by Kate Morton
‘I don’t know of Mr Bucket, miss. I was thinking of Sherlock Holmes.’
‘Really? A detective?’
I nodded.
‘Finding clues and solving crimes?’
I nodded.
‘Well then,’ she said, disproportionately pleased. ‘I was wrong. You do know what I mean.’ And with that she looked again out the window, smiling faintly.
I wasn’t quite sure how it had happened, why my impulsive answer had pleased her so, and I didn’t particularly care. All I knew was that I now basked in the warm glow of a connection having been made.
I slid the brush back onto the dressing table, wiped my hands on my apron. ‘Nancy said you would be wearing your walking costume today, miss.’
I lifted the suit from the wardrobe and carried it to the dressing table. I held the skirt so that she might step inside.
Just then, a wallpapered door next to the bedhead swung open and Emmeline appeared. From where I knelt, holding Hannah’s skirt, I watched her cross the room. Emmeline’s was the type of beauty that belied her age. Something in her wide blue eyes, her full lips, even the way she yawned, gave the impression of lazy ripeness.
‘How’s your arm?’ said Hannah, placing a hand on my shoulder for support and stepping into the skirt.
I kept my head down, hoping Emmeline’s arm wasn’t painful, hoping she wouldn’t remember my part in her fall. But if she recognised me, it didn’t show. She shrugged, rubbed absently her bandaged wrist. ‘It hardly hurts. I’m just leaving it wrapped for effect.’
Hannah turned to face the wall and I lifted her nightie off, slipped the fitted bodice of the walking costume over her head. ‘You’ll probably have a scar, you know,’ she teased.
‘I know.’ Emmeline sat on the end of Hannah’s bed. ‘At first I didn’t want one, but Robbie said it would be a battle wound. That it would give me character.’
‘Did he?’ said Hannah acerbically.
‘He said all the best people have character.’
I pulled tight Hannah’s bodice, stretching the first button toward its eyelet.
‘He’s coming with us on our ride this morning,’ said Emmeline, drumming her feet against the bed. ‘He asked David if we could show him the lake.’
‘I’m sure you’ll have a lovely time.’
‘But aren’t you coming? It’s the first fine day in weeks. You said you’d go mad if you had to spend much longer inside.’
‘I’ve changed my mind,’ said Hannah airily.
Emmeline was silent for a moment, then she said, ‘David was right.’
As I continued to button, I was aware that Hannah’s body had tensed. ‘What do you mean?’
‘He told Robbie you were stubborn, that you’d lock yourself away all winter to avoid him if you decided on it.’
Hannah tightened her mouth. For a moment she was at a loss for words. ‘Well . . . you can tell David that he’s wrong. I’m not avoiding him at all. I have things to do inside. Important things. Things neither of you know about.’
‘Like sitting in the nursery, stewing, while you read through the box again?’
‘You little spy!’ said Hannah indignantly. ‘Is it any wonder I’d like some privacy?’ She huffed. ‘You’re wrong as it happens.
I won’t be going through the box. The box is no longer here.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’ve hidden it,’ said Hannah.
‘Where?’
‘I’ll tell you next time we play.’
‘But we probably won’t play all winter,’ Emmeline said. ‘We can’t. Not without telling Robbie.’
‘Then I’ll tell you next summer,’ said Hannah. ‘You won’t miss it. You and David have plenty of other things to do now that Robert Hunter is here.’
‘Why don’t you like him?’ said Emmeline.
There was an odd lull then, an unnatural pause in conversation, during which I felt strangely conspicuous, aware of my own heartbeat, my own breaths.
‘I don’t know,’ Hannah said eventually. ‘Ever since he got here things have been different. It feels like things are slipping away. Disappearing before I even know what they are.’ She held out her arm while I straightened the lace cuff. ‘Why do you like him?’
Emmeline shrugged. ‘Because he’s funny and clever. Because David likes him so well. Because he saved my life.’
‘That’s overstating it a bit,’ Hannah sniffed as I fastened the last button on her bodice. ‘He tore your dress and tied it round your wrist.’ She turned back to face Emmeline.
Emmeline’s hand flew to her mouth and her eyes widened. She started to laugh.
‘What?’ Hannah said, ‘What’s so funny?’ She stooped to take in her reflection. ‘Oh,’ she said, frowning.
