by Nicola Slade
‘Captain Makepeace was Mr Bertie’s best friend at school,’ I said by way of introduction. ‘He’s here to get better. Nigel was working up at the Hall today, before he came down here,’ I told Henry. ‘He’s very good at digging ditches.’
‘It’s Niggle, Miss Christy,’ he said reproachfully and when I apologised, he added, ‘Mr Bertie’s friend is my friend now.’ He thought for a moment and gave Henry a friendly grin. ‘I’ll show you the hole I dug up there, sir, outside the back door. It come up to here.’ He indicated his waist and I wondered how pleased the kitchen staff had been.
Henry looked at the darkling sky. ‘We’d better go in, Christy.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Good grief! We’ve been out here for more than twenty minutes, you must be frozen. If Lady Elspeth has written the reply to the doctor’s note, I must go.’ Niggle scrambled to his feet and saluted smartly so Henry did likewise, adding, ‘Carry on, Soldier.’ I could see Niggle was pleased by that.
‘Yes, it’s time to think about the lodgers’ dinner,’ I agreed. ‘And don’t worry. Granny will insist that Mother attends the party and behaves herself. What worries me is whether someone will let on about what we’re doing with Balmoral Lodge, but I expect we can deflect her.’
Mother had trailed upstairs again, seized by sudden inspiration, according to Alix, so Granny handed the reply for Dr Pemberton to Henry who headed for the back door.
‘If I see that Mrs Fyttleton is getting wind of your nefarious schemes,’ he told me with a twinkle that belied his solemn tone, ‘I’ll butt in and ask what she thinks of the latest developments in women’s suffrage.’
‘You’re an angel,’ I exclaimed, clasping his hand warmly. ‘If that doesn’t work, say you’ve heard that she’s an expert on Lydia Taft.’ I explained that Mother’s book on that lady was dear to her heart. ‘She’ll be enormously flattered and she’ll talk to you for hours, you won’t need to do anything but nod and look impressed. Are you prepared for the sacrifice?’
He was about to reply when I heard a ring at the front door. ‘Oh, dear, I wonder who that can be. You’d better hurry back, Henry, you might just make it before the rain starts again. If Niggle’s still out there, just nod kindly. He won’t be frightened of you now he knows you’re a friend.’
Alix had opened the front door and my heart sank when I heard a harsh, but familiar, voice.
‘So, Missy; had second thoughts about producing your dear old daddy? I warn you, I’ll keep stopping by till you’re sick of me, so you might as well hand him over right away.’
As I dashed past the kitchen sink I seized the first weapon that came to hand and surged into the front hall.
‘We told you before,’ Alix said haughtily. ‘Our father is dead and if you have information to the contrary, you must take it to the police station in town. Badgering defenceless women in a house of mourning will win you no friends and will most certainly not advance your cause. Now, be off with you this instant.’
In support of my sister, I raised my weapon; slightly to my surprise this turned out to be our largest meat cleaver which was ominously dripping blood. When I had last seen Addy at the sink, about twenty-five minutes earlier, she’d been using a sharp knife like any normal person. I realised with a sigh that she must have abandoned the knife in favour of this, the most fearsome implement in our kitchen. But where on earth was Addy? Now I came to think of it I hadn’t seen her in the kitchen as I ran through from the back door. (And she would never have given up the cleaver without a fight if she’d still been wielding it.)
If Papa had ventured a toe – or any other part of his anatomy, for that matter – into our garden at that moment I would have chased him with the cleaver myself. It was unfilial but true and I remembered only too well a couple of occasions on which he had been required to assist the police with their enquiries, though he’d always emerged a picture of wide-eyed innocence. No wonder we all craved stability. Percival Charles Fyttleton had been a liability to the womenfolk in his life and even now, in his uncertain death, here he was upsetting the applecart again.
I speculated briefly about how difficult it would be to make caltrops and strew them on the front path, sighing gustily as I hefted my weapon once more. All our lives Papa had brought trouble upon us and no matter how heartily I wished I could draw a line under his errant memory, up he’d pop like a jack-in-the-box.
