s distress – smote Blanche’s heart. ‘No,’ she said firmly, closing her mind to the social difficulties that were quite obviously going to arise in the future. ‘Absolutely not. Whenever we are at Gorton you will always be welcome here.’ She squeezed Carrie’s hands reassuringly. ‘What you have to concentrate on now is your schoolwork. Will you promise me you will do that?’

  Still so disappointed that she didn’t quite know how she was going to bear it, Carrie nodded. With Thea and Olivia in Norfolk, Violet in London and Hal either working in Richmond or having lessons with Miss Calvert, there was going to be a lot of lonely time to fill and she knew now how she was going to fill it. She was going to make sure that she wasn’t only sometimes at the top of her class, but always at the top of it. From now until she left school at fourteen she was going to make Lady Fenton proud of her.

  Later in the day, when Gilbert made his daily evening telephone call to her, Blanche said, ‘Carrie came to see me this morning, and I do so wish she hadn’t.’

  ‘A strange sentiment coming from you, darling. I thought you found Carrie a delight.’

  ‘I do. It was the reason she wanted to see me that wasn’t delightful. She was twelve at the beginning of the month and thought she was old enough to become a tweeny – and that she could do so here, at Gorton. I had to explain to her why that would be impossible. It’s such a modest ambition, Gil, and I did so hate disappointing her.’

  ‘How did she take the news?’ There was concern in his voice, for he was as fond of Carrie as she was.

  ‘She looked bewildered – then devastated. I suggested that if she still wants to go into service when she is fourteen, Monkswood would be a good idea. I’m sure that if I had a word with Lydia there would be no problem, and Richmond is near enough to Outhwaite for Carrie not to feel isolated.’

  ‘True. I’m glad you thought of it. I wouldn’t like Carrie working hundreds of miles away and unable to keep in contact with Thea and Olivia when she has time off.’ He paused and then said, a different note in his voice, ‘I have some news, Blanche. It involves Charlie. I want you to ask him if he’ll be willing to come with you to London – and, if he is, I want you to tell him to bring enough clothes for a long stay.’

  ‘You want me to bring Charlie to Mount Street?’ Blanche’s incredulity was total. ‘But he’ll hate it at Mount Street, Gil! It will mean lots of people he’s never met before, staring at him and talking about him. And what will he do? There will be no outdoor work for him.’

  Gilbert Fenton chuckled. ‘If he’s agreeable, he isn’t going to be at Mount Street. He’s going to be at Queen Mary’s Hospital at Sidcup, which is close to London, in Kent. A pioneering surgeon by the name of Harold Gillies has set up a unit there expressly for treating soldiers and sailors whose faces have been destroyed by explosives and shrapnel. Gillies is achieving miracles, Blanche. When I described Charlie’s injuries to him, he said he thought he would be able to create a new nose for him and he showed me before-and-after photographs of a badly injured sailor for whom he’s done just that. Can you imagine what it will be like for Charlie, if Gillies can do the same thing for him? It will transform his life.’

  ‘It will be . . . a miracle.’ Blanche could hardly speak, her throat was so tight with emotion.

  ‘And before I forget, Rozalind and her mother are sailing on the Mauretania in the first week of June and will be with us until the end of August, and the general consensus of opinion is that I’m going to be made a junior minister. So all in all, life looks good – and the very, very best thing about it, my dearest darling wife, is that you are soon going to be here with me in London.’

  Chapter Six

  In late August, wearing well-worn country tweeds and with two cocker spaniels at his side, Gilbert Fenton walked down off the moor towards Gorton Hall a happy man. The sun was hot, the air heavy with the fragrance of heather and the sound of bees. It was only the second time he’d been back to Gorton since having been given a junior ministerial appointment and, with Parliament now in recess until mid-September, he had every intention of enjoying as much of that time in Yorkshire, with his family, as he possibly could.

  Politically the last few months had been momentous and the chance to reflect on things was welcome. In Paris the Peace Conference, in which a treaty between twenty-seven Allies and associated powers had been drawn up and signed, had finally ended, but nobody – not even the French – thought it had ended satisfactorily.

  Lloyd George had promised to ‘squeeze the German lemon until the pips squeak’, but even he had been aghast at the demands made by France. Not all of them had been acceded to. Together with Great Britain, America had baulked at the French demand that Germany be partitioned and a separate peace made without Prussia. France had still carried the day, though, on lots of other issues and the end result was a Germany impoverished, humiliated and burning with bitterness.

  Gilbert’s longtime friend Winston Churchill, who, as Britain’s Minister for War and Air, had attended the
talks at Versailles, had said grimly to him when congratulating him on his new appointment, ‘Instead of seeking Germany’s utter ruin, our watchword should be magnanimity in victory and, in peace, goodwill. If cripplingly excessive war reparations are demanded of Germany, her working classes will be reduced to conditions of sweated labour and servitude – and the result will be another war in twenty or twenty-five years’ time.’

  Winston’s opinion hadn’t carried any sway. The terms finally agreed – and which the Germans had had no choice but to sign – stipulated a provisional compensation payment from Germany of billions of gold marks, with the final reparation figure to be decided later, and a stripping-away of all her territories.

  Gilbert brushed past a clump of gorse, sending a cloud of yellow petals scattering. Ahead of him Caesar and Pluto, his two spaniels, were fruitlessly chasing a rabbit.

  Still deep in thought and with his hands in his pockets, he continued walking in the direction of the river and the bridge. Gloomy though he felt the results of the Paris Peace Conference had been, there was a ray of light where world politics were concerned, and that ray of light was the newly formed League of Nations. The League had been dreamed up by President Woodrow Wilson, its purpose to sort out international disputes, as and when they occurred. In this way – and by sanctions – world peace would be maintained. It was an idea that fired Gilbert’s imagination and he couldn’t understand why Lloyd George was so lukewarm about it.

  Now on the bridge, he paused, leaning against the moss-covered stonework, staring down into the water. Lloyd George was a Liberal, as had been the former prime minister, Herbert Asquith, and the present government was a coalition of Liberals and Conservatives. As a Conservative, Gilbert had issues with many Liberal policies, but nothing disappointed him more than the prime minister’s lack of fervent enthusiasm for President Wilson’s great vision.

  The water below him flowed down towards the village, gin-clear. A fish leapt in a flashing silver arc. A dragonfly darted low, skimming the surface.