TWO YEARS HAD passed and still Evie’s menfolk were in their abnormal placements, still the cavil was suspended and still she was here, serving tea to the nobs in the kitchen. It was March 1912 and the strikes which seemed to hit every area of the British workforce during 1911 had spread to the mines. A national strike had been called to force owners and government to agree on a sensible minimum wage within the Coal Miners Bill.
Evie eased her back and wished Mr Auberon and Lady Veronica would hurry with their tea and go.
They’d avoided the kitchen like the plague during the extraordinary heat of the long summer last year. Mr Harvey said that according to the Daily Sketch it was going to go down in the record books as the hottest summer ever. Well, they should have brought those record books into the kitchen and she would have shown them what heat really was.
She sat at the far end of the kitchen table cutting up vegetables for the upstairs dinner, double-checking the menu while the Bramptons chatted away in French. Mr Auberon said to Lady Veronica, ‘We’ll win this strike if our stocks last, but it’s a big if. A national strike’s such a different kettle of fish. I’m scared, Father is, all the owners are. Ships are stranded in port for lack of fuel, even the Titanic is going to have to go slow on its maiden voyage or not at all, if it’s not over soon.’
‘I know all about this, Aub,’ Lady Veronica sighed, but he clearly wasn’t listening, just tapping the table and then dragging his hand through his hair. Lady Veronica was pushing her pink iced fancy around her plate.
Mr Auberon shook his head. ‘I’m going to have a hell of a job when this one’s over, trying to keep the committee in work. I should have returned the cavil a year ago but there was so much else to think of. At least then I could just take it away again. What the hell do the miners want, blood?’
Evie had to bite hard on her lip not to shout that what they wanted was a minimum wage of 5s a day for men and 2s a day for boys, but Lady Veronica pushed her plate away, saying in a harsh whisper exactly Evie’s words.
Mr Auberon replied, ‘Of course I know that, I wasn’t asking for facts. They won’t get those rates, Asquith’s told them, but they will get something and they will have shown us their combined muscle. I think what they want is for the government to decide the guaranteed wage, but they’ll have to accept that the actual amount is to be decided by arbitration between the owners and the union executive, district by district. I damn well wish it could be a government decision, because can you imagine the rows when it comes to arbitration here?’ He dragged his hand through his hair again.
The furnace needed replenishing, but how could Evie do that with them still blathering?
‘Ver, now that the Germans and French are interfering in Agadir the country’ll need even more ships to cope with the naval race, so let’s hope Father gets busy with that and stays out of my hair, then there’ll be some hope for the men.’ His laugh was high-pitched. ‘At the moment all he can think of is that we’re feeding the Galloways, who’ve been taken out of the pit for the second time in two years to gallop in the fields. The pumps are running but we’re not producing coal. It’s money that can’t be recovered.’
Lady Veronica held up her hand. ‘For goodness sake, Aub, his steelworks is thriving, the price of coal is high and he’s selling off the stocks, bricks are piling out of the Brampton brickworks. It’s a nonsense. He can pay a decent rate. He should.’
Mr Auberon seemed to deflate suddenly. ‘Of course he should, but he won’t, none of the owners will. The only thing is to bring the mines under the ownership of the government and then the men might stand a chance. Sorry, heresy, I know, but I’m just letting off steam, I’m feeling bruised with Father on my back all the time.’
Lady Veronica looked anxious. ‘Has he . . .?’
Mr Auberon shook his head. ‘No, I just meant it as a figure of speech. Whatever happens, I need to keep the committee in work or the heart will go out of the men and we’ll never get it back.’ He put his hand up. ‘Yes, I know I’m repeating myself.’
He was speaking quickly and fiercely but Evie understood every word, and for that she was grateful to the Bramptons, but only for that.
Veronica started to speak again. ‘It’s a bad business, Aub. No matter how busy you’ve been, the cavil should have been remembered, it’s a poor excuse, and as for the Forbes family . . . Have you yet moved the youngest boy, at least?’
Auberon shook his head. ‘Not yet. I know, I’m a bloody fool. I just let personal . . . Oh well, never mind.’