Emmeline, still laughing, collapsed sideways against Hannah’s pillows. ‘You look like that simple boy from the village,’ she said. ‘The boy whose mother makes him wear clothes too small.’
‘That’s cruel, Emme,’ Hannah said, but she laughed despite herself. She regarded her reflection, wriggled her shoulders back and forth, trying to stretch the bodice. ‘And quite untrue.
That poor boy never looked anything like this ridiculous.’ She turned to view her reflection side-on. ‘I must’ve grown taller since last winter.’
‘Yes,’ Emmeline said, eyeing Hannah’s bodice, tight across her breasts. ‘Taller. Lucky thing.’
‘Well,’ Hannah said. ‘I certainly can’t wear this.’
‘If Pa would take as much interest in us as he does in his factory,’ Emmeline said, ‘he’d realise we need new clothing once in a while.’
‘He does his best.’
‘I’d hate to see his worst,’ Emmeline said. ‘We’ll be making our debuts in sailor dresses if we’re not careful.’
Hannah shrugged. ‘I couldn’t care less. Silly, outmoded pageant.’ She looked at her reflection again, tugged at the bodice. ‘Nonetheless, I’ll have to write to Pa and ask whether we might have new clothing.’
‘Yes,’ Emmeline said. ‘And not pinafores. Proper dresses, like Fanny’s.’
‘Well,’ Hannah said, ‘I’ll have to wear a pinafore today. This won’t do.’ She raised her eyebrows at me. ‘I wonder what Nancy will say when she finds out her rules have been broken.’
‘She won’t be pleased, miss,’ I said, daring to smile back as I unbuttoned the walking suit.
Emmeline looked up; tilted her head and blinked at me. ‘Who’s that?’
‘This is Grace,’ Hannah said, ‘Remember? She saved us from Miss Prince last summer.’
‘Is Nancy unwell?’
‘No, miss,’ I said. ‘She’s down in the village, working at the station. On account of the war.’
Hannah raised an eyebrow. ‘I pity the unsuspecting passenger who misplaces his ticket.’
‘Yes, miss,’ I said.
‘Grace will be dressing us when Nancy’s at the station,’ Hannah said to Emmeline. ‘Won’t it be a nice change to have someone our own age?’
I curtseyed and left the room, my heart singing. And a part of me hoped the war would never end.
It was crisp, the March morning we saw Alfred off to war. The sky was clear and the air heady with the promise of excitement. I felt oddly infused with purpose as we walked to town from Riverton. While Mr Hamilton and Mrs Townsend kept the home fires burning, Nancy, Katie and I had been given special permission, on condition our duties were complete, to accompany Alfred to the station. It was our national duty, Mr Hamilton said, to offer morale to Britain’s fine young men as they dedicated themselves to their country.
Morale was to have its limits, however: under no circumstances were we to engage in conversation with any of the soldiers for whom young ladies such as ourselves might represent easy prey.
How important I felt, striding down the High Street in my best dress, accompanied by one of the King’s Army. I am certain I was not alone in feeling this rush of excitement. Nancy, I noticed, had made special ef
forts with her hair, her long black ponytail looped into a fancy chignon, much like the Mistress wore. Even Katie had made attempts to tame her wayward curls.
When we arrived, the station was brimming with other soldiers and their well-wishers. Sweethearts embraced, mothers straightened shiny new uniforms and puffed-up fathers swallowed great lumps of pride. The Saffron Green recruiting depot, refusing to be outdone in such matters, had organised an enlisting drive the month before and posters of Lord Kitchener’s pointed finger could still be found on every lamppost. They were to form a special battalion, Alfred said—the Saffron Lads—and would all be going in together.
It was better that way, he said, to already know and like the fellows he’d be living with, fighting with.
The waiting train glistened, black and brass, punctuating the occasion from time to time with a great, impatient puff of self-important steam. Alfred carried his kit midway along the platform then stopped. ‘Well girls,’ he said, easing the kit to the floor and gazing about. ‘This looks as good a spot as any.’
We nodded, drinking in the carnival atmosphere.
Somewhere at the far end of the platform, up where the officers gathered, a band was playing. Nancy waved officially to a stern conductor who nodded a curt reply.
‘Alfred,’ said Katie coyly, ‘I’ve got something for you.’
