Ella's War

by Lynne Francis

  CHAPTER FORTY

  The return of the Ward family in September brought no immediate change in the weather. The grass on Knavesmire was bleached white and the temperatures were stifling, day and night, despite the imminent arrival of autumn.

  ‘It’s like a hell-hole in here,’ Elsie complained while she was making the first Sunday roast after the family’s return. ‘And it isn’t even as though anyone has much of an appetite for food when it’s so hot outside.’ Even the pantry, normally the coolest place in the house, had gradually warmed up over the course of the heatwave. Elsie struggled to keep the milk and meat from going off, and the butter from turning rancid. She was very grateful when Mrs Ward decreed that cooking should be kept to a minimum for the time being, while the heat persisted.

  While John had been away, his father had decided that it was high time for him to experience the world of work. Reasoning that it would be better for him to learn to stand on his own two feet rather than start in the family business straight away, he had found him a position with Grey & Partners, a firm of solicitors where John would become their most junior clerk. He had started during his first week back at home and Ella had admired his smart appearance as he set off each morning, perspiring even at that early hour in a starched white shirt and dark suit. At the end of the first week she asked him how it had gone.

  John’s face fell. ‘I can’t begin to think how I will get through to the end of next week, let alone see out a full year. I seem to have no aptitude for the work.’ Then his face brightened. ‘Mr Grey does at least have a tolerably pretty daughter, Marion. She calls by the office most days; it’s the only thing that makes it all worthwhile.’

  When Ella reported this conversation to Beth she snorted in derision. It troubled Ella that two of the key people in her life seemed to have an antipathy towards each other. They were happy to operate a policy of healthy avoidance, however, and life settled into a new rhythm at Grange House. John was working hard at the solicitors, although Ella suspected this might have more to do with trying to make a good impression on Marion than wanting to impress either her father or his own. John remained closer to Ella, who was fiercely proud of him, than to his own mother and turned to her frequently for guidance when he was troubled. He was struggling to find ways to shine in Marion’s eyes outside of work though, and a little less than a year after taking up his position, he confessed to Ella that he was at a loss as to how to go about it.

  Marion was two years older than John and about to turn twenty-one, an age when a young lady of her class might generally expect to become engaged and then married within the year. Ella felt John had grown into a fine young man, and that any young lady of social standing in York should be proud to be the object of his affections. Ella wondered why John didn’t put himself forward as a suitor.

  ‘It’s not that easy,’ John said despairingly. He ran his hands through his hair until it was standing up on end and began to pace the floor of the sewing room, where he had found Ella. ‘She’s made it clear that she feels I am too young and, on top of that, it seems I’m not suitable.’

  Ella was puzzled. ‘But your father is one of the most well-respected businessmen in York. And one of the wealthiest – just look at this house.’ She spread her arms wide to encompass its solid respectability. ‘How can that pose a problem?’

  ‘It’s because he’s seen as having a trade, rather than a profession,’ John said ruefully. ‘He’s a self-made man, whereas Mr Grey is from a legal family, a long line of solicitors, judges and lawyers stretching back I don’t know how long. And university educated, too.’

  Ella reflected. The strangeness and intricacies of the class system still sometimes eluded her; the boundaries, though invisible, might as well have been high stone walls. From the point of view of appearance, manners and wealth, John should have been perfect. He was tall and good-looking, his skin tanned and his fair hair bleached blond by the sun. He excelled at sport, too; tennis and riding having now replaced his favourite school sports of rugby and running.

  ‘Perhaps, although it feels to you as though Marion is the right one for you, she doesn’t feel the same way?’ she suggested gently. ‘Could it be that if she has any feelings towards you at all, she considers you more like a brother? She seems very close to her father. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if she ended up marrying a man rather older than herself.’

  Ella’s words were to prove prophetic. Within the year, Marion was engaged to one of the partners in the law firm, a man a good ten years her senior. John was heartbroken and Ella would have given anything to spare him some of the pain. He became pale and thin, the dark circles under his eyes attesting to nights of broken sleep. Ella’s heart went out to him: although many years had passed since she had believed there might be something between Albert and herself, she could still remember the hope and then the heartbreak of that time. John struggled on, determined that no one except Ella should have reason to suspect the cause of his distress. As 1913 became 1914, Ella suggested that he should talk to his father about joining the family firm, as much to break the proximity with Marion and her new husband as anything else.

  ‘You’ve got over two years’ business experience behind you now, so you can join your father’s business with your head held high and something to offer,’ she counselled him. John could see the sense in her suggestion, but a part of him couldn’t bear to cut the ties and break all contact with Marion, even though the relationship was futile and a source of more pain than pleasure. So he dithered and hung on at Grey & Partners, indulging in a form of private and exquisite torture for another year until Fate chose to intervene.

  In the meantime, as the months passed, the country moved towards involvement in war in Europe with a series of fits and starts, as government assurances that diplomacy had saved the day and that the situation between Austria and Serbia was under control suddenly, and irrevocably, proved to have no foundation. In early August, before Ella and Beth had time to recognise the full importance of what was going on, with a burst of patriotic fervour the country found itself at war.