Evie continued scraping the carrots that Simon had dug out from the barrel of sawdust in which they were stored. He had wanted a kiss for every one, and she had been happy to oblige. She hoped . . . Well, what did she hope? She hoped for marriage, but she hoped also for independence. She hoped the strike would end, she hoped the workers’ demands would be met. Most of all she hoped for safe placements for her family. She hoped she could hate Mr Auberon and Lady Veronica, but he didn’t want to dismiss the committee, and at the Suffragette meetings she spoke out for universal suffrage, which was now the internal bone of contention. Yes, she should loathe them, but somehow . . .
She slipped the carrot into the pan and picked up another, shaking herself free of the confusion. Part of her task here was to report on the Bramptons, so Evie had told Jack last Wednesday that Bastard Brampton had scorched off to London for an appointment with Asquith and tomorrow, Sunday, she would tell him that Auberon didn’t want to dismiss the committee. He’d say words were cheap. He’d say as usual that it was his fault that the family were still in the bad placements and question himself again about the ‘daft beggar’ business, which he still couldn’t understand. He’d end up cursing all Bramptons to the ends of the earth, as he had done last Wednesday when they’d been checking the rabbit snares on the Stunted Tree.
She placed the carrot in the pan – so many, for just Mr Auberon, Lady Veronica and the chaperone, Mrs Benson. Five courses had been ordered for lunch and dinner every day since the strike began. ‘What a waste,’ Mrs Moore had said, on the first day.
By the second they had looked at one another and nodded. ‘No, it’s not a waste at all,’ Mrs Moore had said.
The meals came down almost untouched, leaving a huge table of leftovers, far too much for the servants’ meals the next day, but more than enough to take to the bothy to be collected by one of the strike committee for distribution. ‘Lady Veronica has been taught well by Miss Wainton after all,’ Mrs Moore had said. Evie felt that Mr Auberon must have known, too.
Yes, she wanted to hate them, but . . .
Behind her the range was rumbling, reminding her again that it needed feeding. The clock on the wall was ticking, time was getting on. Mr Auberon had reverted to English and was discussing the continuing naval race between England and Germany and the problem of Home Rule in Ireland. His hands had become a man’s and were tanned and hard against his white cuffs. As she glanced towards him he dragged at his hair again. He’d not have any locks left at this rate. He caught her glance and smiled. She nodded as a good servant should, with eyes lowered. His were as blue as the sky had been this morning. He spoke. ‘Perhaps we are holding you up, Evie?’
She shook her head. ‘No, we have time.’
He no longer looked through her any more. He would ask after her well-being, he would talk of the lateness of the spring, or the harshness of the winter. He would discuss her love of cooking, but only when Lady Veronica was absent. When she had been recovering from a recent chill he had brought her local honey. ‘It has healing properties,’ he had said. ‘It’s something to do with the pollen.’ He had placed it in her hand. Their fingers had touched, and he hadn’t flinched from contact with a servant.
The dachshunds were with them today, yelping in their sleep. They often came into the kitchen from the yard and Mrs Moore tutted, then fed them treats, after which they curled up on Evie’s mam’s proggy mat in front of the range. Things had changed over the last two years, but stayed the same as well. It was confusing. She looked at the carrots in the pan, remembering her family’s abnormal placements.
She pushed the pan away, along with the thoughts.
Perhaps the country was like this, not knowing how it felt. The workers had their own Labour Party now, and the Liberals were still in power in spite of another election. The People’s Budget had been passed through the Lords and legislation was in place to prevent them blocking a financial bill ever again. Women were rebelling. Revolution had been so close throughout last year’s long hot summer of strikes, and was it coming again with the miners’ strike? Jack spoke of it often. There was and had been so much violence. Roger in the garden store, the Lea End lot, the men who raged at the women’s meetings, the police and strikers in Wales . . .
She picked up the knife and the last carrot, scraped it, then lobbed it in the pan. She wiped her hands on the damp dishcloth and began on the potato chips, cutting them so fine as to be translucent, dropping them into a pan of slightly salted water. They’d go well with the guinea fowl. Cooking was grand, it was calm, it made her happy.
Lady Veronica’s voice cut through her concentration. ‘These cakes are quite delicious, Evie. Would you convey our thanks to Mrs Green? Every day she produces a miracle.’ Evie smiled. ‘Yes, of course, Your Ladyship.’
