Easterleigh Hall (36 page)

She pushed at him, hit out, but he was feeling her breasts, panting in her face. She could still hear Simon's voice soaring over everything and she should call out, but how could she with this bastard's mouth over hers? Then his hand was moving down, lifting her skirt. He had rammed his knee between her legs and she still couldn't breathe. And still Simon's song soared, still Roger's mouth was on hers and she was tight against the wall and couldn't lever back to punch, or kick because his knee was pushing her legs apart and her skirt was to her waist.

She used her head then, as Jack had always said to do. She butted him, hard across the nose. Blood spurted. His arm on her throat sagged. She pushed, he stepped back, his balance gone. There was a roaring anger now as she pummelled his chest, kicking, scratching, stamping, and finally driving her fist into his solar plexus. He fell on the stairs, his arms up. She followed up, hitting, kicking, and the anger drove her on because Timmie had died, louts had thrown tomatoes and bricks and there had to be an end to it all. She kicked again as he lay at her feet, huddled, his arms protecting his head.

At last she was done, the breath heaving in her chest, her hair loose, her cap God knew where. She stood over him, shaking now. She hissed, ‘When will you learn? Never touch me again. Never come near me or my family and leave your son alone. Now get out of here.'

She put her hands on her hips so that he wouldn't see them shaking. It wasn't fear, she didn't know what it was, didn't care. She waited while he scrambled to his feet, a scratch down the side of his face, his clothes smeared with grime. He didn't look at her as he lurched up the steps and stumbled across the yard towards the garage. The chauffeur would be with the servants, but in Len's sleeping quarters he'd find a brush and sort himself out. She watched him all the way and only when he had entered did she turn and hurry up the back stairs, the shaking now taking over her whole body, the pain in her back and hips from jolting down the stairs catching with each step.

In her bedroom she stripped off her uniform, poured water from the jug into the bowl and washed, dressed in her second uniform, fumbling as she tied her apron, then repaired her hair, her arms aching as she lifted them above her head.

She started towards the door, and then her legs failed. She staggered, made herself hold firm, and managed to reach her bed. A wave of sickness caught her, the shaking grew worse. She sank her head into her hands, heaving. But no. She thrust her hands into her lap, fisting them. They hurt. She smiled. Jack would be proud.

She sat straight and waited for the shaking to stop, because it would. She remembered Jack saying that he shook after a fight. Tears threatened and she tightened her fists. She wouldn't cry. Not over Roger. She sat like that until the shaking had quite stopped. It could come again, but not as badly. She heard the clock chime, and stood. She felt a deep satisfaction. No one, ever again, would touch her when she did not want to be touched. No one.

She eased her way down the stairs and up the steps into the yard, refusing to allow herself to look around in fear. She strode into the stable yard, where the servants were not just listening, but dancing. It was then she realised that Simon was still singing. She moved to stand next to Dottie. ‘Shall we dance?' she suggested. Dottie curtsied. ‘Do let's, your highness.'

They whirled to a waltz and she ignored her aching limbs, and she ignored Roger as he entered the stable yard. He had a scratch down his cheek and was pale, and he rubbed his abdomen. She was glad, but knew that it would never be over until one of them left.

A dance floor had been set up on the terrace to extend the ballroom, and the bride and groom were dancing. He looking ecstatic, Lady Veronica as calm and collected as always. What must it be like to marry without love? She hummed along to the music, so glad that she was Evie Forbes.

In June when they were sea-coaling at Fordington one Sunday afternoon Jack took Evie to one side, staring at the oily sea as the sun baked down and the breeze was gentle. ‘I've asked Millie to marry me, bonny lass.'

She dropped her shovel. ‘You've what? Why? I thought . . . Well, never mind what I thought.' Because what had she thought? She wasn't sure. ‘Why, Jack?'

He was still looking at the sea. His face had been drawn ever since Timmie died, and the light and energy that had always bounced from him was absent. He said nothing, just rammed his hands into his pockets and shrugged. She swung him round to face her, but he pulled away and continued watching the sea. She stood in front of him. ‘But you don't love her?'

He squatted and threw bits of coal into the sea. ‘I love the bairn, he's a little belter and he needs a father. I can't have him growing up a bastard, and I like Millie. It's good enough, Evie. We can't all be like you and Simon.'

The air of sadness which cloaked her brother was almost tangible. ‘Is it really enough for a lifetime, Jack?'