‘Do you, Katie?’ said Alfred. ‘That’s mighty nice of you.’
He presented his cheek.
‘Oh, Alfred,’ said Katie, blushing like a ripe tomato. ‘I never meant a kiss.’
Alfred winked at Nancy and me. ‘Well now, that’s a disappointment, Katie. Here I was, thinking you were going to leave me with a little something to remember home by when I’m far away across the sea.’
‘I am.’ Katie held out a crumpled tea towel. ‘Here.’
Alfred raised an eyebrow. ‘A tea towel? Why, thank you Katie. That’ll certainly remind me of home.’
‘It’s not a tea towel,’ said Katie. ‘Well, it is. But that’s just the wrapping. Look inside.’
Alfred peeled open the package to reveal three slices of Mrs Townsend’s Victoria sponge cake.
‘There’s no butter or cream, on account of the shortages,’ said Katie. ‘But it’s not bad.’
‘And just how do you know that, Katie?’ snapped Nancy. ‘Mrs Townsend won’t be happy you’ve been in her larder again.’
Katie’s bottom lip folded. ‘I just wanted to send something with Alfred.’
‘Yes,’ Nancy’s expression softened. ‘Well, I suppose that’s all right then. Just this once: for the sake of the war effort.’ She turned her attention to Alfred. ‘Grace and I have something for you, too, Alfred. Don’t we, Grace? Grace?’
Up at the far end of the platform I had noticed a couple of familiar faces: Emmeline, standing near Dawkins, Lord Ashbury’s chauffeur, amid a sea of young officers in smart new uniforms.
‘Grace?’ Nancy shook my arm. ‘I was telling Alfred about our gift.’
‘Oh. Yes.’ I reached into my bag and handed Alfred a small package wrapped in brown paper.
He unwrapped it carefully, smiling at its contents.
‘I knitted the socks and Nancy the scarf,’ I said.
‘Well,’ said Alfred, inspecting the items. ‘They look mighty fine.’ He closed his hand around the socks, looked at me. ‘I’ll be sure to think of you—all three of you—when I’m snug as a bug and all the other boys are going cold. They’ll envy me my three girls: the best in all of England.’
He tucked the gifts into his kit then folded the paper neatly and handed it back to me. ‘Here you are, Grace. Mrs T will be on the warpath as it is, looking for the rest of her cake. Don’t want her missing her baking paper too.’
I nodded, pressed the paper into my bag; felt his eyes on me.
‘You won’t forget to write to me, will you Gracie?’
I shook my head, met his gaze. ‘No, Alfred. I won’t forget you.’
‘You’d better not,’ he said, smiling at me. ‘Or there’ll be trouble when I’m back.’ He sobered. ‘I’m going to miss you.’
He looked then at Nancy and Katie. ‘All of you.’
‘Oh, Alfred,’ said Katie excitedly. ‘Look at the other fellows. Ever so smart in their new uniforms. Are they all Saffron Lads?’
As Alfred pointed out some of the other young men he’d met at the recruiting depot, I looked up the track again, watched as Emmeline waved to another group and ran off. Two of the young officers turned to watch her go and I saw their faces. David and Robbie Hunter. Where was Hannah? I craned to see. She had avoided David and Robbie as best she could over winter, but surely she wouldn’t miss seeing David off to war?
‘. . . and that’s Rufus,’ said Alfred, pointing out a skinny soldier with long teeth. ‘His father’s the ragman. Rufus used to help him but he reckons he’s more chance of a regular meal in the army.’
‘That may be,’ Nancy said. ‘If you’re a ragman. But you can’t say you don’t do very well for yourself at Riverton.’
‘Oh no,’ said Alfred. ‘I’ve no complaints in that department. Mrs T, and the Master and Mistress, they keep us well-fed.’ He smiled then said, ‘I must say I get sick of being cooped up inside, though. I’m looking forward to living the open-air life for a bit.’
An aeroplane droned overhead, a Blériot XI-2 said Alfred, and a cheer went up amongst the crowd. A wave of excitement rolled along the platform, collecting us all in its wash. The conductor, a distant speck of black and white, blew his whistle then called for boarding through his megaphone.
‘Well,’ said Alfred, a smile tugging at his lips. ‘Here I go then.’