Mr Auberon asked, ‘And Mrs Moore, she is quite well? I miss her, please tell her that.’
Evie grew more alert. ‘Yes, I will, Mr Auberon, but she needs her rest period, just as Mrs Green and Mr Harvey do, not to mention the other servants.’
She watched them exchange an uncertain look. He flushed and said, ‘Yes, of course and I’m glad she is being sensible, but perhaps we’re being unduly inconvenient by joining you down here. I’m so sorry, it’s just that we enjoy it very much but then you don’t have your rest?’
In spite of herself Evie felt sorry that she had spoken the words she had longed to say for so long. She shook her head. ‘I don’t need a rest. This is your house, and everyone needs a place where they can feel comfortable.’
She had wanted to say, yes, I reckon I do need a rest, we all do, a proper rest, you silly beggars, but for some reason she wanted to see the uncertainty gone from their faces. She looked across at the servants’ hall, where the servants were sitting on benches around the table or a lucky few lounging on the old settee from which horsehair bulged. No one was looking into the kitchen, of course. ‘They never came, they never stayed, they were never here,’ Mr Harvey said at the start of every year.
What must it be like to be uncomfortable in your own home, to come down into the servants’ kitchen for privacy, ease and comfort? Privacy? Evie stirred with guilt. She continued to slice the potatoes. But then she looked once more at the servants’ hall, for there was someone missing, surely? She scanned the girls. Yes, Millie. Now she searched for Roger, who had been returned to Mr Auberon in January. She relaxed, he was there, reading the Sketch. Lil and Millie had become as thick as thieves over the last two years, but recently Lil had cast her friend aside after being elevated to Lady Veronica’s lady’s maid. Within two ticks there was Roger, comforting Millie, looking over her head at Evie, challenging her.
Now he was like a bad smell, lingering where the girl was, causing Mrs Moore to sit Silly Millie, as some called her, down yet again with Sarah and Annie to give them the same old malarky. They had all agreed that to be foolish was a bad mistake, but Evie wasn’t convinced that Millie meant what she said. The girl was becoming more lazy, cocky and resentful by the day. It would be good to dismiss her, but with a reasonable character so she could find something else away from Roger, but Mrs Moore didn’t like to give up on someone. ‘Besides, we’d drown in tears day after day until she went.’
Evie looked up at the scrape of a chair on the flagstones. Mr Auberon and Lady Veronica were preparing to leave. Evie stood, as any good servant should. Mr Auberon held the door for Lady Veronica, who paused, looking back as though to speak, but then she half shook her head. ‘Thank you, Evie.’
Mr Auberon waited a moment, then smiled and said quietly, ‘Yes, thank you. The cakes were exceptional again, Evie. You are an accomplished cook. We won’t be taking tea down here tomorrow, we have a visitor, so you will be relieved of our company.’
They left and seemed to have taken the air with them. He knew about the cakes. What if Mrs Green heard? How did he know? The kitchen clock chimed, and it was time to prepare tea for the upper servants. She called for Millie; there was no answer. She went to the back stairs. ‘Millie, I need you to take tea trays to the upper servants.’ No answer. Where was the girl? She ran up the steps to the yard and there she was, smoking a Woodbine in the shelter of the garage. Evie beckoned to her. ‘Come along, time’s ticking away and you know Len won’t allow smoking near the cars.’
Millie drew long and hard; the cigarette glowed. She threw it to the ground and stubbed it out under her boot. She started to leave and Evie shouted, ‘Don’t leave the stubs. For goodness sake, how often must you be told?’
Millie shrugged and pulled her shawl tighter around her, and only then did she pick up the stub. ‘Wash your hands before you take their trays,’ Evie instructed. She scooted back down the stairs and took Mrs Moore’s tea to her rooms, knocking. ‘Come in, lass.’
Mrs Moore’s cheeks were flushed and there was a gin bottle stuck down the side of her armchair. Her feet, ankles and knees were now so swollen that on some days she could barely walk. The pain must have been intense. Evie placed her tea on the occasional table and Mrs Moore said, her eyes rheumy, ‘Sit down, Evie. We’ve a few moments before the chaos begins.’
Evie sat opposite her. There was a fire in the grate but why not, when the master was the owner of a couple of collieries? She stared at the fire. It was Easter soon. Would the miners return to work? She felt absolutely drained with it all.
