Easterleigh Hall at War Page 6

  The touch of his fingers on her tongue had told her that her love for him was all-consuming. It always had been, but she had made a mistake and had withdrawn. She had been at the Froggett house, comforting his family on the day of Timmie’s death, and told him she would be there whenever she was needed, and she had failed him. Today could be the last day, for one of them. Even here in the estaminet she could hear the guns.

  She said, ‘I might have been Evie’s first employer but we all became friends after you saved Edward from the Lea End mob, you and Timmie. Is that right?’

  She still gripped his hand but he was no longer fighting her. Instead he was staring at his empty glass. Well, he could damn well wait if he was after another. She’d spent too many weeks rehearsing what she would say when he arrived with the package to waste time ordering another beer.

  Jack nodded. ‘Aye, lass.’ He still looked at the glass.

  ‘Do you remember that cart ride out to Froggett’s farm to secure the three houses, two for Edward and me to use as emergency and retirement homes for the miners, and one for you? You almost had the money, but not quite. We were able to thank you for Edward’s life by loaning your family the balance. It meant you could pursue your union work without fear of eviction from your miner’s house. Do you remember? Do you? What about when I tied the gate behind us to stop Auberon getting there first?’

  Jack nodded, and this time he looked full into her face. ‘Aye, of course I remember, Miss Manton. You were good to us when our lad died, too.’

  ‘You’ve just called me lass, and now it’s Miss Manton, but it was Grace then. We were friends.’

  Jack’s face was bitter now. ‘Aye, and I helped you repair your houses once we had them, as well as our own, and dug your garden, and planted your bloody potatoes with you, and you held me when I cried for Timmie. I loved you, lass. I loved you and I thought you felt something for me, and then the next day when I came to get me hands grubby for you, you said you could manage “perfectly well, thank you”, in a real posh voice, and that you didn’t need me. I was to go about my business and get on with my life. So I got on with it. I married, I have Roger’s son who is a little belter and who I must protect, as I couldn’t Timmie.’

  The waiter brought another beer, removing the empty froth-smeared glass, tutting at the untouched coffee in Grace’s cup. ‘For you, madame, I will produce a further coffee.’

  ‘This time, we pay,’ they said together, their eyes fixed on one another, not on the waiter. Grace loved Jack’s eyes, so brown and dark, so like Evie’s, and his almost black hair, so like his da’s and Timmie’s. Evie’s hair was a riot of chestnut curls like that of her mam.

  ‘Perhaps,’ the waiter murmured before removing the cup and backing through the swing doors.

  Major Sylvester rose from his window table. Grace saw him looking at her clutching Jack’s hand. Fraternisation with enlisted men was forbidden. Well, let him do his worst. He tapped his cap and smiled but said nothing. She knew his worst would not happen.

  Grace remembered all too well holding Jack at the front gate of his parents’ house, soothing him as he sobbed for his brother, knowing finally what she had suspected for weeks, which was that she had met the love of her life. But she was older, she was boring, she was the parson’s sister and Evie’s first employer. He was adored by women, a rising union leader, a strong and respected hewer, a glorious young man who would have been appalled had he known the riot of her emotions. She had ridden her bicycle away feeling that she must put distance between them or she would do untold damage to everyone, and take advantage of the vulnerability of his grief.

  It was only when the North Tyne Fusiliers were embarking from Newcastle Central station, and she had gone in Edward’s place to wave them farewell, that they had, for the first time, really looked at one another again, and that was when she saw that his love matched her own. But it had all been too late because on his arm was Millie, his wife. It was still too late, but he must be told how very much he was loved. He must take that back to the trenches.

  It was this that Grace told Jack now, and she felt him turn his hand beneath hers and grip, tightly. At last he smiled, at last his shoulders slumped with a release of tension, at last he met her eyes and allowed her to see that indeed she had been right. There was love between them, a huge bloody sea of it, a bloody great seam of high-grade love between her and this precious man. There really was.

  ‘I was wrong,’ he said. ‘You have been a bloody fool to think you would be taking advantage, bonny lass, for you’re all I’ve wanted for too many years.’

