EVIE READ THE Red Cross postcard from Jack that the postboy had just delivered to her mam’s home on her afternoon off. Tommy’s face had been almost split in half by a grin. ‘Thank God, bonny lad,’ she whispered. ‘Thank the Lord, Jack.’
It was as though the sun had come out and warmed the earth, and all the ongoing problems of Easterleigh Hall had disappeared. The postcard was addressed to Millie as next of kin but she wasn’t here, she was at the hall, busy on laundry duty, or sneaking off with Sergeant Pierce for cigarettes, or some such, some said. But all that mattered was that Jack was safe, and did that mean that so was Simon? Evie scrambled for her bike in the back shed and pedalled into the wind, down the track to Easton, and the Prestons’ house. She met Ethel Preston, her shawl tight round her shoulders, striding out of Easton, heading towards her, the slag heap seething off to the left, with the foreshift hurrying to work. When she saw Evie she waved the postcard she held. ‘Safe, he’s safe. Our lad is safe.’ Her face was alight with joy, but no more so than Evie’s.
‘I must get to Mam and Da, they’re at the Hall. Nairns won’t see me, he thinks I’m still laid up,’ Evie told her.
Ethel laughed. ‘As you should be, lass, not sneaking off to help Mrs Moore at every given moment still with that dicky shoulder, and don’t forget to tell Millie, she should be first to know. She’ll have to come out of black now, and stop nagging Captain Williams about extra money to cope with widowhood. I’m off to the pit to get a message to the old bugger.’ Ethel spun on her heel and Evie could hear her singing as she hurried off, and calling the news to the friends she passed. ‘Aye, Simon and Jack are safe.’
‘Mr Auberon?’ called Mrs Wilson, the blacksmith’s wife. ‘Me old bugger is right fond of the whelp.’
‘Evie will tell us when she knows,’ replied Ethel, striding past the gossiping women.
Evie laughed all the way to the Hall. They were safe and if they were, surely so too was Auberon, not to mention Roger, or should they call him Francis? The bluebells jogged in the breeze and brightened up the verges, and she breathed in their scent as a cuckoo called. In the fields on either side lambs jumped, their mothers calling them to heel. The lambs ignored them. Quite right too.
She tore into the drive, slipped to the bothy and left her bike. She ran through the silver birches, jumping the clumps of bluebells. They were safe. Was Aub? He must be. Jack had said in one of his letters that they were all a pretty tight gang. ‘Safe. Safe.’ She was shouting it as she ran alongside the yew hedge, and then fell silent but continued to run, taking no notice of her painful shoulder. It was only a little bit swollen, and she could use it. Everyone fussed so. For heaven’s sake, how much sleep and rest did one person need?
She hurried along the bottom of the walled vegetable garden, emerging at the garage yard. The volunteers were hanging up washing, as they invariably were. One nipped down the stairs when she saw her, to check that the way was clear. It was. Evie ran across the yard, down the steps, into the kitchen. Mrs Moore turned. ‘Wasn’t expecting you until eleven, bonny lass, but now you’re here . . .’
She had her recipe bible open on the table. Enid was straining mushrooms through the hair sieve, a task Evie loathed. For luncheon it was mushroom soup to start, they’d decided yesterday, to be removed by bean and rabbit stew, removed by stewed plum pie from Mrs Green’s preserve pantry. There was sufficient milk for custard today, but there would be only enough for tea tomorrow.
Tending the furnace was Kev Barnes, the bootboy, who’d left to go to war and arrived back here with an injured and useless hand, something to do with a bullet going through his wrist and cutting the main nerve. Evie’s father had made a brace, with the help of Alec Preston and Tom Wilson, to Sister Newsome’s instructions. Sister Newsome had spent some time in an orthopaedic hospital and her advice was invaluable, Bob Forbes told Evie.
Richard had created a position for Kev, voluntary at the moment, until they had found more people like Sir Anthony Travers to help fund the programme, but all food and accommodation found. His particulars were held on a list quite separate to any seen by Dr Nairns. Everyone was getting so wise in the ways of war, wounds, and their aftermath, and the idiots who sat in judgement.
