‘Do tell me, David, who on earth is that creature, and where exactly did you find her?’
David was very angry and flushed with embarrassment, he glared at Evelyne and then turned his back on her.
‘My aunt works in a school in one of the mining villages, she’s some sort of orphan, one has to do one’s bit.’
Lady Primrose muttered, ‘Poor thing’, and her sweet voice trilled, agreeing that of course one simply had to do one’s bit.
Several of the guests watched the tall girl in the flowing gown as she walked straight back to the sad, vacant-eyed boy in his wheelchair. They watched her place the napkin across his knee. Then she sat next to him and gently fed the boy with her own hands.
If anyone felt guilty they didn’t admit it, but they remembered then the reason for the dance. It was not for flirting and courting, it was to give the boys who had come from the Front a night to remember. They were aware that the number of boys actually from the Front was exceedingly small, but then they knew mostly young officers anyway. Lady Primrose murmured, and it was hastily passed on, that Evelyne was a poor orphaned soul and all the gels there would react the same way if the officers they danced with came home wounded.
The ballroom had become very hot, the hundreds of candles and the great chandelier in the centre of the room shimmered and cigar smoke hung in a haze from the small smoking room. David seemed to have disappeared. The red-haired soldier pressed his face up against the window and rubbed the condensation clear as he gazed out into the garden.
‘Eh, there’s a big bird yonder with a long feathered tail!’
Two more of the boys scrambled up to stare out of the windows. They were becoming a trifle rowdy, having discovered that there were spirits to drink. Evelyne excused herself, she could feel her dress sticking to her body and could hardly breathe in the heat of the room.
There were several couples standing outside the gilded doors that opened on to a flower-strewn balcony overlooking the gardens with steps that led down either side to the velvet lawns. Evelyne was grateful for the cool night air and breathed deeply; no smoke, no soot here, the air was fresh and clean. She wandered down the garden, bending to smell the perfume of the roses, pure sweet fragrances in comparison to the ladies’ scents.
The peacock screamed and it made Evelyne jump, then the bird swung its head and turned. As if dancing for her, it spread its tail, the colours shining in the twinkling lamplight. She laughed, thrilled by the sheer beauty of the bird, and moved closer and closer, and was suddenly knocked right off her feet by the most enormous dog she had ever seen. She sprawled face down, and the dog licked her cheek.
A small, rotund gentleman in rather ill-fitting evening clothes came rushing round the rosebushes. Red-faced, puffing with exertion, he made a grab for the dog’s trailing lead and landed with a thud next to Evelyne.
‘I apologize profusely, Madam …’
The dog stood over him and licked his face, making the gentleman’s snow-white hair stand on end. Evelyne was on her feet first, and helped the gentleman to his feet. He bowed, and with one hand holding the dog’s lead he apologized again, but his eyes twinkled and his arm was jerked back and forth. He whispered that he was just giving his friend a spot of exercise before he had to parade like the peacock he’d just scared off.
The gentleman’s manner was so warm and friendly that Evelyne found herself automatically linking arms with him, and together they walked around the wonderful gardens. He pointed out various flowers to her, he knew almost every one by name. He asked her name, repeated it, and then wanted to know all about her and where she came from. Evelyne told him, and when she started to explain about her gown, and Bertha and Minnie, the laughter shook his whole body, his right arm still constantly being jerked by the massive St Bernard.
‘But you can polka, is that right? Well then, may I ask you to give me the honour of a polka, or would you like me to give you the fastest dancing lesson? I’m not what you might call a light one on my feet, but by God I can and would love to waltz with you.’
There on the lawn, with his dog tied to a privet hedge and instructed to sit, the white-haired gentleman began to teach Evelyne the simplest one-two-three waltz step. He kept up a funny commentary about ‘Now you move back, now you come forward, not on my foot, young lady, turn yourself around, that’s a girl, by God you’re light on your feet, just like a fawn … round you go again …’
The strains of the orchestra drifted down to the lawn as they danced, the old gentleman with his head full of white hair, and the tall skinny girl in the old-fashioned gown.
