“His poetry you mean?”
Brown found he’d clenched his teeth to the point that his jaw ached. He wanted to understand what this man meant; what Bracken meant; to understand all of it. But, he never would. He was too young and had missed the experience that had defined these men. He relaxed his jaw and focused on listening.
“Clever men try to make out that all our lives were worth nothing, that we were manipulated and played by the powerful. That’s too cynical a world view for me. I don’t think it was that simple. Terrible things were happening in Belgium. We were called upon to defend the Belgians and defend what we thought of as king and country. I grant you that no-one knew what was in store for the troops. No one was prepared for that.”
He wiped a hand across his forehead and apart from the sheen on his face he was pale. “Terrible pressure was put on everyone to enlist—the power of the recruiting sergeant. Women were urged to push their menfolk off to war; employers—their employees. People had no choice; not really.”
Brown swallowed. It sounded as if Hubert was arguing against his own viewpoint. Maybe that was why he hadn’t liked Bracken -the poet’s sentiments closely echoed his own. But, he’d deny that, probably with his dying breath.
“In the aftermath of what happened, it was too easy to forget the fever of the time. The craziness, the anti-German feeling that swept the whole country. Bad things, German governesses sacked; shopkeepers with vaguely German names hounded out of business. The whole country was swept up in it. It was that, rather than that they were all fooled.”
He stopped, and his breathing was unsteady. How long had he been going about with the burden of all of this eating away at him?
“So your views didn’t tally with those of Sean Bracken?”
“No, he was a sneering bastard.” The words were flung out of his mouth as if he spat them.
“Was there anything else causing animosity between you?”
“No,” He drank the remainder of his pint. Greene and Brown were only halfway down theirs. “Are you absolutely sure of that, Mr. Billings? It never bodes well if we later find out that someone we speak to has been less than truthful.”
Hubert tilted his glass to one side, playing with it, then resolutely put it back on the table.
“I’m not sure what you’re getting at, Inspector. I didn’t know the man well enough to have any personal grudge against him, and I certainly didn’t risk my neck because I didn’t agree with his poetry. That would make me very stupid now, wouldn’t it?”
Chapter Twelve
“Wedding clothes shopping, you betcha, as they say in the flicks. I’d be delighted and, erm…Edith. Would it be all right if Hester came too? She’s going back to London tomorrow, and I think she needs rescuing from Swallow Hall and the crazy relatives.”
Edith hesitated for a few seconds. Three was always slightly strained, and she’d been wondering if maybe she and Julia might regain something of their old closeness; it was an exciting and intimate thing to be doing, shopping for wedding clothes. But she was being supremely selfish. Besides, she liked Hester, though a tiny bit of her was jealous of her exciting life in London.
“Absolutely. That would be great. That’s what I need -a bit of advice from someone who is so stylish and who knows about fashion. I mean, Jules. This is no easy task. Not easy looking suitably special while avoiding the full wedding regalia—which would look ridiculous at my age.”
“I’ll drive us and will pick you up at eleven tomorrow. Daisy is at school all day, and even better, she’s going to the farm for the night to a birthday party and staying over.”
Hannah had appeared at the top of the stairs and withdrew when she’d heard Edith on the telephone. Discreet and calm and thankfully, at last, having the peaceful home life she deserved. Would she be interested in helping in the vicarage or know someone else who would? Edith didn’t think the housekeeper who came in for a few hours a week would stay on once Henry got married. Henry had hinted it, and she could understand. It would be a different household after all. These were things she and Henry would work out between them; at least one benefit of mature love. Everything wasn’t a crisis.
She’d go and make a cup of tea and call Hannah down. There was a time when Hannah would have been uneasy about that, but they had crossed a Rubicon when Hannah’s daughter had been attacked. Anyway, a lot of these class barriers had been breached during and since the war. When you thought about some of the behaviour that she’d thought was normal, like people treating domestic servants like they were stupid children. There had been one of the big houses turned into a hospital in the war where the officers wore different colour pyjamas than the men -made of satin too.