Evie was already moving through the kitchen. She waved the postcard. ‘He’s safe, so is Simon. Safe. I need to tell the others, I need to see Ver. Has she heard?’
Mrs Moore held out her arms. Evie went to her. Mrs Moore squeezed her until her shoulder was in danger of popping again. She had been making pastry and the kitchen smelled of wheat loaf. ‘That’s the best news, bonny lass. Quite the best news.’
Evie said, ‘Wheat, not barley?’
Mrs Moore laughed, releasing her. ‘We’re preparing for the latest convoys from Ypres. Easier on their stomachs, or so we think.’
Evie replied, ‘Then shall we try a mixture? The baker in the co-op says that the wheat is really needed for the ordinary people in the area because barley is too much of a change for their minds, not their stomachs.’ The ranges were up to temperature, she could tell from the rumble.
Enid had dropped the sieve and was patting her back, pulling her away from Mrs Moore. ‘Good idea but even better, we need a party, but first we need to see about Mr Auberon.’
Betty, one of the volunteers, called from the end of the deal table where she was forcing more mushrooms through a wire sieve, ‘Millie’s not in the laundry. Perhaps she’s hanging out the clothes?’
The voluntary scullery maid, Sylvia, called through from the sink. ‘Perhaps a blackbird will peck off her nose, it might make her behave.’
Evie wanted to find Ver, but she needed to tell Millie first. Mrs Moore pre-empted her, and Evie suspected she knew the reason why. ‘Betty, go and find Millie. Quite likely she’s having a fag in the top tool store. Your mam’s in the new children’s nursery near Captain Richard’s study, now the electricians have finished. They moved in yesterday and I have to say that the lights in there are a treat, too. The captain likes the sound of children. Your da’s in the garage which is now the limb place, did you know that?’ Mrs Moore was rolling the pastry with gusto. It would be dead and buried at this rate. Evie hurried into the scullery, washed her hands and took over the rolling pin. ‘Sit down, you’ll be exhausted.’
Mrs Moore did so, fanning herself with her hand. ‘Aye lass, you’re quite right. It needs your light touch. Ah, Evie, such a day we had yesterday, people rushing here and there, moving furniture and whatnot. You go along and tell your mam the news, and the captain will know where Lady Veronica is. She might even be with him now she’s banned from the acute ward until she stops plummeting to the ground in a faint, now she’s having a bairn. She can return when she’s three months gone. This news will be just the right thing for her, if, that is . . .’
She stopped. Evie looked at her. ‘Surely she’s heard?’
That evening, once Dr Nairns had retired to his quarters in the cottage where the under gardeners had once lived, a party was held in the servants’ hall to celebrate the news that their men were safe. Roger had addressed his postcard to his son Tim, at Easterleigh Hall. Evie would not let the information enrage her any more than it had done already, because this evening was a time of happiness.
She and the kitchen staff had prepared simple food, to be served once the patients’ dinner was cleared. Ver brought down her gramophone and she and Evie sat together, talking of their relief, but words couldn’t describe their feelings. Tim had been put to bed in Mrs Moore’s room for now, and Mam and Da danced to the music of ragtime. It was embarrassing, it was funny, it was wonderful.
Ronald Simmons danced with one of the nurses, most ably even with a tin lower leg. Mrs Moore whispered, ‘They seem to spend much time together. It warms my heart.’
Harry Travers was swinging Lady Margaret around in some approximation of a dance which would not have altered much had he had two proper feet, Captain Richard groaned to them all. He clapped the dancers, then clasped his wife in a display of love that warmed everyone’s heart.
Lady Margaret sat now, next to Evie, on the overstuffed sofa, fanning herself, alongside Major Granville. He was adjusting to the metal face mask created by the ‘improvement’ department, which was what her da called his unit. Evie smiled at her, saying quietly, and noting how Lady Margaret had touched Peter Granville’s hand on her return, ‘You’re busy these days?’
‘No more than you, Evie. But I don’t have to hide and rely on the discretion of others. It is a measure of the respect in which you’re held that no one has even hinted to Dr Nairns that you are back, albeit as a volunteer.’ Lady Margaret leaned towards her, whispering, ‘I don’t like to ask, but can you manage financially? Can I help? I would deem it a privilege.’ This time it was Evie’s hand she touched.
