Easterleigh Hall (41 page)

Millie snapped, ‘Leave it, Tim.' She dropped a ball. ‘Bugger it.'

‘Not before the bairn,' Mam urged.

Millie sighed and passed one of the balls to her son, who tried to throw it across the carriage. Grace who was sitting opposite, caught it one-handed before it fell to the floor, and threw it to Evie, who threw it in turn to Alec, Simon's father, who tossed it to Da. A laughing Tim received it from Da and gave it to his mother, who smiled and threw it to Alec and so it went on, and soon they were all laughing, and booing those who dropped it. It was as though they were on an outing.

Outside the countryside flashed by. Wives, brothers, sisters and parents got on at the next station where the engine shrieked, blew off steam, and the wheels ground on the tracks as doors banged shut until finally they were moving again. The men gave up their seats to some new arrivals and moved to the corridors, leaving the women in possession of the carriage. Evie and Grace looked at the ball. Should they, shouldn't they?

‘Here, give it to me, for Pete's sake,' Millie said, taking the ball and tossing it to one of the new arrivals who blinked, came alert, caught it and on it went. Anything was better than thinking that their men were embarking.

Men were embarking.

Men were embarking.

The wheels drummed it again and again, and not even the ball-throwing stopped it going round and round in Evie's head. She could tell from every face in the carriage that their feelings were the same. It was too hot. Surely it was? She pulled on the leather window strap and lowered the window two holes. The wheels thumped over the points, the train shrieked as it went under bridges, the smuts blew in. Grace waved them away but they'd already landed on her face.

‘Evie, shall we put the window up?' she suggested.

Evie grinned. ‘Sorry about that.' She did so, and the noise abated. ‘Here, lick this.' She held out her handkerchief. Grace grimaced. Millie called, ‘You're not in your kitchen now, Evie Forbes, keeping everyone spick and span for the bosses.' Evie looked at her. What had a kitchen to do with handkerchiefs? She supposed it was Millie's way of keeping her in her place in front of strangers. They were looking at her now, realising she was in service.

Grace was dragging out her own handkerchief. She licked it and handed it to Evie. ‘Do the honours please, Evie, I can't look like a grubby schoolchild. And don't forget, Millie, Evie is doing a training for much greater things, sensible girl.' So stick that in your pipe and smoke it, Evie thought as she rubbed at the greasy smuts ineffectually.

Her mam said, ‘Away with you pet, give it to me.' She handed Tim to Evie. ‘I brought soapy flannels for the bairn, and they'll do faces better than lick and scrub.'

By the time they drew into Newcastle Central station Grace was restored to her former glory, or so Evie said as they exited their train to be greeted by a cacophony of shrieking whistles, gasps of steam, shouts, clangs, chaos. Their little group was borne along by a crowd that was rushing to the platform which held what seemed like hundreds of khaki-clad soldiers, and on the way they passed Lady Veronica standing to one side, looking lost. Evie and Grace struggled against the tide back towards her. Grace gasped. ‘What's happened to her face?'

Evie shouted into her ear, ‘She bumped into a door a week ago, or in other words Bastard Brampton hit her, just like he hits Auberon. It's the same bruising, the same split lip. She hasn't said, of course, but I'm sure. It looks a damn sight better than it did.'

They were being knocked by the passengers rushing towards the troops. ‘Your Ladyship,' Evie shouted, ‘come with us if you wish, you'll get trampled in the rush on your own.' She saw Lady Veronica smile carefully. ‘How kind, I was momentarily confused and Grace, you're here. I heard that Edward was indisposed and was hoping you could come in his place. I'm sure it's a great comfort to everyone.'

Evie urged her forward. ‘We need to keep up with the flow, and we don't want to be late. It's our last chance to see them until . . . Well, until.' Grace tucked a hand in each of their arms. ‘Until they arrive home safely,' she said, drawing them into the constant stream of tense relatives.

They made their way over to the far platform, which was the longest at the station. Above the melee they spotted a placard waving aloft, painted with the words 4th Battalion North Tyne Fusiliers, C Company. Lady Veronica whispered to Evie, ‘They could learn a bit from our placard-painting, couldn't they, Evie?'

‘Aye pet, that they could.'

