Easterleigh Hall at War (24 page)

With the coming of spring more and more land was being given over to food production, as part of Richard's plan. Pigsties had been set up in three fields and lambing was under way, under the eagle eye of Trotter, of Home Farm. Froggett was trying to train Richard and Ron to handle sheepdogs for next year, because no one could believe that the war would be over by then. They had tried their whistles on the dachshunds, which had provided an hour of hilarity but little progress.

In the kitchen Dottie was mixing the butter from Home Farm with mashed potato. ‘What the eye don't see, the stomach won't mind,' Mrs Moore muttered. ‘We've got to spin it out, but only for the staff, mind. The wounded get the proper butter or I'll want to know the reason why.'

‘Even the Germans?' Evie wondered. Mrs Moore pursed her lips. ‘They're someone's son, or husband, or brother. It's our duty. It's not our duty to like 'em, or whatever else these silly girls have taken into their heads, especially that wretched Millie.' Mrs Moore stopped, coloured, then said as she reached for her recipe bible, ‘Sorry pet, didn't mean that, not really. Well, you know, I'm just an old witch, as you say. She's just happy that your Jack is with Mr Auberon now, and out of the mine, you can tell she is.'

Evie busied herself checking that the pulses and beans set to soak two days ago were sprouting. One of the Indian patients had told them that this treatment of the beans produced something more nourishing and digestible. It seemed that the starch was converted into maltose, allegedly more nutritious. Even if it wasn't, soaking softened the beggars, and they took less time to cook, which in view of the industrial need for coal, and the shortage on the domestic front, was all to the good. Best of all, they created less wind, which pleased the nursing staff who complained that they had to bend to tend the patients, with catastrophic results all round.

She poked the beans. ‘Are you sure you agree with introducing them today in the mutton casserole for the patients?'

Mrs Moore was checking the ovens, all of which contained either the casseroles or the jam-sponge puddings.

At that moment, there was a knock on the internal door. Evie waved in Veronica, with baby James in her arms, and Richard, who was walking with more confidence, and who had asked that the upper servants call him by his forename. He, Tom the blacksmith, and Evie's da had devised a way for Richard to kick his false leg forward which seemed to make walking easier. Veronica saw the beans and her face fell. Evie wagged a finger. ‘Enough of that, there's a war on. How is the lord and master today, Ver, and how is Mart's mam managing as nanny?'

Veronica smiled, kissing her son. ‘Angela was named correctly, she was born an angel. We manage together very well now I'm back nursing in theatre. It was inspired, Evie, to ask her to come. You can see that she has this energy, which you say is new, but why wouldn't it be, if a son has been recovered. Thank heavens he is a prisoner and has a chance of surviving this terrible war.'

Richard slid on to a stool and stared hard at his wife, who ignored him, saying, ‘I thought I'd just walk James in the garden while the sun is out.'

Richard continued to stare at her. Evie and Mrs Moore looked from one to the other, and at Mrs Green as she came in with tea towels, freshly aired, and piled high in her arms to a point where she could barely see. Richard went to her, his arm outstretched. ‘Let me help.'

Mrs Green shook her head, her expression saying as clearly as her words would not, ‘It's not seemly, you belong above stairs.' Yet again Evie wondered if this changed attitude of the ruling classes would outlast the war. But what world would they be living in by then, and would these German POWs be their masters? Would there be any young men left, from either side? So many questions and no answers whatsoever. Richard was still staring at his wife.

Evie slid on to a stool herself, checking the clock as she did so. Ten thirty, with breakfast a distant memory and lunch looming too quickly. Daisy and her fellow housemaids would be down for yesterday's tea leaves for the carpets before ten minutes were up. Veronica said, ‘I'll be back in half an hour.'

Her husband said, ‘You'll be no such thing.'

Evie and Mrs Moore said at exactly the same time, ‘Come on, out with it, you two.'

Out it came, with Veronica settling herself down, and talking into James' hair. ‘Lady Margaret's friend has been injured, amongst others, in an ammunition factory where she's been working. Margaret wonders if Easterleigh Hall could manage to take in wounded women too, and I wondered what you think, Evie?'

‘There is quite a bit of wondering going on here, and why should it concern me?' Evie replied.