Evie remembered the woman who had supported votes for women of property rather than universal suffrage, the woman who had set fire to the Easterleigh Hall stables while the horses were inside, the woman who had been broken by too many forced-feeding ordeals in prison, and who had been ignored by her family but not by Easterleigh Hall. Sometimes war changed people for the better.
Evie grinned across at Mrs Moore. ‘My boss is still being paid, and we share. It is enough, and it is what she wants. But thank you.’
Those in wheelchairs had been brought around to the back of the house and carried down the steps. Though they were paralysed or legless, they could still clap their hands together, or if they only had one, they could slap it on the arm of their chair. Access was a constant problem and Evie wondered if there was room to create a ramp up the front steps, so that those patients situated on the ground floor could leave the building on their own. Or perhaps it would be easier to create a route out through the conservatory doors? Was there room for a ramp from the garage yard down to the kitchen? Did they want them in the kitchen? She laughed quietly. It all needed thinking about, and she’d talk to her da and Tom Wilson.
After half an hour the nursing staff swapped with those on duty, including Matron, who dragged young Kev in with her, scooting him off to the younger VADs before joining Mrs Green and Mr Harvey as they sipped sweet sherry and kept an eye on ‘Mr Manners’, as they had warned the younger members of staff they would.
While Evie directed the clearing up at eleven that evening, Mr Harvey completed his rounds, having checked the windows and locked all the external doors, except for the grand hall. The keys were positioned in various places in case of fire though the huge double doors remained unlocked at all times, and an orderly was on duty at the reception desk because ambulances could arrive at any time.
Evie watched Mr Harvey, finding comfort in his steady walk, his upright posture, his pristine suit and shirt, his polished boots, his permanently unflustered demeanour, as he checked the vegetable storeroom skylights. The sky could fall and he would bear its weight on his shoulders. At that moment, just as she was putting on her coat to slip away home, in the boot hall the telephone bell jangled, positioned just below the room bells. It was the one thing that disturbed his stateliness. She watched as he braced himself, and advanced on the enemy before it could stop ringing. The telephone was fixed to the wall. Mr Harvey lifted the earpiece off the rest with two fingers, as though it was destined to explode. ‘Easterleigh Hall,’ he pronounced into the mouthpiece as though he was in the pulpit, so solemn was his tone.
He listened, his shoulders drooping further and further: Evie stood in the kitchen doorway. She heard the ra-ta-tat of the voice, but had already realised that it was Bastard Brampton, shouting.
Mr Harvey replaced the earpiece and sighed, unaware, clearly, that he was observed. ‘Bugger,’ he murmured. Evie stepped back, slipping into the scullery. She had never seen the butler so disturbed. She knocked a pan into the sink. ‘Hello,’ Mr Harvey called. She bustled out. ‘Just finishing, Mr Harvey, and then I’m off home. I do just wish I could use my old room, but best not to tempt fate, as you said the other day. We don’t want any surprise check-ups by Nairns.’
He smiled, absent-mindedly. ‘Evie, Lord Brampton is arriving after luncheon tomorrow. It is to be a flying visit, in response to Lady Veronica’s news regarding Mr Auberon, and he mentioned something about changes at Easterleigh Hall. I think perhaps it is to do with the budget, and dare we hope for good news? I gather he will visit the mines too.’ It was as though he was thinking aloud.
Evie replied, ‘I thought he sounded rather . . . well, loud.’
Mr Harvey raised his eyebrows. ‘Ah, you could hear that in the scullery, could you, young lady? Well, let us just say that I fear that even the news of his son’s safety has improved his mood little from last week, when his steelworkers went on strike to prevent him paying German prisoners of war at a cheap rate. Have you heard that there is a similar move afoot in his pits here, should he employ such men? You must be away from here, Evie, by midday. You know his habit of surprises and I suspect he and Mr Nairns confer more, rather than less. There is supposed to be only one cook here. Annie must fade into the background also.’
