Chapter Three
Rose lay on the ground beneath a tangle of bent wheels, arms, legs and prone bodies, Tizz’s anxious barking ringing in her ears, wondering how much worse the day could get. Even as the three girls sorted out which bit belonged to whom, her mind wasn’t taking in a word of their abject apologies, or their offers of a stiff drink. She couldn’t even find it in herself to calm the poor dog down. She was too busily occupied examining the extent of the damage to the bicycle, worrying about lunch and how on earth she was going to get home now in time to make it. Worst of all, what Eddie’s reaction would be to this further evidence of failure on her part.
The day had got off to a bad start already with her being late with his breakfast. He’d paid no heed to her excuses at having overslept because of a prolonged weeding session in the garden the day before. He’d been too busy complaining about his toast being cold and the fact that it was boiled egg again. Couldn’t he have bacon for a change? Rose had longed to remind him that there was a war on and bacon impossible to find, unless they had a pig to kill, which they hadn’t. She’d wanted to say that if he wasn’t in such a fortunate position as to keep hens, or at least to have a sister who kept hens, he would have had to get through the war on dry toast and home made jam with very little sugar just like everyone else. But she’d somehow managed to hold her tongue.
Perhaps she held her tongue too often but such arguments carried little weight. Eddie was far too selfish to care about how other people suffered. He only concerned himself with the war so far as it affected himself, which was hardly at all. Apart from being rather old, at thirty-four, for the armed forces, he’d avoided being called up by taking this job as estate manager though he did precious little work on the estate, leaving that to others, in particular his little sister. Nor did he actually do much in the way of managing. Since the major part of Clovellan House had been requisitioned by the government, there was little for him to do beyond act as a sort of caretaker of the west wing. The Clovellan family had retired to Canada for the duration.
There were times when Rose longed to speak her mind, to point out that she was a person too, with wishes and dreams of her own, yet she rarely did. Rose knew herself for a coward where Eddie’s temper was concerned. He was not a man to cross. It was vital that he be kept in a good humour, because she would be the one to suffer if he wasn’t.
She noted the familiar hump that was Gertie beside him in the brass bed huddled beneath the bedclothes. Not that Rose had any objection to Eddie courting the housekeeper, though whether he’d ever wed her was another matter and not her concern. Bored with having too little to do, the pair seemed a good match and were able to keep each other amused for hours, or so it seemed. No, what Rose did object to, quite strongly, was finding herself waiting on the ubiquitous Gertie, in addition to her brother.
On this subject, at least, Rose made no attempt to hold her tongue. Only the other day she’d had call to remind her that it was the housekeeper’s responsibility to wash the curtains, and not her job at all.
‘Why do it then?’ Had been Gertie’s swift response. ‘Nobody asked you to.’
‘On the contrary, Eddie asked me to. He’s as sick as I am of windows festooned with cobwebs. We can hardly see out.’
Gertie had given a careless shrug. ‘’Oo is there to do the lookin’, ‘ceptin us?’ On the wrong side of forty she was plump, bone idle, took too few baths and had the kind of raucous laugh and loud voice which filled Rose with embarrassment every time the woman opened her mouth. On this occasion as on many another, she’d flounced off in high dudgeon, no doubt to complain to Eddie that his sister was picking on her again.
This morning she stirred, grunted, lifted her tousled head and blinked at Rose, before sinking back under the covers.
‘You haven’t forgotten about lunch,’ Eddie sharply reminded her as Rose slid the tray over his lap, and she flushed bright pink because of course she had forgotten. Entirely. She’d planned to spend this unexpectedly glorious autumn day cutting out the old raspberry canes and tying up the new ones. Now she would have to waste the whole morning sweating over a smoky kitchen stove, cooking for his layabout friends, and no doubt cleaning up after them for the rest of the day. He would also expect her to be suitably agreeable, laugh at their jokes, simper and flirt, as he did with all the other misfits he brought to Clovellan House. Rose shuddered at the prospect.
‘No, no, of course I hadn’t forgotten. How many did you say were coming? Three?’
