A little reassured, Beth settled down to sleep, leaving her thoughts free to roam down the valley to Nortonstall, to climb the stairs to John’s room in The Royde Inn and to slip into his room to watch over him while he slept, to keep the nightmares at bay.
In the end, it was John who provided a solution to their problem. Ella had been alarmed at Beth’s suggestion that John should come to stay. Not only was she aware of the potential impropriety of the situation, but John was used to the space and luxurious surroundings of Grange House and would undoubtedly find the simplicity of Lane End Cottage not to his taste. She feared an invitation to stay would be an embarrassment to John and an imposition on Sarah.
‘Nonsense!’ Beth stoutly counteracted all her arguments. ‘John can come as a boarder. That should silence any village gossip if it worries you. As for luxury, well I hardly think The Royde Inn provides that, do you?’
So within the week John was installed in the room that had once belonged to Thomas and seemed to find the simplicity of his surroundings very much to his liking. Above all, it was the peace that he found most appealing. By day, the only disturbances were the passage of the occasional farm vehicle or a barking dog. At night, the hoot of the owl was the only sound to pierce the velvety blackness until the sky lifted to grey streaked with orange and the dawn chorus heralded the arrival of another morning.
At first Sarah was reserved around John, keeping her distance and seemingly a little in awe of his social class and status. She started to take an interest in cooking again, though, and when John thanked her enthusiastically for the rabbit stew that she dished up early in his stay, Ella noticed her colour faintly with pleasure.
By the end of his third week, John had written home to let his family know that he felt the stay in the country was doing him good and to beg leave to keep Ella and Beth with him for a further two weeks. When Ella learnt that he had also notified them of his change of temporary address she felt sure that the Wards would summon Beth, or both of them, back to York. However, John’s letter must have been very persuasive, for an answer came back by return, giving them all permission to stay on.
John and Sarah took to staying up late together, in companionable silence in front of the dying embers of the fire. Beth and Ella would exchange looks, then bid the pair of them goodnight and head for the stairs. When they were safely in their room, preparing for bed, Ella would hear the murmur of voices start up from the room below. She could distinguish nothing of what was said, but the tone of the voices seemed to imply that Sarah was asking questions and John was responding, sometimes at length.
After the third such evening, while they were preparing breakfast, Ella plucked up courage to casually ask Sarah what their late-night chats were about.
‘Oh, just the war.’ Sarah was brief.
‘The war?’ Ella was startled.
‘Yes, his experiences at the Front.’ Sarah hesitated. ‘I thought it might help me understand. About Thomas,’ she added when Ella looked at her questioningly. Then, as if to discourage further discussion she bustled about, setting dishes on the table and calling up to the younger folk that breakfast was ready. Beth was going to find it hard to reacquaint herself with the routine and rigours of the Grange House day when she returned, Ella reflected ruefully.
She shared the information about the chats with Beth later, when they walked out to see whether they could spy John returning from one of his lengthy solitary walks.
‘I think I feel even worse about it now,’ Ella confessed. ‘It should have been obvious to me how Ma would grieve over Thomas. And we left her here all alone, until her grief hardened in her heart. That’s why she could see no point in going on.’
Both women walked on in silence, each deep in thought. Ella was reflecting that, for her mother, the death of her only son, Thomas, after the loss of Alice, her first-born, must have been a hard cross to bear. She bitterly regretted not going back to spend more time with her mother after Thomas’s death. It now seemed to Ella that her own grief had somehow been blunted by the sheer number of casualties and bereavements, both amongst people connected with the Ward family and nationwide. Those times had been so strange. For Sarah, up here in Northwaite, it must have been overwhelmingly difficult, shutting herself away, alone with her grief. Ella could see it all so much more clearly now. When she was in York, Northwaite had seemed like a distant dream; now she was here this was reversed and it was York that seemed unreal.
Beth’s reflections were more pragmatic in nature. If John’s presence was useful to Sarah, was there a way of prolonging this? It tied in with something she had been thinking about, and hardly dared to dream but really, was it such an outlandish idea? Could she and John live here permanently, close to her mother?
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
When the wind tore at John’s scarf, threatening to rip it from his neck, it made him laugh out loud. It had a kind of primeval force, something beyond his control. The long, weary weeks in the trenches, trying to outfox the enemy under a seemingly relentless barrage of noise and bullets, interspersed with days of jumpy boredom, had made him appreciate a force that was purely of nature, that couldn’t be tamed by man. Each day, whatever the weather, he took delight in striding out and was often gone for hours. He came back exhausted, often soaked through, but exhilarated. Fearing for his health, both mental and physical, Ella and Beth begged him to take more care, but he shrugged off their concerns. After a week or so, when it became apparent that he was suffering no ill effects and was, if anything, fitter in mind and body than before, they relaxed their watchfulness.
Their stay at Lane End Cottage passed quickly, with evenings spent by the fire discussing topics that ranged far and wide but never once touched on John’s experiences of war. That discussion was saved for late at night, when he was alone with Sarah. The door was firmly shut on the topic of war as far as his everyday relationship with Ella and Beth was concerned. John now wanted only to look forward, his head filled with wild schemes that, as the weeks passed, increasingly involved Beth.
