Easterleigh Hall (45 page)

Dr Nicholls smiled at her. ‘Why not?'

Matron shrugged. ‘Nothing to do with me. What about Mr Harvey, Mrs Green and Lady Veronica?'

Evie checked with them, but they were already nodding, and making a note in their little books. Maud had wonderful handwriting and she could write the notices of charges that could be pinned on the tea-room door and placed on the table. Evie then asked if Lady Margaret could manage the money on top of pouring tea, for it was she who had volunteered to run the tea room. ‘If she can then it will permanently release Lady Wendover to help in the wards, which is where she'd like to stay. After all, she did do the course with us.' Everyone agreed.

‘What an asset she is,' Matron declared. ‘A woman who is not afraid of rolling up her sleeves, just like you, my dear.' She smiled at Lady Veronica.

‘I roll up my sleeves and have for years,' Evie muttered.

‘And you have lovely arms, too, my dear,' Matron said, laughing.

They discussed the new intake of men. There were nine amputees who had arrived in ambulances. There were several patients wounded by shells and progressing well. Three had gone home on leave. ‘In order to become fit enough to return to the charnel house in due course,' Dr Nicholls said, which was his usual response. Christmas was coming and there was no festive cheer in their hearts but always cheer on their faces.

Archie appeared then, from the tea room, stooping to whisper in Lady Veronica's ear. She looked startled and then furious. ‘Excuse me, I'm needed. Evie, perhaps you'd come too? Archie, would you hurry and find the two visiting relatives who have received white feathers while I discuss the matter with Lady Margaret. Try and find them before they reach the patient and urge discretion on them. We can't have any loss of trust or confidence.'

Lady Veronica rose, and Evie too. The others stared from one to another, and then at the tea room. ‘Please,' Lady Veronica said, ‘carry on. I don't want this to become obvious.'

To Evie, as they walked steadily but unhurriedly, she said, her voice cold and grim, ‘Perhaps you would take Lady Margaret downstairs, by the ears if you like, and I'll talk to the visitors.'

In the tea room several families were standing at the refreshment table, as though struck by lightning. Three young men stared at white feathers they had clearly just been handed by Lady Margaret. Evie marched round the back of the table and firmly took her by the elbow. Lady Margaret resisted. Lady Veronica addressed the young men, who had dropped the feathers on to the table as though they were red-hot. ‘I am so very sorry.'

Evie said quietly into Lady Margaret's ear, ‘If you don't come with me, I will hit you, very hard.'

The woman strode with Evie through the hall to the green baize door at the back, every inch of her defiant. In the kitchen Evie shoved her on to a stool, hissing, ‘How bloody dare you?' Maud came to the entrance of the scullery, a cloth in her hand, her mouth open.

‘We've been told to by Christabel. She said white feathers are to be given to all men of military age out of uniform. This is our new cause. We will show that we are fit for the vote with our war work, and this.' Lady Margaret's face was pale but determined.

Annie had been knitting khaki head-warmers for the troops at the table while a white soup simmered for a young soldier. He had been unable to eat for the last two days but had suddenly fancied soup, like his mother made. Annie dropped several stitches.

Evie snapped, ‘So, you want all the miners out of the pit, all the essential workers to be slaughtered on the front line, all those men convalescing and on leave to strut about in uniform. Do you intend to do everything you are told for the rest of your life, you silly lass? How on earth do you think you'll be fit to have a view on the government of this country if you follow rubbish like this? So just how do you propose that we run the country with no men?'

Lady Margaret stood up then, her face fierce, her voice savage. ‘The women will run it, of course.'

‘Wonderful, just wonderful. You get down the pit then because you know what to do, do you?' Evie was raging, hammering on the table with her fist. ‘You don't even know how to boil a bloody kettle. God save us from vicious women like you. Look around you at people who run hospitals like this. They, and we, are the ones showing that we deserve the vote, and that we don't bully our way to it by dishing out bird feathers, you silly bloody woman.'

The door opened. Lady Veronica slipped in. ‘The father and son were stopped before they reached the ward, and they'd rammed the feathers in their pockets anyway to dispose of later. The father is a pitman, the son works in armaments. You will never set foot here again, do you hear me, Margaret? How many chances do you need? You may sleep here tonight, and then I will take you in the trap to the station. Now, you will come with me to my room and stay there.'

