A Rose In Flanders Fields (2 page)

‘The fruit loaf, yes.’

‘And you know how she specifically told you to follow it to the letter?’

‘I do.’ Mrs Hannah’s eyes narrowed, but I kept my expression carefully blank.

‘Well, it appears she made a little mistake. Where it says dates, it should say raisins. And where it says half a cup of sugar, she has asked me to make it particularly clear that she meant to write one whole cup.’

‘I see. Is that all then?’

I pretended to think for a moment. ‘There was one other thing, now you mention it. You’ll see Mother has specified almonds to be laid along the top?’

‘I expect you’ll be saying she didn’t mean that either.’

‘She didn’t, no.’

‘Would she have meant glazed fruit, do you think?’

I beamed. ‘Exactly. And it’s most important you don’t forget about the sugar, Mrs Hannah.’

Mrs Hannah raised an eyebrow and favoured me with a rare, amused little smile. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to follow the instructions to the letter.’

‘Thank you,’ I said, although I wasn’t sure if she meant to follow the original instructions, or my own amendments; only time would tell, but I had done my best. Mother’s cake ideas always looked wonderful on their plates, but it was best they stayed there if the illusion of perfection was to be maintained. I paused on my way out, and turned back to make sure Mrs Hannah was absolutely sure about the swapping of dates for raisins, but was distracted by a knock at the side door.

Ruth, the kitchen maid, hurried into the hall to answer, and returned followed by two men. I recognised Frank Markham, the local butcher from Breckenhall, but behind him stood a young man I had never seen before; an attractive boy of around twenty, with tumbled brown hair and a faintly bemused look on his face. He was bowed under the weight of a large wooden box.

‘Morning, Ruth. Mrs Hannah.’ Mr Markham ushered the young man forward. ‘This is Will Davies, my new apprentice. He’ll be helping with deliveries from now on, so don’t you ladies go giving him a hard time.’ He winked at Ruth, who ignored him and greeted the apprentice with a good deal more enthusiasm than was proper; I saw Mrs Hannah roll her eyes, but she said nothing and went on with her work. I hoped someone would take Ruth aside one day soon, she was becoming quite the little madam from what I’d heard.

Will staggered to the table to relieve himself of his burden, and as he stood upright again his eyes found mine. It was hard to see what colour they were from this distance, but they crinkled when he smiled, and a dimple deepened in his cheek. I blinked in surprise at the casual nod he gave me, then realised he wouldn’t know I wasn’t just another of the kitchen staff, wearing my plain outdoor coat as I was. It was an interesting notion.

I watched as the apprentice went through the delivery order, enjoying the way he kept stealing glances my way, and that dimple kept reappearing. But before someone could address me by my title, and ruin the fun, I slipped back out into the corridor and up the stairs to the main front door, exploring the unexpected tingle I had felt when our eyes had locked. I’d quite liked it.

A week into the new year I saw the apprentice again, and this time there was no hiding who I was. I was wearing my best coat this time, and getting into the car with Mother and my younger brother Lawrence to go to church, when the butcher’s van rattled up the drive. Will was seated beside Mr Markham, wearing a fixed look of terror at the older man’s driving, and I hid a smile in my glove as I pictured how much paler he’d look if I was behind the wheel; the illicit lessons I begged whenever I went to stay with the London family were going well, but I tended to pay little attention to the words of caution that came with them, and people were starting to find urgent business elsewhere when they saw me approaching them with a hopeful expression.

Will’s eyes widened slightly on seeing me, and I saw realisation slip into place, then he grinned at me and winked. The tingle woke up again, stronger this time, and I was unable to prevent an answering smile from crossing my face. Just before I turned my head away I saw his expression soften, and he settled more happily back into his seat, all sign of nerves gone as the van pulled to a stop by the back gate. I glanced at Mother, but she was accepting the footman’s assistance into the car; neither the butcher nor his apprentice held any interest for her. It already felt like a rather delicious secret.

I found my thoughts straying to him more and more often. I’d look out for the van from my window and suddenly find some reason to be downstairs, or wandering along the drive, and when we glimpsed each other the smiles were quick to come, slow to fade, and warmer every time. Then one bright day in early March, the day before I was due to leave for London for two months, my mother’s maid and I were in Breckenhall, buying last-minute gifts for the London family.

