MILLIE’S SON WAS born early, four months after Timmie’s death, on 2nd May 1913. She named him Tim and it brought comfort of a kind to the family. Roger stopped Evie a month later as she was walking in the arboretum during her rest period. ‘He’s mine, you know, that child your family’s taken in. I have a right to him, and besides, the minute I crook my little finger she’ll be back, so don’t get too attached.’
Evie muttered grimly, ‘Excellent, nothing would please me more. Then the child will have a father to provide for him.’ It was clearly not the answer he expected because he strode off, or did he strut off? She watched him for a moment as he disappeared amongst the chestnuts, but nothing mattered anyway.
The months passed in a dark blur. The kitchen teas had long since ceased and she was glad, because she didn’t want to see Mr Auberon, didn’t want to bake cakes or fancies for the man who had killed her brother. Simon was in her life, there for her, always, and that began to matter again and they talked of marriage, but not yet, because she couldn’t stop work when her family needed the hotel even more now her da’s leg was healed, but stiff. He had been back at work within six weeks, but his mobility was restricted and she expected him to have been dismissed, but instead he had been given easier areas and didn’t have to squeeze into low-roofed seams. Perhaps Mr Auberon was sorry. He should be.
In January 1914 Grace came for tea with Evie at her mam’s house on her Wednesday afternoon off. She and Grace helped with the proggy rug, and as Grace pushed through a slip of red material she smiled at Evie. ‘I’m going to the meeting of the suffrage group that has set up in a smaller hall in a poorer district of Gosforn. It’s based on the policy of Christabel’s sister, Sylvia Pankhurst’s socialist East London Federation Suffrage. They’re not in tune with the arson and the damage to property, and they want votes for everyone, not just for the financially established few, or those middle-class women who are married. Come with me, it’s what you’ve argued for. It’s time, Evie, it’s been a year. You must start doing more than existing. I will meet you at the crossroads.’
Evie said, ‘That sounds like a speech you’ve been preparing for a while.’ She stroked the rug. ‘It’s going to be grand, Mam.’
Her mam nodded. ‘Don’t change the subject, our Evie. Take it up again, you need it and it needs you.’
Evie looked at Millie sitting on the sofa, her feet up on the footstool, with Tim suckling while she ate a cake. ‘Would you vote if you had the chance, Millie?’
Millie shoved in the last of the cake and stroked Tim’s head, or was she wiping her hands on his hair? You never knew with this young woman. She seemed to be reverting to type, if indeed she’d ever left it. ‘What’s any of it got to do with me, Evie?’
Evie looked at Grace. She’d felt no emotion for such a long time, but now irritation was niggling. How many felt like Millie when it had everything to do with them, and was she really wiping her hands on her child? Shut up, don’t be absurd.
She had to go, had to breathe fresh air, now. She stood and hurried from the room, out of the front door, standing in the crisp cold, staring out at the snow-covered fields. The clouds were a grey-blue, with pink at the edges. They were beautiful but she was unmoved. ‘What’s the point?’ she murmured, her breath visible. There was little wind. The smoke from Grace’s houses went straight up and she watched until it dissipated. Had Timmie dissipated? No. He was still here. She felt him all around.
Grace called from the hall and joined her, bringing a shawl which she placed round Evie’s shoulders, speaking low and firmly. ‘We have work to do. We need to reach people like Millie. If they had a stake in how they are governed it would enthuse them, motivate them, surely. Come with me on Sunday.’
Evie really didn’t care, one way or the other, so why not?
Grace collected her at the crossroads. Sally, the bay mare, was sweating lightly, and Evie gave her a carrot, courtesy of Mrs Moore. There had been further flurries of snow since Wednesday but today the sky was blue. Evie climbed into the trap and settled down opposite Grace, who clicked Sally on. Neither spoke as they trotted through Easton and out on to the Gosforn road. Evie didn’t chat these days. It took too much effort. Grace didn’t chat either. Evie looked at her. Grace smiled, but in a weary and sad way. They seemed to have no need for words, and gone was the gulf of older and younger, employer and employee. The bloom that had settled on Grace had gone. The joy inside Evie was gone.
The snow was banked up on either side of the track, but the advantage of having a Brampton looming over them all was that he paid to have his roads kept clear of snow, all the way to the railway station at Gosforn. Grace said, ‘The weather will keep the men away from the meeting anyway. They’re fair-weather bullies and will be in the pubs keeping warm over a beer.’
They talked about Tim, who was seven months old now, and smiling and laughing. ‘Will Millie ever leave?’ Evie wondered. ‘Or just sit there with her feet up for ever?’