Lady Veronica smiled. ‘It's so good to be called pet.'

They were forcing their way through the crowds in the direction of C Company. The embarkation train was already huffing and puffing, but it couldn't leave, not yet. ‘Not yet,' Evie said aloud.

Lady Veronica said, ‘It wouldn't dare, Evie, it would have you to reckon with.'

The three women grinned at one another. ‘Us,' Evie said. ‘Us to reckon with, the monstrous regiment of women.' Grace squeezed their arms and together they marched abreast and it was as though the sea parted, because suddenly they were there with the placard propped up on one of the Victorian pillars and the men searching for their loved ones. Where was Mr Auberon's platoon? Where?

She saw Jack with Tim in his arms, and Millie, her face flushed, looking around while hanging on Jack's arm. Martin was with them, and his mother too. Millie smiled at someone as he called to her. It was Roger. Evie watched as he came towards Millie and Tim, his son. Her brother stared at Mr Auberon's batman, daring him to lay claim to the child he, Jack Forbes, held in his arms. There was no way the child should grow up being influenced by such a person, or so Jack had told Evie the last time she had seen him.

Her da was just behind him, but moved to place himself between the two men. Her mam was off to one side, listening gravely to something Captain Williams was saying.

‘I must go, Jack might need me.' Evie darted forward, but Simon emerged from the milling crowd. Grace held her back. ‘I'll do it, you go to Simon.'

Everything else was forgotten as she ran and stumbled in between everyone else to reach him, just as he was trying to reach her, and then she was in his arms and he held her, burying his face against her hair. Where was her hat? What was it about hats? What did it matter?

His khaki was rough. It felt so strange. Everything was so terribly strange. All these men leaving, going to fight, but they'd be safe, because they were strong, brave pitmen. But no, Simon wasn't a pitman, he was a singer and a gardener, and he was gentle. He said, ‘I love you, I love you.' Again and again, and she was saying it too. His lips were on hers, their eyes fixed on to one another, her arms locked around him, and his around her.

Jack was here now. ‘Let her go for just a moment, Si. A brother has some rights and the lass has to breathe.'

It was Jack who held her now, so big and strong. ‘I'll take care of him, bonny lass,' he said. ‘Never fear, I'll take good care of him.' Her mam came up, tapping her shoulder. ‘Let your mam give Jack a cuddle now, Evie.'

Evie stepped back and saw Grace on the other side of her mother. She saw the love shining from her. Over her mam's head Jack was looking at Grace, and his love matched hers. Evie ached for them, but now there was someone by her side.

‘May I speak to you, just for a moment?' It was Mr Auberon, or rather, the Rt Hon. Lieutenant Brampton. Evie was impatient. She wanted to be with Simon. She looked for him but he was with his father and mother, so she swung back to her employer. ‘Yes, Mr Auberon, just for a minute though.'

He looked older, stronger. The sun had tanned his face. His eyes were a deeper blue. How sad that he had no one to wish him goodbye except for a sister. She softened. ‘I wish you well, Mr Auberon. I truly do.' And she did.

Everything was in the past and though Timmie had died, he'd died with his family around him, whereas if . . . She swallowed. His smile was strained. He bent a little closer, saying quietly, ‘Please, I ask you to be my sister's support. You attended the same meetings, you both sided with the socialists. If you can bear to do it for a Brampton, please be her support, or even her friend.' He touched his cheek, then his lip. ‘Teach her to protect herself. Forgive me asking. I have no right, but you're a wonderful woman, Evie Forbes.'

He straightened now, his colour heightened. He reached for her hand, held it, bent over it, kissed it. He straightened, gave her a half-salute and then he was gone into the melee and the whistles were blowing, the steam was gushing from the boilers and the men were dragging themselves from all they had known. Where was Si? Here, here. He held her, kissed her, but Jack was pulling him away, his sergeant's stripes coming into play. Martin, too, was playing his corporal's role to the full. They were going, piling into the train, hanging from windows. Evie, her family, Simon's family and Grace stood together looking for their men, but then Evie glanced around. Where was Lady Veronica?

She saw her standing back near the placard, quite alone, and hurried to her, taking hold of her arm because she looked so frozen, so pale. ‘Come with me. You're not alone, we've all got one another.'