Annie had been sitting as though frozen all this time, but now picked up the dropped stitches and continued knitting as though nothing had happened. ‘Knit one, purl one,' she said as Lady Margaret left with Lady Veronica.

Bedtime came late in the hospital, and shifts were taken by the kitchen staff to provide twenty-four-hour cover for the men. It was Evie's shift this night and she was already weary, but Annie was on duty with her so that would help. The dining-room bell had rung twice already and an egg custard requested, and then bacon for a young lad who was dying. It was Tony, Timmie's marra, who had arrived three days ago with gas gangrene.

‘Tony wants to smell it again. Not taste it, but smell it,' Nurse Brown told them as she collected his tray, the bacon crispy. ‘He'll die tonight.'

As the evening progressed there were also the usual nightmares from the patients, some screams, after which the lads needed tea. Until the small kitchens could be set up the kettle was always simmering in the kitchen. The VADs acted as waiters, thank the Lord.

Evie and Annie took the opportunity to drag out their knitting as the last VAD left, bearing a tray of tea for the nurses on duty upstairs. They settled themselves on stools and continued with the khaki head-warmers which were in demand. ‘My brother says it's right cold in the trenches,' Annie sighed.

‘I can't imagine what it's like to be that cold and damp, and to be shot at.' Evie knitted one, purled one. She wasn't a natural, but if it helped . . . Was young Tony dead yet? Was he with Timmie, were they galloping together on the Galloways?

Knit one, purl one.

Was Simon alive? Don't think.

Knit one, purl one.

Was Jack alive? Knit one, purl one.

Of course they were. She'd know if they weren't, surely. Knit one, purl one. Were they injured? Was there a new battle? Don't think. End of the row, turn. Were they in trenches? Were they cold? Wet? They never said in their letters, their precious letters which she kept beneath her pillow.

Were they alive? Knit one, purl one.

The ball of wool fell to the floor and rolled under the table. She poked with her feet to bring it towards her. A bell rang. Annie ran out to see who could be summoning them before it stopped clanging. She returned, puzzled. ‘It's Lady Veronica's bedroom. She usually comes down.'

Evie was off the stool, her knitting forgotten, and she took the back stairs two at a time.

What had happened? Lady Margaret was in the room. What had she done now? She tore along the landing, past the officers' rooms. It was amazing how many decently sized cubicles you could create out of one guest bedroom, and still they felt spacious.

She heard screams as she approached Lady Veronica's suite. They were high-pitched and female. An amputee officer on crutches appeared in his doorway, Lieutenant Harold Travers, who loved salmon. ‘Is everything all right, Evie?'

‘It's just a nightmare, don't worry, Harry. Back into bed with you. If you can't sleep let me know what you need. I'll produce a miracle when I've sorted out this little problem.'

He waited. ‘Call me if you need me.'

A nurse was outside Lady Veronica's door, about to enter. Evie waved her away. ‘Let me, I'll call if needed. Lady Veronica has already rung.'

She opened the door and went in. The curtains were undrawn and the moon was bright. She saw Lady Margaret crouching over Lady Veronica on the bed, screaming. They were struggling. Evie hurled herself across the room.

‘Margaret. Margaret. Stop now.'

She reached for the woman, who swung round. Something thumped into Evie's arm, then her hip. Margaret was like the patients in the midst of nightmares that took them somewhere no one could follow, fighting demons no one else could see, or hear.

Evie caught her arm, wrenched it up behind her back, up and up. ‘Stop it, I said. Stop it.' Without releasing her arm she grabbed the woman's hair and forced her head back. Lady Margaret struggled for just a little longer and then stopped and so, too, did the noise.

After a moment Evie let her go and she slumped, half on to Lady Veronica who was crawling to the edge of the bed. Evie blessed the fact, yet again, that she had a fighter for a brother.

Lady Veronica half fell on to the floor, then recovered. She was in her nightgown, her hair in a plait, and she was panting as she reached for Lady Margaret, gathering her up in her arms. ‘She's not in her right mind. Oh God, Evie, she seems demented. She woke thinking she was in prison, thinking they were coming to feed her. I went to her bed but it made it worse. She ran at me.' Veronica gestured from the spare bed to hers.