  Another coffee arrived, and this time Jack dug in his pockets for francs, saying to Grace, ‘You will let me do this for you and you will let us have this moment, because it is all we can ever have.’

  Grace knew that. ‘I had to speak of it. I couldn’t bear to not tell you of my feelings, because Evie felt that you were so unhappy and felt so unloved. You are not, my darling. You never will be.’

  ‘Oh, Evie,’ Jack laughed. She smiled, but couldn’t bear to think of his hurt. He gripped both her hands, lifted them, held one against his cheek and kissed the other. ‘And did she tell you that I loved you so fiercely that sometimes I felt it burned me up?’

  Grace shrugged. ‘She said that she thought you loved me. She didn’t mention anything about burning.’

  They both laughed this time. She drew his hands to her mouth, kissing them, seeing the blue miner’s scars, the more recent wounds. They were the hands of a man, not a lad. She searched his eyes. She traced with her finger his crooked nose and swollen ear, damaged from his early bare-fist fights which had helped earn the money for the Forbes’ house. She traced his lips, longing to kiss them.

  She asked about Mart, feeling Jack’s breath on her fingers as he said against them, ‘I can’t believe he’s gone and there’ll be no more humming which drove me bloody mad, or him saying, when we were in the thick of it at Mons, “like a home from bloody home, lad”. He meant just like the pit, danger at every turn. Daft bugger must have dropped his rabbit’s foot and that’s why the shell got him. They never found him. Decapitated, Bernie said, but there was no body when they went to gather them up, just a bloody great mess of shell holes and bits.’

  He stopped for a moment. ‘I haven’t been able to talk about it properly till now. Grace, for God’s sake, why the hell did you cut me out?’

  She kissed his hands. ‘Because I hadn’t the sense I was born with. But this time, when I say if you ever need me I will come, I mean it from the bottom of this wretchedly battered and foolish heart. I will love you for the rest of my life, dearest Jack Forbes.’

  ‘And I you.’

  Her coffee grew cold again, his beer remained untouched. They just sat gripping one another’s hands, aware of others coming and going, but taking no notice until the clock in the square chimed its tinny sound and Grace withdrew her hands. He said, ‘You’re right, your hands are not so soft now, bonny lass. And the better for it.’

  ‘Ah Jack, I’ve scrubbed floors so clean that they would even meet with Evie’s approval and would knock Ver’s efforts into a cocked hat. I’ve helped at operations, would you believe, such has been the need for someone, anyone, who had the first idea of what to do.’ She looked at her coffee, drank it cold but didn’t taste it.

  Jack downed his beer. ‘Aye, I would believe it.’ He left francs as a tip on the table. Together they left and walked to the square, holding hands as though they’d never be prised apart. In the square she pointed to the left, he to the right.

  ‘It’s time,’ he said, replacing his cap. Around them the market was packing up. A cart passed loaded with empty wooden boxes, and a few turnips. The wheel caught in a ruck, the driver swore, the old horse neighed and a turnip tumbled to the ground to be scooped up by a young boy who ran off with it. ‘Bravo,’ Grace whispered.

  Some VADs were heading for the café. Two officers passed on horseback, en route to heaven knew where, but she had a good idea it
was the front, or perhaps a new one, because the hospital had been clearing the wards, sending the Blighty cases, those serious enough for treatment at home, to the ports by the trainload, and the walking wounded, patched up, were being sent to their units to free up beds. New beds were being delivered, and put together by swearing orderlies in the marquees. Bandages were being stockpiled, masses and masses of them. New contingents of orderlies, nurses and a few VADs were arriving. Dear God, the obscenity of war was about to blast in on them again as some wild scheme was concocted by those at the rear to bring about a breakthrough. In their dreams, perhaps.

  She felt him pull his hand free but then his arms were round her, and they kissed, at last they kissed and it was as though nothing else existed. ‘I love you and it’s grand that you still smell of lavender, even here, in amongst all of this. And it’s grand that I can smell it now.’ Jack sighed.