Mrs Moore sipped her tea. ‘I can’t go on, young Evie. It’s my hands and my feet. What’s to become of me?’ She was rubbing one hand gently on the other, as though she was washing them.
Evie shook herself upright, reaching across and gently holding the cook’s hands. ‘You can go on. I’ve said again and again that I am happy to go on cooking, with you helping when you can. You simply cannot leave me alone with Millie.’
They both laughed. Evie continued, ‘It’s worked well and will continue doing so. You are my teacher, I need you, we all need you.’
Mrs Moore shook her head. ‘Mrs Green will notice one day, or Mr Harvey. They will be duty bound to report it to her Ladyship, who will be only too eager to replace me with you. It will be so much cheaper. What is to become of me when that happens?’ Her voice was breaking.
Evie was on her knees now, stroking Mrs Moore’s hands. ‘No, they won’t notice, why should they? And you know your rheumatics come and go. Soon you will have improved again. Summer will be here before we know it.’
Mrs Moore interrupted. ‘It’s not fair. You are working while I’m getting the pay and you won’t let me share. I can’t return to Miss Grace, she has Sally now. It will be the workhouse.’ Her voice broke completely.
Evie stood up and went to her. Millie knocked. ‘Evie, time’s getting on.’
‘Start the soup, please, Millie. White soup, the recipe’s in my book.’
‘But I’m not sure I can do it.’
Evie whispered, ‘One day I will put her in the stockpot and be done with it.’ Mrs Moore’s laugh was tearful. Evie raised her voice. ‘We’re discussing the engagement party for Lady Veronica. Just read the recipe and we’ll be out shortly.’
To Mrs Moore she said, ‘You see, you can’t be so cruel as to leave me with her. You’re still training me, I need you so much. Soon we’ll have the hotel. We are all saving, my family and I, and though the strike will take some of the money we’ll get there soon. I said 1914, but if it’s 1915 it won’t be the end of the world, and then everything will calm down, it’s all become so tumultuous somehow. Either way, you’ll be with us, so no more nonsense, if you please.’ She shook her slightly. ‘Come on, we have work to do.’
Mrs Moore said, looking up at Evie, curiosity lightening her eyes, ‘Did Lady Veronica mention the Rt Hon. Captain Williams or the wedding at tea? Not quite the blushing bride, is she?’ She tried to ease herself up from the chair and Evie helped, shaking her head. ‘Nothing was said at all. I expect they’ll marry in London, but I wonder if we’ll be making the cake? We’ll have to put cold compresses on your hands if we do, because you’re the only one with the skill to decorate it. I’ll be watching carefully, mind. It’s something I need to learn.’
She walked with Mrs Moore to the door. ‘I’ll come back for the cup in a moment and where would you like me to hide the gin? And what if Millie had come in?’
Mrs Moore reached for the door, saying nothing until she was in the passageway, and then she muttered, ‘Better to stop the habit altogether maybe, pet?’
Together they strolled to the kitchen, welcoming the warmth and light. Evie muttered when she saw that Millie had done absolutely nothing about preparing the soup, ‘Aye, it would be better for you to stop, perhaps, and certainly better for someone else to actually start.’ Both were laughing quietly as they went to the table and showed Millie, yet again, how to make white soup, wondering if this time she would listen.
After dinner Evie slipped out into the yard to meet Simon, round the corner from the store. He held her close, kissing her hair, neck, mouth, and she loved the feel of his body against hers and wanted more, but didn’t know what. No one talked of what came next, not even her mother. The moon was huge and lit the path as they strolled along, his arm around her. They didn’t speak, there was no need. They were as one and she loved him with all her heart. She wished it was the two of them marrying instead of Lady Veronica and if it was she’d not only talk about it, she’d leap into the air and keep going, right to the moon.
She stared up at the great white orb. ‘It does look as though it has a face, doesn’t it, Si? I wonder what’s up there.’
He stared too. ‘We’ll never know, pet. No one will ever know, so we can just keep guessing and singing or writing about it. But one day, when we’re married, it won’t matter. It will be as though we’re both up there, just being happy.’