Evie arrived at her usual time of 5.30 a.m., wishing that she was back properly because although this cycling was helping her recover her fitness, it wasted time which could be better spent at the Hall. She wouldn’t use the pickup trap or cart because then she was involving others in her disobedience, as Matron called it, kissing her on the cheek in gratitude. It was Mrs Moore who walked the wards, talking to the new patients, or indeed anyone who needed some food-fussing, while she stayed hidden below stairs. The patients, though, sent messages to Dr Nairns’ study demanding Evie and Annie’s return, to his fury.
Breakfast was the usual bustling procedure, followed by the morning meeting round the kitchen table. Captain Richard announced that there had still been no movement on Dr Nairns’ position over the kitchen staff, and that the doctor had drawn up yet another document, which listed others who should be dismissed. He produced it, and Evie checked down the names. This time the garden staff was targeted, with Old Stan as the bullseye at the head of the list. Evie stared into the distance. How bloody dare he? For the hundredth time she wondered how they could stop all this.
As though he could read her mind Captain Richard reminded them that he was to travel to Durham again for a further meeting with Sir Anthony Travers, who was now in talks with others who might be agreeable to funding the shortfall over and above Lord Brampton’s ninepence per patient per day. Not only that, but they were interested in the work scheme for ex-patients.
But when would we know, Evie wanted to ask, but instead she smiled. Richard was to travel alone, leaving Ron Simmons in the office this time. Bravo.
Richard now said, ‘I have informed Dr Nairns, who insists that this funding possibility still allows for no movement on the employment of Evie Forbes, though it could ensure the reinstatement of Annie.’ He peered across at Evie. ‘Is she likely to leave Gosforn Auxiliary Hospital do you think, Evie, to return here?’
Evie shrugged. ‘No idea, Captain Richard.’
Richard exchanged a look with Veronica and then continued, ‘Indeed, Nairns has made the point that Miss Forbes’ absence had caused no problems whatsoever, as the standard of service has been maintained.’ He grimaced, Veronica groaned, the laughter of the head servants was wry. Mrs Moore muttered, ‘It’s not only the troops in the trenches who have to learn not to poke their heads over the parapet, my dear girl. Keep your head down, bonny lass, from now on.’
At the close of the meeting, hurried at the end because of Veronica’s inelegant rush for the door, her hand to her mouth, Evie and Mrs Moore embarked on luncheon preparation. It was to be lentil soup, removed by casserole of fowl and dumplings with the usual overload of root vegetables, removed by apple pie and cream. There would be beef tea, fish simmered in milk and egg custard for those who were on light diets. Evie couldn’t stop glancing at the clock, her stomach clenched in a way it had not been for a long while. Why was the Bastard coming? Why?
By eleven the kitchen was full of the aroma of casserole and stockpot and the ranges were humming, the furnace gurgling. After glancing at the clock once more, Evie said, ‘Aye, lasses, it’s quite time for a cup of tea and soon I must hoy myself out of the door. He said after luncheon but you never know with him.’
Enid broke off from cutting up the root vegetables that would be added to the casserole in half an hour, gathered up some enamel mugs and placed them near Mrs Moore. ‘You be mother, pet.’ They were the same age and had been friends since Mrs Moore had cooked for Grace at the parsonage.
Mrs Moore laughed. ‘Be stretching it a bit to be your mother, our Enid.’ Evie placed the kettle on the hotplate. As though she smelled the tea, Veronica joined them for some company and to take her mind off her sickness. Tea was one of the few things that she found acceptable. She stood with Enid at the end of the table nearest to the scullery and started to chop up the carrots, staining her fingers orange as they all discussed the rabbits that two of the youngsters from the village had promised but which had not yet arrived. They were destined for the lunch table tomorrow.
‘If we don’t get them,’ Evie said, ‘how about rissoles for the staff out of the remains of the casseroles today, but what for the patients?’ Embarking on the dumplings, she rubbed suet into wheat flour lightly with her fingertips. ‘I’ll need some herbs from Old Stan’s store at the bottom of the veggie garden, Joyce, when you have a moment.’ Herbs would perk up the dumplings no end. ‘We’ve some bits of streaky bacon which I’ll add also, do you think, Mrs Moore?’