The intruder looked aghast at my dripping cleaver and retreated backwards in haste down the steps, shouting strange oaths as he sprinted towards the road, at which point Alix, at my side, let out a perfectly spontaneous scream.
Lifting the latch on the front gate was a ghastly vision illuminated by the nearest gas light on the street. Our younger sister, her knitted tammy crazily askew on her head, stood there covered in blood from her forehead to the hem of her second most respectable skirt. Her new winter coat hung loose from her shoulders, flapping in the evening breeze.
‘Chris-tee!’ she wailed when she saw us, crying out again as the unnerved American pushed her roughly aside to make his escape, leaving her to stagger and collapse in a blood-stained heap.
Chapter Seven
Completely forgetting the rapidly departing intruder, Alix and I rushed outside.
‘I’m all right,’ Addy gasped as she rolled on to her hands and knees. ‘I’m just winded.’
‘But… all that blood!’ Alix gasped, her face ashen. ‘Where’s it all coming from? Where are you hurt, Addy? What happened?’
‘It’s not my blood.’ She was on her feet now. ‘Where’s my parcel? It’s frightfully important.’ She cast around and picked up something from the gravel path. In her hand she held a knobbly package wrapped up in brown paper through which we could see blood oozing ominously.
‘Who’s that?’ I called out sharply as I spotted a shadowy figure emerge from behind the hedge.
‘It’s only me, Miss Christy,’ said a frightened voice. It was the butcher’s boy. ‘I just come with Miss Addy to see she got home safe. I’ll be off now.’ And he turned tail and ran.
‘Good riddance,’ Addy muttered, frowning after him. ‘It was all his fault anyway.’
‘Never mind that,’ I scolded, still shaky but relieved that she seemed unhurt. ‘Come inside at once, straight into the kitchen. Where have you been? Don’t rub against the walls or the furniture. And what on earth have you been up to now?’
‘It was an accident,’ she grumbled when I’d ceased bombarding her with questions and we had removed her gore-splattered clothing. Her coat had fortunately escaped and was undamaged, but her blouse, petticoat, stockings and liberty bodice went straight into the scullery sink to soak in cold water and she sat there in her vest and drawers. I covered her temporarily with Grandpapa’s old tweed jacket, the one that hangs on the back door, while I ran upstairs to fetch her nightie and dressing-gown and helped her into them. Alix had taken both kettles off the range and washed Addy’s hair over the scullery sink. She was now rubbing it dry, so I refilled the kettles then sponged the maltreated skirt. Granny was busy with the dinner but kept an interested eye on the proceedings.
‘I had an idea all of a sudden,’ Addy explained. ‘I thought I’d ask the butcher whether he had any bones to spare. For Bobs, you know. That’s what’s in the parcel, by the way; he gave me lots. I thought I could follow that up by asking if he’d allow me to watch him carve up the carcases.’
‘Addy!’ Alix and I squealed in unison but she flapped a dismissive hand at us.
‘If he let me do that, I was sure he’d end up letting me practise surgery on them,’ she said sulkily.
We waited but that seemed to be it, so I urged, ‘And?’
‘Mr Bristow was a bit surprised at first,’ she said, looking slightly bemused herself at the fuss we were making. ‘I don’t know why, but his old father was helping in the shop and he said, “Why not let the young lady have a go, Bert? ’Er Ladyship’s always been a good customer.” He reminded Mr Bristow that we three have all helped out and played with
the children when Mrs Bristow is laid up with a new baby, so they both laughed and told the boy to shift a tray of liver off the bench at the back. They said I could have a leg or a shoulder to chop about if that was what I wanted. No harm done, Mr Bristow said, as he’d mince it for sale afterwards.’
I really wished Henry had not already gone back up the hill. He would have enjoyed Addy’s deadly serious explanation and perfect mimicry, but Alix, Granny and I all managed to keep straight faces and let her get it off her chest.
‘It was all that stupid boy’s fault,’ she said crossly. ‘He kept staring at me and blushing all the time. He wasn’t paying proper attention so he tipped the tray up and the liver slithered off on to the floor. Somehow or other I slipped and landed on top of it.’
‘Why isn’t your coat in a mess?’ asked Alix, who was brushing it and peering to see if she had missed any splashes.