Evie hugged him. One day, yes. They talked about it so often but it was only after they left service that they could marry, and they weren’t ready yet. She said, ‘By then we’ll have Mrs Moore living with us, you doing the gardens, Jack doing something, I don’t know what, Timmie too. Mam and Da and your parents will do something. We’ll get a hotel nearer the sea, we’ll have lots of guests. You can sing and Bernie can play the fiddle and I’ll cook.’ He was kissing her now, smothering her words, and she quite forgot what she was saying as the heat rose in her.
The next day Lady Veronica came down into the kitchen at teatime with another young woman. It was Lady Margaret Mounsey, the one who had hurled herself into the melee outside the meeting in Gosforn when they were trying to protect Lady Veronica. Evie bobbed, her head down. Would she be recognised? Surely not, it was so long ago. Lady Margaret’s face was thin and drawn and she trembled as she sat at the table.
Lady Veronica was apologetic. ‘Would it be too much trouble to take tea down here? Lady Margaret will be visiting for a few days, perhaps until the engagement party, and expressed a wish to join me here. She has been unwell and I wanted to discuss invalid food for her, if you and Mrs Moore would be so kind. But please continue with the five courses for me. No doubt Lady Brampton will give us the benefit of her company at some stage, perhaps at Easter, when we might have to reconsider the number of courses.’
Evie had already made tea and fancies for Archie to take upstairs, and she sent Millie scuttling to inform the servants’ hall that the kitchen had unexpected visitors and Archie need only take tea for the chaperone, Mrs Benson. Millie took a tray to the butler’s pantry for Archie and then the heavy tray with the servants’ tea, and knew to remain there until Lady Veronica had left. Evie placed a tablecloth on the top end of the table, and hastily laid up for the two women. Lady Margaret’s hair was dragged back in a bun. It was a sad sort of dull brown, and her skin tone was pasty, her chin was strong, her nose rather long and thin. By, she was just like a horse.
‘I can make an egg custard, Lady Veronica,’ Evie suggested.
Lady Veronica shook her head. ‘No, I don’t mean you to do it now, Evie. I know you’re busy. Perhaps at dinner there could be something light – fish and then the egg custard.’
Lady Margaret stared around the kitchen. The copper glowed but this young woman seemed to absorb light and give back nothing; her eyes were dull and somehow she wasn’t here. Where was she? In the cells? On hunger strike and being force-fed like the others? Lady Margaret lifted her skeletal hand to her hair with such effort that it might have weighed as much as a coal tub. Evie knew from the January meeting that she had been arrested yet again for public damage to a letter box; in other words, she had burned the mail. She had then hurled a brick through a local councillor’s window, frightening the family. Did Lady Brampton know? Obviously not; no suffragette would be allowed to sully her home, and God knew what would happen if she discovered she harboured one in her own family.
Evie insisted. ‘I will make an egg custard now if you would pour the tea.’
Lady Veronica did, without a murmur. The egg custard took little time, but it would have to be eaten without setting. Evie explained this, providing a spoon, putting it in Lady Margaret’s hand as though she was a child, then guiding it to her mouth, slowly and firmly and again and again.
No one spoke until the bowl was empty. Evie took it through to the scullery and on her return was pleased to see Lady Margaret sipping tea with a vestige of colour in her cheeks. Evie smiled at Lady Veronica. ‘I suggest that we start with simple foods and build up slowly. I also suggest that small portions are less off-putting. Beef tea and a few spoonfuls of jelly and perhaps some oat biscuits should be readily available for her Ladyship to nibble during the day.’ She stopped. Did that make it sound as though Lady Margaret was a horse? Well, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.
She hurried on. ‘Some days the appetite may fade but it will return. There is a habit to overcook vegetables for those unwell, which destroys all goodness, so I suggest we prepare them al dente. I would also like to keep the skin on potatoes, which is where the goodness is contained. I will confer with Mrs Moore, and with her advice Lady Margaret will improve quickly.’
Lady Veronica smiled. ‘I knew I could rely on you, Evie, you and Mrs Moore. Wainey would have liked you as much as I and my brother like you.’
Evie could think of no reply. Servants weren’t liked, they were just there. She bobbed a curtsy.
Lady Margaret spoke then. ‘You remind me of someone, Evie. Yes, you do but I can’t think who.’