Evie sat on the bed, suddenly weak, suddenly feeling sick. Her arm was wet. She touched it. Yes, it was wet. Her hip hurt. That was wet. Her clothes were wet. She stared at her hand. Yes, wet. Lady Veronica put on the light. They both saw the blood, then the scissors where Margaret had dropped them, red-stained.

Lady Veronica fetched the nurse, who inspected the wounds. ‘They'll need a stitch or two. What about her?' She checked Lady Margaret, who was now lying on her bed. Evie heard Harry call. ‘Is there a problem? Do you need me?'

Evie called back, ‘It's fine, Harry. But thank you. It's good knowing you're there.'

Lady Veronica carried a bowl from her bathroom, and bathed her cuts with a white towel. ‘Mrs Green will have my guts for garters, Evie Forbes, using a towel like this,' she whispered, keeping half an eye on Lady Margaret as the nurse left to fetch Sister. She came, quietly, and efficiently administered a painkiller, and stitched Evie's arm and hip carefully, because, she said, she still wanted the standard of cooking to be maintained. The women laughed softly, though Evie could still feel the pain. Lady Margaret was silent, as though at last asleep. ‘I'll have to wash my clothes and I need a clean apron. I really object to that,' Evie said, her teeth chattering.

Lady Veronica smiled, but she was shaking too. ‘I'm so sorry, Evie, it should have been me.'

‘What? I don't think so. Matron would be even less impressed if you swept one-armed.'

Evie's mind was running at two levels. She was knitting khaki, knit one, purl one. She was talking to Lady Veronica. There was no space to worry about Simon, about Jack, about poor little Tony, and for these few moments she was at peace.

Sister checked and sedated Lady Margaret and they agreed that she should be left to sleep, and then she made for the door. Lady Veronica said, ‘Sister, would you ask Harry to keep himself available? All he could do is bash her over the head with his crutches, but he needs to feel useful.'

How they were all learning, Evie thought, as she shrugged off their concern and found her way to her room, smiling at Harry as she passed, explaining that Lady Margaret, who had been force-fed many times, had had a nightmare and had no knowledge of what she'd done. ‘Just a few stitches,' she reassured him.

‘Poor woman. I understand her.' His face was pale, his eyes too dark. He was the son of Sir Anthony Travers and had joined up from school. He had led a privileged existence, he had told her a few weeks ago as she checked that each man was happy with their luncheon. ‘War came as a bit of a shock, not quite what I expected,' he had joked, but the laugh hadn't reached his eyes. He should have been asleep, but like many that was a distant memory for him.

She changed her uniform and was back on duty within ten minutes. There was a war on, this was nothing. The pain really struck in the early hours, and Annie insisted on dragging in an armchair from the servants' hall and pushing Evie into it. ‘I'll wake you if I need you.'

‘The chair's a good idea. We'll keep it here because there's no need for two on shift to stay awake.'

Lady Margaret would be nursed in Lady Veronica's room, because she had fought her war for too long. It had broken her, but not for ever. Here, at Easterleigh Hall, she would recover. ‘We'll keep the scissors in the sewing basket where they belong, shall we?' Dr Nicholls said as he met them outside the bedroom in the morning, his bag in his hand, his white coat on preparatory to entering to treat his patient.

Lady Veronica smiled but insisted, ‘Please remove your coat. They wore white coats to force-feed.'

He did so immediately. ‘Good point. Let's make notes on this. There must be many women suffering in the same way.'

Lunch was as busy as usual, but Mrs Moore, Annie and Evie had things down to a fine art, and now they had at least two other kitchen assistants from the village every day, so it was never frantic. Young Bert and Joseph from Hawton went rabbiting daily and there were still the grouse and pheasant, so they were becoming more self-sufficient. Stan the head gardener had agreed to pigs rooting around in
his
orchard, so that boded well for the spring, with all the piglets that had been born.

The clatter of pots and pans being washed after lunch was as loud as it always was, and Evie's stitches were pulling, so Mrs Moore shooed her out of the kitchen at two in the afternoon. ‘We can't put up with martyrs down here, lass. Move yourself up those steps and get some fresh air. Be thinking about the Christmas menu while you're about it. We're going to need to produce a feast out of our reserves, I think. Stock is getting scarcer at the co-op with the panic buying, even though they're doing their best to order in for us.'