A House Divided: An Easterleigh Hall Novel (2 page)

At the other end of the table, Bridie was grinning at something Mrs Moore had said and looking for her notebook. Evie took it from the pile next to the lists and scooted it down the table. The pencil was on a string and dragged along behind. ‘Thanks, Mam.'

Bridie wrote something down.

Evie whispered to Ver, holding up one of the lists as though they were discussing it. ‘But it's as Jack and Gracie say, the lad has every right to make his own choices, and they don't want the family condemning him for his decisions.'

Now Bridie and Mrs Moore were running through their own lists for the desserts. Evie continued, ‘The trouble is, I'm not at all sure that Bridie accepts that. I find I'm really on edge when they're together in case she says something unforgivable, but he does taunt her so. Have you noticed? It's a nasty type of bullying when all three cousins have always been so close.'

Ver slipped her arm around her friend. ‘Bridie's a chip off the old block, so she'll still be standing when the rest of us are flat on our backs.'

The pair of them smiled at one another. Evie said, ‘Anyway, Millie hasn't taken him over completely yet, Ver. The lad's still working and living in
Newcastle, so I suppose the time to despair will be if he moves to Berlin.'

Ver said flatly, ‘We're not even going to think about that.'

The women fell silent, watching Bridie and Mrs Moore and trying not to look at the clock, because if there was something very wrong with the cake, they'd need a few moments to sort it out. Another five minutes passed and Evie wondered if she could hurry them up, but then, glory be, Bridie and Mrs Moore began to untuck the muslin that covered the wedding cake. Evie called, ‘Your da is so proud of you, Bridie, and can't wait to see it.'

Ver said, ‘As are we all.' She whispered to Evie, ‘She does like her moments of drama, doesn't she, bless her.'

Now she said loudly, ‘Bridie wouldn't discuss the cake at all, you know, Evie, but said I had to wait. Do you know, I think she could even outshine your cooking, my girl, in time, and with Aub's blonde hair the boys will be like bees round a honeypot.'

‘Oh, Aunt Ver,' groaned Bridie, adjusting her grip on the muslin.

‘Over my dead body,' Evie murmured, knowing that Aub would be beating them back even before she got off the starting block.

‘Over your dead body can be arranged,' Ver countered.

Evie laughed gently. ‘Aye, no doubt it can, and I can see that the reputation of Easterleigh's secure
with Bridie, because, my dear Ver, one day we will be old and decrepit.'

Mrs Moore swung round. ‘Who's old and decrepit? I'll show you. Ready, Bridie? Let's do it, pet.'

Evie watched the young and the old as they lifted the muslin with a flourish, revealing the cake. As the muslin floated back down, Bridie scrunched it into a bundle. She faced her mother, flushed with excitement, standing there in her powder-blue silk dress with a darker blue jacket, and her small feathered matching hat. She looked more beautiful than Evie could remember, and the cake was supreme.

For a moment there was silence until Evie eventually found her voice. ‘It's quite the best I've ever seen, truly it is.'

Mrs Moore patted Bridie. ‘Aye, we work well together. She has the most nimble of fingers.'

‘Yet another triumph, both of you. It is absolutely grand.' Evie moved to Bridie, loving this child, loving Mrs Moore, and cross with herself for twisting and turning in Millie's breeze.

‘What do you think, Mam?' Bridie asked.

‘I'm just trying to remember when I've seen such workmanship, and I can't. Jack and Gracie will be so pleased.' Her heart lightened. It was her brother's wedding, it was a day of joy, and her daughter had helped to produce not just a magnificent cake, but excellent canapés, and desserts, which was something that Evie would not have been able to do when
she
was fifteen.

Ver was circling the table, looking in awe at the wedding cake, which would need to be carried out to the marquee. Kevin, who had been the bootboy way back before the war but was now on the front of house team, would organise that.

Bridie slipped to Evie's side. ‘Mrs Moore let me do quite a bit of the icing, Mam. She's such a canny cook, isn't she, even with her poor swollen hands and all. Do cooks always get arthritis?'

Evie replied, ‘I haven't, so no, and yes, she is clever. She taught me all I know.'

Just then they heard the revving of a car as it drew into the garage yard. A moment later there was the slamming of a door. Someone came rushing down the steps. Evie hugged her daughter, and now they were both laughing.