A figure appeared at the end of the station. Hannah. She scanned the platform, waved hesitantly when she saw David. She weaved through the crowd, stopping only when she reached her brother. She stood for a moment, without speaking, then she pulled something from her purse and gave it to him. I already knew what it was. I had seen it on her duchesse that morning. Journey Across the Rubicon. It was one of the tiny books from The Game, one of their favourite adventures, carefully described, illustrated and bound with thread. She’d wrapped it in an envelope and tied it with string.
David looked at it, then at Hannah. He tucked it in his breast pocket, rubbed his hand over it, then reached out and squeezed both her hands; he looked as if he wanted to kiss her cheeks, hug her, but that was not the way it went with them. So he didn’t. He leaned closer and said something to her. They both looked toward Emmeline, and Hannah nodded.
David turned then and said something to Robbie. He looked back at Hannah and she started searching through her bag again. She was looking for something to give him, I realised. David must have suggested that Robbie needed his own good-luck charm.
Alfred’s voice, close to my ear, pulled my wandering attention back. ‘Bye-bye, Gracie,’ he said, his lips brushing hair near my neck. ‘Thanks ever so for the socks.’
My hand leapt to my ear, still warm from his words, as Alfred threw his kit over his shoulder and headed for the train. As he reached the door he climbed onto the carriage step and turned, grinning at us over the heads of his fellow soldiers. ‘Wish me luck,’ he said, then disappeared, pushed through the door by the others eager to climb aboard.
I waved my arm. ‘Good luck,’ I called to the backs of strangers, sensing suddenly the hole that would be left at Riverton by his departure.
Up at first class, David and Robbie boarded with the other officers. Dawkins walked behind with David’s bags. There were fewer officers than infantry, and they found seats easily, each appearing at a window while Alfred jostled for standing space in his carriage.
The train whistled again, and belched, filling the platform with steam. Long axles began to heave, gathering momentum, and the train drew slowly forward.
Hannah kept up alongside, still searching her purse, fruitlessly it seemed. Finally, as the train gained pace, she looked up, slipped the white satin bow from her hair, and held it up t
o Robbie’s waiting hand.
Further along the track my gaze alighted on the sole motionless figure amongst the frenzied crowd: it was Emmeline. She clutched a white handkerchief in her raised hand but she no longer waved it. Her eyes were wide and her smile had slipped into an expression of uncertainty.
She stood on tiptoe, surveying the crowd. No doubt she was anxious to bid David farewell. And Robbie Hunter.
Just then, her face lifted eagerly and I knew she’d seen Hannah.
But it was too late. As she pushed through the crowd, her calls drowned by engine noise, and whistles, and cheers, I saw Hannah, still running alongside the boys, long hair unbound, disappear with the train behind a veil of steam.
PART 2
English Heritage Brochure
1999
Riverton Manor, Saffron
Green, Essex
An early Elizabethan farmhouse designed by John Thorpe, Riverton Manor was ‘gentrified’ in the eighteenth century by the eighth Viscount of Ashbury who added two bays, transforming the house into a graceful manor. In the nineteenth century, when country-house weekends became popular, Riverton again underwent conversion at the hands of architect Thomas Cubitt: a third level was built to incorporate more guest accommodation; and, in keeping with the Victorian preference that servants remain invisible at all times, a rabbit warren of servants’ rooms was added to the attic, along with back stairs leading directly to the kitchen.
The magnificent ruins of this once great house are surrounded by glorious landscaped gardens, the work of Sir Joseph Paxton. The gardens include two huge stone fountains, the largest of which, representing Eros and Psyche, has just been restored. Though now powered by computerised electric pump, the fountain was originally motorised by its own steam engine and was described as making the ‘noise of an express train’ when it was fired, due to the 130 jets—hidden amongst giant ants, eagles, fire-breathing dragons, horrors of the underworld, cupids and gods—that shoot 100 feet into the air.
There is a second, smaller fountain, representing the fall of Icarus, at the end of the rear Long Walk. Beyond the Icarus fountain is the lake and the summer house, which was commissioned in 1923 by Riverton’s then owner, Mr Theodore Luxton, to replace the original boathouse. The lake has become infamous in this century as the site of poet Robert S Hunter’s suicide in 1924, on the evening of the annual Riverton midsummer’s night party.