Lady Veronica turned then. ‘I couldn't let my husband kiss me. I couldn't.' She touched her bruises. ‘The poor beggar,' Evie said. ‘You can do better than that, he's not the one who clobbered you, for God's sake. Pull yourself together, he's a good man.' She walked Veronica over to their group. ‘You can blow him a kiss,' she said. ‘He's there, on the carriage step.'

Captain Williams was looking along the train, checking that all the doors were shut. The guard was waving his flag. Suddenly Lady Veronica called, ‘Richard, Richard. Be careful, please.' He couldn't hear. Evie joined in, then Mam, then Grace. ‘Richard, Richard, this way.' He looked towards them at last and Lady Veronica blew a kiss. ‘Be safe,' she called. ‘Just be safe and come home.'

He was scrambling into the carriage as the guard slammed the door but he leaned from the window, waving. He returned the kiss and his face was alight with love. Evie put her arm around Lady Veronica, whose face contained something, but what? Simon was leaning out as the train shunted forward, screeching and grinding, and then he was gone, pulled back because another man leaned out, waving, and then he was gone, and another took his place.

Veronica felt the pressure of Evie's arm and made no attempt to move away from this group, from their friendliness, their warmth. Everything was different now; nothing that was ‘proper' seemed to matter. Britain was at war, her brother was gone, Richard too.

She watched the train leave, smelt the coal, heard the steam, and the crying around her. ‘You need a friend,' Aub had said.

‘Esther is living in London. Margaret used to be a friend but she came to us only to burn us down. How could she?' she'd replied.

‘You have Evie. You think the same, you go to the same meetings, so make her a friend, Ver, at least for the duration of the war, and never be alone with him again. Never.'

On 18th August, after laying over at Folkestone for several days, Jack herded the platoon on to the cross-Channel ferry which was to take them across to France. Their packs were a damned nuisance and all sixty pounds of them dragged at their shoulders and banged into the bloke behind, or swung into the bloke beside them if they turned. ‘Down packs,' he ordered. They did so, Martin digging him in the ribs and saying, ‘I'd rather be in the pit than slopping about on the top of this great bloody sea. Makes you feel right queer, man.'

Jack squatted down, dragging out cigarette paper and tobacco from his pocket. ‘Get down, out of the wind, and there's a bucket over there if things get bad.'

Simon was leaning on the rail, enjoying a last look at Blighty. The blokes were singing, ‘Who's your lady friend?' and he joined in. Jack strung the tobacco along the paper, rolled it, licked it, smoked it. Who was his lady friend? And did she love him? He knew she did. After the station, she knew he did. He had withdrawn after Timmie's death, because she had told him she no longer needed his help to dig, his help for anything. Why? If only he'd not listened, gone with his gut. One day he would ask her to be his love, somehow. But what about Millie?

He exhaled, the wind snatching at his breath. He owed Tim the chance of a decent life, and if Roger ever approached the boy again he'd kill him. He took a drag at the cigarette, the tobacco burning red. He'd made that threat before about Brampton and had done nothing, but there was still time and Roger was different, anyway. He wasn't a fool or a bastard, he was just evil, a snake.

Martin was hanging over the bucket now, poor beggar, but it wouldn't be long.

Lieutenant Brampton was moving between his men, returning their salutes, saying, ‘How are you? No one too sick?' Doing his duty, Jack grinned, but he looked right poorly himself. He got to his feet as Brampton reached him. ‘Everything all right, Sergeant?'

Jack saluted, pinching out the remains of his cigarette. ‘All present and correct, sir. We've a few not so well but a bit of solid ground beneath their feet will work a treat, either that or a good slab of fatty pork in between some bread.'

He kept his face still as Brampton's face paled even further and he rushed away. Bernie called across, ‘You're a heartless beggar, Jack Forbes, with a cast-iron stomach.' Jack watched Brampton proceed, keeping in contact with the men, smiling, joking when all he must have wanted to do was vomit. He hated himself for admiring the bastard.

Above them the gulls were wheeling. Would Da still go sea-coaling? Yes, of course he would. Would he grow his leeks? Probably even more seriously than ever, with the war on. Would the pigeon fledglings he'd bought off Alec survive? Of course, if his da had anything to do with it.