Behind us was the open-air market, full of tantalising smells and sounds, brightly-coloured clothing, and bric-a-brac and old books. I compared it to the imminent wait in the stuffy post office while Alice bought stamps for about a hundred thousand letters, and eyed the busy stalls longingly.

Then I stiffened my backbone. ‘I’m going to just walk around by myself for a little while thank you, Peters.’

Peters was used, by now, to my impatience to be off alone, and it never seemed to ruffle her rather elegant feathers when I suggested it. But she had her orders. ‘Of course we’ll visit the market, but Lady Creswell told me I must stay with you.’

‘I’m sure she doesn’t mean you’re to be glued to my side,’ I protested.

‘No, of course not, but –’

I reminded myself of the difference in our positions, although I felt guilty doing it. ‘Just ten minutes,’ I said firmly. Then my façade slipped, and I reverted to the child I had been and, in her eyes at least, still was. ‘
Please
, Alice? After tomorrow I shan’t have a single minute to myself what with all those boring parties and dinners. People fussing over me morning, noon and night, dressmakers measuring –’

‘All right! Ten minutes.’ She looked resigned, but wore a reluctant smile. ‘I’ll be waiting by the cake stall.’ I was already walking away, and she raised her voice to call after me: ‘Just don’t tell your mother you were able to talk me into it!’ As if I would give Mother any reason to stop me coming into town.

After a happy few minutes spent enjoying the freedom, and sampling breads at a particularly delicious-smelling stall, I rounded a corner and saw, just ahead, a small boy standing alone. He looked to be around five years old, and he didn’t appear upset at first, but, as I watched, sudden realisation of his lonely state seemed to hit him and his lip began to tremble. I took a step closer but another figure appeared from behind a stall and crouched down in front of him, and my heart skipped as I recognised Will. He looked calm and competent, and, wrapped up warm against the hours he spent standing around in the early spring chill, he seemed older than I’d first thought.

The little boy was crying in earnest now, but Will paid no attention to the tears and instead kept up a cheerful chatter as he peeled the outer page off his newspaper. Still talking, his fingers worked quickly for a minute or two and then he held something out. The boy stopped snuffling and took the paper boat, and a bright smile spread over his face as he mimed its passage through an imaginary rough sea before showing it to a harried-looking nursery nurse, who seized his hand and pulled him away. She threw a brief ‘thank you’ at Will before vanishing into the crowd, and I went over to him, and found my voice.

‘Hello again.’

Will jumped, but when he turned to look at me there was no nervousness in his expression, just unabashed pleasure. Up this close I could see his eyes were a clear and lovely blue, beneath eyebrows a few shades darker than his hair, and his features were stronger and leaner than I had thought at first. Will Davies was evidently something of a charmer, and I found myself for once unable to think of anything else to say. I could only twist my fingers together and hope he would speak first.

He did, but it didn’t really help. ‘Miss Creswell,’ he said, nodding.

‘Mr Davies. That was…very clever, what you did for that little boy.’ He looked at me for a moment, and his eyes narrowed just a little bit and he took another sheet off his newspaper. He unfolded it, then his nimble fingers went to work again and a moment later he was handing me a rose, barely out of bud, with the petals curling outwards in the first welcoming hint of the full bloom to come.

I took it, and the expression on my face must have been much the same as the little boy’s. The fact that the rose was black and white, with smudgy print and a flimsy stem, meant nothing; it had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, just for me. ‘Thank you,’ I said, and tucked it into the band around my hat. ‘That should annoy Mother quite satisfactorily.’

Will laughed. The sound was lower than I’d expected it might be, and my response to it was a faint but pleasant confusion.

‘Talk in the kitchen says you’re off to London,’ he said.

‘I leave tomorrow. I’m expected to attend an awful lot of very dull parties with an awful lot of very dull people.’

‘Oh, I’m sure you’ll have fun when you get used to it.’ But his expression said, clearer than words, that he hoped I would not. Something clicked into place between us in that moment, but it remained unspoken. It sat, quietly glowing inside me, and in him it manifested itself in a forced lightness of tone.‘What time is your train?’