Evie said, ‘If I'm not mistaken, that's the sound of James' tippy-toes, and before he comes, remind me to make sure you have a glass of champagne this afternoon. You deserve it, though you're a little too young.'

‘I'm nearly sixteen, Mam.' Bridie sounded irritated.

Evie laughed. ‘Of course you are, quite the old woman.'

James Williams, Ver and Richard's son, clattered into the kitchen, his suit creased and his tie askew. He tossed his hat onto the table, and Mrs Moore bawled, ‘Off, off.'

He put it on one of the stools instead, hurrying
across to Evie and Bridie by the dresser, his face hot and sweaty.

‘Aunt Evie, I've finally delivered Uncle Jack, Aunt Grace and Tim to the photographer following the church blessing. I had to get strict with everyone at the church, as they were just milling about and wouldn't get a move on. It's like herding cats. The vicar is following on his bike. I do wish he wouldn't, he's not safe wobbling all over the place. Honestly, he's halfway to heaven already, with his head stuck so high up in the clouds.'

His mother, Lady Veronica, didn't turn, but continued to pace around the table, her eyes on the three magnificent tiers. ‘Draw a breath, James. Yes, I think we gather that you're back, but you must come and admire this work of art. Honestly, Mrs Moore, and you, Bridie, I'm not surprised Easterleigh Hall hotel is being asked to hold so many wedding receptions.' She swept back to her son, kissing him, then moving on to Evie, Bridie, and finally Mrs Moore, kissing them all.

James shouted in his frustration, ‘Do listen, everyone. I've just said I've dropped the bride, groom and Tim with the photographer, but Uncle Jack's being difficult, saying he doesn't want the photos on the steps, but in front of the cedar tree. Tim's getting in a state because the photographer's arguing, so he's sent me to tell you and Aunt Evie, so you can sort it out.'

Evie grinned at the boy, and tilted her head at Ver.
Mrs Moore was tutting and making her way past the table. Evie and Ver caught up with her. All three linked arms, and they set off. ‘Calm down, James, we're on our way,' Evie said. They marched through the door, Evie calling over her shoulder, ‘Jack's right, everyone was fond of the old cedar tree. It gave people comfort in the war, and just see how tall the replacement has grown. James, make sure Bridie doesn't slide off to fret in the dessert pantry. The crèmes brûlées are perfect and she should be proud. Bridie, cover the cake, bonny lass, and both of you, follow us for the photos, quickly.'

They had reached the bottom of the steps when Evie heard her daughter call, ‘It's not going to help the family photos, Mam, to have you and Aunt Ver in aprons, unless you're advertising the charms of our hotel, which I wouldn't put past the pair of you.'

Evie and Ver looked at one another, tore off their aprons and handed them to Bridie, who had run after them. Mrs Moore shouted as she reached for the handrail, mounting the first step, ‘Bridie, remember to shut all the doors when you come. We don't want the dachshunds barking their barks, walking their walks, and deciding they'd like to be food tasters.'

Evie and Ver let Mrs Moore tackle the steps on her own, knowing that to offer help would go down badly. Instead they followed her up, keeping a close eye as she puffed and panted. Once she reached the yard safely, the three set off.

James had parked his father's Bentley in front of the second garage, white ribbons still attached. The first garage acted as a playroom for the children of staff and guests. There was an outdoor area with swings and a slide.

Together the women walked from the garage yard, into the stable yard, and then to the gravel driveway. Ahead was the marquee on the front lawn, and to the right, Easterleigh Hall. The three women were arm in arm, a monstrous regiment, so Jack and Auberon frequently called them. Ver's husband, Richard, wouldn't dare, he'd whispered to Evie.

As they crunched across the gravel, Mrs Moore sniffed. ‘Did you see the vicar's bicycle clips on under his cassock when he conducted the blessing? Daft old thing, he is.' They marched on to take their place amongst the throng.

Bridie adjusted the muslin. She adored cooking and baking, and would happily do it every day. Well, she did, daft lass. First, she, Mrs Moore and her mam had made the wedding cakes using a heavy fruit mixture. They had not only added brandy to the mix, but as the weeks went by Bridie had dribbled more onto the top until the fumes stung her eyes, watching it sink into the guts of the cakes.