‘At least I have a life. Just listen, Evie. We can't change what happened to Timmie, but the bairn didn't ask to be born. I can't do anything about Timmie but I can do something about the bairn.' He rose and she hugged him. ‘Jack, please think about this. You have a right to be happy.'

He eased her from him and walked away. She watched, and wanted to run after him, but instead she picked up the shovel again and saw that Simon was near. Of course, when wasn't he? He came to her, putting his arm around her shoulders. ‘Millie's just let it out. If it's what he wants, let it go, Evie.'

‘I don't understand him. He doesn't love her.'

‘It's his decision, and he loves the boy, that's all that can be said.' They heard her da calling, ‘We've coal to collect, or are you on strike?'

Simon waved. ‘On our way, boss.' They started up the beach.

Da called again, ‘Come on you two, there's work to do and have you heard about Jack joining the Territorials, Simon? He's just told me he took up the whelp on his offer. Davies says that Lord Brampton has decided that it would be a good thing to encourage the men to join, God knows why. He's offered them a shilling a day on top of their wages. Sounds like an excuse for a holiday to me, and why not?' Her da was standing up on the cart, looking from them to Jack, who was now working with Martin further along the beach.

‘What?' Evie exclaimed. ‘The Territorials? Is he mad?' They approached the cart and Da threw them a sack, his voice harsh as he said, ‘You can't blame the lads for getting out of the pits for a while.' Simon asked her to hold the sack, saying, ‘Let me shovel in this lot.'

Evie shook her head. ‘What's Jack thinking of?'

Simon grinned. ‘I said, hold the sack.' He waited until she did so, then told her, ‘The whelp asked the gardeners to join after the wedding. Everyone who does is getting one Saturday off a month with pay plus the bob a day while they train, and a paid week under canvas.' He was shovelling the heap of coal into the sack and the sun glinted on the sea behind them. ‘He said it would be good for him to get to know us better. I don't want to know
him
any better, so turned him down.'

She tested the weight of the sack. ‘I wouldn't have thought Jack wanted to know him better, either. It doesn't make sense.'

Jack was approaching with an empty sack, which he gave to her. ‘Let me help, Evie.' He took the full load and swung it up on to his back, calling as he returned to the cart, ‘Accidents happen, Evie, they can happen anywhere, especially in the Territorials.'

Evie let the sack fall and whispered, ‘Jack, don't be foolish.' She made to follow him, but Simon raised his eyebrows. ‘He's not a fool, he won't do anything silly. Don't worry, just hold the sack.' She did so, and the breeze was stronger now.

On Saturday 6th June 1914 there was another wedding to cater for. Again it was at the village church, and again there was a grave to consider. Timmie's, though, lay far from Miss Wainton's. Again Edward officiated. Mam held Tim, who shrieked and giggled all the way through the service, and when the couple left the church there was a Territorial guard of honour led by Martin, who took over the sergeant's position while Jack was otherwise engaged. Her da shook his head. ‘Boys and their playtime. I reckon they just like a uniform, daft beggars.'

The wedding breakfast was held in the village hall and had been cooked by Evie and her mother, with Millie's help. Millie seemed happy, Jack held Tim and put his arm around his wife. They kissed as they cut the cake. Grace and Evie clapped, but there was a deadness in Grace. Evie said, ‘There's someone for you, somewhere.'

‘I know there is, I've met him.' Grace's voice was flat as Jack took Millie in his arms, swirling away to the strains of ‘If you were the only girl in the world' sung by Simon, with Bernie and Thomas accompanying him. Lady Veronica had given them leave. She had returned from her honeymoon two days before, and Captain Williams had returned to his posting in Folkestone immediately, Lil informed them.

As Jack danced, he saw Evie and nodded, his colour high. He'd been drinking, she could see that, but why not, at his own wedding? He saw Grace, who was talking to their mam, and there was everything in his face. Then he whirled past Evie with Millie. His smile was tired as his bride talked and laughed.

The friends and family danced and sang until midnight, and then she and Simon walked back to Easterleigh Hall. His arm was tight around her, and he pulled her to him, kissed her and against her mouth he said, ‘Can we please get married the moment we have the hotel? It could be a Christmas wedding.' He laughed as she clasped him tightly. ‘Most certainly, bonny lad.' Her mouth was as eager as his, but then they walked on and he said, ‘I've been thinking, you know, I'd like to join the Territorials after all. I felt out of it today, wishing I could have been one of the guard of honour. Besides, it sounds good fun and someone has to keep an eye on Jack. Just think, Evie, we'll get paid for playing silly buggers in a field somewhere every Saturday.'