“Edith.”
She turned to the door and saw Archie. Something was very wrong. Edith tossed the tea-towel down onto a chair. In seconds she was at his side.
“Sit down. Archie? What’s the matter?”
She shivered, and a cold fist clenched in her stomach.
Her hand on his shoulder, she pushed him down onto a kitchen chair.
“I’ll call for an ambulance. What do you think it is, Archie?”
Thank God, the initial panic had gone. She was calm like she’d been trained to be in the VAD days.
“It’s a heart attack, Edith.”
Surely not. He had both hands on his chest, and his face was covered in a thick sheen of sweat. His colour had gone, and Edith’s own heart felt as though it would burst with terror.
No, she must stay calm.
“Hannah.” She risked leaving him for a few seconds and went to the door.
Quickly, the other woman was there, by her side, taking in the situation at a glance.
“Stay with him. I’ll telephone for an ambulance.”
Please let the exchange be working, please let there be no delays, and please let them get here on time. Oh, please. Let them get here in time.
Her voice sounded calm to her own ears as she gave the details over the phone, but it also sounded as though it was someone else talking. Disembodied. Then there was a moment of confusion when the operator thought it must be a patient who had collapsed while seeing the doctor, and she had to talk slowly and clearly to stop herself screaming at the woman that the important thing was to just get here, not who had collapsed.
She replaced the receiver and went back to the kitchen though there was a fierce second where she didn’t want to go back, but just open the front door and run.
Hannah had poured a glass of water and was standing with a hand awkwardly on Archie’s shoulder. She’d put him in the carver chair with a back to rest his head and even got a cushion. His tie, she’d loosened his tie, too. All in the space of a few minutes—all the exact right things to do.
“Thank you, Hannah. Are you feeling any better, Archie?”
Please, please say you are.
“A bit, I think. What a bloody nuisance. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be daft, Archie. Save your breath. Close your eyes. Rest. An ambulance is coming. I wasn’t sure if I should call Pritchard too? I didn’t know if he was on duty?”
“That’s just what I need, Edie…him getting a whiff of this.”
“Of course. Sorry”
Was that a good enough reason to delay getting help? What if the ambulance took too long to get here, should she disregard Archie and summon his rival?
His eyes were closed now, and no matter how hard you looked, you couldn’t fool yourself that any colour was coming back to his face.
She took his wrist, lifeless and unresisting and felt at the radial pulse point. After a second, she found it, and it was quite steady and slow. Anything she’d ever learnt about the heart had gone from her mind. Was that a good or bad sign?
The oddest sense of peace fell upon the three of them. What a strange tableau it would make if anyone could see—the two women hovering around Archie, anxiously. The world tipped out of kilter. Archie was the doctor who knew what to do in these situations. The strange
feeling lapsed, and the dreaded wait began again.
“Should I get brandy?” Hannah whispered.
“I’m not sure.”
Brandy had been used a lot in the war—a stimulus and a pain relief in extremis.
“I don’t think so,” Archie said in a low voice without opening his eyes. “It’s a stimulant and if this is a heart attack that would only put it under more strain.”
Archie’s lips were pale and dry as he attempted a smile. “No, and no Pritchard either; he’ll know soon enough. He’ll poach my patients again.”
Hot, choking tears rushed up the back of Edith’s throat. She reached up her sleeve for her handkerchief.
The hammering on the door made them both jump though they’d been straining their ears to hear that very sound.
“I’ll go,” Hannah left the room.
Please, please be all right, Edith prayed silently. The whole world focused on that thought. It was all that mattered, and she would never ask for anything again.
Henry. She should tell Henry
Then the men in their dark-grey uniforms came in, and Edith’s knees and legs weakened, and she badly wanted to sit down.
No, it wasn’t right to feel this relief, not yet. But, oh to have help; to know that Archie was soon going to be seen by the right people. Please God, let them be able to help him. His colour was no better, but the sheen of sweat wasn’t as noticeable.