The St Bernard was then dragged off, and Evelyne returned to the house. She examined her face in the powder-room mirror. Her skin was shining, her cheeks rosy from the fresh night air, and Bertha’s coiffure about to tumble down from its hundreds of pins. The orchestra stopped playing, and two girls rushed out of the room. The attendant peeked around the door.
‘He’s here, he’s here himself, be quick or you’ll miss him.’
Evelyne rushed to the door, not really knowing who it was she might miss.
A crowd had gathered at the ballroom doors. Sybil Warner was on the bandstand, and to thunderous applause she introduced Lloyd George himself. Evelyne could just see his shock of white hair above the heads of the group listening by the door. He gave a short, rousing speech, thanked Sybil for her efforts, and toasted ‘The Boys in Uniform’, wishing them God’s luck and telling them to enjoy themselves while they could. Then he turned to the waiting orchestra, and in his enormous, mellifluous voice, demanded to know if they could play a polka, he was exceedingly fond of the polka…..
Lloyd George stepped down from the bandstand, and searched the faces of the guests. He caught sight of Evelyne and gave her a bow, held his hand out to her as the orchestra struck up a polka. He led the blushing Evelyne to the centre of the ballroom, whispered to her that she was doing just fine, and they danced. For the first few bars they danced alone on the huge floor, then other couples joined them. Lady Sybil complained to David, her nose completely out of joint, that she should have opened the dancing with Lloyd George, it was outrageous. David didn’t seem to hear her, he just stared at Evelyne. How in God’s name had that come about? Captain Ridgely passed David and whispered to him from the side of his mouth.
‘Old boy certainly can pick ‘em, what? Stunning-looking gel.’
David glanced at Evelyne and raised one eyebrow slightly.
‘Takes all tastes, old chap, but then he is notorious for his rough side, gel’s an orphan from the valleys.’
Captain Ridgely murmured that Lloyd George wasn’t the only one who liked a bit of rough. He nudged David and winked.
‘I did a good turn for you, what you say you arrange something for me with that delicious redhead, is it a deal? What you say?’
David glanced at Evelyne; she made no impression on him whatever, the common touch left him cold. However, David wanted to keep on the right side of Ridgely, and he gave him an equally lewd wink and returned the nudge.
David could see Lady Primrose talking quietly with Freddy Carlton. Now there was someone who really interested him. Not only was she virginal, beautiful and wealthy but, to add icing to the already delicious cake, she was titled. David leaned close to Ridgely and whispered. They both glanced at Evelyne and then put their heads together again.
The dance seemed to end all too quickly, and Lloyd George moved off towards the soldiers, sat with them and talked and listened earnesdy. As he got up to leave he touched the top of the sad-eyed boy’s head. He didn’t look back at Evelyne until he reached the main doors, then he smiled to her, and with a wave of his hand he was gone.
The orchestra began to move out of their seats, and a band of colourful gypsy men and women entered the ballroom. The women wore bright skirts and headbands, and were decked out in gold jewellery. They smiled and ‘entertained’ their audience, but their eyes were unfathomable. Smiling lips, friendly gestures, and yet there was an untouc
hable air to them. They remained aloof, distant.
The fiddlers played well, walking around the room while waiters served tea and brandy. Some guests were already departing, others sat talking. A large group, mostly women, moved into the cardroom, where two gypsy women prepared to read fortunes from palms and Tarot cards. There was no need to cross their palms with silver, as Sybil had settled an overall price with them before their arrival. The soldiers were leaving, returning to their barracks, hospitals and rest homes.
Evelyne searched in vain for David, and strolled out on to the balcony. It was very late now, almost eleven-thirty. She was tired, and her mind was full of the events of the evening. She kept biting her lip to stop herself smiling. She had danced with Lloyd George himself! In actual fact, Evelyne had not the slightest idea who he was but she, the outsider, had been the centre of attention for one moment… she wished Lizzie-Ann or her Da could have seen her. There was so much to tell them, they wouldn’t believe it. She wondered if she would be allowed to keep her frock. If so, she’d give it to Lizzie-Ann. Evelyne just knew it was her style, she’d just die for it.