‘Well, that’s the good part, at least,’ I said, ‘I don’t have to sit on the train and breathe in all that cigar smoke. Uncle Jack is going to be taking me down in his motor car.’

‘The Silver Ghost?’ Will whistled. ‘You are a very lucky girl, Miss Evangeline.’

‘Call me Evie.’ It suddenly seemed important that he not think of me as one of the Creswells, after all he wasn’t one of the servants. If I had expected a modest protest from him I was pleasantly surprised.

‘Evie,’ he said, pretending to mull it over. Then he nodded. ‘I approve. As long as you promise to call me Lord William, and to bow each time you see me.’

‘My Lord,’ I said, dropping into an elaborate curtsey. Rising, I saw his smile, just before it faltered and we fell into silence. We both looked away, casting about for something to say to prolong the meeting, and with a sinking heart I remembered my arrangement with Miss Peters.

‘I have to go. Although I would have loved to stand here all afternoon, even in this faintly awkward silence.’ Turning it into a joke made it a little easier, at least, and he was surprised into a laugh. ‘Thank you so much for the sweet gift,’ I added, my voice a little softer. I wanted him to know I meant it, that I wasn’t merely being polite.

His smile slipped, leaving his expression defiantly hopeful. ‘I’ll never make one for anyone else.’

‘Good. I’m glad.’ I looked at him for a long moment, and then, obeying an instinct deeper than both etiquette and good sense, I stepped close and placed a quick kiss on the edge of his mouth. I paused, then said, ‘I have a feeling I’m going to miss you, Will Davies. Why is that, do you suppose?’

‘Because I’m irresistible?’

I smiled. ‘Have a lovely spring, I’ll be thinking of you. And when the new scullery maid starts in a week or two just make sure you’re not
too
irresistible.’ I briefly wondered at my own boldness, at both the kiss and the implication behind my words, but it was an exhilarating feeling nevertheless, and the look on his face told me it was not unwelcome. When I left him standing there I was determined not to look back, but felt the weight of his gaze between my shoulder blades like a warm hand, and the smile on my face made people glance twice at me and give me quizzical little smiles in return. But it was with Will that my mind stayed from that moment on.

Those two months felt like two years. The London Creswells were charming company, and the house magnificent, but it wasn’t Oaklands. In the same way, there had been plenty of potential suitors, many of them handsome enough, all without a doubt extremely wealthy, and some of them even amusing, but there had been no Will Davies among them. Not one of them made me smile the way he did, or caused my chest to flutter the way his touch had. I arrived back at Breckenhall on a warm day in the middle of May, and would have loved to have found some reason to wander around the town, and past Frank Markham’s shop window a few times, but the train had been delayed so we were late arriving. At least I was back in the same town, and might see Will at any time, and I would have to be content with that for now.

Uncle Jack, who wasn’t my uncle at all but an old friend of my deceased father, was dressed in his usual casual clothes that we both knew would make Mother wince, and it cheered me so much to see him that disappointment was pushed to the to the back of my mind. My attention was taken up, for the moment, with the opportunity to put some of those clandestine driving lessons into practice: here was Uncle Jack in his marvellous motor, and no Mother to put her foot firmly down on the fun. But he was not to be moved.

‘Absolutely not. Your mother would never allow me to set foot in the house again if anyone were to see you. And as for what she would do to
you
, well –’

‘Then we shall keep each other’s secret.’

‘We shall do nothing of the sort. And you don’t know how to drive anyway.’

‘Oh, don’t I?’ I couldn’t help grinning.

‘Evie …’

‘For your information, Uncle Jack, I’ve been driving a good deal whilst in London.’

‘Why did you have to tell me that?’ he groaned. ‘Now I can’t pretend any more that I’d no idea.’

‘You knew?’

‘I’d heard. But if your mother knew she’d have you confined to your rooms until you turn sixty.’

‘Then it’s a good thing I know you won’t tell her,’ I said, though with less certainty than hope. ‘Besides,’ I went on, eyeing him up and down, ‘someone who dresses as you do can’t possibly tell tales to my mother and expect them to be believed.’

‘What’s wrong with the way I dress?’

‘Honestly, you
never
wear the right clothes! It’s why I love you, of course.’