  PART FOUR

  1914–1918

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  ‘A letter for you,’ Mr Stevens said, as he looked through the late morning’s post.

  ‘For me?’ Ella was surprised. She’d heard from Sarah only yesterday and hadn’t written back to her as yet. Perhaps her mother had forgotten to tell her a piece of news. But when she took the envelope being held out to her, she didn’t recognise the writing. The postmark, too, was indistinct.

  Mr Stevens smiled at her as she studied the envelope with a frown.

  ‘You can’t guess the contents you know. Why don’t you open it?’ He slid the letter opener to her across the kitchen table.

  Ella slit the envelope carefully and drew out a single sheet. Apart from an address in Northwaite, the page held just two lines of script and a signature. She read them, and re-read them, as if hunting for clues.

  ‘It’s from an old friend… well, a benefactor I suppose you might say. He’s passing through York with his unit and he’d like to visit before they head to France.’ She set the letter down. ‘Heavens, I haven’t seen or heard from him in years. The last time I saw him was actually here, at the fair on Knavesmire.’

  She saw from the change in the butler’s expression that he still remembered that night and how he’d had to go looking for Ella and John, when they had stayed out later than expected.

  She hastened to move the topic on. ‘I wonder what he wants with me now?’

  ‘Well, I expect you’ll find out soon enough,’ Stevens said briskly. ‘Has he suggested a date to meet?’

  ‘Tomorrow. His unit leaves imminently,’ Ella said. ‘He’s asked whether he might come here. He knows Mr Ward, so I’m sure that will be all right. It will be good to see him before he goes away.’ Her expression belied her words. She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to see Albert Spencer again after all this time. Although she felt sure that the wound
s had healed and her heart was impervious to him, or to anyone else for that matter, she had never put it to the test.

  When, in fact, had she last seen him? The fair must surely have been eight or nine years ago. She knew that Sarah had seen him occasionally and that he had a son called Walter who would be quite well grown now. His work as a stonemason took him away from Northwaite for long stretches and Ella had inferred, from one or two remarks that slipped out, that Sarah suspected that his marriage wasn’t a happy one, but she hadn’t pressed her further on it. Why, though, after all this time, did Albert want to see her?

  The next morning Ella found herself awake early, with a vague feeling of something ominous approaching. It was a minute or so before she could work out why this should be, then she remembered with a sinking heart that Albert was due to visit that day. The greying light at the window showed her that dawn was fast approaching so she decided she might as well get up and make a start to her day. She slipped quietly from her bed, taking care not to disturb Beth. There was always plenty to get on with down in the kitchen and around the house and Elsie would be delighted if someone else had stoked up the kitchen range and got the morning routine underway.

  As she set about gathering the ash pails and brushes for the upstairs fireplaces, Ella regretted that Albert hadn’t given her the opportunity to change his planned visit. She couldn’t see where they could easily talk at Grange House. It would be awkward to ask permission to use a room in the main part of the house; the kitchen had no privacy as it was in use all day and Mrs S’s office-parlour, which she would doubtless have let her use, felt too intimate. If she had had more warning, she would have suggested meeting in town.

  In the event, Albert arrived promptly at 11 a.m., looking almost unrecognisable in his uniform. He said at once that he hoped she would excuse the brevity of his visit, but his unit was now leaving later that same day. He took it upon himself to suggest that they should walk on Knavesmire, since the weather was so perfect for the time of year.

  It seemed both strange and appropriate to Ella that this was the last place she had seen Albert, and here they were again, this time in hot September sunshine under a brilliant-blue sky. Only now Albert seemed like a virtual stranger to her. The intervening years had not been kind to him: his hair had greyed, deep lines etched his face and his demeanour had hardened. As they walked along the edge of the great stretch of greenery, Ella wondered whether his apparent coldness and aloofness was an effect created by his uniform.

  ‘The reason I wished to see you,’ Albert said, ‘was that I wanted to let you know what had happened to Williams.’

  Ella stiffened in surprise. This was something for which she wasn’t prepared. She hadn’t thought of Williams in many years. Alice was often in her thoughts, but her outrage over what had happened, and the part Williams had played in it, had faded with time. It had seemed more important that the family got on with their lives and that Beth was happy and thriving. Ella wasn’t sure that she wished to be reminded of Williams and the part he had played in her sister’s life and death.

  ‘I tried to find out what had happened to him when I first went back to Northwaite,’ Albert continued. ‘I wanted to ask him the truth about the fire and why I had been despatched to York so suddenly. I could only discover that within a year of the fire he had gone off to Leeds or Manchester in search of mill work. Then I heard that he was back in the area and was living in Nortonstall.’ Albert paused. ‘I delayed seeking him out, although I felt it was something I must do. I needed to know the truth. I began to fear that he would leave the area before I’d managed to find him, and I had a few days’ leave so I thought I should try. It wasn’t difficult in the end. He spent most of his time in the Packhorse Inn by the river. He didn’t recognise me at first; I was but a lad when I last saw him. I almost didn’t recognise him, either. He’d become fat and slow from the drink and, to be honest, I’m not sure how much he took in of what I had to say to him. I told him what I knew of the events surrounding the mill fire, and how I felt I’d been got out of the way – paid off with my apprenticeship, in effect. I told him I held him personally responsible for Alice’s death. He just sneered at me and said, “Prove it. It’s your word against mine.”

