Millie withdrew and went to the kitchens without saying more to Randolph. She hoped the housekeeper would prove more useful than her father.
“Miss Millie, the table is set for you in the dining room,” Mrs Overton said, in a mildly reprimanding tone, when she saw Millicent lingering in the doorway to the kitchens.
“Oh, I can’t be doing with that nonsense, Mrs O. Can’t I eat in here?” The last thing Millie wanted was to sit uncomfortably alone in the cold, vast room. Furthermore, she wanted to speak with the housekeeper.
“It’s highly irregular, Miss, and your father will disapprove–”
“Give over,” Millie said lazily, entering the kitchens, her arms folded stubbornly. “He’s locked in his study anyway; he needn’t know.”
Millie took a rustic chair at the large table and awaited the plate that Mrs Overton took out from the oven, where it had been kept warm. “Roast beef,” the housekeeper said, as she set it before Millie. “Cook just plated up your veg,” she added somewhat apologetically.
“That’s fine, it looks lovely,” Millie said graciously, glad to have been granted her wish to stay in the warmth and comfort of the kitchens.
“What would you like to drink with it, red wine?”
“Oh no, just some tea please,” Millie replied, calculating that Mrs Overton might well then make a cup for herself and stay with her as she ate.
“And how is your Aunt Rose?” Mrs Overton asked politely as she brewed the tea, whilst Millie began to eat.
“Insufferable,” Millie replied flatly, much to the outraged amusement of the housekeeper.
“Oh Miss Millie, you do talk rashly sometimes,” Mrs Overton chided.
“I’m not exaggerating. She’s even worse in her own home than she is when she’s visiting us.” Millie heard the housekeeper laughing, although she hid her face. “John was telling me about Ryan – and the others,” Millie resumed, trying to make the comment sound natural.
“Yes, these are sad times we’re living in,” Mrs Overton said with a sigh, as she brought a pot of tea to the table.
“And Daddy mentioned you’d received a letter from him. Do you still have it?”
“I’m afraid not, Miss – I think I mislaid it.”
“Where might you have put it?” Millie pursued.
“I dare say I’ve burnt it, Miss,” the housekeeper admitted.
Millie looked down at her plate to conceal her anger. This was unbearable. Did nobody here care about anybody any more? Had Effie still been at Glassnest, she’d have kept the letter, Millie felt certain. It might be the last they’d hear from him. “What did he say?” Millie asked, raising her eyes to Mrs Overton, who had now taken a seat opposite her at the table and was engaged in pouring out two cups of tea.
“That he was well,” the housekeeper replied. “That he was to be a groom in the cavalry–”
“But the letter was written when he was still in England?”
“That’s right,” Mrs Overton said.
“And he said nothing else?”
“No, Miss. Just that he would keep in touch with us.”
Millie drank some of her tea and continued to eat in silence, knowing that the housekeeper watched her closely all the while.
“Do you have an address for him?” she asked after a time.
“Yes I do Miss,” Mrs Overton replied.
“Might I have it? I’d like to write to him,” Millie said too eagerly. She saw the housekeeper’s expression and clarified, “Since I didn’t have the chance to say goodbye.”
“Of course Miss,” Mrs Overton said knowingly, adding, “I’m sure he’ll be very glad of any correspondence from home.”
* * *
The next morning and every day after for the following two weeks, Millie rode Kerry out into the furthest reaches of the estate grounds. “I’ve neglected you, my gorgeous girl, haven’t I?” Millie whispered to the horse, as she stood stroking her head, once they’d reached the clump of trees where she and Ryan had brought the horses that first time Millie had ridden Kerry.
Kerry was such a calm beast now and, as far as Millie was concerned, she was the only being that Millie wanted to be with at Glassnest. Their days were spent riding in all weathers and taking shelter beneath trees or in dilapidated farm buildings if it was raining when they stopped. Millie talked to Kerry but said little to anyone else. She found she missed not only Ryan but also Effie. Nobody else at Glassnest understood her and she felt they were all in league with her father.