Joyce was chopping up the apples for the tart, leaving the skins on because every scrap of goodness was needed, not to mention bulk. Some were already beginning to brown but just as Evie started to say something, Joyce scooped them up and dropped them into the bowl of water she had ready. Evie smiled. Aye, like a smoothly oiled machine, they were.
The apples were stored in a shed that Old Stan had converted, now that the sphagnum moss was dried in the former apple stores. The war had rejuvenated the old boy, and his energy was prodigious. Mrs Moore tapped her recipe bible, her spectacles on the end of her nose. ‘Bacon, you said, Evie? You’ve reminded me of quiche Lorraine. We haven’t made that for a while so we’ll let the rabbits hang, if they ever arrive, and put quiche on the menu for tomorrow. Now, how’s that dratted kettle coming, Evie?’ She looked over the top of her glasses from Evie to the kettle on the range behind her. It was then that they heard a car in the garage yard, the slam of a door, rushed footfalls on the steps. Raisin and Currant leapt off the armchairs, barking.
Veronica paled even further than usual, if possible. ‘Oh God, Father’s early. I’ll leave the chauffeur to you and go and head him off in the grand hall. Evie, you need to leave the dumplings to Enid, and go. Take the dogs. He thinks they’ve been put down. Quick, for heaven’s sake.’ She slipped from the stool as Enid dropped her knife and started round the table towards Evie. Veronica had reached the door into the corridor when they heard the back door burst open. Evie spun round, her hands sticky with dough. The kitchen door had slammed back, crashing into the end of the row of ranges. They all froze as Lord Brampton entered, taking in the room at a glance.
‘Just as I thought,’ he roared, striding to the table, slapping his cane under his arm and tearing off his gloves and homburg, which he threw amongst the prepared carrots and turnips. His grey hair was in disarray, his pale blue eyes barely visible in the fury of his crunched-up face, the astrakhan collar of his black coat dappled with drizzle. He shoved aside Joyce, who dropped the chunks of apple she was about to put into the bowl, staggered, but managed to catch hold of the end of the table, shock in her eyes. ‘Just as I bloody well thought,’ he ground out again. The dogs whined and hid under the table.
Mrs Moore sat on her stool, slumped as though the air had gone from her body. Evie could hardly breathe. Automatically she rubbed the dough from her hands back into the bowl. None must be wasted. Lady Veronica stood motionless, one hand on the door handle.
Brampton threw his cane on to the table, knocking two sieves, several spoons and some knives to the floor. Pushing aside Enid he reached for Evie, gripping her shoulder and swinging her round. The pain almost made her cry out. She smelled the alcohol on his breath. Lady Veronica shouted, her hands gripped in front of her now, as though protecting her child, ‘Her shoulder is healing, leave her alone, Father.’
He flung Evie back against the table; the bowl of dough juddered. Her shoulder throbbed. He stabbed at her with his forefinger. ‘You’re a Forbes. Do you think I wouldn’t recognise the name when that fool Nairns sent me his list? We employed you as Evie Anston and you, Veronica, you knew about this, and why aren’t those dogs dead? Bloody Hun creatures.’ He glared around the kitchen. Maudie was standing in the scullery doorway, gripping her hessian apron. She darted back out of sight. Mrs Moore reached out her hand. ‘Please, Lord Brampton . . .’
He roared again. ‘You, you old woman, should not even be working, so useless are you, so just be quiet.’ The kettle was boiling, rattling the lid. The range was belting out heat. He was close to Evie now; she could see the pores on his nose. ‘You were ordered not to cross the threshold again, but here you are, with everyone knowing, thus making a fool of me. I will not have a Forbes in my employ. Your brother led strikes, and bought the houses that should have been mine. What might you be bringing about here, and what about the mine? Are you encouraging a strike there? Too much of a coincidence, isn’t it, bloody Forbes everywhere, like a plague? Hey? Hey?’ His spittle pitted her face.
Evie forced herself to stand erect, her shoulders back, her head up, ignoring the stabbing in her shoulder and Mrs Moore’s pull on her skirt, her whispered, ‘Evie, take care, lass.’