Hanging back from the pair of them when they all walked out together, Ella saw the delight they took in each other, how Beth couldn’t stop herself from reaching out to touch his hand or arm to direct his attention to something in the landscape, or how John held her gaze whenever he spoke to her. Ella witnessed the bond between them growing and saw how their distance from the day-to-day life of the York household seemed to make anything possible. It was a delicious freedom.
John hadn’t shared the real reason for their extended leave of absence from Grange House with Ella and Beth. Spanish influenza had struck the city of York, part of a worldwide epidemic that seemed set to pile on the agony of the ravages of war. It targeted the able-bodied young rather than the sickly and the elderly, making Mr Ward keen for John to stay in the fresh air of the sparsely populated countryside, where they were all less likely to be at risk. He had sent Mrs Ward and Grace to Scotland to stay with Edith and, alone at home, had no need of Ella and Beth’s services in the house. Cook and Stevens were doing a perfectly fine job, he said.
So John had put all thought of York, and the forthcoming pressures of picking up the reins of the family business, out of his mind. He knew that his father harboured ambitions for his only son to step into his shoes in the family firm, and it seemed to make perfect sense. But the construction industry held no attraction for him, nor did running a business. Freed temporarily from any expectations, he concentrated instead on the enjoyment he was getting from spending so much time outdoors and from the tranquillity of his room in Lane End Cottage. It was almost spartan after his room in Grange House and it suited him perfectly.
Luxury was anathema to him after his experiences in the trenches. He had longed to be home to escape from its privations and yet, when he had returned at last, he found himself prey to many confusing emotions, the most persistent of which was guilt. Guilt for being alive when so many of his company hadn’t survived; guilt for not being able to share his ex
periences with his family (partly from a wish to protect them and partly because he couldn’t bear to relive the horror); guilt for not being a stronger and better man. He felt he was failing everyone on all counts. He was home again, not unscathed but comparatively unharmed, and yet he couldn’t seem to settle, to appreciate his luck, to move on. His thoughts drew him back to the battlefield, over and over again.
While in Northwaite he’d found that it helped to discuss things with Sarah. She was seeking to understand what Thomas had experienced, knowing that she would never be able to ask her son. Perhaps because she wasn’t family, he felt more able to open up to her. Not knowing the circumstances of Thomas’s death, he was careful to protect her sensibilities, but he found their late-night conversations unaccountably soothing. He shared random thoughts and memories with her and felt able to relay some of the things that troubled him, so that when he went up to bed he slept better than he had in weeks.
His dreams were no longer filled with the smell of mud, of damp wool, of fire and fear, and the sounds of gunfire and mortar shells; the awful silence after a blast which was invariably followed by terrible screams and cries for help or, even worse, of low, desperate moans. He hoped he hadn’t simply handed his nightmares on to Sarah but she also seemed to benefit from having someone to talk to about Thomas, someone to share a mother’s worry as to how his life might have ended, thoughts which she had kept to herself until now and brooded over at length.
In the strange aftermath of the war they were adjusting to their lives being changed in ways that would have previously been unimaginable. As spring started to work its magic on the land, so John and Sarah started to climb slowly out of the depths of their despair, taking comfort from a companionship that would never have been open to them before.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
By May 1919, Mr Ward considered that any danger from the influenza epidemic had faded and so, with great reluctance, the three companions started to prepare to return to York. Ella, having seen a great improvement in Sarah’s spirits and wellbeing, was concerned that she would go into a decline once they had all left.
‘You mustn’t worry,’ Sarah instructed her. ‘I’ve the garden to see to, and the brighter weather always lifts the spirits.’
Ella was not convinced by her positive demeanour. During the last few weeks they had all become used to spending time together. The house would feel very empty without them, she felt quite sure. Could she return to spend time with Sarah, giving up her position in Grange House? It was already being run with fewer servants after the frugality of the war years. The problem was, she was one of the remaining trusted servants. How would the Ward family react if she left? Would it affect Beth? And would she be able to find any work in the Northwaite area?
Beth wasn’t looking forward to their imminent return, either. She had so enjoyed the time spent in Northwaite; it had been blissful to have no demands on their time other than those of their own creation. John had slotted into her family with ease, so that he felt like one of them, while their fondness for each other had deepened into love, a love that had been expressed quietly in snatched moments and shared glances, in caring for each other’s thoughts and feelings. How could this be sustained in the Ward household, where she would be John’s servant once again? Her thoughts were like rats in a trap, racing hither and thither to try to find a way out. She felt sure that the return to York was going to be beyond what she could bear.
John, too, was plunged into a new despair at the thought of what lay ahead. Although his health had improved while he was away, he sensed it was but a fragile recovery. He was worried that the return to a noisy, bustling city would quickly undo much of the good work. His father would see the improvement in his general health and encourage him to take up the reins of the business. He would undoubtedly see it as being essential to occupy his mind, to prevent him dwelling on his war experiences.