Grace shrugged. ‘Tim is good for your mother and father, and Millie is quite helpful, Evie. You must be fair.’ She clicked the reins. ‘Besides, Jack seems to adore the child.’ Evie stared ahead. She thought she heard pain in her friend’s voice.
The trap rolled over a lump of snow that had tumbled from the bank. What had happened with Jack, or had anything? Perhaps she had imagined it. She gripped the sides of the trap, all the while picturing herself with Simon and their child. She could almost feel her in her arms, feel the grasp of a hand on her finger. She would be called Susie after Mam. It would cheer up both her parents to have their own grandchild. She might even have a look of Timmie about her. At the thought of her brother she felt the drenching pain, and knew that it would never go, but would eventually become more and more manageable.
‘I have to make 1914 a good year. I’m looking for small hotels already. We just need one at the right price; my cooking and household management are now as good as they’ll ever be,’ she told Grace.
‘It’s essential to have a dream, Evie.’ They were entering the outskirts of Gosforn and some of the pavements had been cleared of snow, some hadn’t. Who else had talked to her of dreams? She couldn’t remember.
‘What’s yours, Grace?’
There was silence. ‘Dreams are for the young.’
Evie reached across and gripped her friend’s hand. ‘You’re never too old for them. Never.’
They left Sally and the trap at the rear of the meeting hall along with several others, seeing the lights on, hearing the chairwoman talking. Grace grimaced. ‘Late again.’
‘As always we’ll head to the back,’ Evie smiled.
Grace laughed. ‘We know our place.’
They tapped lightly at the back door, which was locked as it should have been. Betty Clarke, who had often sat with them at the previous meetings, held her finger to her lips and handed them each a copy of the agenda as she let them in. Evie and Grace tiptoed to the back row. Some of the audience turned, and smiled. As they settled themselves Grace nudged Evie and pointed towards the front with her copy of the agenda. There she was, in the front row, but without Lady Margaret. Grace and Evie exchanged a look and Evie’s respect for Lady Veronica grew a little more.
February thawed unseasonably early and March came in with a blast of heat, and soon after snowdrops, then crocus and daffodils, bloomed in profusion. Mr Harvey announced in the servants’ hall that Lady Veronica would at last be marrying, in the local church. The reception would take place at Easterleigh Hall, if that was convenient to Mrs Moore and Evie.
He waited. Mrs Moore nodded. What else could she do? They could hardly say, ‘Well, actually, no. It’s too much bloody work.’ But in any event it would be a learning process for Evie, who would make sure that she bore the brunt of the workload, though the drink was now a distant memory as Mrs Moore’s rheumatics remained at bay.
Later, Lil came into the kitchen bursting with the gossip her position as Lady Veronica’s lady’s maid made her privy to. For once the kitchen was eager to hear it, because they had thought that Captain Williams would remain posted in India for ever, with Lady Veronica an engaged but unmarried spinster.
‘Well, what a barney there was,’ Lil said, standing there with her hair as always escaping from her cap. ‘There was Lady Brampton with steam coming out of her lugs and Lady Veronica as calm as you like saying that she wouldn’t marry the wretched man, even though he had returned unless . . .’ Lil paused. ‘Yes, that’s what she said, wretched man, unless they married here, in the village where Wainey was buried. What do you think of that, eh? Wretched man indeed, I don’t know about you all but I think he cuts a fine figure of a bloke.’
Mrs Moore stopped her there, with a wave of her hand. ‘You run along now. We’ve heard enough, it was nerves, that’s all. Just nerves.’ As Lil flounced off Evie asked Dottie to cast eggshells in the stock while she and Mrs Moore exchanged a look. ‘Wretched man, indeed,’ Mrs Moore mouthed. ‘Poor girl, poor him, what will the future hold?’
The wedding was planned for the merry month of May. ‘Well, that’s a laugh,’ said Annie.
Outside waiters and three extra kitchen staff had been set on for the day, and Mrs Moore had established her overall authority by 7 a.m. on 8th May, the day of the wedding, without ever raising her voice. There was, however, an uneasy sense that the bride would not appear at all. Mr Harvey would allow no chat, and insisted that preparations were approached as though it was to be the wedding of the century.
Household servants had started preparing the marquee and the ballroom several days in advance, the gardeners had readied urns of flowers, colour co-ordinated, pink and white, while the kitchen staff had spent the previous week cooking mountains of food.
