The Loom (10 page)

He’d fallen in love with Jessica, which had been strange because she was the complete antithesis of Anne. Anne had been shy and reserved and beautiful in a delicate, waif like way. Jessica was an extrovert, tall and regal with her blond hair upswept off a classic face. He loved Jessica but the love he’d had for Anne only happened once in a lifetime.

His marriage to Jessica had produced two children, Marion and Raymond. His face darkened as he thought of his youngest son. Raymond was spoilt. There was no other term for him. All Jessica’s fault, he thought ruefully, and his own he supposed for not putting his foot down years ago and given Raymond the hiding he deserved. Raymond had been expelled from numerous schools and they were having difficulty placing him anywhere reputable. His practical jokes were now the bane of everyone’s life. He’d earned a good thrashing for the last one. Raymond had soaped a couple of the back stairs used by the servants and poor Gertie Wicklow had almost broken her leg. As it was, she’d sprained her ankle and couldn’t walk for a week. George’s face registered annoyance as he thought of his youngest son and then brightened visibly as he heard the firm, unmistakable tread of Stephen crossing the hall to the morning room.

*********

Stephen had gone inside after stabling his horse; Forbes, who’d been with the Townsend family for twenty-five years, fussed around him.

‘
I can do that myself, thank you Forbes,’ Stephen said irritably as Forbes tried to help him off with his coat. ‘I’m not exactly in my dotage.’

‘Just trying to be of help, Master Stephen,’ Forbes said, looking hurt.

‘Sorry, Forbes old man, but I can do for myself.’

‘Yes, Master Stephen. I’ve had your dinner suit cleaned and pressed for tonight. It’s in your dressing room.’

‘Thanks.’ Stephen grimaced into the mirror as he combed his hair. That was the last thing he felt like, one of Jessica’s elaborate dinners. Why couldn’t she understand when he came home all he wanted was a bit of peace and quiet? He could well do without Jessica’s kind of entertainment; the mindless chitchat, usually to people that he hardly knew.

He’d enjoyed dinner parties, once, eons ago. Now they bored him. He would listen politely but it all seemed so banal. Before he’d joined up he used to get pleasantly sozzled at dinner parties; used to laugh a lot, talk a lot.

Where had it all gone? He could do with a bit of laughter again! The girl on the drive suddenly came to mind. At least he’d got a laugh out of that little episode. God, he thought as he continued to gaze into the mirror, I feel ninety and I must be a sodding bore. He just couldn’t seem to help himself, and the more people tried to get him out of his despondency, the deeper he sank into it. He combed back his thick, straight black hair, noting how his dark blue eyes had matching dark blue rings underneath.

‘Lovely,’ he muttered as he flung the comb down, ‘bloody lovely.’ He looked at his watch. Damn, he’d forgotten he was to eat breakfast with his father.

Before Stephen reached the morning room he smelt the kippered herrings and his stomach turned over. He hated herrings and why they had to have them for breakfast every morning he’d never know. His father was lighting a cigar when he walked in.

‘
Stephen,’ he said, waving the cloud of smoke away, ‘Thought you’d never come. Sit down. No…no…get something to eat first.’

‘Sorry. It was such a beautiful morning that I decided to go for a ride,’ and hurried on when George smiled, ‘on Midnight.’

‘Oh.’

‘I haven’t ridden him for ages, but I’ll take the Harley out tomorrow. Give it a spin. See what it can do,’ he said.

‘No, no, only if you want to,’ George said hastily.

‘I do want to.’

‘Good lad.’

Stephen poured himself a cup of tea from the teapot and then put a slice of toast from a covered dish on a plate. George looked at the toast. ‘Surely you can eat more than that, lad. You’re too thin. We’ll not be able to see you soon.’

Stephen laughed shortly and took a sip of tea. ‘This will do. Funny, when I’m away all I can think of is Maud’s cooking. When I’m here I can hardly get anything down.’

‘By the way,’ he said, changing the subject. ‘I had a strange encounter on the drive during my ride. That’s one of the reasons I’m a little late.’