“I’ll come with you,” she got close enough to him to say.
“No. Bring the car, Edie. You’ll be able to come back home then.”
“Yes.” Henry. She didn’t want to say anything to Archie, but she needed to tell Henry, badly. “Will you stay on here, Hannah, please? Or do you need to get home for John?”
“Oh Edith, he’s a big lad now—well able to see for himself and apart from anything else, Cathy will be home shortly after him. Miss Buckley lets her do some of the preparation work at home. You go. I’ll look after things here…get a message to the vicar if you like…I’ll try to get Phoebe back in too. See to things in the surgery.”
“Oh, no, the surgery.” All of that had gone from her mind. The surgery, patients booked probably. What day was it?
Hannah’s hand was on her arm. “Go, Edith. Stop worrying. Leave it to me.”
The ambulance drove slow and steady. If she could keep it in her sights, then Archie would get better. If anyone got in the way or between it and her then…then…he couldn’t start thinking like this.
Her stomach was a tight knot, and her shoulders and neck really ached. To the outskirts of Harrogate, she tailed it and kept her eyes on the back doors until she was almost mesmerised. Then a set of traffic lights changed and she was left behind.
Chapter Thirteen
“I’m happy for you, Ivy, I am. The more I think about it, the happier I am. It was a shock when you told me, that’s all.” Sylvia was trying to convince herself. Ivy smiled at her.
“It was the easiest interview ever. Not like it was when I came here, and Mrs. Turner spoke to me like I was nowt…”
“So, now you have to give your notice.”
“I know. When I went for the interview at the Arbuthnot’s…I don’t know, Sylvia. It wasn’t real. I wanted the job, and I was excited and everything, but it was a bit…sort of play-acting or summat. I’m sorry, I know I’m not making any sense. Look, have a cup of tea. Sit down. Stop panicking. There…have I given you enough orders for now?”
Sylvia laughed, but it was all strained. She was distracted and had been ever since she’d first heard that Ivy was going for the job at the Arbuthnot’s.
“It wasn’t play-acting, Ivy but I don’t suppose you thought it would all happen as soon as this.”
Ivy nodded, then stirred her tea.
“That’s it. They want me in a fortnight; even sooner if I could have started earlier. I had to explain that I hadn’t handed in my notice. That I couldn’t until I knew I had the job. She was fine about it, the housekeeper woman. Mrs. Fearns. That’s who I spoke to. She did the interview. But, like I said, it were more like a chat. Servants are hard to come by; have been since the war. I was reading about it. The number of people in service fell after the war. A lot of girls got the taste for freedom, working in factories, finishing at a set time every day, not being treated like a skivvy. Not that it’s like that everywhere.”
Sylvia nodded. “Yes, we’re a dying breed.”
“I’ll have to provide a reference. That’s standard, Mrs. Fearns said. But apart from that she just asked about my experience in domestic service. I think Vera Bishop spoke up for me.”
Sylvia was looking off into the distance; transported suddenly by the realisation of her value.
“When you think about it, Ivy, you and me are in a prime position here. We should be nearly able to set our own wages. I hadn’t been looking at it right. There’s me thinking I’m getting on a bit to be looking for another job. But, maybe I’m wrong. Eh, Ivy wouldn’t it be just grand if the Arbuthnot’s cook decided to leave. Now, that would be a challenge, working somewhere like that. That would test my old cooking skills.”
“Of course, I’ll keep an eye out, Sylvia. You’d never know. It would be great.”
“Back in the real world, I’d better start peeling these spuds. So, Ivy…your notice. The burning question, girl, is who to hand it to?”
“I’ve been wondering. In fact, it really has made me think. We’ve always put Mrs. Turner as the head of the house here. But, for all that she’s as sharp as a tack in some ways, there’s no getting away from the fact that she’s old now. I’m not sure, Sylvia. What do you think?”