It was to be a cold buffet, Lady Veronica had decided, in spite of Lady Brampton’s protests, and Evie had written the menus, ten a day until eighty were ready on the evening of 7th May. By this time preparations were complete for an eve-of-wedding feast for the bride and her visiting relations and friends. On the day of the wedding Evie and Dottie rose at four and made tea for the upper servants, and amazingly Mrs Moore entered the kitchen just five minutes after them. Dottie made porridge for the servants, all of whom were up and busy by four thirty.
Before preparing upstairs breakfasts Mrs Moore and Evie rushed to the big cool room and ticked off: salmon à la Genèvese, cold asparagus soup, red mullet, brill (with its sauce yet to be made), crimped salmon, ribs of lamb, veal and ham pies, roast saddle of mutton with asparagus (at Lord Brampton’s insistence, though they were thankful it was not rabbit pie), stuffed shoulder of lamb, lark pies, fowl au béchamel, tendrons de veau with purée of tomatoes, jellies, all to be placed down the middle of the table. Dishes of small pastries, compotes of fruit, blancmanges, fruit tarts, cheesecakes and small dishes of forced summer fruits were also ready.
By five thirty the servants’ breakfast was almost finished, and the servants’ hall remained cluttered with the guests’ valets, lady’s maids and chauffeurs. The kitchen staff thrust spoonfuls of porridge into their mouths while they prepared the upstairs breakfast, cursing the need for so many dishes. The house servants had disappeared as there were rooms to prepare for additional post-wedding overnight guests, as well as the ballroom and marquee seating to be finished.
By eight Evie had chased and caught the lobsters who had escaped from the buckets in the cool room, as usual, loathing their screams as they were plunged into the boiling water. By eight thirty she had finished the sauces, the mayonnaise, the collared eel. The lobster was cut up and would be served in cut-glass bowls. Dottie was at her elbow, learning, always learning, and Evie thanked her lucky stars daily that she had her and not Millie. It made for such a smooth-running kitchen, and they all treasured the change. The imported kitchen staff arrived and were quick and willing, and Mrs Moore instructed them with gusto.
By eleven the food was complete and the house servants had finished, and they all clattered up the back stairs to change into clean aprons, for they had been invited to sit at the back of the church for the ceremony. Lil’s voice could be heard rising above the hubbub. ‘She looks so lovely, I just hope she doesn’t lock her bedroom door and refuse to come out.’
In their room Evie checked Dottie’s hair, and Dottie hers. Dottie muttered, ‘What if she doesn’t come? Oh my heavens. All that food.’
Evie shrugged. ‘Can you imagine her parents if she doesn’t?’
Dottie laughed. ‘I’d rather not.’
Evie straightened her apron. Poor Lady Veronica, how lonely she must feel.
The carts were waiting in the stable yard to take the staff to the church, a church which some of them attended on a Sunday. Others went to chapel, or not at all, which was permissible due to the Bramptons unconcern about spiritual matters.
Edward was officiating at the wedding and the service had already begun by the time they all slipped in at the back, Mr Harvey leading. The church was decorated with greenery and pink and white forced roses to replicate the house decorations, and there, in a delicate long white gown, was Lady Veronica. Evie breathed a sigh of relief. She turned, trying to find Simon who had been down here already with Bernie and Thomas, putting the final touches to the flowers. He was on the right side of the church, and as always seemed to sense when she was seeking him. He smiled, mouthed, ‘We’ll likely be next, Evie, pet.’
She nodded and smiled too. Yes, soon, for a small guest house near Fordington was to be sold in December of 1914. They’d heard only last week. Da had registered their interest immediately, taking an afternoon to drive the cart to Fordington, but she had yet to tell Mrs Moore. She glanced at her as she sang at her side, knowing that the sea air would invigorate her, and that she’d probably want to help a little in the kitchens. Evie’s heart was full as the hymn soared, overwhelming the organ which was played by Grace. Poor Grace, she wanted to ask Jack if anything had happened between them, but from his demeanour she knew she must not.
Her thoughts turned to Simon. Lady Veronica had asked him to entertain her guests and sing with the professional band that had come from Newcastle and were setting up in the ballroom. Apart from Lady Veronica paying him five guineas, the experience would help him when he sought work. Why, perhaps he’d set up his own band with Bernie and Thomas, and of course he was right to want to keep the guineas for himself. It had just been a surprise, that was all.
Lady Veronica was saying, ‘I do.’ Mrs Moore looked at her and sighed. ‘All that food, I couldn’t have borne it to go to waste.’
