THE WAR WAS over at eleven in the morning, on the eleventh day of the eleventh month of 1918. ‘Neat and tidy, then,’ Evie murmured, shivering as she and Grace stood on the porticoed steps waiting for the ambulances to arrive. Frost covered the grass, and glinted on the gravel of the drive. ‘The war is over.’ It seemed to mean nothing. She tried it another way. ‘Over is the war.’ She tried it again. ‘Is over the war.’
Grace smiled at her. ‘None of it makes sense and yes, neat and tidy for posterity one thinks, until you look at these ambulances and their cargo.’ Her smile faded. ‘Please God, our men are safe. We haven’t heard differently, but how long does it take for a telegram to come? Because Aub would signal the news, wouldn’t he? Unless he himself was killed, then it would be a letter. What do you think, Evie, how long?’
Evie shook her head. ‘I don’t know, lass. I just don’t know.’ The ambulances were coming up the drive now, and would keep coming, because men would have been blasted to smithereens until the last minute, and of this they were more than sure. There was the grinding of gears, the crunch of gravel.
‘It’s teatime,’ Grace said. Evie stared at her. ‘Teatime,’ Grace repeated.
Evie felt panic. ‘Teatime, oh my Auntie Fanny.’ She leapt down the steps, skirting the first ambulance that was skidding to a halt. As she ran into the stable yard the organised chaos behind her began. More awaited her at the top of the kitchen steps, in the shape of Mrs Moore standing with her arms akimbo, yelling, ‘I’ll have your guts for garters, so I will, Evie Forbes. Teatime and where the hell are you? Partying already no doubt, when there are gobs to fill with scones, and party food to prepare.’
Evie skirted round her, expecting a clip on the ear, and it was all so normal that she laughed, really laughed, and fled down the steps into the kitchen, Mrs Moore in hot pursuit in spite of her rheumatics, laughing too. ‘I’m beginning to believe,’ Evie shouted as she entered the kitchen, ‘I’m beginning to believe it’s over.’
Annie and the downstairs servants were doing some sort of dance around the kitchen table, and the laundry staff joined in, led by Millie, with such a smile on her face that it was as though she’d swallowed the sun, or so Mrs Moore grunted. They wound out into the servants’ hall, and then the interior corridor, until Mr Harvey appeared on the stairs leading to the great hall, clapping his hands and shouting. ‘I will not have this when we have injured arriving, and work to do. Decorum, please. You will save this until after dinner is cleared, and only then will you celebrate. Then I will expect you to lift the roof.’
He was so old, so thin, so drawn, but his presence was still larger than anyone’s in the whole world, Evie thought, looking at him, feeling a great swathe of affection sweep her, and was astonished. She stared around. She had felt affection, even if only for a moment, for now it was gone, but she had feared that feeling was dead within her and it was worthy of celebration that it was not.
That evening, after a dinner of treats such as smoked salmon, lamb cutlets, sponge puddings involving sugar and cream, and finally wine from Lord Brampton’s cellars, liberated by Mr Harvey at Veronica’s suggestion, there was a mingling of new patients and convalescents, nurses, VADs, orderlies, downstairs staff, wandering here and there, within the wards and great hall, and downstairs. The celebrations spilled out on to the frosty lawn, and into the triage marquee where refreshments were laid out on trestle tables, and could be cleared within moments if a convoy arrived.
Evie was dragged by Harry to the fiddlers, who were recovering pitmen from Auld Maud’s roof fall. She sang ‘It’s a Long Way to Tipperary’, ‘If You Were the Only Girl in the World’, ‘Keep the Home Fires Burning’ and others until her throat was raw. She danced with Harry, and Ron who was there with Posie. Richard trod on her foot as they clambered through a waltz. ‘It’s the wine,’ he said. ‘I have to say, the old man keeps a good cellar. Not sure how Mr Harvey is going to fudge the wine account book to hide this little lot.’
Evie laughed. ‘He’ll find a way, no doubt, and hopefully Brampton won’t be here for a while.’
She saw Richard’s face set, and the lines of worry deepen between his eyes. She said, ‘What will happen to us all now?’
‘My thoughts entirely, Commandant Evie. What indeed?’ He tried a turn, which was unsuccessful, and as their balance went Ron spun up, dragging Posie with him, to act as a bulwark, stabilising the situation. Veronica danced past the near disaster in Harry’s arms, calling, ‘He’s your problem for the moment, Evie. No doubt you’ll make a dancer of him yet.’
‘Never, I know my limitations,’ Evie shouted after her, feeling hot from so many bodies, tired from cooking all day, but joyous. Always, every moment, there was joy.