‘I cook, that’s all I do, for the patients that come to the hospital here in Easterleigh Hall, which as you might remember you insisted your daughter establish. She is the commandant, not Dr Nairns, and it is she who should be running it.’ She had kept her tone even and calm, though her hands were fisted to such an extent that her nails dug into her skin and the sweat of fear ran down her back.
He stepped even closer, so that there was barely an inch between them, and now the lid of the kettle was rattling fit to bust. ‘How would you know what I have insisted, unless my daughter has shared more than she should with a minion? A minion that confronts and abuses the Medical Officer in this establishment, just as any Forbes would.’
‘Father, leave her.’ Veronica was as white as a sheet, her hand to her mouth.
Enid and Joyce were stepping away from the table, fear in every shaking step. He bellowed, ‘Did I give you permission to move?’
Veronica spoke again, opening the door into the corridor and gripping it so tightly that her knuckles were white. ‘She confronted Nairns because he was dismissing staff we need. You weren’t here. You don’t know what happened.’
Her father didn’t even look at her, but kept his eyes locked on Evie. ‘I know that I have the pleasure of a nest of Forbes under my roof. Not only his sister but his wife, his parents, and his child on these premises. I will not have it. I will not be disobeyed in this fashion.’
He swung round then and looked towards Lady Veronica, who had her hand to her forehead, wiping the sweat from it. Oh God, she’s going to vomit, Evie thought, before calling for a bowl.
Mrs Moore rushed to the scullery and back again, a damp cloth and a bowl clutched to her. She placed them on the table, and she and Enid forced Lady Veronica to sit at the table, fanning her. Evie went to Veronica’s side.
Her father stared, moving back to the end of the table. Veronica shrank from him. Mrs Moore whispered to Enid behind his back. Enid nodded, grabbed Joyce, and they were out and up the steps to freedom. Brampton leaned on the table, putting his weight on his hands. ‘Am I to understand that you and your cripple of a husband have managed to start off a child at long last?’
There was a gasp from Maudie, who was standing in the doorway of the scullery again, but no sound from Evie, his daughter, or Mrs Moore, who knew this man too well. He continued, ‘Well, at least that is some sop, but only some, to make up for the sheer disgrace your pathetic brother has brought to this family. How typical that he preferred shame to death with honour, and taking a Forbes with him too. Cowards have no . . .’
Evie shouted, standing between him and Veronica, ‘Auberon is no coward.’
Lord Brampton lifted his hand to strike her. ‘Address my son correctly.’ Evie shouted again, ‘Touch me and I’ll rip your heart out.’ She snatched up one of the knives he had not managed to knock to the floor. It was the vegetable knife Jack had sharpened all those months ago. It was still as sharp as a razor, and she would use it. ‘Roger tried to hurt me when I wouldn’t give in to him years ago, and do you think I’ll let you or anyone do it again? Do you think I’ll let you hurt your daughter again? Do you, Bastard Brampton? Put your hand down.’ He didn’t. She lifted the knife. Mrs Moore called, ‘Evie. Lord Brampton, please.’
At that moment Captain Richard spoke from the doorway, but Evie would not take her eyes from Lord Brampton, or he would strike. ‘Evie, put the knife down. If anyone is going to kill him, it will be me.’ She looked at him now, and saw that his rage had caused his lips to thin, his colour to rise. ‘I received Enid’s message, Mrs Moore. I doubt she’s moved that quickly for many a year. Now, Lord Brampton. It is time you left or it is I who will fillet out your heart, God help me, I will.’
At this Lord Brampton laughed, a drunken, frenzied sound. ‘You wouldn’t have the guts because if you take one step towards me I will cease any sponsorship of this establishment, above and beyond the government grant. I will insist you pay for the upkeep of the Hall. After all, you live here only because I allow you to. Or shall I just close the whole hospital down, and make you and everyone else homeless? How would you like that, eh? What’s more, I’ll have this bitch arrested and see how she likes that.’
Captain Richard limped towards his father-in-law, his walking stick steadying him. Evie saw his eyes, and they chilled her. ‘You will do none of these things, or your reputation will suffer at this time of your country’s need, no matter how many lesser establishments you start in Leeds or wherever else. Come with me, Lord Brampton. Come with me out into the yard and I will tell you exactly what position you are in, or do you wish this discussion to take place in front of your staff?’