Evelyne didn’t notice the boy, she hadn’t heard his step, and he scared her. He was staring up at her from the grass below, head to one side, and he didn’t look away when she looked down. He kept his eyes on her face. Black, cold eyes … then he smiled, and she remembered him, it was the gypsy boy from the field.
Freedom moved up to the balcony steps, stealthily like a cat, his back to the white stone. His hair gleamed black as his eyes, and they never left her face. His gaze , was magnetic, she could feel him, closer, closer, and his eyes were drawing her to him. He stopped two steps below her, and then he whispered, ‘One two three, one two three …’
For a moment Evelyne didn’t know what he meant, then he rocked his body as if dancing, and she knew he must have watched her practising on the lawn. He climbed higher and there was now only one step between them. He lifted his hand towards her, his eyes still staring intendy into hers. ‘Read your palm …’
Evelyne leaned forward slightly, her hand towards him, palm up. He lowered his head, keeping his eyes raised to hers, and kissed the centre of her palm. She curled her fingers and tried to draw her hand away, but he caught it and held it tight.
A woman seemed to spring from the darkness. Her head was swathed in a shawl, partially hiding her face, and she wore a long, dark skirt and heavy gold necklace. Her voice was soft, but sharp.
‘Freedom … Freedom …’
He turned to the woman, gave her a hard look, almost vicious. Releasing Evelyne’s arm, he glanced at her briefly, then turned and moved lightly down the steps, following the woman into the darkness of the bushes. But before he was out of earshot he heard a voice call.
‘Evelyne!’
David stood at the balcony doors, his face set with anger. He had seen the incident. He moved to Evelyne’s side and gripped her elbow tightly.
‘I’ve been searching for you everywhere. Come inside, we’re leaving.’
Lady Sybil joined them as they entered the ballroom. Patting David’s arm she asked if they had both enjoyed themselves, surely they were not going to leave before the last waltz.
‘I insist that you stay for just a little while longer, dear boy, your charge will just adore the fortune-tellers … come along and sit with me … Heather, dear, see if you can get the waiters to bring us coffee.’
David gave Evelyne a curt nod, and she went to join the girls waiting in line by the gypsy woman’s table.
David could see Lady Primrose and her party leaving. She didn’t even turn to look at him, hadn’t even said goodbye.
The gypsy musicians were packing their fiddles into their old, worn cases. They had done their allotted time and wanted to leave. They still smiled and their manners were perfect, but they were like trained animals on display. The older of the two gypsy women looked at one of the fiddlers, and he gave a tiny sign with his hand to tell her their time was up. Two of the girls moaned that they had been waiting for ages, surely they wouldn’t disappoint them now. Paying not the slightest attention, the women packed up their cards, slipping them into their worn packets, and, folding their shawls around them, they started to leave. The younger woman brushed past Evelyne, then stopped and turned back. Her skin was dark and tawny, her eyes the same as the young boy’s, the boy called Freedom. She stared into Evelyne’s face, touched her hair. Her hands were rough, the fingernails cut short and straight across. With a quick look at her menfolk she wavered, seemed nervous. The men waited impatiently, but she remained at Evelyne’s side. One of the disappointed girls pushed forward, her hand held out, but the woman ignored it, brushed it from her as she would a buzzing fly. She. pulled Evelyne’s hand, unfurled the fingers and stared into the palm, the same palm the gypsy boy had kissed. The gnarled finger traced along the thin lines, and she could feel the roughness of this ‘lady’s‘ hand. She looked up into frightened eyes, eyes the colour of the cold northern seas, and for a moment she hesitated, about to speak. Then she turned and joined her menfolk.
The ballroom was virtually empty now, the servants were clearing the debris, collecting the glasses. The sweet-faced powder-room attendant slipped the black mourning cloak around Evelyne’s shoulders.