‘There’ll be six of us. For God’s sake Rose, can’t you remember a damned thing?’ He tapped his egg, growled about its hardness and demanded to know what she planned to cook for them.
‘Sorry, but it’ll have to be good old Woolton Pie again. We’ve loads of vegetables at least,’ Rose said, thinking of her empty cupboards. No doubt his guests would also use up the last of the parsnip wine, leaving them bereft before winter even started. Though that might be no bad thing. Eddie had been plundering Lord Clovellan’s wine cellars even more recklessly than usual of late, and Rose wondered if something was troubling him. He’d certainly become increasingly irascible.
She plumped up his pillows, hoping to keep him in a good mood, thinking how he seemed older than his years, tired looking, hair dark and greasy, a stubble of several days growth on his sunken cheeks and sharply jutting jaw. The eyes bore dark bruises beneath the reddened rims.
‘Vegetable pie! Not again,’ he complained, his voice tetchy. ‘It’s time you got yourself better organised, girl. I told you to get beef steak or chops. Or chicken would be nice.’
‘It would also be quite impossible. If you want to continue to have eggs for your breakfast, hard or not, we can’t start killing off the hens, we’ve barely a dozen left.’ Rose paused at the bedroom door long enough to offer him her most stunning smile and, as so often before, he was startled by her loveliness. The heart-shaped face with its olive-skinned perfection framed by a mane of wildly curling black hair and eyes as blue as a Cornish sea, was a sight worth seeing. But if such beauty was wasted on himself, he had plans to put it to good purpose. She owed him that much at least. He realised she was still talking. ‘Don’t worry, I shall liven it up with powdered egg and tomatoes, we’ve plenty of both of those. Followed by lovely apple dumpling. I’m sure your friends will be very happy with that.’
Eddie felt a stirring of unease as he struggled to imagine the fastidious Dexter Mulligan happily tucking into homely pies and puddings instead of the steak or juicy pork chops he’d been promised. Very particular about promises being kept was Dexter, whether it be a decent lunch, a good hand at poker or a bit of how’s your father. On this occasion he’d been promised all three; Gertie always being willing to spread her favours if necessary. But then she knew full well that keeping Dexter happy was vital, or he might start to tot up just how much in his debt Eddie actually was. And that would never do.
Eddie also made sure that Rose knew nothing of these all-night card parties, or how much of their joint wages vanished on the back of a card.
Gertie’s muffled voice emerged from beneath the covers though no head appeared this time. ‘It’s a wonder we ain’t all bleedin’ clucking. I’ll wake up and find I’ve turned into a flippin’ hen meself one of these days.’
As ever, fears for his own skin spilled over into annoyance at Rose. ‘Gertie’s right. I know I should be grateful when the rest of the world gets only one egg a week but I’m not in the least bit grateful, Rose. I’m simply fed up to the back teeth with your complete incompetence. And they’re not my friends! How many times do I have to tell you. They’re colleagues, business colleagues. Useful contacts. Associates!’
‘Of course. Sorry, I keep forgetting.’ Seeing his face darken with fresh irritation, Rose began to feel hot and flustered, anxious to escape his censorious attitude. And really she never fully understood what business it was, exactly, that he was involved with. Nor dare she ask, her thoughts flying back to the lunch and an urgent need to in
spect the kitchen garden for vegetables. It was all very well saying vegetable pie but there was no guarantee there’d be anything exciting in season, and Eddie always expected the very best. The celery certainly wasn’t ready, nor the leeks. Perhaps she might find the odd remaining courgette in the glasshouse.
‘I just wish you’d try to be more imaginative with the meals you choose to serve, as well as better organised,’ he told her crossly, just as if all the pantries and larders in Clovellan House were still stacked with the best of fare, and the servant’s quarters awash with people to cook it. ‘And you’re forever on the last minute. How many times have I told you to plan properly?’
‘I do my best. For goodness sake Eddie, there is a war on.’
‘I’m sick of the bloody war.’ With one furious gesture he swept the egg to the floor and Rose flew to pick up bits of shell before the spilled yolk ruined the rug. Gathering up the remains of his breakfast, she edged towards the door. ‘Would you like more toast instead?’