Lord Brampton hesitated, unsure, probably for the first time in his life. Evie felt more proud of Captain Richard than she had been of anyone for a long while. Richard stood so close to his father-in-law that it seemed as though they were about to take part in some bizarre dance. Evie almost laughed. Everyone stood or sat motionless, staring. There was only the sound of the damned kettle lid to break the silence. Maudie still stood in the scullery doorway, horror on her face.
Richard rested his walking stick against the table and tried to take the knife from Evie with his one hand but her fingers were locked around the bone handle. Dough had dried on her fingers. She stared down at his hand on hers. He said, ‘I apologise on behalf of my father-in-law for his behaviour towards you, Evie. He will not interfere in the running of this household again, nor touch anyone within it, and you will be reinstated immediately. Do you hear that, Veronica? He will not touch anyone, ever again, within the walls of Easterleigh Hall.’
Evie looked at Veronica, sitting slumped over the bowl next to her, and said to Richard, ‘I saw Aub’s poor battered face before the war, again and again; the first time at the stables. I saw Ver’s, you saw it too, when she came to see you entrain . . . Fathers shouldn’t . . . Bosses shouldn’t . . . We need to help our patients, we can’t stop doing so, not on the whim of a bully.’ She nodded at Lord Brampton who looked dazed now, and confused. He muttered, ‘Aub? Ver? How dare you?’ But the heat had gone out of his voice. Sweat dripped from his face on to his astrakhan collar, and the stink of drink was worse, seeming to ooze from the man.
‘He’s a menace,’ Evie whispered, looking up into Richard’s face. He smiled, eased the knife from her and threw it to the table, where it skidded and fell to the floor. No one picked it up. ‘Maudie will have to wash it,’ she said. Her shoulder hurt.
Captain Richard picked up his cane and nudged Brampton’s arm. ‘We’ll leave now,’ he said. Brampton tried to thrust him off, kicking at his cane. Richard staggered, his balance always precarious. Veronica vomited into the bowl. Evie left her to Mrs Moore and went to steady Richard. Still the kettle lid clattered.
Mr Harvey entered from the corridor; perhaps he’d been there for some time. She watched him walk over to them in his stately fashion, his shoulders back, his demeanour as calm as usual. He said, ‘May I assist you, Captain Richard.’ It wasn’t a question. He armlocked Brampton and moved him towards the door, while the captain smiled and followed, treading firmly now, saying, ‘Look after Ver for me, Evie, if you wouldn’t mind.’ It was the first time they had shared the use of Ver.
‘This way, Your Lordship, up the steps with you,’ Mr Harvey said. ‘Geoffrey is waiting with the car for you in the garage yard, but there’s time for Captain Richard to have that little word, probably within the automobile, I suggest.’ It clearly wasn’t a suggestion. Evie realised that it wasn’t only Captain Richard of whom she was proud, it was this wonderful elderly man too.
Lord Brampton stopped as they reached the door, and shouted, ‘This isn’t the end.’ He sounded close to tears.
‘May I suggest that you are just overtired, and in need a bit of a rest? Perhaps a lie-down in a darkened room,’ Mr Harvey said, propelling him into the boot corridor.
‘You’re dismissed, do you hear, damn you Harvey. Ouch.’
‘Just a tweak of the arm, Lord Brampton, it helps things along.’
Ver vomited again. Mrs Moore sighed. ‘It’s a good sign, bonny lass. Means the baby is strong.’
Ver groaned. ‘How long will this go on?’
‘It’ll run its course,’ Mrs Moore soothed. No one knew if either woman meant the baby or the situation.
Evie took Veronica to her bedroom, calling in on Lady Margaret in the facial injuries suite and asking her for a moment of her time to keep Ver company, if she wouldn’t mind. She wouldn’t. Evie returned to the kitchen. Maudie came from the scullery, saying, ‘I didn’t know Roger had hurt you?’
‘He was a fool and wanted what I wouldn’t give.’
Maudie crossed her arms. ‘Is this what happened to Millie, then?’