  She murmured, ‘That’s what deep reserve and fresh air does for you, dearest Jack.’ She was crying and had promised herself she wouldn’t, and she could barely make out the sense of her own words as he pulled away, and she held him back, just for a few seconds more, whispering, ‘Be safe, be lucky. Live. I know not for me. But live, and know that you are loved.’

  He held her again, forcing her head up, holding her chin, kissing her savagely. His breath was beer-tinged, ‘If I live, it will be for you, Grace bloody Manton. I always have, and I always will love you, and damn you for letting me go, back then. Damn me for allowing it.’

  His next kiss felt as though it bruised her mouth, and she was glad of it, and he said, his lips still on hers, ‘I’ll find you when this bastard mess is over. Somehow I’ll work it out. It isn’t enough. It will never be enough but I have my lad, my Tim. Oh God in heaven . . .’

  It was he who cried now and Grace knew that she must draw on something resembling courage, but she wasn’t sure that she had enough. She eased away from him, wiping his face with her hands, making him look at her. ‘Jack, you have a child and his mother is your wife, and the war could create a great change in Millie. We know what we feel and that is more than I ever thought possible. It is enough for a lifetime. It truly is, Jack Forbes. You go on with your war, concentrate on that, and get back to your family. Know that I’ll love you every day for the rest of time, just a call away if you need me. But never will I come between you and what’s right.’

  He didn’t speak. He just wrenched her hands down, turned and strode away, then started running, almost into the path of a cart. The carter yelled, ‘Attention!’ Jack stopped, turned, waved, barking a sort of laugh. ‘That’d make a good memorial. Killed by a cart. You be safe and lucky and remember what Mam says, all will be well, all the bloody time. I’ll let you know I’m safe, after each push. I’ll make sure you hear.’

  Then he ran on.

  She watched him until he was out of sight behind carts, stalls, lorries, an artillery limber, then another, and another. Dusk was falling fast. She headed back to the camp hospital past shuttered houses with steep tiled roofs, and dogs that hurled themselves round corners chasing cats. She was on duty at twenty hundred hours. She dug her hands deep into her coat pockets, torn between longing and a strange calm. She was loved. She loved. What more could she ask from a life which was adrift in something which should have been over three months ago, if the newspapers could have been believed.

  She caught up with Angela Feathers who was walking ahead of her, her collar pulled up, mud splatters on her coat. She was a VAD from Hull. Grace slipped her arm through hers. ‘Will it ever end, Angie?’

  ‘Better had, but what then, eh? Back to tending the hearth, bearing brats, adoring our menfolk?’

  ‘No, never any of that, for me.’ Grace felt her voice shake and pressed her lips together, hard. Shut up, shut up.

  Angie squeezed her arm. ‘You saw him then? About damn time, but don’t let’s even think about what comes after. Let’s just try and get through. You heard Sister Merryweather was killed shipping back some wounded from some little spat?’

  ‘Poor bloody woman.’ Grace brought out the box of crumbs. ‘Christmas crumbs, from Easterleigh Hall, made by a very special friend, they’ll be delicious. We’ll share them round, just a crumb each but I’ll write and she’ll send more, direct this time.’ Both women smiled.

  Chapter 4

  The same day

  AS HE ENTERED the camp, seeing shadows flitting in the dusk from tent to tent, to latrine, to barn, Jack was met by Auberon, who motioned him to one side, leading the way to the lee of the barn, out of earshot of everyone else. ‘We’re on the move, six hundred hours tomorrow, Jack, out of deep reserve. All I know is that we’re heading to an area, here.’ He held up a map against the side of the barn, lighting it with his torch, tracing the route they were to take.

  ‘We’ll entrain to here.’ He stabbed at a junction. The right-hand corner of the map folded down. Jack pinioned it back, looking closely as Auberon traced the way to the embarkation point. ‘We’ll march to here and await further orders.’ He stabbed again. ‘I know nothing more, except that the Indians are on the move too. Get your men together and ready, but I don’t need to tell you that. And keep your mouth shut, though why anyone would think there was nothing going on with all the damned movement, God alone knows. The Huns will have their reconnaissance planes up, tracking everything.’

