‘What? Oh yes, I think he did mention it.’ Lord Vye had gone back to looking out across the park.
I decided to be blunt, having come this far. ‘Well, I was wondering whether she might be a good person to help out here while my granny’s getting back on her feet. Of course it’s none of my business, really, but Andreas says his mother’s a wonderful cook and I’m sure she’d work as hard as ever she could to get the house straight.’
‘Get the house straight.’ He gave a short laugh and glanced over his shoulder at the devastation behind us. ‘It would take a miracle to do that. No, this is it, I’m afraid. The end of the road.’ I didn’t understand at first, but his meaning soon became clear. ‘I’ve been putting off the inevitable for long enough. We shall have to lock the place up and walk away. As soon as the tenants have left the Dower House, we’ll be moving in there.’
‘But what will happen to Swallowcliffe?’ I couldn’t believe he was just giving up. He couldn’t, not now! Not when the house needed us so badly.
‘I did think the National Trust might step in, but this fire’s put paid to that. The damage would cost too much to repair, and they weren’t too keen on taking over the place in the first place.’ He sighed. ‘I’ll tell you what will happen to it. The rest of the roof will cave in and eventually the ceilings will go. Then some tramp will camp out downstairs and burn what’s left of the floorboards, while the garden turns to jungle and old motor cars start being dumped on the drive. When everything of any value has been stolen, rotted or burnt, the county council will declare what’s left an eyesore and order the demolition boys in. And that will be that: hundreds of years of history gone for good.’
‘But surely there’s something we can do! Isn’t there anyone who could buy the Hall?’
‘Nobody wants the responsibility these days. No, I shall have to admit defeat.’ He narrowed his eyes, still gazing out across the grass like a sailor scanning the horizon, and the next thing I knew, he was reciting poetry. ‘“The moving finger writes, and having writ, moves on; nor all your piety nor wit shall lure it back to cancel half a line, nor all your tears wash out a word of it.” Do you know what that’s about?’ He didn’t wait for an answer. ‘Destiny, my dear. Events will take their course and there’s nothing you or I can do to change them. Now, was there anything else you wanted?’ The conversation was over.
I walked back to the house, thoroughly down in the dumps. There was no hope for the Hall now - let alone Andreas’s mother - nor for Gran as its housekeeper. She wouldn’t want to move to the Dower House any more than Lady Vye wouldn’t want to have her there. Seeing Mrs Oakes in the kitchen, wearing Gran’s apron, only underlined the fact that everything had changed. Still, somebody had to organise things indoors (Mr Huggins being occupied with matters outside) and Mrs Oakes seemed to be making a good job of it. She sent Alina off to tackle the hall floor, which was in a terrible state after so many firemen’s boots tramping along it.
Stan and Alfie had appeared and were eating breakfast, dressed in another strange assortment of clothes. Alfie had been given a sailor’s suit with a striped collar and shorts; he scowled ferociously at me so I wouldn’t think of teasing him about it. After we’d had our porridge, she gave each of us buckets of soapy water and scrubbing brushes, and set us to work cleaning the kitchen walls. Scouring off the greasy, stubborn soot seemed to take for ever and we were still worn out after the night before, so it was hard going. Various people popped in and out: Dr Hathaway came to see how Gran was and so did his mother, Reverend Murdoch appeared to tell us we were in his prayers, and then Eunice appeared out of the blue.
‘I wouldn’t desert you in your hour of need,’ she said to Mrs Oakes. ‘What a terrible thing to happen! I couldn’t believe it. Mr Tarver’s given me the day off so I could come and lend a hand.’ It turned out that she’d been working in the shop since leaving the Hall, which must have been the perfect place for her: endless opportunity for gossip.
I was ready for a break by now and relieved when Mrs Oakes said I could go with Eunice and make up beds for the children and Sissy on the other side of the house so they’d have somewhere to sleep that night. ‘I’ll do the work,’ Eunice said as soon as we were out of earshot. ‘You look done in, which is hardly surprising after what you’ve been through. That Mrs Oakes is a slave driver.’