She remained perplexed where Randolph was concerned. When she’d accused him of forcing Ryan to enlist, she hadn’t really known whether she believed the accusation to be true or not. She’d just felt so angry with him and had wanted to provoke a response.
The fact remained that, if anybody could have dissuaded Ryan from leaving Glassnest, it would have been Randolph. Millie was furious that he hadn’t even tried. How could her father have let his only son slip so easily from his grasp and into the grip of a conflict that could end his life before it had even really begun?
Millie couldn’t bring herself to confront Randolph about what Aunt Rose had told her – she just avoided him now. And, of course, she was annoyed with him for colluding with Rose to keep her in London. If Millie herself had been at Glassnest, she would never have let Ryan go.
After a fortnight spent carrying out her daily ritual of riding Kerry, Millie found herself wending her way back to the Hall through the woods in which Ryan’s cottage stood. The thought had not before occurred to her to visit Grandmother O’Flynn. She now felt a certain amount of guilt that she had neglected the old lady and had failed to consider how lonely Grandmother O’Flynn must be feeling since her grandson had left home.
Tying Kerry to the picket fence that surrounded the cottage garden, Millie entered the gate and walked up to the stout, solid, wooden front door. She knocked at it and waited.
It took the old lady a while to come to the door but when she opened it and beheld Millie, her face lit up. “Ah, Miss!” she said, with a welcoming gesture that Millie should enter the house.
Millie thought it strange that the old woman seemed so happy but, as she took a seat by the fireside, Grandmother insisting that she herself should prepare the tea, the reason for Grandmother O’Flynn’s good spirits became apparent.
“Haven’t you just missed Ma Overton, with a letter from the boy,” she said, stoking the fire to encourage the kettle to boil.
“A new one?” Millie asked eagerly, feeling a pang when the old lady confirmed her suggestion because Millie herself had written to Ryan on the morning after she’d arrived home but had still received no reply from him.
“I’m so proud of him, Miss Millicent,” Grandmother O’Flynn gushed. “If his father knew that Ryan was now a groom in the cavalry, he’d be bursting with pride.” She finally took a seat opposite Millie, obviously exhausted from all the excitement and her over-exertion.
Millie couldn’t help but smile to see the old lady so happy, and was almost won over by her optimism. She tried to extract more particulars from Grandmother O’Flynn but the most she could glean was that Ryan was now abroad and had made a good friend called Tom.
As the kettle began to boil, Millie insisted that Grandmother O’Flynn should stay put in her armchair and she should brew the tea. As she did so, the old lady began to talk about the past and there were times when it seemed to Millie that she was confusing her memories of Ryan’s father with those of Ryan himself.
Millie handed the grandmother a cup and saucer and, taking up her own cup of tea, settled back into the rocking chair and moved it gently back and forth with her foot as she listened to the hum of Grandmother O’Flynn’s reminiscences. Millie was enjoying the hot drink, the warmth of the hearth and the soft Irish lilt of the old lady’s voice. But she wasn’t really listening to what Grandmother was saying. Gazing into the flames of the fire, Millie thought of Ryan; the kisses and embraces they had shared on this very hearth. When would she experience
those sensations once more? Would she ever know those feelings again?
Turning, at last, from the flames and towards Grandmother O’Flynn, Millie thought about Aunt Rose’s claim regarding Ryan’s paternity. Even if he came back from the war, he could never be Millie’s husband now – not if he really were her brother.
It was all too much to contemplate. Millie took advantage of a brief break in Grandmother O’Flynn’s discourse to recall the old lady and herself back to the present. “And are you being looked after, Grandmother O’Flynn, now that Ryan’s not here?” she asked. “They still bring you food over from the house?”
“Oh yes,” the old lady assured her. “Mrs Overton brought me some cold meats just today.” She paused. “Although, I have to say, I miss my visits from young Effie.”
“Yes, I miss Effie too,” Millie agreed.