Evie shrugged. ‘In a way, I suppose. He charmed her, made her love him and had free use of her. I warned her but she wouldn’t listen, and she was by no means the first.’
Mrs Moore had removed the kettle from the hob at last, and was pouring tea into the mugs and pushing them towards Evie and Maudie. Joyce and Enid joined them, hurrying in from the corridor where they’d been hiding. Maudie asked, ‘Does she love Jack?’
‘Oh, I just don’t know.’ Evie’s thoughts were chasing about in her head. Maudie took her tea into the scullery, saying as she went, ‘How can a father beat his son like that, and lift a hand to his daughter?’
Evie just shook her head, fearing that the man would never change, fearing what this would mean to them all. Mrs Moore eased herself on to her stool. ‘Anyone would think we didn’t have a luncheon to serve. Evie, sort out these dumplings please. Enid, the vegetables need to go in the casseroles, and Joyce, the apples. Chop chop, the enemy is on our back.’
Evie looked at the clock. It was eleven forty-four. Had their world changed in just three quarters of an hour? Were they to close down?
Grace straightened, checked the transfusion tube, and stroked the corporal’s hand. He was unconscious but might feel the comfort. He’d been washed, but grime and the stench of war still clung to him. He needed blood before surgery. Her back ached but she was pleased to be back at base camp, because at least last night she’d been able to change her uniform, and shower. Here the guns were loud, but not as loud, and though the ground shuddered from the effects of the barrage it didn’t throw up dirt and shrapnel. Here it was bugles she heard, not whistles indicating that soldiers like this poor boy were scrambling out of the trenches into the mouths of the guns. Never had she thought she would be so close to the Front. Could she bear to be again?
She held the corporal’s hand. He stirred. She soothed, ‘It’s all right, you’re safe.’ He relaxed, still unconscious. Yes, he was safe, and so was Jack. Thank God. She touched the telegram from Evie which had at last reached her, brought down by Angie, who was replacing her at the casualty clearing station, such was the rush and shortage of orderlies.
Outside, trucks ground their gears, a horse neighed. The tent seemed to ooze damp, but of course it did, for the rain was unceasing. A letter had arrived too, with the news of Veronica’s pregnancy. Grace smiled as she checked the transfusion, and the lower-legs blood loss. When would they all refer to her by her title, Lady Veronica? Perhaps never? Perhaps at the end of all this? But would it end? If so, how? Would any of these young men be left alive, let alone whole?
For now, none of that mattered, nor the ache in her legs, her back, her neck, nor the blisters on her heels from boots that had rubbed as she rushed around the aid station, treating the minor injuries, and sending others on to the casualty clearing station. Jack was safe; Tim had his father, Millie her husband.
‘Penny for them, or should I say a dollar?’ It was Slim, standing too close to her. ‘Maybe I can guess. He’s safe and perhaps you’re thinking we can go to the estaminet to celebrate?’
The corporal groaned. ‘Hush, you’re safe,’ she soothed again. ‘I’m tired,’ she told Slim. ‘There’s a lot of work to do.’
He moved to the foot of the bed, checking Corporal Young’s chart. ‘You said you couldn’t meet with me until Jack was safe. He’s safe, Gracie. Can’t you let me in?’
She stayed by the transfusion stand and could feel the telegram in her pocket and knew what she had really known all along, and her pride in Jack grew with each word she said. ‘He’s safe for now, but he’ll fight, like our Evie with that damned Brampton. Our Jack will carry on fighting. He’ll make their job difficult, and he’ll escape, or die trying. That’s our Jack. So I can’t come to the estaminet to celebrate, because he’ll never be safe until this war is over, or perhaps not even then, if he goes back in the mine. I’m sorry, Slim, really sorry. You’re a lovely man and a wonderful doctor.’
‘You don’t mind?’ His voice was gentle.
She smiled, holding the corporal’s hand, because he was awake, but talking to Slim. ‘Of course I mind, but I wouldn’t have him any other way.’
He said, ‘I’ll keep trying. You’re a special woman, Gracie, and you deserve better than to go through life alone.’ He left. Grace stared at the tent opening. Alone? The thought chilled her, but then she touched the telegram again. With Jack alive in the world, she wasn’t alone.