  ‘I was so angry I made to strike him but some of the other drinkers – friends of his no doubt – restrained me and I was thrown out. I went to another inn and drank myself into a stupor, plotting all manner of revenge on him. I never made it home that night. I must have spent it senseless in a ditch by the Northwaite road, for at least that’s where I found myself the next morning. It took some time before Violet would speak to me again. But I heard that Williams had been pulled from the river the next morning. Drowned. It’s believed he fell from the Packhorse Bridge on his way home. It’s likely he slipped off the bridge on his way home. He looked barely fit to stand when I left him.’ Albert looked away, avoiding Ella’s gaze. ‘He won’t be greatly missed. I felt you should know, and I wanted you to hear it from me. He’s gone, Ella, and I suppose a sort of rough justice has been done.’

  Ella was shocked. ‘When did it happen?’

  ‘Just a few days ago. It will be in the local papers by now, I expect.’

  Ella fell silent again. It was hard to be reminded of the man, then to discover very quickly that he was already gone with no final answers for the family. Sarah had been sure that framing Alice for the fire had been the action of a spurned man, and that Richard’s death was accidental. Williams was the only person who knew for sure, and now he was dead. Her musing was interrupted when Albert spoke again.

  ‘I also wanted to tell you how sorry I am. Sorry if I in any way misled you. I’m sure you knew how I felt about Alice. My feelings for you were confused. I may have made mistakes, things I have lived to regret.’

  Albert’s eyes held hers for a moment, and then he looked at his watch. ‘I must go now. I’m not sure if, or when, I will see you again. Goodbye, Ella.’

  And with that Albert strode away before she could utter a reply. Ella tried to imprint his last words on her brain. What did he mean by, ‘I may have made mistakes?’ Did he mean with regard to her? Or Violet? She felt a flash of anger as she wondered whether his visit was to tie up some loose ends to his own satisfaction, before he marched away to war. She wished he hadn’t bothered. He had reawakened memories that she felt would have been better left undisturbed, and left her with questions that it seemed unlikely would ever be answered.

  She watched him until he was just an indistinct figure in the distance, then she slowly turned and made her way back to Grange House. Clouds were blowing in and the wind had sharpened, shaking leaves from the trees that lined Knavesmire and bringing with it a hint of autumn. Mr Stevens was in the kitchen when she returned, apparently immersed in stowing away the silver, but Ella had a feeling he was waiting for her.

  ‘Your visitor didn’t stay long. Is everything all right?’ His studied tone hid some anxiety, and Ella felt a sudden rush of warmth for her second family – Mr Stevens, Elsie, Mrs S, Rosa and Doris – people who cared for her, and for Beth, in their own way.

  Beth – she hadn’t considered what to tell Beth. Ella had told her that the visit was to happen, but what good would it do her to know about Williams? None, Ella thought. She would keep it to herself. Albert’s visit could be given some other pretext: to reassure her about Lane End Cottage, for example, before he went to war. She frowned. This hadn’t been mentioned and she chided herself for not thinking of it. Would Sarah’s tenancy be put at risk if anything happened to Albert? Would Violet want her to leave? She’d certainly want to increase the rent. Ella sighed, and then she became aware of Stevens waiting expectantly.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘It was an odd conversation. Rather inconsequential really. I think it had more to do with him joining his unit here in York, and having time on his hands.’

  Mr Stevens didn’t press her further but Ella had the impression that he didn’t entirely believe her. The bustle of gett
ing lunch upstairs and into the dining room saved her from further questions, however, and she forgot all about her concerns regarding the cottage until she received a shocking letter from Sarah.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Ella opened Sarah’s letter without any inkling that it would contain anything other than the regular news from home. She could barely comprehend what she read. Albert had died, not in some major battle but having volunteered for a night mission into No-Man’s Land from the trenches, during which he, as well as two of his fellow soldiers, had been killed. He had been in France barely two months. Albert was the first man from Northwaite to be lost to the war, but Sarah wrote that she feared he wouldn’t be the last.

  Ella had read the first few lines of the letter, then stolen up to her room to read the rest of it in private, unable to face the questions that would follow when the others saw her give way to tears. She would have to share the news with Beth, but first she needed to absorb it herself. Memories of Albert flooded in: early memories of walks to the mill and back, of meeting him unexpectedly in the market in York, of his visits to Luddenden when she had found her interest in him growing and had felt sure her feelings were returned. It felt like a very long time ago, yet in some ways it was as clear as if it had been yesterday. She remembered her surprise at seeing him unexpectedly in the kitchen after he had returned with Sarah, having come across her in the market. She remembered how it had felt when he had looked her in the eyes, but also how it had felt when he would no longer meet her gaze. She set aside these thoughts, which were too painful, to concentrate instead on how his wife and son must feel, and his parents too. Had they even remotely imagined when he left that it was to head to certain death? It was coming up to December already and the war that many had so cheerfully declared would be over by Christmas seemed a long way from being won.