We had to take the marble stairs, of course, as the back staircase had been gutted in the fire; that was different and strange in itself. Collecting armfuls of sheets and blankets from the linen cupboard, we made our way along the corridor past the Vyes’ suite (two connecting rooms with a bathroom in the middle), Lord Vye’s dressing room and Lady Vye’s sitting room. This part of the house was untouched, which seemed amazing after the horror of the night before. Had it really been no longer ago than that?
‘We’d better put Sissy and Julia in the Red Room,’ Eunice said, opening the door. ‘Mr Pennington was staying in here not so long ago so it won’t be too damp. Now you sit in that chair and tell me all about it. You need to get everything off your chest.’
Although I didn’t trust Eunice over much, she was a good listener and it was a relief to talk. I made sure she knew how brave Andreas had been, risking his life to save Nancy’s.
‘He probably didn’t want to get into any more trouble,’ she said, shaking out an undersheet which billowed like a puffy white cloud in the air before settling gently on the mattress.
‘What do you mean by that?’ I was genuinely puzzled.
‘How do you think that fire started in the first place? It caught hold in Lord Vye’s studio, that’s what the firemen told PC Dawes, and who goes in there apart from His Lordship and the German boy? His bedroom’s next door, isn’t it? He probably dropped a cigarette or forgot to turn out the lamp. Those old oil lamps can be lethal if you leave them burning.’ The electric lighting in the studio was dim, so Lord Vye had extra oil lamps dotted around for use at night.
I couldn’t believe what she was insinuating. ‘But Andreas doesn’t smoke. And he’s always really careful.’
She finished tucking under the sheet in a neat hospital corner. ‘So who else was it, then? I know you’re soft on the lad but you’ve got to admit, it’s a bit of a coincidence. He moves up to the Hall and hey presto, a few weeks later a fire starts right next to his room. Not that I’m saying he started it deliberately, mind. Though others might.’
‘He might have died, Eunice!’ I spluttered. ‘Why would he do anything so dangerous? Besides, he could have run away and saved his own skin but he came back to help us.’
She gave me a cool look. ‘It’d be in his interests to play the hero, wouldn’t it? Anyway, he’s still German even if he is Jewish into the bargain. He might be a spy for all we know. What if he wanted the lot of you to die in your beds and then had an attack of conscience at the last minute?’
I couldn’t sit there listening to her a minute longer. ‘That’s rubbish, Eunice,’ I said, getting up. ‘You shouldn’t go around saying such awful things. Now excuse me but I don’t feel well. I’m going for a rest.’
‘Think it over,’ was her parting shot. ‘Closing your eyes to the truth won’t make it go away.’
I went downstairs to see how Gran was doing, trying to wipe Eunice’s words out of my mind. I could just imagine her and Mr Tarver with their heads together behind the counter, concocting poisonous rumours and spreading them through the village. How could they? And then at the foot of the stairs, I suddenly stopped with one hand on the smooth mahogany banister, stock still. A liquid cascade of music came floating through the hall, the notes tumbling one after another and swelling into such a sad, sweet melody that my whole body tingled. I forgot all about Eunice, Mr Tarver and everything else in the world except that wonderful sound, sweeping over me like a wave and leaving such a sharp ache in my heart when it eventually faded away that I could have sat down and wept, there and then.
Trying to find out where it came from, I walked towards the drawing room and saw
Alina sitting at the piano by the window, her mop and bucket propped forgotten against a chair. I’d never heard anyone else in the house ever use it. Eyes half shut, she rested her fingers gently on the keys and began to play again, coaxing out the notes as though the instrument was a living thing. I leaned against the door frame and gave myself up to the haunting sound; it soared out into our damaged world like a glimmer of hope, a promise that one day all would be well again. And then suddenly I noticed Lord Vye standing on the far side of the doorway into the dining room, just as rapt. He smiled and put his finger to his lips when he saw me start, and we stood listening silently together.
‘What on earth are you doing?’ A harsh voice rang out, shattering the silver stream of music into fragments. ‘Who gave you permission to entertain yourself in here?’