Mr Harvey was waving them out of the church. Evie bit her lip to prevent the laughter spilling out.
Once James and Archie had led the team of waiters to the marquee, Evie and Mrs Moore fanned themselves in front of the ranges. It was done. Evie brewed tea, relishing the silence because everyone was up in the stable yard, or by the yew walk watching the excitement, and soon they’d be dancing to Simon and the band, hidden from the family.
‘Was Simon nervous?’ Mrs Moore asked, dunking a ginger biscuit, her glasses perched on her head.
‘A little, but looking forward to it. He has such confidence in himself.’ Evie leaned over and helped herself to a biscuit, dunking too, and sucking the tea from it before thrusting it into her mouth.
‘Lady Veronica will remain here definitely, Lil told us,’ Mrs Moore said, easing her back as she sat on the stool.
‘I suppose it’s a good idea. He’s posted down in Folkestone, isn’t he, so at least she’ll feel comfortable here. I thought she might go with him, but . . .’
Mrs Moore nodded. ‘Exactly. But. I don’t know, I really don’t. It does make you wonder if they’ll ever live here together, but then this class is different to us.’
Was this the time to tell her about Fordington? Probably not. What if someone else bought the guest house? Evie reached for another biscuit. ‘With this Home Rule thing in Ireland he could be sent over there, I suppose. Or even the Continent. Germany wants colonies, Jack said, and might try and take ours. Why don’t they go and find their own, or perhaps we could share. Or perhaps we shouldn’t have colonies?’
Mrs Moore slapped her gently. ‘For goodness sake, lass, stop worrying about the world, will you? If it isn’t votes for the masses, it’s world peace. We’re cooks in a kitchen, one of whom will have a hotel and a husband as soon as she can manage it, if I’m any judge of what’s what.’ She held her cup with both hands, unable to bend her swollen fingers.
‘What do we call our blushing bride?’ Evie asked.
‘She wishes to be known as Lady Veronica, as always, and he will be Captain Williams, and I’ll tell you what, pet, it will be a blessed relief to see less of Lord and Lady Brampton, who prefer London and Leeds anyway.’ Mrs Moore eased herself from the stool and placed her cup on the table. ‘You go and listen to your young man while I go and rest like the virtuous soul I am.’
Evie laughed, helping her to the door and watching her limp along the passageway. ‘I’ll make tea in a couple of hours.’
‘Yes, and then later we’ll enjoy the champagne with a little bit of lobster, there should be plenty left. Enjoy yourself.’ Mr Harvey had said that there would champagne for supper, by order of Lady Veronica.
‘I will.’ Evie ran up the stairs towards the yard. The weather was still set fair, with a blue sky and sunshine. In the stable yard the servants would be speaking in whispers and watching the proceedings, and some would have gone to the yew hedge where they could peer through in places. She stopped on the top step to listen to Simon, whose voice soared true and beautiful, enhanced by the backing of the professional band.
As she moved into the yard she heard a sound behind her, and turned, but too late. She felt hands on her arms, grabbing her from behind, pulling at her, dragging her backwards down the steps. She lost balance, almost crashed to the ground, but was hauled upright and dragged to the back door.
‘What?’ she gasped. ‘What?’ The grip was so tight that fingernails cut into her arms. Suddenly those hands swung her round. A man loomed over her. The smell of drink made her gag. It was Roger, of course, who thrust her away, but did not let go. ‘So, you bitch, my son won’t want me? We’ll see about that, and you? You’ll have me, whether you want me or not. A Forbes, eh? It was you who spread the word about the houses.’ He backed her to the wall, rammed his arm across her throat. She could hardly breathe. His hand gripped her chin, his mouth closed on hers.
She pushed at him, hit out, but he was feeling her breasts, panting in her face. She could still hear Simon’s voice soaring over everything and she should call out, but how could she with this bastard’s mouth over hers? Then his hand was moving down, lifting her skirt. He had rammed his knee between her legs and she still couldn’t breathe. And still Simon’s song soared, still Roger’s mouth was on hers and she was tight against the wall and couldn’t lever back to punch, or kick because his knee was pushing her legs apart and her skirt was to her waist.
She used her head then, as Jack had always said to do. She butted him, hard across the nose. Blood spurted. His arm on her throat sagged. She pushed, he stepped back, his balance gone. There was a roaring anger now as she pummelled his chest, kicking, scratching, stamping, and finally driving her fist into his solar plexus. He fell on the stairs, his arms up. She followed up, hitting, kicking, and the anger drove her on because Timmie had died, louts had thrown tomatoes and bricks and there had to be an end to it all. She kicked again as he lay at her feet, huddled, his arms protecting his head.
