Easterleigh Hall (5 page)

He was picking at the blanket. The sparrows flew above the willows. The sky was blue and clouds skidded along in the breeze. She wanted to speak but knew he had more to say. ‘I know why Da did it and if he can change the way management behave that's great, but I can't see it. What's more, he's putting himself in danger. He'll have to knock those damned props out of worked-out seams to be reused and as much as he tests the roof, it can come down. You know that. I know that. I don't want him hurt. Christ, his chest's bad enough without that worry.'

She said, ‘He knows that too so he'll be careful or he'll have Mam to deal with, and you know which he'd rather face.' They were laughing, but not inside. This was all too serious, and this was also their goodbye. This was the talk they would not have again because it was a parting of the ways. She was no longer a child and their lives would be lived separately. She said just once more, ‘I want you out of the pit.'

He shook his head. ‘One day maybe but it's funny really, we're both in the lion's den, now, pet. You as well as me.'

She stared at him. Yes, she was, and another idea came to her. She gripped his arm. ‘Listen Jack, I can pick up any gossip to do with the pit. I can use them in that way too.'

Jack turned from the beck and looked down at her, then nodded thoughtfully. ‘Aye, there's that. But you just remember to be careful, bonny lass. I want nothing and no one to take your dream from you.'

They watched a kingfisher swoop down and tear along the beck towards the source. She had swum in it more times than she could count, with Jack, with Simon and with Timmie. Well, life could take away a dream, but not the past, and she started to cry and so did Jack. Against his shoulder she murmured her plans. ‘In five years I want to be in the Vermont in Newcastle, learning that side of it so I get it right for ours.'

She looked about for the kingfisher while he told her that Ireland was preparing battle lines between Protestants and Catholics, that Germany was building battleships to challenge the British world domination, and that was not all: the British workers were realising they had power, ‘By, we've a political party now. Can you believe it, the Independent Labour Party, and one day soon there's going to be trouble. Hell, there could even be revolution. You must enjoy every day for itself, Evie, for who can tell what's going to happen in the future.'

She read the papers too but wouldn't believe the rhetoric. ‘War can't happen, we wouldn't be that daft, and anyway, if it does it will be between the Catholics and Protestants in Ireland, or if Germany quarrels with us it will be a fight between armies, not people. There won't be a revolution. I don't think enough workers are angry. My concern is that you, Da and Timmie stay safe at Auld Maud.' She gripped his arm. ‘You continue your union work, but more importantly you must stay safe.'

Jack shrugged. ‘That's down to luck.'

She gave up on the kingfisher and instead stared into the beck, hearing the water gurgling through the dam boulders, and murmured, ‘It's down to listening to the roof and getting out before it falls, it's about taking no risks. And yes, it's about luck. So stay lucky.' They ate everything in the bait tins.

They arrived at Easterleigh Hall in good time. The Hall had been built in the era of George III, a monarch much maligned according to Miss Manton, who said he had not really been potty but had some sort of a condition. Easterleigh Hall had been designed by a young Italian architect who ran away to Florence with the lady of the manor, which had led to the lord selling it to his cousin and upping sticks to London. That line had died out, and the Bramptons had bought it five years ago.

Whatever the young architect's naughtiness, his sense of style was perfect, Evie had thought on the day of her interview, and thought it again as Jack drove the cart up the tradesmen's track. It was a track hidden from the gravelled driveway by yew hedges because, presumably, the sight of it offended Lady Brampton, much as the sight of Evie's rear would have done had she not backed out of her presence. The gravelled drive, visible through gaps in the hedge, ran alongside the huge lawn, in the centre of which grew a cedar tree. ‘It was planted by the Italian architect and you'd have thought the cuckolded husband would chop it to the ground and use it for kindling. I would have done,' she murmured to Jack. He laughed quietly.

At the end of the track they arrived at the stable yard where lads darted from here to there paying them no mind, and then they clopped through to the cobbled kitchen yard at the rear of the big house. Simon was waiting to heave the tin trunk from the cart, which he did quickly, so that Jack, his cap pulled well down, could turn Old Saul around and head off again before anyone saw him and recognised him as the Forbes agitator. Jack leaned down and whispered, ‘If you hear anything that can be helpful to the union, tell Simon.' Then he straightened and called loudly, ‘Goodbye, Evie Anston.'