‘I took it off beforehand, silly,’ sniffed Addy. ‘I knew you’d make a fuss if any blood got on it.’
Thursday, 14th March
After all the drama of the evening, the following morning was quiet by contrast. Just as well in my view, because I like nice, uneventful days, unlike Alix who craves diversion and Addy who can cause disruption just by entering a room.
You know, sometimes, when I hear myself speak – or even think – I sound really, really old. That’s the trouble with being the sensible one, somebody has to make it all work and Granny and I are the only members of the family who seem able to organise anything. To be fair, Alix has come to the fore recently. We’ve all had to grow up since November.
But Granny is sixty and there are occasions when I know I sound older than she does. Perhaps I’ll be able to have my life in reverse and be fluffy and silly when I’m Granny’s age, but I have to say it doesn’t appeal much. Anyway, Granny was married with a baby before she was Alix’s age so we’re lagging behind.
As I crossed into the hall I found Alix frowning at the looking-glass by the front door.
‘You’ll be late,’ I said, eyeing the grandfather clock. ‘Something wrong?’
‘I know it sounds feeble,’ she said, still with that pinched expression. ‘It’s just that sometimes I think I simply can’t face Matron for one more afternoon.’
‘What?’ She had me worried. As I’ve mentioned before, Alix is naturally cheerful and pleasant and makes friends easily. I’ve rarely heard her criticise anyone. ‘I thought you loved volunteering up at the Hall?’
‘I do, it’s only Matron. She’s a bully.’ My sister heaved a sigh. ‘She bullies the servants and the nurses and the volunteers, but what’s worse, she’s horrid to the patients.’
‘Really? I didn’t take to her, but how unprofessional.’
‘Lt Trevelyan…’ Alix glanced at me then looked away. ‘I used to hear her talking to him, when she thought nobody was listening. She was… I can’t explain it properly, but she said nasty things in a sugary voice.’
‘Like that ghastly art mistress at St Mildew’s?’ I asked. ‘The one who used to say, “Well done, Christabel. I do believe that if I hold this drawing up to the light, I might just make out that it is a daffodil rather than a mere scribble.”’
Despite her sober mood Alix managed a laugh as she tweaked her hat into a more becoming angle. ‘She’s a beastly woman. It was her idea, as I told you, to ship him away from here as soon as possible.’
‘I suppose they wanted to minimise the loss for the sake of the other officers.’
‘That’s what I thought until I heard Matron snipe at the orderly that she was glad Trevelyan had gone because he “made the place untidy” and that her bright and cheery rehabilitation hospital was no place for a “useless wreck” who belonged in a home.’
‘That’s very harsh, especially from a nurse.’ I caught Alix’s eye. ‘Matron was in the conservatory when we were making cocoa. You don’t think…’
‘She was coming out of there when I took her a cup, but was I wrong?’ Alix looked startled. ‘You’ve set me wondering, Christy. She could have been going into the conservatory, you know, from the ward. She was standing in the doorway…’
‘You really must go,’ I gave her a little push. ‘You’ll have to run as it is, or your old lady will be cross. We can’t worry about it now and we’ve got the At Home so we won’t be able to talk.’ I gave her a quick hug, ‘Meanwhile keep your chin up. Don’t forget – we Fyttleton girls always cope!’
She grinned and dashed away, but the exchange left me disturbed. We hadn’t talked again about that poor young man for what was there to say, but I knew my sister was also wondering about his death. I wished Henry had never mentioned the half-waking dream he’d had.
Addy was also weighing heavily on my mind but shortly after breakfast Miss Evershed knocked on the dividing door and asked if she could have a word. I led her into our little-used dining-room – we eat in the kitchen most days, it’s warmer and simpler.
‘I gather that Adelaide has been suspended from her school for the rest of the week,’ asked Miss Evershed, making no bones about it.
‘Er, yes,’ I replied, rather taken aback, and she smiled faintly.
‘Acquit me of vulgar curiosity, my dear,’ she said. ‘I am here to offer you a solution to the problem.’
When she explained I nearly fell to my knees on the spot to kiss the hem of her serviceable brown tweed skirt. Her solution was the answer to my prayers.