At last she was done, the breath heaving in her chest, her hair loose, her cap God knew where. She stood over him, shaking now. She hissed, ‘When will you learn? Never touch me again. Never come near me or my family and leave your son alone. Now get out of here.’
She put her hands on her hips so that he wouldn’t see them shaking. It wasn’t fear, she didn’t know what it was, didn’t care. She waited while he scrambled to his feet, a scratch down the side of his face, his clothes smeared with grime. He didn’t look at her as he lurched up the steps and stumbled across the yard towards the garage. The chauffeur would be with the servants, but in Len’s sleeping quarters he’d find a brush and sort himself out. She watched him all the way and only when he had entered did she turn and hurry up the back stairs, the shaking now taking over her whole body, the pain in her back and hips from jolting down the stairs catching with each step.
In her bedroom she stripped off her uniform, poured water from the jug into the bowl and washed, dressed in her second uniform, fumbling as she tied her apron, then repaired her hair, her arms aching as she lifted them above her head.
She started towards the door, and then her legs failed. She staggered, made herself hold firm, and managed to reach her bed. A wave of sickness caught her, the shaking grew worse. She sank her head into her hands, heaving. But no. She thrust her hands into her lap, fisting them. They hurt. She smiled. Jack would be proud.
She sat straight and waited for the shaking to stop, because it would. She remembered Jack saying that he shook after a fight. Tears threatened and she tightened her fists. She wouldn’t cry. Not over Roger. She sat like that until the shaking had quite stopped. It could come again, but not as badly. She heard the clock chime, and stood. She felt a deep satisfaction. No one, ever again, would touch her when she did not want to be touched. No one.
She eased her way down the stairs and up the steps into the yard, refusing to allow herself to look around in fear. She strode into the stable yard, where the servants were not just listening, but dancing. It was then she realised that Simon was still singing. She moved to stand next to Dottie. ‘Shall we dance?’ she suggested. Dottie curtsied. ‘Do let’s, your highness.’
They whirled to a waltz and she ignored her aching limbs, and she ignored Roger as he entered the stable yard. He had a scratch down his cheek and was pale, and he rubbed his abdomen. She was glad, but knew that it would never be over until one of them left.
A dance floor had been set up on the terrace to extend the ballroom, and the bride and groom were dancing. He looking ecstatic, Lady Veronica as calm and collected as always. What must it be like to marry without love? She hummed along to the music, so glad that she was Evie Forbes.
In June when they were sea-coaling at Fordington one Sunday afternoon Jack took Evie to one side, staring at the oily sea as the sun baked down and the breeze was gentle. ‘I’ve asked Millie to marry me, bonny lass.’
She dropped her shovel. ‘You’ve what? Why? I thought . . . Well, never mind what I thought.’ Because what had she thought? She wasn’t sure. ‘Why, Jack?’
He was still looking at the sea. His face had been drawn ever since Timmie died, and the light and energy that had always bounced from him was absent. He said nothing, just rammed his hands into his pockets and shrugged. She swung him round to face her, but he pulled away and continued watching the sea. She stood in front of him. ‘But you don’t love her?’
He squatted and threw bits of coal into the sea. ‘I love the bairn, he’s a little belter and he needs a father. I can’t have him growing up a bastard, and I like Millie. It’s good enough, Evie. We can’t all be like you and Simon.’
The air of sadness which cloaked her brother was almost tangible. ‘Is it really enough for a lifetime, Jack?’
‘At least I have a life. Just listen, Evie. We can’t change what happened to Timmie, but the bairn didn’t ask to be born. I can’t do anything about Timmie but I can do something about the bairn.’ He rose and she hugged him. ‘Jack, please think about this. You have a right to be happy.’
He eased her from him and walked away. She watched, and wanted to run after him, but instead she picked up the shovel again and saw that Simon was near. Of course, when wasn’t he? He came to her, putting his arm around her shoulders. ‘Millie’s just let it out. If it’s what he wants, let it go, Evie.’
‘I don’t understand him. He doesn’t love her.’
‘It’s his decision, and he loves the boy, that’s all that can be said.’ They heard her da calling, ‘We’ve coal to collect, or are you on strike?’
Simon waved. ‘On our way, boss.’ They started up the beach.