Simon nodded towards the steps that ran down to a door she had thought was a cellar when she came for her interview. ‘You know the way, bonny lass. You've made up with Jack, I see.' Evie nodded, too edgy to speak. She was here at last, and her courage failed her. It seemed her feet wouldn't move.

To the right through the archway the stable lads were still darting, criss-crossing. One had a great sack of hay on his back, another a bridle over his shoulder which clinked over the sound of his hobnails as he strode forward. Behind her, garages edged the whole of the kitchen yard and cast shadows which just caught the tail end of Jack's cart as it passed into the stable yard.

Simon jerked his head towards the steps again, the strain of carrying the trunk clear on his face. ‘This isn't quite the feather that you might think. Can we get into your new place of work so I can put it down?' He had put on a posh voice, and grinned.

She cast a last look at Jack as he disappeared along the track and followed Simon down the stone steps, opening the door for him, stepping back as he struggled into the corridor with the trunk, dropping it as soon as he could. It should be returned to Miss Manton within the week, her mother had insisted. ‘Borrowers mustn't become keepers,' she had said. Simon had promised he would see to it. Then it was Evie's turn to step from the fresh air into the darkness.

There were banks of bells on the left, with room names printed beneath. The floor was of stone slabs. It was spotless. There was some sort of a cross-stitch text on the wall. Evie didn't read texts, they were either biblical or improving, and a load of rubbish when the nobs were up there and she was down here.

The first person she saw was a girl of her own age, who wore a dark blue uniform and white pinafore and a neat little white cap. ‘Hello Simon,' the girl called as she lounged in the kitchen doorway with a broom in her hand. ‘She's not from here, she's Lancashire-born,' Simon whispered, then louder, ‘Lil, this is Evie . . . Anston.' The hesitation had been slight and the girl noticed nothing. Simon added, ‘Evie's come as assistant cook.'

Lil laughed. ‘That's what she thinks, is it? Her Ladyship has decided to economise, taxes being what they are after the Liberals got in.' Lil's mouth was grim, her eyebrows arched in mock pity.

Evie studied her closely. ‘What do you mean?'

Lil was turning back, beckoning her into the kitchen where Evie had had her first interview just a few days ago. ‘Come on, Mrs Moore is expecting you. Hurry up. She said to keep an eye out. See you later, Simon.' She disappeared.

Simon touched Evie's arm. ‘It'll be fine. Remember it's a training and I'm not far away – in the cottage down by the lake with the other under-gardeners. One of us comes in daily with the house flowers and sometimes the vegetables. I'll try and make it my job as often as possible. Lil's not too bad really, and you'll find Annie in the scullery.'

Lil reappeared and leant on her broom. Her fair hair had come adrift from her cap and framed her face. ‘Are you coming or not? You'll have to look sharper than this with the housekeeper, Mrs Green, on the lookout. Did you meet her when you came before?'

‘For a moment.' Evie took a step forward. Lil added, ‘And Mrs Moore is in a right glucky mood. She wants you to do the clear soup straight after tea.'

Evie hesitated. She'd only done clear soup a few times. She'd thought she'd be setting up the utensils and chopping the vegetables until she found her feet.

Simon gripped her arm. ‘It's just a training,' he repeated close to her ear. ‘Train, learn.' She felt his breath, felt his hand and relaxed. Yes, of course. She was here to learn. It wasn't for ever. He smiled at her. She loved his eyes, such a deep blue. Loved all of him, always had. He had been in Jack's class, Jack's gang. At least, he was after he fought them because of his red hair. After that, they stopped going on about it. What was it about red hair? What was it about the bluest eyes she had ever seen? It was everything, that was what it was.

Once in the kitchen, she felt again the awe she had experienced on the day of her interview. It was enormous, with large ranges down the left-hand side radiating warmth, and internal windows on the right looking out on to the central corridor. On the other side of the basement was the huge servants' hall with similar windows looking on to the same corridor. Well, of course, she grimaced, what else when there was no expectation of privacy for servants?

