Easterleigh Hall (11 page)

Evie said to Millie, ‘After that lay up bowls for us and we'll have them down at the end of the table . . .'

Mrs Moore cut in, ‘Evie, we'll need all the knives, sieves, every bloody thing, but pour me a cup of tea and check that those damned rabbits are on their way.' Her hands were shaking, her face pale. There was a sheen of sweat on her cheeks, her hands seemed even more stiff and swollen this morning as she tucked a strand of hair beneath her cap.

Evie wondered if she had suddenly grown an extra pair of hands to be here, there and everywhere, but the only thing she could do was to take it steady, and that was that. Millie was stirring the porridge so slowly it was painful. Evie helped her tip it into the earthenware pot leaving sufficient for the kitchen staff, then tapped the ladle on the side, resting it on the plate on the side of the range.

‘It was right canny seeing Simon the other day, wasn't it?' Millie said, wiping round the edge of the pot. Evie nodded. The gardeners and stable lads had come for tea a week ago when Millie and Sarah, the new scullery maid, had joined them. Poor Sarah's hands had the look of raw beef within two days.

‘Take it through now and you still haven't laid up for four down the table end.' Evie poured a cup of tea for Mrs Moore, who was rattling the pan on the range. Millie nodded, and she and Sarah took the porridge through to the staff. ‘That girl can hardly be bothered to be lazy, and where's me biscuit?' snapped Mrs Moore.

Evie hurried to the biscuit barrel and popped one on the saucer for Mrs Moore. There had been another empty bottle of gin in her sitting room this morning, which meant Mrs Moore had gone through a whole one over the last two days. Perhaps it was worsening pain, perhaps the stress of the dinner party.

Evie took over the pan. ‘Leave these and have your tea,' she insisted, nudging the woman away and on to her stool. They were running late but Mrs Moore needed a pick-me-up, and that was that.

Millie was back, standing by her side, looking lost. ‘Now what?'

Evie snapped, ‘Just put our four bowls on the table and fill them with porridge, for the third time.'

Millie flushed. ‘What's the matter with everyone today?'

Mrs Moore shouted, ‘What do you think, you daft bairn? We're busy with their breakfast and have to think of their luncheon as well, because his Lordship is on his way and has requested rabbit pie. Rabbit pie on a dinner-party day, I damn well ask you, not to mention a colour co-ordinated dinner for twenty-four, cream and white. What can I do with that? Cream and white and just the odd spot of colour, and you stand there . . .'

Evie interrupted, ‘Just serve our porridge, Millie, and then take the pan to the scullery. Try and remember what you learned when you worked for Mrs Fredericks, that was her name wasn't it, at Gosforn? It's the same here, just a bit busier. We know you're trying to get used to it.'

She forced herself to be pleasant as she tipped the kidneys into a serving bowl, grabbed a thick cloth, jerked up the handle of the warming oven and slid in the dish. Millie slopped across to the scullery while Evie wondered why on earth Lady Brampton insisted on sautéed kidneys when they could be cooked just as adequately in the oven and she didn't eat them anyway. Today instead of toast in her room she wanted fresh fruit, a boiled egg and soldiers, for pity's sake. Soldiers? She felt her shoulders rising, felt herself on the verge of tears. They'd never do it, never get everything done.

Millie flounced out of the scullery and stood with her hands on her hips, calling, ‘Anyway, our Evie, you never could count at school.' Evie swung round, tucking the oven cloth on the fender. ‘There are five of us not four, so it's as well I've just put out five bowls if you cared to look, or you'd go hungry. So stick that in your pipe and smoke it.'

There was a silence as Evie stared at her, then at the five bowls, and then at Millie again, so slight, so flushed, her brown hair refusing to be imprisoned by her hat, and she remembered who she was. Evie Forbes, a miner's daughter who could handle whatever came her way because she wasn't in a bloody pit expecting the roof to come down whenever it chose. She felt the laugh begin, along with a great explosion of joy. It was only a meal. Yes, she could be dismissed without a character, but it was only a meal and they were all in it together. She roared now, and heard someone else laughing too. It was Mrs Moore. They were joined by Millie, whose relief was written all over her face, and behind her were Annie and Sarah, smiling, too tired to laugh. Poor wee lasses.

Mrs Moore slammed down her tea cup, removed her glasses and wiped her eyes. ‘By, we needed that. Not the tea, the laugh.'