Da called again, ‘Come on you two, there’s work to do and have you heard about Jack joining the Territorials, Simon? He’s just told me he took up the whelp on his offer. Davies says that Lord Brampton has decided that it would be a good thing to encourage the men to join, God knows why. He’s offered them a shilling a day on top of their wages. Sounds like an excuse for a holiday to me, and why not?’ Her da was standing up on the cart, looking from them to Jack, who was now working with Martin further along the beach.
‘What?’ Evie exclaimed. ‘The Territorials? Is he mad?’ They approached the cart and Da threw them a sack, his voice harsh as he said, ‘You can’t blame the lads for getting out of the pits for a while.’ Simon asked her to hold the sack, saying, ‘Let me shovel in this lot.’
Evie shook her head. ‘What’s Jack thinking of?’
Simon grinned. ‘I said, hold the sack.’ He waited until she did so, then told her, ‘The whelp asked the gardeners to join after the wedding. Everyone who does is getting one Saturday off a month with pay plus the bob a day while they train, and a paid week under canvas.’ He was shovelling the heap of coal into the sack and the sun glinted on the sea behind them. ‘He said it would be good for him to get to know us better. I don’t want to know him any better, so turned him down.’
She tested the weight of the sack. ‘I wouldn’t have thought Jack wanted to know him better, either. It doesn’t make sense.’
Jack was approaching with an empty sack, which he gave to her. ‘Let me help, Evie.’ He took the full load and swung it up on to his back, calling as he returned to the cart, ‘Accidents happen, Evie, they can happen anywhere, especially in the Territorials.’
Evie let the sack fall and whispered, ‘Jack, don’t be foolish.’ She made to follow him, but Simon raised his eyebrows. ‘He’s not a fool, he won’t do anything silly. Don’t worry, just hold the sack.’ She did so, and the breeze was stronger now.
On Saturday 6th June 1914 there was another wedding to cater for. Again it was at the village church, and again there was a grave to consider. Timmie’s, though, lay far from Miss Wainton’s. Again Edward officiated. Mam held Tim, who shrieked and giggled all the way through the service, and when the couple left the church there was a Territorial guard of honour led by Martin, who took over the sergeant’s position while Jack was otherwise engaged. Her da shook his head. ‘Boys and their playtime. I reckon they just like a uniform, daft beggars.’
The wedding breakfast was held in the village hall and had been cooked by Evie and her mother, with Millie’s help. Millie seemed happy, Jack held Tim and put his arm around his wife. They kissed as they cut the cake. Grace and Evie clapped, but there was a deadness in Grace. Evie said, ‘There’s someone for you, somewhere.’
‘I know there is, I’ve met him.’ Grace’s voice was flat as Jack took Millie in his arms, swirling away to the strains of ‘If you were the only girl in the world’ sung by Simon, with Bernie and Thomas accompanying him. Lady Veronica had given them leave. She had returned from her honeymoon two days before, and Captain Williams had returned to his posting in Folkestone immediately, Lil informed them.
As Jack danced, he saw Evie and nodded, his colour high. He’d been drinking, she could see that, but why not, at his own wedding? He saw Grace, who was talking to their mam, and there was everything in his face. Then he whirled past Evie with Millie. His smile was tired as his bride talked and laughed.
The friends and family danced and sang until midnight, and then she and Simon walked back to Easterleigh Hall. His arm was tight around her, and he pulled her to him, kissed her and against her mouth he said, ‘Can we please get married the moment we have the hotel? It could be a Christmas wedding.’ He laughed as she clasped him tightly. ‘Most certainly, bonny lad.’ Her mouth was as eager as his, but then they walked on and he said, ‘I’ve been thinking, you know, I’d like to join the Territorials after all. I felt out of it today, wishing I could have been one of the guard of honour. Besides, it sounds good fun and someone has to keep an eye on Jack. Just think, Evie, we’ll get paid for playing silly buggers in a field somewhere every Saturday.’
The night was warm, the moon so bright she thought she could have read by it. Sheep baaed as they passed, and an owl flew across their path. She could see the Stunted Tree in the distance. ‘Why not? You’ll be one of the gang again, and not have to fight your way in this time, you’ll just have to play about with guns. What could be more fun? You daft beggars, you.’
Just three weeks later, on June 28 Evie read in the newspaper that the heir to the Austro-Hungarian Empire had been assassinated by a Serb-sponsored terrorist and that Emmeline Pankhurst was still in prison. That same week Lady Margaret arrived, having been released from prison by virtue of the Cat and Mouse Act. She needed feeding up and then they would arrest her again, and she would go on hunger strike again and so it would go on. Evie and Mrs Moore shook their heads at one another when they heard. Mrs Moore said, ‘I thought Lady Esther had taken the place of Lady Margaret as a friend?’