‘Oh?’

‘With a young girl I nearly ran into who called me a silly sod. Can’t say I blame her. She did get a bit of a fright.’ He laughed as he remembered the comic figure of Leah as she stood with her hands on her hips. George stopped puffing on his pipe and stared in surprise. Stephen had laughed! Well, wonders would never cease.

‘Who was it?’

Stephen sipped his tea and then put his cup down, still smiling, ‘Oh, some new maid who’s just starting here.’

Stephen took a bite of toast. ‘Look, I know I’ve been a bit of a wet blanket lately, but just bear with me for a bit, all right.’

‘Of course, lad, of course, but you know you can talk to me about anything, anything.’ He waited expectantly for a moment and then sighed. Stephen would talk when he was good and ready and not before, that was obvious. He shouldn’t press him, but he couldn’t help wanting to know what it had been like, but not if it was at Stephen’s expense and he kicked himself for an insensitive fool.

Stephen was all too aware how his father felt. ‘Don’t worry about me. There’s a lot worse off and I’ll get out of whatever I’m in. Just give me time. There’s another thing, too. I feel guilty as hell taking this time off.’

George leant forward.

‘
Listen, lad, you can’t win the war single-handed. You’re here for a well-earned rest, so try to get it. Make the most of it while you can. The war’ll still be going strong when you get back, you can count on that.’

How could he describe the war to any one? It was too obscene, too horrifying. It was bad enough at night when those scenes reran themselves through his brain.

George watched his son furtively, saw the emotions wash briefly. What’s he gone through, he thought, to look like that? He felt a mad rage fill him. What right did anyone have to make young men endure such things? Where was the good in it? Most people had long ago lost sight of why Britain was at war and only wished it would end. Soon would not be soon enough. He got up from his chair.

‘
I must go Stephen. Just try to forget what you’ve been through. What about going over to Yorkshire to do some hunting?’ Seeing the look on Stephen’s face he continued hurriedly. ‘Or we could go to London; it might make a nice change.’

‘I’m sorry, Father. I’d like to do all those things, but not yet. All I really want is to enjoy Hyndburn whilst I can. And I am enjoying it believe me, even if I’m not laughing my head off all the time.’

George sighed.

‘
I understand, Stephen. It’s entirely up to you. We don’t want to push you to do anything you don’t want. In actual fact, though, one of the reasons why I suggested London for a week was because your Uncle Paul’s arriving today, so your mother informed me this morning. Evidently he rang last night and said he’d be down this afternoon. I told Jessica that he could at least ask if it would be convenient that he come, because I know that he isn’t your favourite person. I was quite annoyed when Jessica told me.’

Stephen pulled out a packet of Woodbines from his pocket. He lit one, raising one eyebrow at his father. ‘So Uncle Paul’s coming, is he? Yes, you’re right he’s not my favourite person. Far from it and I don’t know how you put up with all his visits. He’s a sponger and I hate the way Mother kowtows to him. She seems to forget anyone else exists when he’s here.’

George frowned. ‘Yes, I know. But they’ve always been close. Twins usually are and if it keeps your mother happy, I don’t mind. But I do mind when it puts people out and this time it has.’

‘Oh, don’t worry about me,’ Stephen said. ‘I can keep out of his way. Hyndburn Hall’s a big place.’

When his father had gone Stephen got up from his chair and stubbed his cigarette out on the ashtray. He went to stand by the window, looking out onto the gardens and well tended lawns of Hyndburn. His father had been right about his uncle. Stephen despised him and he knew that his father had no great liking for him, either. His uncle was a leach!

Paul and Jessica de Lacey came from an aristocratic though impoverished family. Like Jessica, Paul was a snob and expected all to defer to him, was chagrined when Stephen and George did not. Stephen thought his father was far too easy on Paul, and it annoyed him that George had made Paul manager of one of their Manchester mills (misguided generosity), paying him an exorbitant wage, which Paul did little to earn.