‘This’ll be a night you won’t forget, child. God bless you.’
Mrs Darwin heard the front door open into the darkened hallway. She wondered if Minnie had stayed awake to see to the couple. The stairs creaked and she lay back. They must be going straight to their rooms.
David walked ahead of Evelyne up the stairs, then put his finger to his lips and pointed down, creeping on tiptoe and gesturing for her to follow him into the dark drawing room. She tiptoed after him, and they bumped in the doorway. After shutting the door David lit the gas lamp with a taper from the still-glowing fire. His face twisted into a snide smile.
‘Well, my little Flame, didn’t you do well? Polka with Lloyd George, kissed by the riff-raff gypsy boy, and we never had one dance together …’
He opened the drinks cabinet, careful not to make a noise, and took out a bottle of brandy and a glass. Evelyne’s heart thudded, this was the moment she had dreamed of, alone with David, did he know she loved him, was he going to learn?
He poured a measure of brandy with care and sipped it, rolling it around his mouth, then looked at her over the rim of his glass, ‘You made a great impression on a friend of mine, Captain Ridgely.’ He didn’t even offer her a drink. ‘Yes, he was really taken with you. Comes from a good family, lots of loot … well, to cut a long story short, he wants to see you.’
Evelyne was puzzled. She asked who Ridgely was as she couldn’t recall meeting him.
‘I doubt if you will be going home tomorrow, so I said perhaps you could meet him at tea time, it’ll be up to you what you want to arrange with him.’
‘I don’t understand, what arrangements?’
David sighed. God, he thought, she really is stupid.
‘He likes you, I don’t want to get involved, it will be entirely up to you whether you go to meet him or not. I think you’d be throwing away a good opportunity, he’s very rich, could set you up in a little place of your own … and he’s not a bad chap, you should be flattered, girl like you won’t get many opportunities, especially if you have to stay in the valley all your life.’
Evelyne still stared, dumbfounded.
‘Good God, do I have to spell it out, you could earn money, he’d keep you if you pleased him enough …’
Evelyne’s hand swung out and slapped David hard across the face.
‘Christ, what did you do that for?’
Evelyne was hurt and shaking with anger. He was suggesting she sell herself, and to one of his friends.
‘Now, come along, I didn’t mean any harm, no need to get yourself all upset, you don’t have to go if you don’t want to, all I said was I would ask you.’
Still Evelyne was speechless, staring at him, shocked, wide-eyed.
&n
bsp; ‘You stupid little girl, this was an opportunity for you, I’m sorry I even bothered with you.’ He walked out, leaving her confused and bewildered by all he had said, by his manner towards her. She could not remember the last time she had cried for herself - little Davey, Ma, that was different. She caught her breath as the sobs rose inside her. She wept for herself, for her stupidity, for the dream that had just been shattered. Her foolishness in believing, even for a moment, that she could be part of David Collins’ life filled her with shame. She ran up the stairs to her room, remembering to creep the last few steps so she would not waken Doris.
David’s bedroom door was ajar, and he was watching her as she tiptoed along the landing. Evelyne turned, caught him staring, and he gave her a strange, apologetic smile, then closed his door. The smile made it all the worse, his handsome, perfect face so far from her reach. All she wanted was to go home, home to her own people, her own class.
She cried herself to sleep, her face buried in the pillow, afraid to waken Doris. No one must know, ever, of her humiliation. Suddenly she remembered that
dreadful painted woman at the window of the inn, just like Nellie Lanigan from the village, she knew the men paid money to go with her. Evelyne sobbed into the handkerchief David had once given her, and even through her tears she could smell him, his faint lavender perfume.
Chapter 6
THE TWO brothers died with their arms around each other, Mike and Will, but the cable Benjamin Rces brought didn’t mention that, simply the dreaded words, ‘killed in action’. Dicken wrote a letter from the front dated March 1917 - it took four months to reach the village, and that was when they learned how the two brothers had died.
The Legacy Page 9