Evie told Dottie to have a rest in the servants’ hall while the ladies were down for tea, then continued setting out the cakes. ‘I suppose old friends can surmount a division of ideals.’
‘That sounds too complicated for me,’ Mrs Moore sniffed, tucking the Sketch under her arm and taking a cup of tea to her room.
Lady Margaret and Lady Veronica arrived within five minutes and sat in the kitchen sipping tea, though Evie thought they’d have been much better advised to take advantage of the sunshine. Lady Margaret looked almost translucent, but still much like a horse.
‘There, you see, you two,’ Lady Margaret said, including Evie. ‘We’re suffering for you, we’ll get you the vote and what do you do, eat cakes while we starve?’
It was the fear of further imprisonment talking, no doubt, but Evie still wanted to remove the cakes. Lady Veronica winked and Evie stifled a smile.
Lady Veronica said, passing one of the wicked cakes, ‘Dearest Margaret, do treat yourself, and why not let someone else create mayhem while you just stand on the sidelines for a while? People could so easily be hurt or killed. There are other ways, and we should be insisting on votes for all classes, not just the higher echelons. But this is old ground, and none of us will change our minds.’
Lady Margaret pushed away the plate. ‘Your branch is just so smug. You just don’t understand. If you thought about it you’d know that if we get the vote for us it will be a foot in the door, and people like Evie will be given it in due course when we have made sure they know how to handle the power.’
Lady Veronica was rising now, her napkin crumpled at the side of her plate. ‘Thank you so much for tea, Evie, but it’s time we left you to your work.’
She put a hand under Lady Margaret’s elbow and helped her to rise. Lady Margaret shook her head. ‘I’m not going until I hear what Evie has to say.’
A lot, thought Evie, but merely replied, ‘People like me would prefer to have it now, if you don’t mind, Your Ladyship, along with the rest of you. We do have minds and we do feel we should take a hand in the governance of the country just as much as you.’
Lady Margaret flushed. ‘Well, you would say that, how could you do otherwise? You wouldn’t want to jeopardise your position here, would you, by disagreeing with Lady Veronica? I gather your employers have no love for the Forbes, so you must feel rather insecure.’ Her face was thin and sallow, despite the flush that was rising up her neck. Her hands were trembling. There were deep rings around her eyes, which were full of fear. She was hitting out like a small child.
Evie said gently, ‘You’re not well. Best go and lie down.’
Lady Veronica led her friend from the kitchen, calling back, ‘Thank you, Evie, for the tea, of course.’
That evening, after dinner was cleared, a dinner which had included calf’s-foot broth and stewed rabbit in milk, and the kitchen was on the way to being spotless under Dottie, Sarah and Annie’s strong hands, Evie slipped out for some air, as usual. She and Simon strolled along the paths, breathing in the roses which were planted to the right of the walled garden specifically for picking. He snipped off one and trimmed off its thorns. They didn’t need to speak any more, just be. He held her hand lightly while they discussed how many hotel rooms they could manage, and which would bring in sufficient income to keep them all. Simon wanted them to be able to hold wedding receptions, and she thought that if they had the correct costings it would be an excellent idea. ‘But we’d need gardens for the guests to stroll in,’ she said. He laughed. ‘I rather thought you’d say that.’
Darkness had not fallen yet, and as they wandered towards the east wing she thought she saw someone moving about near the rear stables that housed the carriage horses and the hunters, including Prancer. No, not near, behind. Simon had seen something too, and they started forward, then stopped. ‘It’ll be Norman checking Prancer, he took a bit of a tumble on the cobbles,’ Simon said, pulling her to him and kissing her. ‘I need to go in soon,’ he murmured. ‘The old man’s on the warpath because his under-gardeners have all been out after hours. He thinks the summer sun’s gone to our heads.’
She reached up and drew his head down, and kissed him long and hard, releasing him only when she felt him begin to laugh. ‘I’m so in love with you and so excited. We’re on our way, Evie. We’re really on our way.’
The horses seemed to be joining in, neighing and stamping over in the rear stables. Evie grinned, and pointed. ‘You see, they agree.’
Simon moved forward. ‘What’s that?’ He pointed and at first she could see nothing, but then she saw smoke, or was it? Though it was still vaguely light, it was difficult to make it out. They moved closer, and could smell it now, and there it was, seeping out of the hayloft above the stables. ‘Dear God,’ Simon gasped.