There was no thank you for the egg custard, there was just this, and Evie felt exposed. Lady Veronica cut in. ‘I am looking forward to you meeting Captain Williams, Margaret. I’m sure you’ll like him, everyone does.’ Her tone was crisp.
The conversation then roamed around the marriage and Lady Brampton’s delight but clearly Lady Margaret was tired and ill, and soon became monosyllabic. As they left she looked again at Evie. ‘It is strange, I’m sure that somewhere in this muddled head of mine is the memory that we have met.’
They did not return to the kitchen but instead took tea in the drawing room, and Evie felt more secure. She and Mrs Moore sent up lightly boiled eggs for Lady Margaret’s breakfast, broiled chicken for lunch with a simple pudding. Dinner might be a carefully cooked piece of cod, removed by an egg custard.
As the days went by they provided beef tea at all hours of the day, since the appetite was a strange thing and came and went according to its own clock, Mrs Moore reiterated. She showed Evie how to make the drink without the slightest trace of fat on the surface, using piece after piece of greaseproof paper. Evie didn’t mind the extra work, because she was learning, always she was learning. They might well have convalescents to stay at their hotel.
The engagement party took place two weeks later, at the beginning of April, the week all the Durham miners returned to work. The strike had failed. They had to accept the owners’ decision over a minimum wage. The Rt Hon. Captain Williams’ parents resided near Cumbria, in a home that resembled a castle, so Mrs Green told Mrs Moore, and she doubted they knew one end of the coalfield from the other. ‘Lord Williams is a viscount, old stock, not new like Lord Brampton. Not as rich as the Bramptons, but then who is? Old money is small money these days. New money is big but grubby money. He’s the eldest son so will inherit what there is, and Lady Veronica will inherit an old lineage. Lady Brampton is cock-a-hoop.’
In the kitchen no one was cock-a-hoop, they were all too busy and had been all week, what with the invalid food on top of everything else. Mrs Moore had concentrated on the engagement cake, decorating it painstakingly with her swollen hands, and it was ready the day before, nestling in the pantry in all its glory. She sat on her stool on Saturday issuing instructions as all the staff flew from one chore to another. The kitchen was alive with the banging of pans and the delivery of provisions from the co-operative store and Home Farm, not to mention the passage of flowers from the garden.
They slaved from five in the morning to lunchtime, with Mrs Moore cracking the whip, though that was into empty air where Millie was concerned. The girl disappeared with monotonous regularity and was to be found smoking Woodbines in the yard. ‘I need me breaks,’ she complained after Evie had called her in yet again.
Mrs Moore said, ‘You need a good kick up the backside, you silly lass. You must do your share. It’s not fair on the others. Sometimes I think you are working well, but it doesn’t last. What am I to do with you?’ There was no answer, just a pout, but as Mrs Moore sighed and resumed her work Millie said, ‘I’ve had a hard life, and you don’t care.’
For one moment the kitchen fell silent. Everyone stared at her. Mrs Moore lifted the rolling pin but then replaced it slowly. ‘I’ll tan your backside with this one of these days, see if I don’t, you silly little madam. There’s many more with worse stories than yours and they work just grand. Now get on.’
At lunch they were allowed an hour to put up their feet. Evie was too hot to stay in the kitchen and slipped outside, fanning herself. It was cloudy and the breeze had become light, which worried her because the furnace needed a stiff breeze to perform to its utmost. She strolled down the path into the vegetable garden, hoping to see Simon, but there was no one working there. She walked on down to the bothy; perhaps he was here? Along the way were cowslips and soon there would be bluebells. She slipped inside but no Simon, so she rested a moment, perching on an upturned barrel which had been moss-covered from the damp winter until she’d attacked it with some hessian on her last visit here.
Almost immediately she heard footsteps approaching but they weren’t his, for Simon sounded like a shire horse crashing through bracken. Instead it was Millie and Roger who appeared in the doorway. Millie blushed but Roger just looked, then laughed. ‘Well, what a nice little meeting place for us all. You fancy a bit of a smoke in private, do you? Well, Millie and I’ll just take ourselves off somewhere else, shall we?’ He swung the girl around and she giggled. Evie struggled to find words, but all she could come up with was, ‘Don’t be late, Millie. We have to be back soon.’ What more could she say? She wasn’t the girl’s keeper.