Richard looked down at her. ‘Evie, may we just take a breather, out in the cool, and the quiet?’
The fiddlers were playing their hearts out, the wine bottles were laid out on the tables at the entrance, and two beer barrels too. They passed them, Richard’s hand on her elbow, partly to help his balance on the lawn, partly as a courtesy. They walked clear of the milling crowds and joined others, less frantic, strolling in the cold, or standing in groups, the men smoking, the few women talking. The sky was frosty clear. Evie looked up, glad there was no cloud, for such a sky made her feel insignificant, as though it expected nothing of her. She was just a speck, and that was how she felt.
Harry was beneath the cedar tree, a wine glass in his hand, beckoning them. They joined him. He had a bottle and glasses at the base of the tree. Evie retrieved two, and poured. They leaned against the tree, silent until Harry said, ‘Now we face the fact that the dead are never coming home but those that are left must go on, with absent limbs, faces and minds. It must be so strange on the Continent. There must just be the greatest silence known to man.’
None of them spoke, just drank, and then refilled their glasses.
The party ended at midnight, and Evie took over from Annie in the kitchen, sleeping on one of the armchairs, with Raisin and Currant asleep on the other. She dragged herself awake, as usual, when a VAD came in for beef broth, or the favourite food that was required by a new patient who had just realised that he was alive, and feeling rather better, or one who wanted the food his mother used to cook one last time, perhaps even just the smell of it, before he died.
At four in the morning, she was dragged awake again by something. Had it been a bang? She sat up, looking round. Had a door slammed? She heard voices, and the sound of running, but no one was ever allowed to run. Matron would have their guts for garters. She sat up, the dogs stirred, and barked. There were footsteps on the stairs, shouting. ‘Evie, Mr Harvey, Mrs Moore, Mrs Green, quickly, quickly.’ It was Ken, the orderly who had drawn the short straw and was manning the desk in the great hall all night. Behind him she could hear Sister Newsome calling, ‘We need hoses.’
Evie flew out of the kitchen, along the internal corridor, meeting Ken, panting, at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Hoses?’ She asked.
‘It’s the tree, some bugger’s blown it up.’
He was already turning, pounding back up the stairs. Evie followed, her cap askew. ‘What tree?’
Ken burst into the great hall, where patients were gathering. They wove their way through to the double doors which were flung open, and there behind the marquee were flames, leaping into the sky, whipped by the wind. Harry, Ron and several others were lugging Old Stan’s hoses through from the stable yard, Harry calling back to those in the yard, ‘Get that water on.’
The noise of the flames and the crackle of the cedar needles reached Evie as she stood on the steps next to Matron, who was in her dressing gown, her hair in a net, her hand to her mouth. There was a whoosh as something else went up and now Evie was leaping down, followed by Veronica, crunching across the gravel, skirting the marquee, the noise getting louder and louder. They reached Harry and helped with the hose, pulling it in the direction of the tree which lay prone, blackened and burning, branches scattered about. ‘Bastards, bastards,’ Harry was yelling, struggling to control the hose, which was like a live thing. The men hung on grimly, directing the water on the blaze while Ron doused the marquee with another hose to try to stop it going up too. The heat was intense, more so as the wind whipped up the flames.
‘Who did this?’ Evie shouted, gripping the hose behind the men, her hands and arms soaking wet. ‘Who would do this?’
Harry was looking behind him, towards the stables. ‘Where the hell is the woman?’ he shouted, then turned back as the hose seemed to leap to one side, knocking itself from Evie’s hands. She grabbed it again, and now her skirts were soaked but the heat was still blasting at them. ‘Where’s who?’ she shouted back.
‘Millie, she was in the garage. I shouted to her and whoever she had with her to haul out the third hose. Bugger it.’ Harry yelled to young Kev, ‘Get the garage hose, for God’s sake. Get Millie to give you a hand, and the bloke with her. We need another to help Ron with the marquee. Which’ll be needed tomorrow, bet your bottom dollar.’
Others had started a bucket line and were dousing the marquee as Kev ran to the garage.
By dawn the cedar tree was a smouldering mess. No one said that it looked like a great dead body, but Evie suspected most were thinking it. She and Harry stood beside it, with Grace, Veronica and Richard. There was nothing to say, because the image of peace and tranquillity that had sustained so many lay destroyed at their feet. Evie said, ‘Bless its heart. It stayed strong the whole of the war.’ But their tears were close.