Stephen walked back into the dining room and poured himself another cup of tea. He craved tea. That seemed to be all he could stomach. He was parched all the time, his mouth as dry as a bone in a desert when he awoke in the mornings. So it was tea and of course, his cigarettes, which he reached for a dozen times a day.

From his seat he could see that the roses had reached full bloom, the fallen petals creating a carpet of colour. Fallen, like so many of his friends, he thought sadly. Dicky Malone, Teddy Brownlow, Buffy Tenant: dying on some lonely field in Flanders. He stared across the gardens to the distant hills of the Pennines. His heart contracted. This might be the last time he ever saw this view and he tried to imagine never coming to this place again, or of seeing his family.

He shook his head to rid himself of the morbid thoughts and turned his mind instead to the impending arrival of his uncle. He put up with Paul for Jessica’s sake, but each time he saw Paul de Lacey his dislike increased. However large the Hall, it wasn’t large enough for the two of them.

He was grateful, too, that young Ray had been packed off to some cousins in the Lake District. He’d just about got to the end of his tether and had been ready to kick his brother in the backside. The boot was what Raymond needed and right on his spoilt arse! After the episode with Gertie Wicklow his father had insisted that Raymond be sent to relatives immediately. Thank God, Stephen thought, and lit another cigarette. He’d just have another cup of tea and a cigarette and then catch up on some long overdue correspondence

CHAPTER SEVEN

L
eah followed Mrs. Walter’s trim figure down the unfamiliar corridor. It was all so strange. How many other servants had done this over the years she wondered? It was quite dark, although a gas lamp shone at the far end and suddenly Leah thought she saw a shape in a long white robe holding a candle flitting across the corridor at the far end. She blinked in astonishment and it was gone.

‘What was that?’ she said.

‘What?’ Maud turned to stare at her.

‘Oh, nothing, sorry Mrs. Walters,’ Leah blushed. She must be imagining things again. Her mother was always telling her she was ‘fey’, whatever that might mean!

At the end was a narrow, uncarpeted flight of stairs. Maud stopped at the bottom as a dark shape appeared at the top and they both waited as a long thin man descended.

‘It’s Mr. Grimsby,’ Maud said to Leah. ‘This is Leah and I’m taking her to see Miss Fenton,’ Maud said to the descending man.

Long thin legs in black, was all Leah could see for a moment, then a long body and a long thin face. ‘So this is Leah?’ He was so tall that Leah had to tip her head back to see him properly. He was like beanstalk! She nodded her head shyly.

‘Kettle’s just boiled Alf, if you want a cup of tea. I’ll be back in a minute after I’ve got Leah settled in.’

‘Thanks Maud, I could do with a cuppa.’ Mr. Grimsby nodded at Leah and then walked off, like a two-legged spider.

‘Mr. Grimsby’s from London, that’s why he sounds a bit different like,’ Maud explained as they made their way up the stairs. ‘He was with the mistress before she married Mr. Townsend.’

Leah listened in silence as Maud chattered on, trailing a little way behind. She was exceedingly nervous, in spite of Maud’s attempts to make her feel at home.

They went down another corridor of the first floor, which led to the back of the house. It had dark green carpet and Leah’s clogs sank into the thick pile. It was like another world, she thought, her wondering eyes taking in the obvious luxury, from the rich carpets and embossed wallpaper, to the ornate lights (and electric on this floor, not gas she noticed).

Another flight of stairs and they went up these and along a narrow corridor until they came to a door at the end. Maud knocked. The door was opened by a tall, slim, middle-aged woman in a long, dark gray skirt and white blouse buttoned to the neck and leg of mutton sleeves. Her brown hair was drawn back in a severe chignon, but to Leah’s relief she was smiling kindly at her. Leah had met Miss Fenton at the interview but had not really taken much notice at the time.

‘Ah, Leah,’ she motioned her into the room. ‘I’ve been expecting you,’ she continued, eyeing Leah speculatively. She nodded at Maud, ‘thank you Mrs. Walters. Leah will be all right now.’