Richard was smiling. ‘I told you so,' he said to Veronica. ‘Now I've done the sums, you can do your own dirty work.'

His wife glared. Mrs Moore asked, ‘Sums? So is there enough money? Have you discussed it with Sir Anthony? We won't get the government subsidy, will we, and where would we put them? Can't be in the wards, just imagine the hanky-panky.'

Richard looked aghast. ‘I hadn't thought of hanky-panky, and I would think it would be the last thing on anyone's mind.'

All four women sighed, and Evie muttered, ‘Shows how much you know about anything, but of course they can't share a ward. I imagine you're asking me where I think they could go?'

At that point the housemaids rushed in for the tea leaves. Evie dragged out the bucket from the end of the ranges. The furnace was gurgling and could do with more coal; she fed it. Daisy rushed her ducklings out again.

Mrs Green followed in their wake, calling, ‘I'll leave you to your problems, but perhaps the conservatory? We have spare drapes we could hang from the ridge. We could then tuck them in at guttering height, leaving sufficient material for them to fall to the floor. There is already a stove in there, and a sink, water, and pipes running along the bottom of the walls to keep the vines from freezing, so I feel sure it is within the imaginings of man to create a haven for women.' She shut the door.

Richard was beginning to assume the hounded expression that was becoming more frequent these days, and usually ended with him muttering about cauldrons and monstrous regiments. Evie remembered something. ‘Old Stan's tomatoes. They will have to share with them, but the smell is nice.'

The laundry volunteers came clattering up the internal corridor from the yard, the empty clothes baskets on their hips, stuffing their Woodbines in their pockets. Suzy called through the open door, ‘The POWs are helping to get the hives to the meadows. Millie is directing operations.'

Evie was busy organising the table with cutlery, and longed to snap, ‘I bet she is.' Instead she called through to the scullery for Dottie to make sure the large porridge pan was ready for use for yet another load of potatoes, this time for lunch. She rejected one of the vegetable knives as too blunt. ‘Right, if that's that, off you go for your walk and Richard, Sir Anthony called, though I expect Mr Harvey has already told you. When is Ron back from Aldershot? Has he written with news of the rebuilding of his nose?'

Ver was still here, rocking James, who was crooning in response. Evie eyed the clock. ‘I'll take that as a no, as neither of you are answering. Don't worry, he'll be all right, whether it works or not. He's such a wonderful young man. Now, Richard, I'm sure you have work to do, because Mrs Moore and I most certainly have.' Mrs Moore was pulling mixing bowls from the cupboard at the end of the room near the scullery. Richard shook his head at Veronica. ‘Speak,' he commanded.

Veronica glared at him, again, then looked at a point above Evie's head. ‘The thing is, Dr Nicholls agrees that we should take the women, Lady Margaret's trust can fund it, but no one has quite got around to asking Matron . . .'

There was a crash as a mixing bowl fell to the floor. ‘Bugger,' said Mrs Moore, and yelled, ‘Dottie, we need a brush.'

Evie looked from Richard to Veronica. ‘So . . .?'

Mrs Moore shouted, ‘Don't be stupid, Evie, she wants you to beard the dragon in her den, that's what this is all about. No one else has the courage to actually ask, not even Nicholls, even though he's right glad we've hooked him out of that other place.'

Veronica was smiling tentatively now, and inching towards her husband. ‘You know very well you're the only one she listens to, Evie. Please, please would you tell her what we've managed to sort out, and that includes funding for another three nurses, and two VADs to concentrate on the women, and they can sleep in the storage room beyond the wine cellar which was electrified along with the rest of the basement, and I've spoken to Millie who isn't happy but will for an extra ten shillings a week . . .'

Evie put up her hand. ‘For the love of God, be quiet. Yes, yes. Now will you go, because we have to feed the multitude, and I will not expect that unpleasant look on your face from either of you when I produce the casseroles complete with these beans.'

Richard was staring at Veronica again, and then nodding towards Evie. Veronica, knowing Mrs Moore was now in the pantry, sorting the vegetables, came round the table to stand close to Evie. James was beginning to cry. Evie rubbed his back. ‘And?' she asked quietly, disturbed by the worry in her friend's face.