  Auberon switched off the torch, tugged the map from beneath Jack’s hand, folded it, and tucked it into his pocket. ‘Could be close contact, could just be festering in bloody foot-rotting trench. Be prepared for anything. But again, I don’t need to tell you. I’ve sorted beer for the men. It’ll be at the pigsty at twenty hundred hours. Keep an eye on the Lea End mob, only a pint each, there’s a good chap. They seem to prefer it to rum.’

  Auberon dragged out his cigarette case, offering it to Jack, who took one. They were better than roll-ups any day. ‘At ease, Jack. Mufti time.’ They leaned back against the barn. Jack struck a match, lit both, flicked the match away. Soon they’d be at the Front and they’d not be hanging about lighting too many matches. He’d have to remember to remind the lads. Thank God he made it to Le Petit Chat, thank God for so many things about today.

  He stared up at the sky. It was beyond dusk now and the stars were out. Auberon said, ‘Did you deliver the cake?’

  Jack nodded, drawing on his cigarette, exhaling, seeing the smoke rise in the chill air. ‘Aye, I did that, Auberon.’ Was that the Milky Way? He was right bad at stars. He asked, ‘Bloody sweepstake on it, was there?’

  ‘I won it.’ They laughed and Auberon added, ‘That’s why there’s beer. There’ll be rum first thing tomorrow.’

  Jack looked at him. ‘A boss couldn’t do anything else, could he really?’

  ‘More’s the pity. I’d have liked to go to Le Petit Chat myself if my Very Adorable Darling was available, but as you say, best to roll out the barrel, bought I might add from Rogiers’, the other estaminet, to leave you in privacy. Not even time for a drink for myself.’

  ‘My heart bleeds.’ Jack drew again on his cigarette.

  ‘I’m hoping it doesn’t, Jack. I’m hoping that things . . .’ Auberon trailed off as Jack stood away from the barn. ‘Sorry, none of my business,’ Auberon said quickly, though he remained lounging.

  Jack said, ‘A while ago someone called those three women, Evie, Veronica and Grace, a monstrous regiment. Can’t remember who but I reckon they were right. Veronica’s been writing about it to you, so you knew it was cake, and chose not to tell me? Well, Auberon, you can write and tell that “regiment” that we’ve met and we understand one another and the whole thing has been resolved. Is that enough for now?’ He relaxed against the barn again, looking back at the stars. Aye, he was sure it was the Milky Way.

  Auberon replied, ‘I truly hope that you were both able to say what needed to be said, and that you know that you are cared for very deeply, as I believe you are, from Veronica’s letters on the subject.’ Jack started to interrupt. Auberon continue
d, ‘No, Jack, let me say this and I am not under their orders to do so, but we’re going into action so I feel I must. You should know what I already know, that Grace Manton loves you and love is precious. Hold it close to you. It’s all that matters in the long run, d’you hear? Who knows, perhaps something will happen to work things out without pain to others. It’s such a strange bloody world, at the moment.’

  Auberon paused. ‘Do you think that love finds a way?’ His tone was urgent, and he was grinding his cigarette beneath his foot as though it was a Hun. ‘Oh, forget my ramblings, and now I’ve embarrassed myself enough, and you too, so I’m off to catch up on orders, and you should get along to the men. They need you. Talk them through all that matters again, including the knuckledusters that I’m sure they carry with them. Make sure they carry wire-cutters and knives, too.’

  Jack watched his captain slip and slide through the mud towards Colonel Townsend’s tent. He grinned. Each day Roger had been beavering to keep those boots gleaming, and himself as far as possible from the drills. Lucky bugger, and no worm deserved it less. His own cigarette was smoked to the utter stub and he flicked it through the air in a way that he wouldn’t be able to in a few days’ time. He watched Auberon salute the guard at the colonel’s tent, lift the tent flap and enter, and was filled with a welling of peace. ‘D’you understand, Timmie?’ He looked once more at the Milky Way, nodded and made his way to the tents that housed the Lea End mob. Only one pint, eh? Captain the Hon. Auberon Brampton should know better where that lot were concerned.