He ignored the question. ‘Other people cope, and so should you. Think ahead, why don’t you?’
It seemed the last straw for he was constantly reminding her to be careful with the budgeting, saying how difficult it was to make ends meet. ‘Other people don’t have a house the size of Clovellan to manage, even if it is only the west wing, and all without the help of a decent housekeeper.’ She raised her voice to make sure Gertie could hear beneath the blankets. ‘Or a brother who thinks he’s Lord Muck and insists on holding grand luncheon parties he can’t afford. You should cut down on this socialising of yours, Eddie. What with the war and everything, we all have to make sacrifices.’
‘As I’ve explained to you a dozen times, my little soirees are essential to our survival, to my business plans and to your future security. Why are you so stupid?’
For once Rose stuck to her guns. ‘Because I only have one pair of hands. Why doesn’t Gertie help more, that’s the question?’
‘I helps a lot, I do,’ came the mumbled response from beneath the bedclothes.
‘Gertie has other duties.’
It was as if something inside of Rose snapped. ‘And we know what those are, don’t we? She’ll lift her skirt for anyone but never lift a finger to help me. The pair of you are worse than useless. You leave me to do everything and it isn’t fair. It really isn’t. I never asked to come and live here, in this big draughty house. I would’ve been quite happy to stay in our old home in Paignton, or to take a smaller house some place, if we’d needed to economise. Nor have I asked you to hold luncheon parties for my ‘future security’. If I had my way I'd leave this place. I could be doing something far more useful for the war effort than cooking vegetable pie for your business associates. I’ll tell you that much for nothing, Eddie Tregarreth.’
Rose was breathless by the time she’d finished her tirade, rebellion spent, as this was the nearest she’d ever come to crossing him. Yet she saw at once that her efforts had been wasted, for all she felt some satisfaction at having expressed her feelings out loud at last. Eddie simply put back his head and roared with laughter.
You help the war effort. Don’t make me laugh.’ He was enjoying himself so much that Gertie emerged from the bed clothes, shrieking with gusto as she wrapped her fat arms about his neck and slobbered kisses all over his face. Eddie grabbed the ample breast pressed up close against him, giving it a lusty squeeze as he pulled Gertie back down beneath him, humped up the bedclothes and began to straddle her. ‘Now my sweet maid, what can I do for you?’
Taking advantage of his distraction, Rose made her escape. Experience had taught her that any further argument would only made matters worse.
He came to the kitchen later to offer his apologies, which Rose graciously and lovingly accepted. She understood perfectly that he wasn’t quite himself this morning, should have guessed that he might have a bad head. Would he care for coffee? Sadly it was only chicory but better than nothing. He wouldn’t? Water then? An Aspirin? No? Why didn’t he take a stroll in the garden. That might clear his head, and she was sorry that she’d forgotten to run his bath but she was again having trouble with getting the boiler to light.
‘For God’s sake Rose, what have you done to the dratted thing now? Haven’t I told you a hundred times not to riddle it too hard. Don’t you ever do anything right? You do realise they’ll be here in less than two hours. What time will lunch be ready? My God look at you. What a messy creature you are. I hope you intend to clean yourself up and change before they arrive.’
Tucking back a stray lock of hair that had come loose from the tatty bit of ribbon meant to hold it secure, Rose struggled to decide which question to answer first. She decided priority must be lunch. ‘Don’t worry. There’s plenty of time to sort out the boiler. Lunch won’t be ready till half past one. You can give them a sherry or something, have your business talk first.’
‘Half past? But we usually...’
‘I don’t care what we usually do. It will be half past one today. Like it or lump it.’ Having offered her an apology, she’d hoped that he would go away and leave her to it, or even that Gertie might emerge to help. No such luck in either case. Gertie was, as usual, notable by her absence and Eddie the very opposite. He hovered at her elbow, instructing her on how finely she should shred the lettuce or slice the cucumber, watching closely every move she made.
Out of the corner of her eye Rose could see Tizz grovelling in her basket under the table. The young black and tan collie dog always trembled with fear every time Eddie appeared and no wonder, even now her brother put out a booted foot and kicked her.