They all ate their porridge, the atmosphere relaxed and for Evie everything became possible, even a meeting with Simon at last, for she still had to check on the rabbits.

She and Mrs Moore finished the upstairs breakfast. Archie and James and Miss Donant collected the trays. Evie and Millie began to lay up the table for Mrs Moore and, glory be, the lass remembered at least some of the utensils. ‘Good girl,' Evie murmured, ‘I'll leave you to it and get the stockpot on.'

She scooped bones from the icebox, and vegetables. These she cleaned before adding them to the stock. One of the bells in the corridor rang. Millie ran to see who it was: her Ladyship. Evie said, ‘Tell Miss Donant it's time to bring the tray down, she's eaten her soldiers. Likes her flesh, she does. Reckon she'd eat any one of us at the flick of a duster.'

Mrs Moore shook her head at Evie but waited until Millie ran off to the servants' hall to find the lady's maid, then murmured, as she checked her utensils, moving the vegetable knives into one group, ‘Be cautious, Evie, trust no one. If that remark about her Ladyship liking flesh goes upstairs you'll be out. Make the servants your friends, they're the only family you've got while you're here, but keep your opinions to yourself or you won't get to where you want to be.' She didn't look at Evie, but her voice was firmer than Evie had ever heard it.

‘Where do I want to be?' Evie heard herself asking as she reached for her shawl. Could Mrs Moore know she was only using the Bramptons for her own ends?

‘Well, perhaps somewhere the equivalent of Claridge's.' Mrs Moore sounded tired. ‘You see how information travels.' She looked at Evie with a gentle smile.

Evie slipped round the table and hugged her, half expecting to be shrugged off. She wasn't. The woman just nodded, patted her hand. ‘Claridge's will happen, I know it will, but you have things to learn, not just cooking, pet. Now get the rabbits and show Millie how to skin them. We need to work harder on her training. Heaven knows what Mrs Fredericks ate because there's not much sign of ability in that young woman, or is it willingness? Well, you did warn me when she came for her interview that you remembered her behaviour from school, but I thought I knew better. Ah well, she might smarten up and want to own a hotel. Stranger things have happened.' Evie grimaced and Mrs Moore laughed. ‘I tell you what, our Evie, if I had the money I'd probably stay in yours, but . . .'

Evie squeezed her. ‘You'll never have to pay.'

Mrs Moore laughed softly. ‘Off to those rabbits and young Simon, then.'

Evie hesitated. Mrs Moore whispered, ‘Remember to be cautious. Reckon even the vegetables have ears. No one's allowed to “walk out” here.' Her look was kind. Evie nodded. ‘Thank you. I have remembered.'

Across the corridor the servants were bustling to their duties. Millie returned carrying a trayful of bowls which she took straight to the scullery. Above the clatter of the dishes being almost hurled into the zinc-lined sinks, Evie called, ‘Millie, after you've fetched the earthenware bowl – and remember to put the scrapings into the bin for the pigs this time – would you come and help Mrs Moore, please? I'll be back with the rabbits and then I'll show you how to skin the little beggars.'

Evie headed for the door, eager to see Simon, although she knew she must hide her feelings. She'd be careful, very careful.

As she left Mrs Moore called her back. ‘You'll use last evening's leftovers from upstairs for staff lunch as usual, will you? I think there's sufficient but if not there're some hocks of bacon from Home Farm.'

Evie nodded. ‘I was going to make a bacon and chicken stew with dumplings, and I'll make the pastry for the rabbit pies as well.'

‘Good lass.' Mrs Moore was bustling to the pantry. ‘We'll have ours here and Mrs Green will just have to put up with it. She thinks if we eat in here we're giving ourselves extras. Silly woman, we have all day to stuff our faces if that's what we want to do.' She turned and winked at Evie, for that was indeed what they wanted to do, and often did.

Evie laughed and almost ran down the bell corridor and out into the backyard, past the garages, skidding round the coal shed, past the garden store at the top of the brick path leading south along the walled garden. In the distance was the under-gardeners' house, hung with wisteria. Soon it would be in bloom, Mrs Moore said.