‘I must say, Christabel,’ Miss Evershed confided. ‘I have rarely come across a girl as intelligent as Adelaide, or as poorly served by her school. She tells me she has her Junior Oxford Local Certificate and that she plans to take the Senior examination this year. How has she accomplished this? Not on her own, surely?’
‘We were taught by our grandfather,’ I explained. ‘He was formerly a Fellow of New College, Oxford, and he treated us like undergraduates, taking no notice of our age or gender. Indeed,’ I smiled reminiscently, ‘I don’t believe he ever knew quite who we were, but although Alix soon tired of his lessons, Addy and I lapped it all up. Granny taught us French, which she’d learned from her governess. The only drawback is that although the governess was actually from France, she was very elderly so our French is fluent, but archaic in style and vocabulary. I don’t know about our accents as we’ve never actually met a French person.
‘Grandpapa died last summer, less than a year ago. He was ninety and very infirm, but he loved teaching so he carried on to the end, which is why Addy is so advanced.’
Miss Evershed looked sympathetic. ‘Last year must have been very hard for you, with the death of your brother too,’ she said, taking the chair I offered. ‘I gather you also lost your father three years ago?’
I nodded, not wanting to discuss it.
‘So that is how she’s up to, and beyond, what is required for her examinations?’
‘In part, but the curate teaches at the school twice a week,’ I explained. ‘He taught science subjects and maths at a boys’ public school before the War but he got his Blighty right at the start, in 1914, and decided to enter the Church. He’s happy to add to his stipend and he enjoys working with Addy, though she says he’s only there because he’s spoony over the kindergarten mistress.
‘She needs a proper tutor to guide her. Apart from the work with the curate she’s never challenged at school so I help with advanced work when I can. Grandpapa coached me thoroughly so that I passed the Senior Oxford last year but I’ve no time these days for study. She’s far outstripped me and besides, she’s obsessed with her new passion for anatomy and dissection.’
‘So I’ve observed,’ Miss Evershed replied. ‘I should like to work with her while I am here. Can you spare her from her household duties?’
‘Are you sure?’ There was a tremor in my voice. ‘Alix and I will do anything, anything at all, if you’ll only help Addy find her way. We’ve racked our brains wondering what on earth to do with her, and we’ve come close to despair. If you really mean it, Miss Evershed…’
She patted my arm. ‘Adelaide thirsts to learn and I thirst to teach,’ she said briskly. ‘May we work in here? Heaven forfend we should disturb Mrs Mortimer!’
An hour or two after an ecstatic Addy had settled down to work with her new idol, I emerged from upstairs, sent away by Mother who had been seized by a lightning strike of inspiration. As I whisked in and out of the lodgers’ bedrooms to check for hidden kittens, I discovered nice Mrs Peebles teaching young Penny how to care for a lady’s wardrobe.
‘That’s the way, dear,’ I heard her say in an encouraging voice. I stuck my head round the door to find Penny carefully brushing a very smart purple velour hat.
‘Hello, there, Miss Christabel.’ Mrs Peebles waved the girl away. ‘Off you go, Penny. I’ll show you some more tricks about looking after clothes later, if Miss Christabel will allow.’
She explained that the girl was eager to learn and deserved a helping hand.
‘I gather you are teaching her a maid’s duties between you; very commendable and I admire you all the better for it. We should all give a helping hand to those less fortunate. That’s what happened to me, dear,’ she said with a nod. ‘My old dad was a tenant farmer and the lady at the big house took me on, though I was just a young girl. She trained me as a lady’s maid which stood me in good stead.’ She sighed gustily. ‘I met my husband when I went on an errand for my mistress. I had to deliver a note to the bank manager, it was an invitation to a reception, which was an honour for him, but she wanted a donation for her pet charity. I had to wait for an answer and Major Peebles, as he is now, got talking to me while he waited to see the manager himself.
‘I don’t know how he had the brass nerve,’ Mrs Peebles’s plump face shone with amusement. ‘He tagged along to the party with the bank manager and managed to slip a note to me. The mistress was very snooty about him until she found out he owned a manufactory and was seen as a coming man, for all he was so young. She would have liked him for her daughter but there, he’d seen me first, though I was only seventeen!’