Somehow they all worked as usual and lunch was created and removed, a convoy arrived, the laundry was hung out, and it was only then that Polly came into the kitchen. ‘Millie hasn’t arrived for her shift. Old Stan said she wasn’t at the pickup point. I expect she’s faffing about now the war’s over. Young Kev didn’t find her at the garage either, last night, and I reckon she’d just cycled home, lazy cow.’
Evie’s head was aching from the wine and tiredness, everyone’s was, but they had all arrived, they had all smiled because the war was over. Soon it would sink in, and the joy would remain and never depart. She smiled at Polly. ‘I’ll ask Mam when she comes. She’ll be biking in after fetching Tim from school. He’ll be crammed into that little seat, grumbling all the way.’
Mr Harvey knocked and entered, panting and even paler than usual. ‘Just to warn you, Lord Brampton has arrived, with her ladyship. They were in the area, intent on arriving this evening, so they say, but have arrived earlier to inspect the damage. A small convoy is expected at any moment, but in spite of this they require tea in the officers’ sitting room for four. Lady Veronica and Captain Richard will be joining them. The officers have been heaved out into the enlisted men’s day room, not that it seems to be a hardship to them. They’ve simply carried their playing cards through with them. Fortunately I have already had Lord Brampton’s empty wine bottles removed to a place of safety.’ Mrs Green arrived with tea towels. ‘The bottles are safely stored down in the bothy, Mr Harvey.’
Mrs Moore called, ‘Come and sit, both of you, while we prepare a tray for Mr Harvey to take.’
Evie was already pouring boiling water into the teapot, and instead of scones they set out fancies, which had been part of the feast prepared yesterday. Annie laid the tray with plates, serviettes, cups, milk, and some of the precious sugar.
Veronica thanked Mr Harvey as he placed the tray on the side table at her left hand. She and Richard sat together, with James on Richard’s knee. ‘Shall I be mother?’ she said to her stepmother, who winced at such a lower class question. Veronica poured, smiling slightly. Mr Harvey handed around the cups, and then the fancies. No one even looked. He replaced the plate on the tray, bowing when Lord Brampton waved him away without even a glance. Veronica said, ‘Thank you so much, Mr Harvey, what would we do without you? Indeed, what would we have done without you over these last terrible years?’
‘Thank you, madam.’ He backed out, and almost shut the door, almost, as Veronica had known he would. She looked at her father, waiting, because he had come for something.
He said, ‘I have tried to find a buyer for this white elephant. I have failed. Therefore, when the last patient leaves, which I insist must be by the last day of January 1919, I am razing it to the ground as so many of my friends are forced to do, in the face of the taxes inherent on such properties.’
There was triumph in every inch of his body. Veronica felt the words as though they were a body blow. Beside her Richard stirred. ‘I have used most of my assets on keeping Easterleigh Hall as a sanctuary for our wounded, as has Sir Anthony Travers, and Auberon. Would you, however, allow me more time to try and raise enough to buy this wonderful home from you?’ He was almost begging, and Veronica had never loved him more than at this moment, because she knew what this pleading must have cost him. James reached out and pulled his father’s nose. ‘For the sake of your grandson,’ Richard added.
‘It’s too late,’ Lord Brampton said, ‘for such humble pie. Did you really think, Veronica, that your behaviour, when your husband sent me away like some common criminal, would be forgotten by me, or your stepmother? So now you will understand the reality of consequences. You will all have to find your own damned homes, and these overfamiliar servants must find other jobs. Razed it will be, much as that infernal tree has been, which seemed to give you and your brother, and the late unlamented interfering governess of yours, Miss Wainton such pleasure. The matter is in the hands of my solicitors.’ He raised his voice. ‘Stop skulking at the door, Harvey, and load up the silver. You’ll have kept it neat and tidy in your safe and now it will be even safer in my keeping. Have it deposited in the Rolls. Meanwhile I will be inspecting the wine, because this will also be collected in due course. I will remove the wine cellar accounts today.’
There was a click as the door shut.
Evie dropped the pan of potatoes she was just about to put on to boil as Mr Harvey staggered into the kitchen, holding his chest, his face ashen and sweating. ‘Mrs Moore, quick,’ Evie called. Mrs Moore peered out from the scullery, with Maudie at her elbow. She ran across and together they helped him to the armchair which Raisin vacated reluctantly, helped on his way by Evie. Mrs Moore yelled, ‘Maudie, get Dr Nicholls, and then Lady Veronica.’ She loosened Mr Harvey’s wing collar. He was gasping, and holding out an envelope. ‘Don’t try and talk,’ Mrs Moore soothed him. ‘No, don’t talk, my love.’ She stroked his hair, and he leaned against her. Evie was on her knees next to him, holding his hand, shouting after Maudie, ‘Hurry, for God’s sake hurry.’