She stayed firmly in the bothy, however, because if Roger saw her leaving he’d bring Millie back here to do heaven knows what in the darkness and privacy. She waited for fifteen minutes and only then did she go, searching for them in amongst the trees, not knowing what she’d do if she saw them up to something. It would likely be the murder of them both.
Millie was in the kitchen when she returned. Evie dragged her into the pantry. ‘Look, you know what he’s like. I’ve warned you that he said he’d target you to get back at me. Please, please don’t play his game.’
Millie tore herself free. ‘Mind your own business, Evie. If he takes me walking it’s because he likes me and it’s nothing to do with you. Not everything is, you know. Just because Mrs Moore teaches you all the time you think you’re someone special, but you’re not, you’re just a servant like me.’ Her face was twisted and she shouted, ‘I like him, can’t you see that? You’re lucky, you’ve got a family, a home, and a boyfriend, what have I got?’
Evie pulled her back, shutting the pantry door behind them so that the whole world couldn’t hear. ‘I know I’m lucky, but choose someone else. What about Bernie, he likes you and he’s a grand lad.’
Millie shook her head, crossing her arms. ‘He’s an under-gardener and Roger’s a valet. You might like someone who grubs in the ground but I like clean fingernails and someone with prospects. I’m going to get out of here, just you wait.’
‘But Roger won’t . . .’
Mrs Moore opened the door. ‘Come on girls, I won’t have this shouting. Get out here now.’ She shook her head slightly at Evie. ‘Leave it,’ she mouthed. ‘We can only do so much.’
When they retired to bed at midnight Millie lay there silently. Evie said, ‘I’m sorry I upset you, Millie. I just worry about you.’
There was no reply. Perhaps she was asleep.
Veronica and Auberon leaned on the balustrade of the terrace at the end of the party. There was a slight chill in the air. They had begun to come here again now the passing of time was lessening the distress. Auberon ran his hands along the stone, feeling the lichen. Had Wainey felt . . . No, enough. Why was he thinking of death on the day of Ver’s engagement? Perhaps because she seemed so unhappy?
She stood motionless at his side, staring down on to the formal gardens, the box hedges so neatly clipped, the daffodils and tulips visible in the bright moonlight. She said, ‘Soon there’ll be sweet william and roses and a myriad of others. The air will be overlaid with scent.’
He said, ‘I like your Richard Williams. He’s a good man. He was in the Officer Training Corps ahead of me at school. We admired him, really we did, Ver.’
Veronica stepped away, and stared up at the house. ‘I know he’s nice. I admire him too. I just don’t love him, but as Stepmama says, what’s love got to do with anything. It should have something to do with it, shouldn’t it, Aub? Sometimes I wish I hadn’t become involved with votes for women. It’s made me think about my life. I don’t want marriage yet, I really don’t. I don’t know if I want it at all. Look at Father, look at what he’s like. Mother wouldn’t have married him if she’d known, so he must have changed. Perhaps all men change once . . .’
Auberon put his arm around her shoulders, she was shivering despite her stole. ‘Listen, I haven’t a clue, Ver, about love. Yes, I suppose we must change if we marry because it is different, but men aren’t all like Father.’
‘But how do you know? What makes a man become a brute?’
‘Father’s not a brute to you, Ver.’
Veronica pressed her head into his shoulder. Thankfully, his father hadn’t laid a serious hand on him for over a year. The strike had been universal, not peculiar to Easton, and Brampton had his own problems with a prolonged strike at the brickworks. ‘He’s not a brute to me because he’s got you, poor Aub.’
Neither spoke, continuing to look out across the lawn. To the right, the rear stables were just a dark shape but Auberon could hear the huffing of the hunters, the sound of their hooves in the stalls. An owl hooted. ‘Did he hurt Wainey, do you think?’
Veronica swung round. ‘For God’s sake, for the last time of course he didn’t, that imagining is for books. Don’t think of it, Aub.’
He shook himself free of memories. ‘Be happy, Ver. Richard’s a good man. Trust him. He might even let you continue with your interests, you never know.’