She had only seen Simon in passing when he brought in vegetables or house flowers but he always smiled, always looked for her. She was sure he did. She rushed down the path. It was colder here in the shadows cast by the wall and the breath jogged in her throat as she ran. The wall ended in a brick-built store. She slowed, and forced herself to approach casually. Perhaps it wouldn't be Simon who had caught the rabbits, it might be Alf, or Bernie. She called quietly, ‘Hello.'

Simon stepped from the store, holding up four rabbits which hung from his hand on a string, their eyes glazed. His were as vivid blue as always and his hair as red as ever, and she had never seen him smile so broadly. ‘Well, if it isn't our Evie. I thought it might be Annie or Millie yet again. Have you been avoiding me? Why do you always send
them
for herbs? Little talkers, those young madams are.'

She stopped within a yard of him. ‘I don't send them, Mrs Moore decides, or they nip out before we can stop them. Anything to get away from the work.' He just laughed, and said, his voice hardly more than a whisper, ‘Then you nip out instead, dead quick or we'll never get to talk and I can't tell Jack anything he might need to know.' Her smile faded. So it was only because he wanted to pass on her messages.

She brushed past him into the store, her head high, her voice low as she said, ‘I've heard nothing that can help him. Brampton's not back until lunchtime. I'll do what I can then but I don't see how I can hear anything useful ever. We never mix. Mr Auberon's here, that's all I know.' She reached for the rabbits. He swung them away from her. ‘I'll walk them back with you. Not a job for a lady.' A trickle of dried blood ran from the rabbits' mouths.

Perhaps he said this to the other girls too. She avoided his eyes and set off back down the path, glancing over her shoulder at him. ‘I'm no lady, I'm the cook.' There was no laughter in her voice, or in her heart.

He hurried to catch her up, grabbing her hand well before they reached the top corner store. ‘You listen to me, Evie Forbes.' He pulled her to a stop; they both looked around. There was no one in sight, and no sound from the other side of the wall in the vegetable garden. ‘You listen to me, Evie Anston, you're as much a lady as any of them.' His grip was tight as he raised her hand and kissed it. His lips were soft and warm. ‘I used to pull your plaits, and I still want you to play tag with me. I really like you, Evie Anston. Really really like you.' His smile was wide but not as wide as hers, surely.

She wanted to stay here for ever, but they both turned as Millie called from the corner. ‘There you are, we need herbs as well, and Mrs Moore says that at this rate the bloody dinner will be over by the time you get back and then where will we be, the bloody workhouse. Those were her real words, Evie.' Millie's colour was high, her eyes frightened. ‘Hurry.' She turned and ran back to the house.

Simon dropped her hand, giving her a push. ‘You get back with the rabbits and I'll fetch the herbs.' She began to hurry away but he called to her. ‘No wait.' He came closer, talking quietly. ‘Two things – tomorrow, Sunday, it's your day off, are you sea-coaling? Jack brought up your bike last week and I haven't had a chance to tell you. I'll show you where. I didn't want the kitchen to hear me mention Jack . . .' He trailed off. ‘I'm going too.'

Her heart soared. ‘Yes of course I'm going, man, where's my bike?' She was walking backwards, the rabbit string cutting into her fingers, they were so heavy.

‘In the bothy by the big gate. It's all right, it's where we keep the gardeners' bikes and no one will notice there's an extra one. There are a load of mowers, tools and the like. I'll meet you there at three.'

He went on, ‘One other thing, the valet will be back with Lord Brampton. Watch him, he thinks he's God's gift to the women and has a right to whatever, or whoever, he wants. He'll be gone in a day or two because his Lordship hardly ever stays more than that, so do a good job at ducking and diving, Evie. Any trouble, let me know.'

She recognised the frown, the thinned lips, from the playground when he'd had to fight his way into Jack's gang, and she laughed. ‘I'll be fine.'

He nodded, she too and then he hurried back down the brick path, turning right towards the walled garden. ‘I'll get the herbs and will be bringing the flowers for the table, the colour co-ordinated ones.' Bernie stood at the entrance. ‘Where you been, lad? The boss's foaming at the mouth.'

She ran to the kitchen, the rabbits bumping her legs, their clotted blood catching on her apron but she didn't care, because he did, or seemed to. Once back she hung her shawl in the corridor and wiped her boots, hurrying into the warmth. ‘Here they are,' she called, holding up the rabbits, then slowed, for Annie, Sarah and Millie were standing close to Mrs Moore, who sat on her usual stool, and beckoned to her.