‘The silver,’ he gasped. ‘The silver. The small pieces, all gone.’
Mrs Moore and Evie stared at one another, not understanding. He was pushing the envelope at Evie. She took it, and saw her name on the envelope in Millie’s writing, and fear dragged at her. She ripped it open, still on her knees, as Dr Nicholls rushed in, his bag in one hand, Matron puffing in behind, with two orderlies carrying a stretcher.
‘Out of the way, Evie, for God’s sake,’ Dr Nicholls roared. Evie was reading Millie’s words. ‘Out, out.’ Dr Nicholls shook her shoulder. She looked up and scrambled to her feet, backing away as they all worked on her beloved Mr Harvey. Veronica flew in. ‘Evie?’ Evie pointed to Mr Harvey, and continued to back away until the table stopped her, the letter still in her hand. Veronica said, ‘Evie?’
Evie showed her the letter.
Well, Evie
The tree is my goodbye present for you. I said I’d get you, but you probably still don’t know why. It’s because you’re just so smug, so bloody perfect with your hotel plans, with your do-gooding. You and your family is always at it, and so I got to do it as well and will have to go on doing it, if I stay, because you’ll get your hotel, you see if you don’t, and I’ll have to do the laundry, or something.
It’s been hell, working in a freak show. And it’s not over, because Jack will come home, and we’ll have his bleeding shouting all night and who knows what he’ll look like, and if you’re daft enough to think them Bramptons will still be friendly and nice, when they don’t need us, you got another think coming. They’ll be back to the masters and we’ll be the servants.
I have a right to a whole man, with nice skin, no blue scars, and I’m going to have him. Heine likes me, and I will make him love me. I will. And we’ve got our start in life, thanks to the bloody Bramptons. We’re going on a boat, but you won’t know where and now things will work for me. Just look after Tim because Heine doesn’t want him. I had to choose. You Forbes took him away from me, anyway. He loved his gran more than me, so now you lot can do the donkey work and anyway, Jack loved the bairn, not me. Don’t think I didn’t know that. Just like you he is, the big person helping the little people. Well, get on with it and thank you for the silver. I hid it in the garage attic, so you got that wrong. But I was right, it will make a good train play area. Put up a plaque with my name, Millie Forbes
Jack, Martin, Charlie and Auberon marched through Albert, each full of their own thoughts. It was the end of November and not a shot had been fired since eleven o’clock on the eleventh. Jack found the quiet unnerving and strange, and knowing that they could walk erect, and light as many cigarettes as they wished without a sniper finding his target when the third match was struck, took some getting used to. Only a few birds sang because there were no trees, just stumps. There were few houses but a load of bloody ruins, and even the leaning Virgin on top of the Basilica of Notre-Dame de Brebières had gone, shelled by the British to stop the Germans from using the tower as an observation post. What the hell must it be like to look on this if it was your home?
He shook his head clear of the thought, because it wasn’t a million miles from Bastard Brampton’s intentions. He knew Evie’s letter about Millie almost by heart, knew that he was free to be with Grace now and that was still something that he couldn’t quite grasp, for he had thought it impossible. He had written to her, telling her again of his love, and that he was hers, and Agatha’s, if she would have him, but saying that he came with a son, and that was not negotiable. She had telegraphed back. Agatha says yes stop so I will have to come too stop your son is my son too stop
Mart came alongside, hitching his rifle. ‘Are you going to tell the boss about Evie’s thoughts for Easterleigh Hall?’
‘It’s not my place, man,’ Jack muttered, throwing his cigarette end to the ground. Along the sides of the roads the French were clearing the rubble, and stopped to cheer as they passed.
‘It’s not your place?’ Mart laughed out loud, waving at the children, and tossing them his last tin of bully beef. ‘That truly is such a load of bollocks. When has Jack Forbes ever known his place?’
A Frenchwoman was coming towards them, a basket on her arm. She stopped, dug into the basket and brought out apples for them. They took them, and Jack insisted, in French, that she had a packet of cigarettes for her husband. ‘Il est mort,’ she said, but took the cigarettes anyway. The men marched on towards the billet, two miles further down the long straight road.
That evening Jack and Auberon did rounds of the men billeted out of town and under tents in an area previously cleared of unexploded shells. The talk was of those who would not come home, and what the future would bring in a Britain fit for heroes, as Lloyd George had promised, and the stunned acknowledgement that they themselves had survived. When they returned, Mart and Charlie were heating water over a small fire, and levering open cans of bully beef. Mart looked up. ‘Will you share a tea with us, sir, before you go on for your feast?’ His tone was ironic, not bitter.