“It was a sorry business between her and our Ryan. I still don’t understand what went wrong there. They would have made such a fine couple.”
“Yes,” Millie said softly, with less conviction.
“And, proud as I am of him, I can’t help but think that, if they’d married as planned, he wouldn’t have gone to war.”
“No,” Millie said, her response barely audible.
The old lady fell silent, sipping her tea and gazing into the flames, as Millie began to appreciate the full weight of the guilt she should now be feeling. She had ruined both Ryan and Effie’s lives. Had she not interfered in their intentions to marry, Effie would still be here, with a loving, supportive husband. Instead she was alone in London, with the prospect of lone-parenthood looming ahead of her. Ryan wouldn’t have gone to the Front; he’d be safe at Glassnest and be loved by Effie.
This whole mess had come about because of her selfishness. Never mind Ben Windham taking what he wanted and then taking no responsibility for the outcome of his actions; what Millie had done was no better.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Grandmother O’Flynn said, looking at Millie intently.
“Oh, nothing,” Millie replied evasively. “I should get going now,” she added awkwardly, realising as she spoke the words that she was responsible for the old woman’s solitude and loneliness on top of everything else.
* * *
As soon as Millie got back to the Hall, she sought out Mrs Overton to enquire about Ryan’s letter. However, bumping into one of the maids in her quest, she discovered that she herself had received something in the post. The five minutes it took the girl to locate it and bring it back to Millie were agony.
Millie took the letter upstairs to her room, eager to shield its contents from prying eyes. It must be from Ryan. Once in her room, she opened the envelope feverishly and then threw herself onto the bed to read the letter.
My Dear Miss Millie,
I’m so glad you wrote and cannot tell you how it cheered me to hear news from home. We crossed the Channel a week ago now and have just and so reached the place where we’ll be stationed. This is the first opportunity I have had to reply to you – we have been on the move all the while and it has been exhausting.
Firstly, I must correct you on thinking I am a groom in the cavalry. I’m not sure where that came from – Mrs O? My role is nothing so grand, although, now I’m here, I’m not sure that being in the cavalry would be so very glamorous after all. But I’m with the working horses, Millie; not fine, charging, stallions but great, plodding shires, pulling the guns and transporting supplies and munitions – nothing so noble as you may have envisaged, I’m afraid. But it’s a role I’m suited to and, in the short time I’ve been with these beasts, they’ve grown as dear to me as Kerry and Charger ever were.
But Millie, regarding your desire that Kerry were here with me, I would never wish that fate upon her. For one thing she wouldn’t last a day under the burdens placed upon the horses here. For another, I know she is far too precious to you to run the risk of her being lost. Don’t get me wrong, the horses are valued and we do our best to keep them in shape, but, here on the Front, their lives are as precarious as our own.
I won’t lie and tell you that it’s all fine and dandy, or indeed glorious, Millie. I can’t really describe what it’s like – only to say that I imagine it’s the nearest thing to hell that exists upon this earth. Forgive me Millie, but it’s the truth.
So you can imagine how happy your letter makes me. I keep it in the inside pocket of my tunic, next to my heart. Please do write again soon – and you could be more liberal with your kisses and terms of affection in future! I’m not writing this myself, Millie – you know I’m not the best with reading and writing. My good pal Tom is writing down the words for me as he’s a regular William Shakespeare! But he can be trusted completely Millie, so please don’t hold back on being honest when you write.
I do not know when we shall meet again but the prospect of that day is what is keeping me going more than anything at the moment.
My love always,
Ryan
As Millie read on through the letter, her vision became increasingly blurred by her tears. The thought of Ryan in that place –of him feeling such despair– was unbearable. She was saddened and angered by all she read; angry again with Randolph. Ryan fighting for king and country! It was a farce: it wasn’t Ryan’s king and it wasn’t even his country, really.