The night was warm, the moon so bright she thought she could have read by it. Sheep baaed as they passed, and an owl flew across their path. She could see the Stunted Tree in the distance. ‘Why not? You'll be one of the gang again, and not have to fight your way in this time, you'll just have to play about with guns. What could be more fun? You daft beggars, you.'

Just three weeks later, on June 28 Evie read in the newspaper that the heir to the Austro-Hungarian Empire had been assassinated by a Serb-sponsored terrorist and that Emmeline Pankhurst was still in prison. That same week Lady Margaret arrived, having been released from prison by virtue of the Cat and Mouse Act. She needed feeding up and then they would arrest her again, and she would go on hunger strike again and so it would go on. Evie and Mrs Moore shook their heads at one another when they heard. Mrs Moore said, ‘I thought Lady Esther had taken the place of Lady Margaret as a friend?'

Evie told Dottie to have a rest in the servants' hall while the ladies were down for tea, then continued setting out the cakes. ‘I suppose old friends can surmount a division of ideals.'

‘That sounds too complicated for me,' Mrs Moore sniffed, tucking the
Sketch
under her arm and taking a cup of tea to her room.

Lady Margaret and Lady Veronica arrived within five minutes and sat in the kitchen sipping tea, though Evie thought they'd have been much better advised to take advantage of the sunshine. Lady Margaret looked almost translucent, but still much like a horse.

‘There, you see, you two,' Lady Margaret said, including Evie. ‘We're suffering for you, we'll get you the vote and what do you do, eat cakes while we starve?'

It was the fear of further imprisonment talking, no doubt, but Evie still wanted to remove the cakes. Lady Veronica winked and Evie stifled a smile.

Lady Veronica said, passing one of the wicked cakes, ‘Dearest Margaret, do treat yourself, and why not let someone else create mayhem while you just stand on the sidelines for a while? People could so easily be hurt or killed. There are other ways, and we should be insisting on votes for all classes, not just the higher echelons. But this is old ground, and none of us will change our minds.'

Lady Margaret pushed away the plate. ‘Your branch is just so smug. You just don't understand. If you thought about it you'd know that if we get the vote for us it will be a foot in the door, and people like Evie will be given it in due course when we have made sure they know how to handle the power.'

Lady Veronica was rising now, her napkin crumpled at the side of her plate. ‘Thank you so much for tea, Evie, but it's time we left you to your work.'

She put a hand under Lady Margaret's elbow and helped her to rise. Lady Margaret shook her head. ‘I'm not going until I hear what Evie has to say.'

A lot, thought Evie, but merely replied, ‘People like me would prefer to have it now, if you don't mind, Your Ladyship, along with the rest of you. We do have minds and we do feel we should take a hand in the governance of the country just as much as you.'

Lady Margaret flushed. ‘Well, you would say that, how could you do otherwise? You wouldn't want to jeopardise your position here, would you, by disagreeing with Lady Veronica? I gather your employers have no love for the Forbes, so you must feel rather insecure.' Her face was thin and sallow, despite the flush that was rising up her neck. Her hands were trembling. There were deep rings around her eyes, which were full of fear. She was hitting out like a small child.

Evie said gently, ‘You're not well. Best go and lie down.'

Lady Veronica led her friend from the kitchen, calling back, ‘Thank you, Evie, for the tea, of course.'

That evening, after dinner was cleared, a dinner which had included calf's-foot broth and stewed rabbit in milk, and the kitchen was on the way to being spotless under Dottie, Sarah and Annie's strong hands, Evie slipped out for some air, as usual. She and Simon strolled along the paths, breathing in the roses which were planted to the right of the walled garden specifically for picking. He snipped off one and trimmed off its thorns. They didn't need to speak any more, just
be
. He held her hand lightly while they discussed how many hotel rooms they could manage, and which would bring in sufficient income to keep them all. Simon wanted them to be able to hold wedding receptions, and she thought that if they had the correct costings it would be an excellent idea. ‘But we'd need gardens for the guests to stroll in,' she said. He laughed. ‘I rather thought you'd say that.'