‘He chose to be a soldier, to fight, to kill?’ He felt her shivering again; a breeze had sprung up. She continued, ‘But never mind, he’ll be away a lot and anyway, the knot isn’t tied just yet, so there’s more time for me to be me.’ He watched as she turned away from him. She traced shapes in the lichen, then beat it with her fists. She stopped suddenly. Behind them the staff were clearing the ballroom. Soon they would reach the terrace. She spoke again. ‘I’m sorry, Aub, what about you?’
He laughed quietly. ‘I’m almost enjoying life. There’s a purpose to getting up in the morning now I’m getting the hang of the mine, and Father’s been too busy to pass even a glance over my shoulder. I’ve had time to think: there was a dog in the yard at Froggett’s, so I wonder if Forbes meant him when he said daft beggar? I thought of it as I was talking to Margaret. Not sure why but she does look rather like a dog, or is it a horse?’
Veronica laughed out loud, the only time he’d heard her do that this evening, and slapped his arm. He continued, ‘I fear I’ve made a fool of myself, a bloody fool. But dear God, I still hate Forbes. I don’t like being bested, Ver, but I just must return the cavil. Father’s still saying no, but I’m working on it.’
Ver tucked her arm in his. The servants were clearing up the terrace now. It would have been good to walk beneath the moon with one of his dance partners this evening, but they’d all seemed to lose interest when it became clear that he had a job. It was not something they could understand. People of his class should go to their club, hunt, shoot, and fish. At the end of each dance his partners had no longer smiled, but examined their dance cards and darted on to the floor again with someone more suitably connected.
Ver had danced mainly with Richard, but so it was expected. They made a fine couple. ‘Perhaps love will come to you?’ he suggested.
Ver’s stole had slipped and he adjusted it for her, but still she shivered. He removed his jacket and placed it around her. ‘Perhaps. Aub, I have so much I want to do but if I do it and say no to marriage, what happens? Out on the street with Society turning away? Will I become a punchball for Father? You and I have no money now he’s taken control of Mother’s inheritance, and I’ve no training. I’d perhaps be better off being Mrs Moore, or Evie.’
Auberon drew out a cigarette from its case, tapped it, lit it, and inhaled. Evie? Lately he’d been thinking a lot about her. The way she sat at the end of the kitchen table, the sweep of her eyelashes, her hands so deft and fingers so fine. Had she really thought they believed it was Mrs Green who had baked the cakes? Did she really believe that Wainey wouldn’t have told them of Mrs Moore’s increasing disability and chide them that they must protect their cook? But there was no need for them to do so, because Evie was there.
Veronica said, ‘It’s all such a muddle, isn’t it, Aub?’
‘A muddle is exactly what it all is.’ He drew on his cigarette again. An owl hooted again, a fox called.
Did Evie not know that he would recognise her voice as belonging to the one who had berated a supposed stable boy, a girl who cared that the horses shouldn’t die, and the boy shouldn’t lose his job, and who had looked on him with such sympathy when she saw his face?
One day soon he would try and find out where the Anston family lived, because he wanted to know all there was to know about her. For a moment he toyed with the thought of . . . But no, his father would say that he was taking them back to the gutter in one generation, and he’d be right. It was hopeless, stupid and hopeless. He shook himself free of such nonsense.
‘We both have things to sort out, Ver.’ The servants were taking the chairs from the terrace and returning them to the ballroom. ‘I think I’ll return the cavil and let it be generally known, which will leave Father with no way of changing it without looking a complete fool. It’s taken me too long to come up with a solution. I feel really bad about it.’
‘He’ll punish you,’ she said. He peered over the balustrade, wondering what was rustling at the base of the rambling rose. He could see nothing but he’d had time to think and said, ‘Don’t worry about that. He’s probably too busy to concern himself.’ Auberon dropped his cigarette, grinding it out. ‘Do one thing for me. Now the strike’s over, please let the kitchen know that we are quite happy with three courses. I can’t face the sight of any more feasts, dearest Ver, and Stepmama is complaining at the cost. Your ploy of saying that it was to prepare you for entertaining in your married life has worn thin.’
Neither slept well that night. Veronica tossed and turned at the thought of a life she didn’t want, with a man she didn’t love. Auberon lay awake because he had a cavil to restore, and an assistant cook who intruded into his thoughts too often.