It was Lady Vye, back from the hospital. She pushed past me, strode across the room in seconds and slammed down the piano lid so abruptly Alina had to snatch her fingers away or they’d have been crushed.
‘I’m sorry, madam.’ She slid hastily off the piano stool. ‘I thought nobody was here and my cleaning was finished. I forgot everything. I’m very sorry.’
‘I should think so.’ Lady Vye was pale and trembling with rage. ‘This is a valuable instrument, not for the likes of you. How could you take advantage at a time like this?’
‘It will never happen again, I promise,’ Alina muttered, picking up her cleaning things and backing away.
Lady Vye watched her go. Alina was almost at the door when she called out, ‘Just a minute, girl. “Angela”, is it?’ She pronounced the name with raised eyebrows. ‘I think you and I need to have a little chat. Who taught you to play the piano like that, I wonder?’
Thirteen
Advice to Refugees
Refugees often give offence, mainly through ignorance, by taking positions out of their turn in queues at tram-stops, ticket offices and theatres. Take your place at the extreme end of the queue and wait your turn. The English love fair play.
From a leaflet given to refugee children arriving at Dovercourt camp in 1938/9
‘Is everything all right, Alina?’ I’d been waiting for ages to find out, but the drawing-room door had remained stubbornly closed for so long I’d almost given up.
‘I am not sure,’ she said, leaning against the wall with her hands behind her back. ‘Lady Vye was cross with me and now she knows I have come from Poland. She says I cannot work here any more.’
‘But that’s awful!’ I couldn’t understand why she didn’t look more upset. ‘Where will you go?’
‘There is a plan. When Lady Vye finished and went away, Lord Vye ask me about my family, what I am doing in this country, what instruments I like to play - all these things. Then he says he knows people in London and maybe I can stay with them. They love music and they are Jewish, too. He will speak to them on the telephone and ask. Today, even. It is kind of him when everything is still such a - ’ she waved an arm round the hall, littered with buckets, mops and brooms, ‘such a balagan.’ I didn’t know the word but it was easy to work out what she meant. A mess.
This was wonderful news: not only because Alina would be much better off with people like that, but because Lord Vye had taken an interest and done something to help her. Maybe the music had jolted him out of all that talk about moving fingers and destiny. ‘It was lovely to hear you play,’ I said, hoping she’d understand something of what it had meant to me.
‘I have been wanting to, a long time. And why should I not when the piano is there and nobody uses it?’ Alina’s eyes flashed. ‘She knows nothing of music, that stupid woman. I have decided to go anyway, before now, and she can make the bed herself. I do not come to this country to clean houses all day.’ She untied her apron and bundled it into a ball, glaring at me.
‘We couldn’t think of anything else, that’s all,’ I stammered, taken aback by her blunt, angry words, ‘and we hoped you’d stay.’ We were trying to give you a chance, was what I wanted to add.
Her voice softened a little. ‘I hope your grandmother is better soon. She was kind to me always.’
Yes, I was hoping the same thing. When I went to see how Gran was, later that morning, I caught a low hum of voices drifting out of the sitting room and found Mum talking to Dr Hathaway inside. The connecting door to the bedroom was closed and they both looked very serious - so serious that any excitement I might have felt at seeing them together vanished in a second.
‘What is it?’ I asked Mum as soon as Dr Hathaway had gone, saying he’d see himself out. ‘Gran’s not worse, is she?’
Mum sat down on the sofa. ‘The doctor’s been worried about her for a while, apparently. He says her lungs were in a bad way already and now this shock has knocked her for six. She ought to be in hospital but she’s refusing point blank to go. What can we do? We can’t drag her there, kicking and screaming. I shall have to write to your Aunt Hannah and see what she thinks.’ She buried her face in her hands. ‘Oh, how can I have let it come to this? Why didn’t I keep more of an eye on her?’
I sat next to her, rubbing her back. ‘It’s not your fault. You know what Gran’s like, she won’t listen to anyone. She’d sooner wear out than rust out, that’s what she told me.’
Mum pushed back her hair, smiling ruefully. ‘I’m so glad you’ve had this time together. She’s loved having you here, I can tell.’