‘For goodness sake, Eddie, leave Tizz alone. She’s done nothing to offend you.’
‘She shouldn’t be here, in the damned kitchen. It’s not hygienic.’
‘She’s doing no harm. You bring more muck in on those boots of yours.’
Even so Rose wiped her hands on a tea cloth, called the dog and led her to out to the wood shed. Tizz, understanding perfectly, made no protest, thumping her tail hard on the ground as Rose explained the situation. ‘You know how he is when he’s in one of his moods. Stay here, there’s a good girl. Just till he’s found somebody else to bully.’ She bent down and rested her cheek against the dog’s face while Tizz snuffled a cold but sympathetic nose into her ear. Rose chuckled softly, fondled the dog’s floppy ears then bolted the door and went back to the kitchen.
Eddie was still there, waiting for her, prowling around the kitchen, opening cupboard doors, telling her which dinner service to use, which cruet, reminding her to polish the wine glasses, to clean the silver as he’d noticed it looked stained when they’d used it the other day. It clearly didn’t occur to him, Rose thought, to pick up a cloth and do it himself.
Cooking in this vast kitchen was a nightmare, with nothing ever where she needed it. She much preferred the tiny lodge house but Eddie always insisted on holding his lunches in the dining room of the main house, using it very much as his own, just as if he had every right to do so. She rather suspected there were times when he and Gertie actually slept in the Master bedroom. Gracie always hoped someone would notice and complain but nobody ever did. The Timber Corps was far too busy with its own affairs to bother, and inspectors from government offices rarely ventured this far west.
She had the sudden, frightening, thought that she’d no flour left for the apple dumpling and ran to the larder to check. The familiar white bag sat on the top shelf and Rose clambered up on a stool to pull it down, sighing with relief to find it almost full. But in getting down from the stool, she somehow managed to drop it and lose almost half of its contents all over the floor.
‘For goodness sake, what are you doing now? Do you have to be so completely clumsy and incompetent?’
Rose snatched up the dustpan and brush and began to sweep, flour billowing everywhere, covering her hair, face and arms in a fine white dust. She could feel the tension mounting inside, tears pricking her eyes. She’d be in need of an Aspirin herself in a mom
ent. Or a double brandy. She went back to peeling the potatoes, hands shaking.
‘You should use the potato peeler, a knife is wasteful.’
‘Why don’t you use the potato peeler.’ Making no attempt now to hide her distress and annoyance, Rose thrust the potato into his hand and, snatching up a pan, crossed the vast flag-floored kitchen to the low stone sink, filled it with cold water then brought it back to the table to toss in the rest of the peeled potatoes. He trailed after her, there and back, still clasping the unpeeled potato.
‘Are you sure you’ve done enough. I said six for lunch.’
‘For heavens sake! You’ve got a potato in your hand. Why don’t you peel that, if you’re not satisfied?’
He stared at it as if it were an alien produce that had dropped from another planet. He looked so utterly helpless and forlorn, so boyishly perplexed, that she was filled suddenly with a great wash of love and pity for him. Hadn’t he cared for her almost half her life? Hadn’t he suffered the loss of their parents too? Despite his odd moods, meanness and temper, he was her dear brother after all. The only family she possessed.
True, he’d exhibited some jealousy at the way her parents had spoiled her but then Eddie must have been the age she was now when she’d been born. Just turned seventeen. It must have come as rather a shock to him to be presented with this unexpected sister after being an only child for so long. Rose always took this into account whenever she felt aggrieved by his lack of patience in her.
More importantly, ever since Rose was ten years old, he’d been the only father she’d ever known. She’d depended upon him entirely. So of course she loved him, penny-pinching, selfish, unpredictable and lazy though he might be, she greatly appreciated his care of her, as well as her own good fortune at having lived the last few years in this beautiful place.
Now she smiled fondly and, taking the potato from him, began to peel it with brisk efficiency. ‘You really are hopeless in a kitchen but you’re probably right. I haven’t done enough potatoes.’ Rose peeled, washed and chopped several more and set the pan on the stove to par boil them for five minutes.
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