‘Not the horses,’ she whispered. They were running and now the smoke was billowing, and they heard the neighing, and thuds as the horses kicked out in the stalls. ‘Come on.’ Simon grabbed her and together they ran along the path, the roses snagging her skirt. She tore free. ‘You go on, you’re faster,’ she shouted.
He reached the stable yard ahead of her, heading for the double doors. She saw him pull, then curse. ‘They’ve been padlocked.’
Smoke was coming out under the huge doors, neighs had turned to high-pitched shrieks.
Evie rushed for the alarm bell, clanging it, shouting, ‘Fire, fire!’ Simon hunted for a steel bar, a brick, anything, and found a shovel leaning up against the wall. He bashed again and again at the padlock. The banging and the bell were causing even more panic. The thuds of hooves and the cries of the horses could be heard above everything, and now there was the crackle of fire. ‘God, Evie, it won’t break, the bloody thing won’t break.’ Evie rang the bell harder and harder, almost screaming, ‘Fire!’
Stable lads were coming now, with Norman in the lead, and at last the padlock burst. Evie and Simon rushed in with the lads but the air gave the fire fresh impetus, and the straw flashed into flames. They were thrown back but were unhurt. All around was the crackle of burning hay and straw and the high pitched whinnying of the horses. They were joined by Archie and James under the command of Mr Harvey, but he was elbowed aside by Norman, who issued orders. They all began to open the stalls, leading the horses out, the hunters rearing and bucking through the smoke and flames.
Under-gardeners arrived too and the head gardener, Stan, ordered them back out to pump water from the pond. Evie returned, heading for a back stall, grabbing the halter of a bucking mare, feeling no fear as she led her out, seeing Simon doing the same, avoiding the flames, coughing in the smoke, ducking as burning straw floated down from the loft.
Roger rushed in and tore the reins of a hunter from a stable lad. ‘You go back for another.’ He led it out into the open, leaning back against the huge shoulder, slowing the horse to a walk. Evie was just behind him and took the mare to the side, stroking her, whispering, ‘It’s fine, girl. It’s fine.’ The mare was skittering, snorting, and then she reared. Evie kept hold of the rope, searching for Simon. Was he safe?
There he was, with Prancer, handing him to a stable lad who instantly calmed the beast. Another lad took Evie’s mare. The under-gardeners were bringing up the pumps and spraying the building with hoses. Steam rose. She saw Mr Auberon and Lady Veronica, she with a shawl around her, he in his shirt and trousers. He shouted, ‘Not you, Ver. Stay out.’ Evie watched as he ran into the stable and there was a crash of falling timber. ‘Aub,’ Lady Veronica screamed.
A stable lad was leading out a hunter which reared in panic, his blanket singed. Evie held Simon back as flames burst through the hayloft windows, and then the final horse bucked and reared out of the stables, led by Mr Auberon. It was Big Boy, who had a stitched thigh from a hunting accident two weeks before. Mr Auberon was smoke-covered, his shirt black with soot. He passed close by. Evie said quietly, ‘You could be taken for a pitman.’
He looked at her. ‘That’d make me proud, Evie Forbes.’
There was a burn on his arm which was blistering. ‘You’d best get that tended,’ she murmured. He replied, ‘It’s little enough after Timmie.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘But it’s something.’ There was no anger in her any more. There had not been since she had fought against Roger. In many ways Mr Auberon was a good man, but he’d made mistakes, though who hadn’t?
Lady Veronica rushed up and dragged him away, while a stable lad took Big Boy. Evie remembered that other night in the front stables, what seemed like years ago. Who knew how anyone would react when beaten by their own father? For the first time for a long while she felt a renewal of sympathy for him.
Out in the yard Roger was telling of his exploits but Simon said, ‘Howay, you daft beggar, you took the horse from a lad and sent him back into the inferno.’ That was all; it was enough.
Over there, in the background, was Lady Margaret. Lady Veronica was dragging Mr Auberon past her. Something was said and by morning Lady Margaret had gone. The stables were a soaked and smoking wreck. Everyone was told it was a freak accident, perhaps a lightning strike, perhaps a hoof against stone causing a spark.
Lady Margaret never came into the conversation and she mustn’t, because otherwise she might one day shout out Lady Veronica’s involvement in the suffrage movement. Everyone knew, however, that it was the policy of the Pankhursts to carry out arson attacks on private property. Did the stupid girl always do everything she was told, Evie wondered.
Within the week the rebuilding of the stables had begun, and Captain Williams had returned to check that Lady Veronica was safe and sound.