Millie was utterly perplexed as to how the version of events fed to Grandmother O’Flynn could differ so widely from Ryan’s own experience. Did Ryan hide the truth in his letters to the Hall? Or was it Tom who wrote something at odds with what Ryan actually said? Or was it indeed Mrs Overton perverting Ryan’s words? Anyway, Millie was relieved to get the sense of Ryan’s true voice in her letter – however upsetting the truth was.
She cried for twenty minutes solid after finishing reading the letter, lying on her bed, feeling wretched. But it was then that she realised she was merely feeling sorry for herself – that wasn’t going to help Ryan. Millie pulled herself together, got up from the bed, went over to her bureau and began to compose a reply.
She really didn’t have much news so most of her letter’s content was a description of her rides with Kerry – of how fine the estate grounds looked, veiled in the hoar-frost of early morning. Although, reflecting on the chilly weather led her to worry about Ryan’s welfare and health in the trenches. But she had to be positive. She reported that his grandmother was well.
Of course, Millie wanted to let Ryan know just how much she missed and loved him. She had been moved by how daringly frank he’d been with her, given that the letter was to be sent to the Hall. But Millie appreciated that, with his life so constantly in the balance, Ryan would feel compelled to be bold and reckless.
She wanted to tell Ryan how much she loved him but, of course, to suggest that kind of love would now be misleading. Millie had to prepare for that fact that, if they ever did meet again, it would be upon terms very different to what they had been before. And so she signed off her letter with, “Your ever-loving friend, Millie.” That seemed appropriate – it could so easily have been substituted by, “Your ever-loving sister.”
Upon finishing the letter, Millie felt drained and listless. Her work was not complete, however, so, being careful to avoid detection –her eyes still bloodshot and her overall appearance sickly, she knew– she crept down to the kitchens (which she found to be, thankfully, deserted), prepared herself some tea, pinched a couple of buns from the larder –and also a bar of Randolph’s favourite chocolate, to include with her letter as a gift to Ryan– returned upstairs, carrying her cup and plate very carefully, and resumed her seat at the desk.
While she ate and drank, Millie considered what she would say in her next missive. Happily, she found that the sweet icing sugar on the Chelsea buns perked her up almost immediately. It wasn’t long before she set to work once more.
Dear Doctor Sutton,
How lovely it was to talk to you at my aunt’s dinner party recently. I do hope you are well and that your work is progressing as you would wish.
>
I write to enquire whether, by any chance, you have need of a secretary, or, indeed, whether the hospital is looking for administrative staff at present.
I admit that I have no prior experience of such, or indeed any, work but I am most eager to be useful in this time of national strife, have had a decent education under the tutelage of a very sensible woman and consider myself to be well-organised.
Having my own means, a salary would not be a necessity. I should simply like to be of use to yourself and the hospital in some capacity.
I do hope to hear back from you soon.
Yours sincerely,
Millicent Awbridge (Miss)
Chapter 13
The following morning, Millie rode out on Kerry, heading across the estate grounds, bound for the vantage point within the clump of trees that was their familiar haunt. On reaching it, Millie dismounted and wrapped her arms around the horse’s neck. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave you again, my darling girl,” she said, brushing her cheek against Kerry’s sleek, warm coat. There were tears in Millie’s eyes as she surveyed the fields that had been, for so long, so dear to her. But she knew she had to go.
Decisively, Millie climbed up onto Kerry’s back and they charged down the hill, heading towards the house. Millie needed to speak to Randolph whilst her conviction was strong and she still felt energised.
Having left the horse with Daniel, the stable lad, Millie went straight to her father’s study, still wearing her riding habit. She knocked on his door but entered before she heard his call. His head was amidst papers.
“I need to speak to you Daddy,” Millie began. “It’s quite urgent.”
And then she told him of the compulsion she felt to do something useful – of her sense of hopelessness, being cooped up at Glassnest, when there was so much good she could be doing out in the world. She explained how she had contacted Richard Sutton, proposing that she should work in his hospital, and that she hoped that, if Richard didn’t have a post for her, Randolph might use his influence to find her a position elsewhere.
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