Sylvia paused at the sink. “Miss Kate, maybe? They’ll have to get someone to replace you, and I don’t fancy their chances with that. Have you time to give me a hand with these potatoes?”
“Of course.” Ivy had noticed the big unspoken—the elephant in the room was the expression, wasn’t it? Sylvia’s fingers were badly swollen this morning. Goodness knew what she must suffer at times with the arthritis that was almost unmentioned between them. It wasn’t talked about because to admit it would be to open a door to terrifying possibilities. You couldn’t work as a cook if your fingers and knuckles were badly affected by arthritis.
“I’d say Kate, but then Miss Elizabeth is the one who comes down here in the morning and tells me what provisions to order and what to cook for dinner. I go through the household accounts with Miss Serena these days, though. It’s all been a gradual change. Funny, how you hardly notice things changing until you have to think who to hand your notice into, isn’t it?”
“I think I’ll speak to Serena, if I can. I don’t want to speak to Miss Elizabeth until I have to. You can’t reason with her, and she’d likely throw something at me. I think in her mind, we are back in the days where people could treat their staff like slaves.”
“You do that, Ivy. I’ve seen Miss Serena in the garden this morning—she told me she isn’t at her job today. Have you written it out, your notice?”
“Here.” Ivy held out a letter in an unsealed envelope.
Sylvia scanned the few lines.
All it said in formal terms, was that Ivy was leaving to get a position in a bigger establishment, in the hopes of gaining further experience and possible promotion.
“You can tell you went to school, Ivy.”
She nodded. “I was glad of the opportunity and glad to get out of home and everlasting housework. If I’d been born in different circumstances, I reckon I might have been a scholar, Sylvia…ah well. I can’t put it off any longer. Let me put on a clean apron and I’ll go up and face the music.”
All the joking and chat with Sylvia was well and good, but going to the drawing room, and giving a little knock was terrifying. But she had to do it.
As she held her fist out to tap on the door, the sounds inside arrested her, and she swallowed hard with a mix of surprise and anti-climax. She’s been building up to doing this, but there was no way she could interrupt what wa
s clearly a huge argument.
“There’s no point you coming up here…eventually… after a lot of pleading, and then going away again, when we most need you. But, then Hester, you’ve always pleased yourself, haven’t you?” It was Serena’s voice, not shouting but harsh, furious.
Hester sounded calmer, but a bit like she was talking to a junior typist in an office.
Ivy hovered; curious to hear what this was all about, but desperate not to be caught eavesdropping.
“I have a job to go to, Serena. I’ve been away from the office too long as it is.”
“Yes, yes, we all know about you and your important job; running the country, isn’t it?”
Serena sounded vicious now, and Ivy needed to get out of earshot and back down to the kitchen fast.
“Oh stop it, Serena. You chose to opt out of life in London…life, for God’s sake and bury yourself in this mad household. But we both knew you did it for your own seedy little reasons, didn’t you?”
It was like Ivy didn’t have control over her own movements or that her brain and feet weren’t connected. The more she knew she needed to get herself away from this corridor, the more her feet refused to move.
Then, the world ended. She sneezed, really loudly.
The room fell silent, and Ivy made the fastest decision she’d ever made in her life.
She pushed quickly and firmly at the door and went in.
“Oh, sorry, Miss Turner, Mrs. Grant. I knocked, but I wasn’t even sure there was anybody in. I have a cold, and I don’t think I’m hearing properly. I needed a moment with you, Mrs. Grant but I can come back if it isn’t convenient.”
Hester got up and smoothed her immaculate black skirt. She was slim and beautifully turned out as always in a dove-grey twinset and pencil skirt. Her short fair hair was newly waved.
“I’m going upstairs. I’m out shopping tomorrow with my friends. We’re going to Harrogate. But, I’ll talk to you again tonight, Serena.”
Miss Serena didn’t look at her or say anything in response. “What is it, Ivy?”
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