On their last evening in Northwaite, with all bags packed, a nervous air descended on the house. Sarah shooed them all out for a walk while she prepared dinner.
‘You’ve been under my feet all day,’ she said. ‘I know it’s been raining but it’s cleared up now. Off you go and take a turn around the village. The fresh air will do you all good.’
She waved away all offers of help, declaring that she was looking forward to having the kitchen to herself – and so Ella, Beth and John set off into the village at a slow pace, enjoying the early evening light as the sun dipped towards the horizon. The birds sang from every roof and tree top, sounding joyful in the cool, fresh evening air after the dampness of the day.
‘Let’s walk around the churchyard for one last look at the view over Nortonstall,’ suggested Beth. They wandered to the furthest reaches of the churchyard and stood in a row behind the low, grey-stone wall in silent contemplation of the view down into the valley with the town spread out below them. Lights were beginning to twinkle in the streets as dusk crept on, and wood smoke from the chimneys hung in the still, damp air, creating a faint mist over the town. Ella observed John reach a hand out to Beth to entwine her fingers with his.
‘I’m going to say goodbye to Alice,’ she said, making a tactful withdrawal. ‘Why don’t you two enjoy the view for a little longer, then come and join me?’
Once she had reached Alice’s grave, she risked a look back, to see Beth and John silhouetted in an embrace, her head on his shoulder while he appeared to be murmuring softly to her. She looked swiftly away, tears pricking her eyes, aware yet again how difficult their return to York was going to be. She turned to the gravestone, put her hands on the cool stone and closed her eyes, trying to conjure up Alice’s face.
‘Alice, if you can hear me, help me,’ she whispered. ‘Help me find a way to bring some lasting happiness for your daughter.’
A few minutes later John and Beth had joined her. Beth stood silently, her head bowed, and John put a protective arm around her shoulders. He knew the story of Beth’s mother and had accepted the tragedy with little remark, other than a slow nod of the head. When he had asked who her father was and had been told that he was unknown, he’d said, ‘I see,’ but not in a censorious way. It had gone unremarked ever since.
‘We’d best be getting back,’ Ella said. ‘I fear more rain is on the way and we’re ill-prepared.’
They hurried from the churchyard through the side gate into Church Lane, John pausing for a moment to cast a last glance back along the row of cottages beside the church.
‘Do you know,’ he said. ‘I’ve always thought you’d be hard-pressed to better this row of houses for beauty in the whole of Yorkshire.’
The cottages did indeed look inviting in the evening light, their gardens bursting with life, and lamplight sparkling in the downstairs windows.
‘I heard there’s one for rent,’ Ella remarked, as the first slow drops of rain began to fall.
‘Really?’ John asked. ‘Do you know which one?’
‘Ask Ma,’ Ella said. ‘She’s the one who told me. But we’d better make haste now or we’ll all get wet.’
They made the return journey to Lane End Cottage at a fast pace, breaking into a run as they drew closer and the rain quickened.
They burst through the door laughing, dishevelled and only a little damp, with spirits lifted by the exercise, to be greeted by the delicious aroma of roasting lamb, a special dish in honour of their last evening together. Time passed quickly, filled with much good humour and reminiscence and although John stayed behind to talk to Sarah after Ella and Beth had climbed the stairs to bed, their discussion was much briefer than usual.
The next day dawned bright, but breakfast was a sombre affair. Sarah endeavoured to be cheerful but there were, inevitably, tears when it came to parting company. Mr Ward himself came to collect them in his motorcar. He was insistent on meeting Sarah and thanking her for the great kindness shown to his son. He was generous in his praise for the aspect of her house and its delightful garden, and paused at the gate to examine the carv
ed-stone gateposts.
‘Why, these are quite magnificent,’ he exclaimed.
‘They’re Albert Spencer’s work, sir. He was a friend of the family,’ Ella explained.
‘Ah, Albert,’ Mr Ward looked saddened. ‘The loss of yet another good man.’
The party returning to York was less cheerful than Mr Ward might have hoped. Ella and Beth, mindful of their employer’s generosity in allowing them such a long stay in Northwaite, kept up their end of the conversation as best they could. Mr Ward, however, soon became aware of John’s morose expression, which seemed to grow gloomier the further they drove from Northwaite.
They all lapsed into silence, which continued for several miles until Mr Ward ventured a comment on John’s wellbeing.
‘I must say, you are looking a great deal better than when you left York. You seemed to have filled out a bit. It must be due to Mrs Bancroft’s home cooking. Ella and Beth have described to me the long walks that you have been in the habit of taking, which I am sure must have been very restorative. I hope, once you have settled back home, that we can talk about you joining me in the office.’
Mr Ward risked an enquiring, sideways glance at his son who was now staring straight ahead, stony-faced.
‘I’m not sure that I will ever be able to do that,’ John said, in a low voice.
Ella and Beth exchanged nervous glances in the back. Mr Ward swerved slightly, then seemed to take a firmer grip on the steering wheel.
‘It’s early days yet,’ he said, placatingly. ‘Let’s review the situation in a week or so, shall we?’
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
Ella's War Page 22