One long deal table took up the centre of the kitchen. Pots and pans hung from hooks above it. They were copper, the kitchenmaid's responsibility, or the scullery maid's, but whosever it was, it wasn't hers and she was thankful for small mercies. Small mercies made her think of Jack, and home. She fastened instead on the plates that festooned the dresser on the wall behind which was the scullery. There were cups too, pristine in their whiteness. In the cupboards which ran around the room were, she suspected, many more utensils and endless crockery, and staff cutlery. The silver, though, and the good glasses and dinner services, would be in the butler's pantry.

She had been shown the knife cleaner and the knife sharpener in the far corner last time. The sharpener looked more like one of Old Dan's milk churns. Over everything hung the aroma of a bubbling stockpot.

Sitting on a stool at the table, her back to the ranges, rubbing her eyes while her glasses rested on her recipe book, was Mrs Moore. Standing just inside the doorway, Evie could see the swollen joints and the pain etched on the cook's face. ‘At last.' It was more of a growl, and Evie didn't blame her. ‘Well, don't just stand there, you daft dollop. Lil, you help Evie take her trunk to her room. She's sharing with Annie. Evie, you get into uniform, then come straight back down. You can meet the other servants at tea, which you will prepare. We've more to do than I thought. Her Ladyship has returned early. We must be grateful that his Lordship has not, yet. We will be cooking for three upstairs, four when his Lordship returns. Mr Auberon is back from university, it seems for good. Lady Veronica is a fixture. Her Ladyship comes and goes, but you know that, if you've remembered our interview.' Her plump face was red, her eyes watery.

Lil hurried out with Evie in her wake. They each took hold of a trunk handle, Lil leading the way along the bell corridor to the back stairs. They climbed first one flight, and then the next, turning on each landing. To begin with the stairs were stone, but became wooden when they reached the first floor. Lil said nothing at all until they reached the third floor, then she muttered. ‘Annie should have done this, not me. I'm house, not kitchen.'

Evie eased her shoulders and kept going, saying nothing beyond, ‘I'm sorry.'

‘So you damn well should be.'

They toiled up the next flight. One of the stairs creaked. Lil was panting as she said, ‘This is the one to catch us out if we come back late. Step over it. A former head housemaid marked it when she was under-housemaid.' She nodded towards a mark low on the wall. ‘Hope you're good at baking. Mrs Green's right partial to ginger cake, and Mr Harvey is too. It's quite his favourite.' Evie could hear the Lancashire in her voice.

As Mr Harvey was the butler he needed pleasing. Ginger it would be then, but the housekeeper usually baked the cakes for upstairs and downstairs tea, so why was it her job?

They reached the fourth floor. Lil nodded towards the door which led off the small landing. ‘Toilet and the bathroom where you empty the tin bath, and make sure you clean it and the proper bath properly afterwards.'

‘Bath?' Evie queried.

Lil's back bent lower to yank the trunk higher as she changed the position of her shoulders. Evie's arms and neck burned with strain as she took the weight. ‘Tin bath, weekly, in your room. You'll have to bring up your own water from the kitchen. Only the head housemaid and Lady Brampton's maid can use the proper bath.'

At last they reached the final landing which had two doors and was dark as pitch, lacking even the small round windows of the lower floors. Lil dropped her end down on to the bare boards. ‘Good God Almighty, you owe me, so you do, Evie Anston, so be grateful to me.' Then she eased past the trunk and started back down the stairs. Evie called, ‘Wait, where now?'

‘Well, what about through the door with the picture of a woman on it. The one with a man is for the lads. Are you stupid?' She continued on down.

Evie called, ‘Then where?' adding, ‘Snotty little madam,' under her breath.

‘Your room's second left.' Lil's voice grew faint as she clattered down at high speed but Evie could still hear her as she said, ‘It's my rest time. I shouldn't have had to do this, I want a smoke. You can't have anything personal on display. We're invisible, us lot. We're not people, we're things. Mrs Green will check.'

‘Thanks for the tip,' Evie shouted, dragging the trunk to her room. Annie's bed was clearly on the left. Her nightgown was folded neatly on the pillow. There were some pegs for hanging clothes and a chest of drawers to share. The bottom two were empty. There was one blanket per bed, and the mattress felt as though it was stuffed with rocks. She prodded it. ‘Bloody hell, lumpy horsehair.' Her heart sank way past her feet.