Easterleigh Hall at War (17 page)

Major Dobbs called his officers together. Auberon looked at Jack, and then shouted, ‘Sergeant Major Dawson, keep control, you too, Sergeant Forbes, no matter what happens.' He hurried towards Dobbs.

The guards were unhitching their rifles around the group of officers. What the hell was happening? What were they going to do, shoot the buggers? Jack waited, outwardly calm, inwardly in turmoil. He moved to stand alongside Dawson, who whispered, ‘What do we do? We've no weapons.' Jack shrugged. ‘We wait.' He was on alert as he'd never been before as more guards moved to stand around the perimeter.

The British officers dispersed, back to their men, all except Auberon, who appeared to be arguing with the major. Finally the major drew himself up and actually stabbed his finger at Auberon's chest. Auberon saluted, and left, walking towards his men, his head down. As he drew near he straightened, and looked at Dawson first. ‘The officers are to be transported to an Offizier Gefangenenlager, or to you and me, a prison camp for officers. Roger will accompany me as batman. Inform the men, please, Sergeant Major, and good luck to you all.' Jack felt the shock. He was going? But they were escaping together, they were friends, weren't they?

Auberon returned Dawson's salute, and watched as he marched away. He turned to Jack. ‘I had to go, but I have a plan and I will get you out, I promise you. And Simon.' He reached out his hand, his face pale, his eyes pleading.

Jack stared past him at the men who stood in their squares, deserted by their officers. ‘I'm so sorry, Jacko. I wanted to stay,' Auberon whispered. ‘I wanted to escape, with you. To go back, together.'

‘Then why didn't you say no?' Jack also whispered, keeping his voice steady, though the anger made him create fists of his hands. ‘Your men need you, you've said so yourself.'

‘I did say no. It did no good.' Auberon's hand was still stretched out towards him. The North Tynes were watching. Jack saluted, ignored his hand, and marched back to their square, saying nothing, feeling the disappointment like vomit in his throat. He was going, when Jack had thought . . . He shook his head. What had he thought, stupid bloody fool? Of course Auberon was going, that was what bosses did, they were never your friend, they just went off to a nice camp, with a nice bloody servant.

The officers started to pile into the lorries. The guards still stood at the ready. Roll call was over, and the enlisted men lined up at the eastern entrance. Simon caught up with him. ‘That wasn't fair, Jack, to ignore his hand in front of everyone too. You know bloody well he's a good officer and that he has to do what the major says. He's argued enough with him, sat in the cattle truck with us, had to put up with you smelling of shit. I bet theirs smelled of roses. He hacked at the quarry with us, when the other nobs stood supervising.'

‘Shut up, Corporal. I should have killed him when I had the chance.' Jack heard the lorries revving, heard Major Dobbs shouting, ‘For God's sake, Brampton, get a move on.' Above it all was the sound of artillery, and below them the shuddering of the ground.

Behind him he heard Auberon calling, ‘They can wait one moment, sir. Corporal Preston, here a minute.'

Jack stared ahead as Simon was allowed by the guard to speak to his officer. Later when they were marching to the quarry Simon slipped him Auberon's cigarette case. ‘It's to barter with. We can get bully beef from the Feldwebel sergeant, as they call him.'

‘I'd rather starve.'

Dave and Charlie said together, ‘We already are.' Those around them laughed. After a pause, Jack grinned, and laughed too. It was what they did or they'd go bloody mad.

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.