Aub shrugged. ‘I’d kill for one.’
Charlie shook his head. ‘Naughty naughty, no need to do that now.’
There was a faint laugh all round. They hunkered round the fire, holding the tin mugs between their hands. Mart threw on some sticks, and one more for luck. They all watched it smoulder before bursting into flames. ‘I still can’t believe it,’ Auberon said. ‘That great cedar tree down, just like that. They think the pair of them found a ship bound for America, or so Richard has been told by Brampton, who’s had the police track them as far as he can. I presume you won’t be taking off after them, Jack?’
His face was all innocence. Jack watched the fire, wanting to grin. ‘I think I’ll forgo that pleasure, sir, but if your father has his thugs search my parents’ house one more time, I’ll rip his head off.’
‘Pleased to hear it.’ Auberon sipped his tea. Mart coughed. Jack glared. Auberon was watching them both. ‘Out with it.’ He checked his watch. ‘I have to be at dinner in ten minutes.’
Mart said, ‘You know Jack heard from Evie yesterday, well . . .’
Charlie interrupted, ‘Amazing how postie finds us out here, really amazing.’
Jack watched Auberon watching them, one eyebrow raised. Jack gave in. ‘Well, what she said was that your da’s going to raze Easterleigh to the ground, but she reckons it’d make a grand hotel. Harry Travers thinks there are enough of the ex-patients to spread the word and you’d get plenty to stay. It’s her dream, you know, running a hotel, but reckon I’ve already told you that, and, aye, it’d be a grand place, with grand food. But then he won’t sell to you, will he? So that’s that, unless someone else could head it up. She’s looking elsewhere because she doesn’t think it could ever happen. A dream is just a dream, she says.’
There was a long silence, as they all threw on the fire what small pieces of wood they’d gathered in this disturbed and treeless area. Jack wondered what the cedar tree had sounded like as it burned, and what pain Evie had felt, and he wanted to put his arms around her and tell her all would be well. He laughed grimly. Would it? What about Simon? What about the hotel? What about her future? He had one, in the mine, but what about his grand beautiful sister? What of her?
Finally Auberon rose, dusting down his trousers, peering at his unpolished boots. He had replaced the compass in the heel, and refused to remove it, even now. ‘That’s of great interest. The final piece in a puzzle I’ve been working on, Jack. Try not to worry about Evie, I think I can see a way through. But in the meantime I’ve heard from Richard. He’s had you all designated as miners, you too, Charlie. This allows you the green card as pivotal workers and a swift demobilisation. You will be amongst the first home. He is sending to Simon’s prison camp and we will have him and Roger home before they know where they are, and that should bring a smile to your sister’s face.’
Jack saw the tiredness suddenly drench his captain, and stood as Auberon swayed. ‘Sir.’ He put out his hand. Auberon smiled, stiffened. ‘Do you know, I think I could quite sleep on my feet, but what’s new about that, eh, and soon you’ll be home, between sheets and not expected into work until you’ve had some weeks off. Now, Charlie, come and find me at Easterleigh Hall before the end of January, and let’s see what we can sort out. Off for din-dins, now.’
He turned, started to walk away, then stopped and called over his shoulder, ‘I’m leaving at first light and won’t be back for a while. I have things I need to do in Rotterdam, but tell those at home I’ve been held up at HQ, there’s good chaps.’
Jack watched him go, seeing him stumble in the darkness, recover and head off to the officers’ mess, which was lit inside with oil lamps, and outside with two lamps hung from poles. Auberon looked so alone that Jack started after him, running, pulling him to a halt. ‘Do you need us, sir, in Rotterdam? We’re in no hurry.’ It was a lie.
Auberon smiled, patted Jack’s shoulder. ‘I need you to trust me, Jack, that’s what I need. Really trust me because I hope I get it right, this time, for us all.’
Mart and Charlie had joined them. Charlie said, ‘But you can’t go, not without us.’
Jack shook his head. ‘Charlie, let the man do what he has to do. He’ll come back and you’ll be staying with me when you’ve seen your mam, and will see him then.’
Jack saluted his captain. ‘We made it, sir.’
Auberon returned the salute. ‘We wouldn’t have, without you, Sergeant.’
Jack replied, ‘Nor without you, Aub.’
Mart said, ‘For the love of God, you’ll be kissing next.’
Auberon laughed. ‘You take care, Jacko.’ He shook them all by the hand. ‘God speed,’ he said. ‘Give my regards to everyone at home.’