Mr Harvey, the butler, thought they had used too much in these days of lingering economic depression, until Evie had pointed out it was an exceptional wedding, for Jack, and furthermore that the cake would be iced by Mrs Moore. At that, he had marked up the bottle in his account book with alacrity, and said nothing further. Mrs Moore was his wife and meant everything in the world to him, and besides, she'd tell him the error of his ways and not mince her words in the doing of it.

Bridie had also said that the remains of the cake would go to the pitmen at the retirement houses Gracie and her brother ran beneath Stunted Tree Hill.

Finally, it had been time to ice the cake. After her day's work in the kitchen, and before her riding
therapy for the Neave Wing, Bridie had looked and learned, as Mrs Moore ordered. She had observed the spinning of cobwebs, the thicker piping, and breathed in the sweet smell. It had made her long to go to cookery school, to become the best pastry cook, and the best ever at icing.

‘Come on, Bridie,' James nagged.

‘Leave me be, man,' she snapped, as she tucked the muslin gently beneath the tiered cake stand, and made sure the knife was by its side and would not be forgotten.

Each day she had hoped that Mrs Moore would let her try her hand on something other than practice cakes, until finally she had been allowed to pipe much of the finery on the surface of the three tiers, and, last of all, the bow beneath the heart.

She stood back, tweaking a fold of the muslin which lay too heavily on the heart, saying to James, ‘There's a great deal of looking and learning in life, isn't there?'

James hadn't been sure what degree to do, so had decided to work for a couple of years at Home Farm, where Bridie and her family lived, and her father, Auberon Brampton, farmed. It was as James had walked behind the plough, geeing on the Clydesdales, that he'd decided to read Classics at Oxford this October. He said it was something to do with looking at horses' bums for hours at a time. He also said that he understood why her father preferred the peace of farming to tiptoeing about like a spare part
at the hotel, because in some ways it gave you time to think, but at others, no time at all. A good mix.

James came to her, wiping crumbs from his mouth. She snatched a look at the cool pantry. The door was open and she slapped his arm. He said, ‘I only took one canapé, so hush yourself. I think they might be delicious, but perhaps I should taste another just to make sure?' His dark blonde hair flopped over his forehead, his blue eyes reflecting his grin.

She slapped him again, and hurried to close the pantry door. ‘You dare and I'll have your guts for garters, you hear me? And answer me, please. Does Da make you look and learn when you work on the farm with him, or do you just “do”?'

When she returned he was peering under the muslin, and he whistled. ‘She's a game old bird, isn't she? That really is good. No, your father says the best way to learn is to get stuck in. So there's your answer. Farm work is not a romantic notion, it's damnably hard, but, as he says, better than his generation had to put up with, given the war and all that.'

Bridie shut the door into the internal corridor, grinning through the glass at the kitchen staff in their sitting room across the corridor. Maudie, who was in charge of the scullery and laundry, was jabbing her finger at the clock on the wall. Bridie retaliated by miming that it was time for all of them to change for the reception.

Bridie noticed that the fourth generation of dachshunds, Raisin and Currant, were with them, ensconced
on the sofa. James nipped into the pantry, leaving with yet another canapé in his mouth. ‘All clear of dogs,' he said, spitting crumbs everywhere.

Bridie undid her apron and hung it on the hook. ‘I bet you knew very well Maudie had them. You are a disgusting and greedy child, James Williams.'

She led the way from the kitchen, checking that James shut the door behind them. Out they went, up the stairs into the garage yard, while he grumbled, half laughing, ‘I'm twenty, if you don't mind, so you can watch it, foul and unreasonable infant.'

It was no more than their usual mode of communication. As they started on their way they were diverted by Prancer's whinny and they went to his stall to stroke his neck. Then Bridie heard her mother's call, ‘Troublemakers, where are you?'

‘Coming,' they both replied in unison, and gave Prancer one last stroke. ‘You're a grand old boy,' James crooned, then asked, ‘How's young Tom finding it now? Is it helping him?'

Tom Welsh was the young miner who had lost a leg in a rare roof fall in Auld Maud, the Easton pit Uncle Jack managed.

Bridie smiled. ‘Ah, we got him up the ramp in a wheelchair yesterday, then with Young Stan and Clive we hoisted him onto Prancer. We set up his balance just right and you should have been here, bonny lad. Within an hour he had made a circuit of the paddock, and his shoulders were straight, his eyes alight.'