‘And,' whispered Veronica, ‘Margaret is pregnant and will not marry Major Granville, though he longs for it. She feels that women need to make a point. She has her own money since her aunt's death and could adequately provide for her child herself.'

Evie replaced the spoons she'd been examining, and wiped her hands down her hessian apron. James was crying properly now. She said, ‘Take him for his walk, and let me think. Richard, will you go with her, or perhaps stay here with me, but someone do something. This needs to be dealt with.' She knew her voice shook. Pregnant? Another one? What about her? When would it be her turn to have a child? She felt a mixture of rage and pain.

She turned to the range. The kettle was boiling. Tea was the answer. The leaves had been used once this morning, but never mind. Veronica leapt at the chance of escape. Evie made the tea and stirred the pot. Mrs Moore came from the pantry, a large bowl full of carrots in her hands. She slapped it on to the table. ‘We'll need that tea sooner rather than later, Evie pet. This is a damn sight more serious than bearding Matron over a load of women, this is a child's future being hoisted on the petard of its mother's ridiculous principles.'

Richard swallowed, and then the laugh burst from him. ‘I thought you were in the scullery, Mrs Moore. Ears like an elephant, that's what you have.' Mrs Moore picked up a carrot and threatened him with it. ‘It's no laughing matter. We need to sort it. Evie, what are we to do?'

Evie looked from one to the other. She'd slap the silly woman if it was up to her, but not because of any affront to society. It was because Lady Margaret was blessed, it was because Major Granville had lost his face and had to live his life behind a tin mask, and struggled every minute of every day to find some sense of self-respect. How would her refusal be perceived by him? Oh for God's sake, why couldn't people just hug their wondrous moments and treat them as the gifts they were, for surely the war had taught everyone that no one knew how long good fortune would last. ‘Where is the silly girl?' she asked Richard, and was horrified to hear the shake in her voice.

Mrs Moore shook her head at Richard. ‘Now Evie, keep calm. We need to think this through.'

Evie was already heading for the door. Good, they thought it was rage. But part of it was. ‘I'll leave the tea to brew and will be back shortly. Perhaps you'd like to get your recipe bible open at wedding cake, because I'm not having this. There's Verdun blasting men to pieces, men dying in Italy, the Zeppelins are causing mayhem over us all, our men are limping back to Blighty so we can repair them, only to send them back. No, I'm not bloody well having this nonsense about principles when that lovely man needs a wife. Dear God, he's not going to live for more than a year or so Matron says, so what's the stupid lump of a lass thinking?'

Evie headed up the stairs and through the green baize door, waving to Sergeant Briggs, and making a course straight for the Facial Room off to the side of the great hall. On the way, she heard Lady Margaret organising the VADs in the anteroom, and peeked in. A few extra years had not altered the woman's looks, which still resembled those of a thoroughbred racehorse. Would the child have the appearance of a foal, or look like its father? That was difficult, because no one here knew how he had looked. Lady Margaret was pale. Well, she'll be a damn sight paler in a moment, Evie thought, her hands rammed into her apron pockets so she wouldn't be tempted to strangle her.

She strode into the Facial Room, used to the remnants of faces. She smiled and waved, and spent time talking to each of them, asking if any of their visitors had made use of the overnight rooms that had been created in one of the cottages on the estate. Several had. She had to concentrate on Tom very carefully because the left-hand side of his face was gone, and though she could see the exposed raw mechanics of his jaw and tongue as they produced speech, it was hard to hear what he said.

Major Granville was reading to one of the corporals by the open window. He waved at her, his tin mask reflecting the light, even though volunteers were painting them as close to skin tone as possible these days. The window was open because the men liked to listen to the birds, preferring to hear them from the sanctuary of their day room rather than outside. Lady Margaret had tried to have Major Granville transferred to Aldershot's facial hospital but it was too late, and his injuries too bad. The good news was that some patients with facial injuries were now going to the Aldershot hospital from the ships, though some still went later. Soon it would be the turn of these young men too. Evie waved, said she'd come again, and only then did she enter the anteroom, gripping Lady Margaret's arm, and escorting her into the passageway along from the hall.