‘And I’ve loved it too. But, Mum, Lord Vye says the family’s going to move out of the Hall. What’s going to happen to Gran? Where will she live when she’s better?’
‘Let’s take it one step at a time.’ A cold hand gripped my heart and squeezed it tight. Did that mean she thought Gran wasn’t going to recover? She sighed, leaning back against the sofa cushions. ‘I should have come down here more often.’
‘Why didn’t you?’ Now seemed as good a time as any to ask, now we were alone together in this quiet, cosy room and Mum was obviously in a mood to talk. With the curtains half drawn against the outside world and only a soft golden light from the lamp in the corner, it felt almost like being in church.
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘This place draws you in, somehow. Maybe I was frightened that I wouldn’t get away again, that I’d end up chained to the stove for ever. I’ve made a life for myself on my own terms but it’s not the life your granny wanted for me.’ She reached out for my hand. ‘Oh, Izzie, what a mess I’ve made of everything! Let’s promise always to talk to each other, shall we? I can’t bear to think of you making the same mistakes I have.’
I took a huge risk. ‘Is that why you don’t want me to see Andreas? Because of you and Dr Hathaway?’
That made her drop my hand pretty quick. ‘There is no “me and Dr Hathaway”. Have you been listening to gossip? All that business was over and done with years ago.’ She got up abruptly. ‘I’m going to check on Gran. Can you see what the boys are up to?’
So much for always talking to each other. And it wasn’t over and done with as far as Dr Hathaway was concerned, I could have told her that.
We had baked potatoes for dinner, with some cheese from the larder and two loaves of bread Eunice had brought up from the shop (which was thoughtful of her, I suppose). It was a funny sort of meal. Mr Huggins forgot to say grace and didn’t stay long; he was sorting through some old trunks upstairs which had been saved from the attic storerooms. Julia was refusing to eat until Nancy came home and nothing Sissy said could make any difference, while even Tristan and my brothers had lost their appetite. It was noticeable that Eunice sat as far away from Alina as she possibly could - not that Alina seemed to care. In fact she was slightly more cheerful than usual, if anything. I suppose the thought of better prospects was cheering her up. The rest of us were exhausted, though, and we each had plenty to worry about.
After dinner, Sissy took all the children back to the gate lodge for a rest and I told Mum she should have a sleep too - I’d sit with Gran for a while. She was dozing when I took the armchair next to the bed. This new gran
dmother took some getting used to, lying there so still and helpless with her hair in a long plait over the pillow instead of its usual neat bun. I felt just as guilty as Mum, looking at her. Why hadn’t I noticed she wasn’t well? Please get better, Gran, I prayed silently, and we’ll do all sorts of nice things together - the three of us. I hooked my legs over the arm of the chair and rested my head against a cushion, letting my thoughts run away with themselves. The awful thing was, now Eunice had got me wondering how the fire had actually started. What if Andreas had been careless after all? The possibility that anyone could have set fire to the Hall deliberately - least of all him - was too awful to contemplate. I closed my eyes and tried to clear my mind.
I woke to find Gran propped up on the pillows, smiling at me. ‘I reckon you should be the one in bed,’ she said. ‘Shall we swap places?’
‘How are you feeling?’ I shook my head to clear it and focused on her face. ‘Would you like a glass of water?’
‘No, thank you, lovie.’ She lay back and closed her eyes. ‘I seem to be rather tired, that’s all.’
I smoothed the sheet, trying to make her as comfortable as possible. A few seconds later, her eyes snapped open and she gripped my hand. ‘Don’t let them put me in hospital, will you? Once they take you off to one of those places, you never get out. I want to die in my own bed.’
‘Gran! Don’t talk about dying.’
‘Why not? It comes to all of us sooner or later, and I’m quite ready to go.’ She might have been talking about a shopping trip. ‘So long as I can stay here at Swallowcliffe, that’s all I ask.’
I couldn’t let her be so passive, so accepting. ‘But if you went into hospital, they’d be able to make you better. Then you could come out and rest and I’d look after you, just like you looked after me when I was poorly.’ The very thought of it made me ashamed.
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