by Mary Wood
The curtsey unsettled Ada. In a fluster she bobbed up and down with almost every word as she apologized, ‘Eeh, I beg your pardon, M’lady, I’m not used to such company.’
Laughing in a way she had thought never to laugh again, Eloise begged her, ‘Please, don’t worry. Oh, dear Ada, you look like a jack-in-the-box. I mean . . .’
Mortified this might be taken the wrong way, Eloise tried to retract her comment, but there was no need. Both Ada and Annie were giggling, and then Ada said, ‘More like a daft ha’porth!’
Eloise had no idea what that meant, but as their laughter increased, she had to join in with them. ‘Oh, dear. It does help to laugh and engage in merriment. It is so nice to see you both, and in good spirits, too. Is everything going well?’
‘It is, M’lady. We’re getting on like a forest fire in the wind. And Ada ’as such plans, she’s got me as excited as she is.’
‘I know. Miss Rene telephoned about them. I’m so happy for you, Ada. As soon as I return after the Christmas holiday I will help you all I can.’
‘Ta, M’lady.’ Another bob accompanied this.
‘My dear, you have no need to curtsey every time you speak to me. Well, you have no need to at all. I think it a silly custom.’
‘Oh no, I don’t agree. Sorry, M’lady, but we all ’ave our place in life and ’ave to keep it. It is the order of things, and ’ow it was meant to be.’
Eloise could only smile at this from Annie. Her father had long since said that the class divide was perpetuated by the poor, far more than it was by the upper classes.
The sound of a baby gurgling had Annie scurrying off in one direction.
‘It’s time for little Brendan’s feed. I won’t be a minute, M’lady,’ said Ada, as she scurried off in the other.
Sitting back in her chair, Eloise reflected that she couldn’t remember when she’d last felt like she did at this moment: cosy and warm and welcomed. It wasn’t all down to the two nervous women making her feel that way; it was her surroundings, too. This room had a welcoming, home-made feel to it: the two fireside chairs – which she would call nursing chairs, as they had no arms to them – were a beige colour, and had crisp white antimacassars over the backs of them. Each was embroidered with intricate patterns of violets and daisies, entwined in a heart shape. On the polished wooden floor there was a beige pegged rug, with a pattern of dark-brown swirls around its edges, which looked like many half-moons intertwined.
The rug triggered a memory of days when she had visited Rene’s home as a child – Annie would be pegging this very rug, as she watched them playing. Often they would stop what they were doing and watch, fascinated, as Annie pushed the peg, loaded with wool, through the netted base and back again, leaving the wool looped at the back. Then, with a pair of special clippers, she would clip the wool so that all the strands at the front of the rug stood close together and all were of the same length. It sounded simple, but Eloise knew there was a process whereby the strands were secured in place, which Annie had never explained to them.
It had taken years to complete the rug, as she remembered it being in progress from when she was about eleven years old. She and Rene had been seventeen when they held a little ceremony as the last piece of wool was pegged into place. It had been very funny to see Annie do a little dance of joy. Eloise and Rene had gone into a fit of giggles at how Annie’s bosom had jigged up and down – such things amused seventeen-year-olds. At this thought, the same feeling that had visited her earlier came to her. Those were such innocent, carefree days!
Looking around at the rest of the room, Eloise thought that every corner of it reflected Annie’s personality and her handiwork. The table that stood against the wall with four chairs neatly tucked around it was draped in a cloth just as white as the antimacassars, and with matching embroidered hearts. A dresser in the corner displayed pieces of china, and next to the very welcome, glowing fire a brass coal-scuttle stood, shining with pride at its prominent place. It was a lovely room, lovingly kept.
‘Here’s your pot of tea, M’lady.’ Ada came back into the room carrying a tray, on the corner of which lay a banana-shaped baby’s bottle, which she picked up, saying, ‘I’ll just take this into Annie for little Brendan. I won’t be a mo.’
‘Oh do tell her to bring the baby in here to feed him. There is no need to hide him away. I would love to meet him.’
‘Eeh, ta, M’lady, that’s grand of you.’ Opening the door to the hall and stairs, Ada called out to Annie to bring Brendan down. Then she turned back to her and said, ‘He loves to be with folk. He’s a little charmer, just like his da— I mean . . .’
‘I know. I’m sorry, he must be a constant reminder for you of that painful time.’
‘No. I don’t put any of it on his shoulders. And I’m fine with it all now, and have been ever since I met Joe. I can remember Paddy without anger, and I accept and love his son. I just felt embarrassment at bringing the subject up.’
‘I understand, but you have no need to. I’ve nothing but admiration for you. May I ask how your sister is?’
‘She’s not good, and hasn’t been ever since the birth. Her husband has put in for a divorce, and that has devastated her. She has no interest in Brendan, and won’t even have me take him with me when I visit her. I’m going to see if I can get her transferred nearer to here, and will keep trying to get her to accept her babby. By, it were a wrench coming here and leaving her, but I had to think of meself for a change. But eeh, that place she’s in. It ain’t fit for pigs. And that’s how those in there get treated. There’s a few soldiers in there that could do with your help, M’lady, I can tell you.’
‘Oh dear, I’m sorry. I hope things improve for her. I wonder sometimes how we are ever going to help all those who need it. It seems an impossible task at times.’
‘Aye, but at least you’re trying. You haven’t turned your back on us, as most of your class do, using us to clean up after them, fight their bloody wars and then kicking us in the gutter.’
‘Oh, Ada, I didn’t know you felt like that. I’m so sorry. We’re not all like that.’
Annie coming into the room with the baby stopped the conversation, leaving Eloise feeling down for the first time since she had arrived. But Annie saying, ‘This little man is demanding ’is food; I tell yer, the male species starts the process of domineering us as soon as they are born,’ made her smile again.
A silence fell, once the baby was happily sucking on his milk. It didn’t hold any comfort, and Eloise was beginning to regret coming. Annie was the one to lift the feeling, in her usual direct way. ‘Well, I’ve a knife in me drawer. Once baby is fed, I’ll use it to cut the atmosphere. What’s made you both clamp your lips?’
‘Eeh, it were me, letting me tongue have its rein on them as least deserve it. Forgive me, Lady Eloise. I don’t deserve what you’ve done for me, in giving me the confidence to break away and make me feel worth sommat.’
‘Please forget it, Ada. In your position I would feel the same. But I do want you to know that a lot of my class arc concerned. Not many can physically do anything about the social imbalance, but most rally round to give funds to my cause. And my father tells me that many social issues are being discussed in Parliament, especially since the new Prime Minister, David Lloyd George, took office. Father says he has some very forward-thinking ideas, which, if implemented, will bring about change in all areas, especially for the lower classes.’
‘I spoke out of turn, M’lady. No class of people deserve to be lumped together. I don’t like it when it’s done to me own lot, and I shouldn’t have done it to yours.’
As she finished talking, she slumped into the chair opposite Eloise. The sight of her look of defeat brought a lump to Eloise’s throat. She swallowed it down. ‘Don’t ever suppress what you want to say, Ada. There is too much of that, especially amongst women. And it is by talking to each other that we find a solution to what is wrong at the heart of our country. We women should stand together.’<
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‘You’re a special person, M’lady, and you have a wise head on your young shoulders. You’re different to any I’ve ever come across. You’re a saint.’
‘Ha! I’ve never been called that before. It’s a good thing Ada doesn’t really know me, don’t you think, Annie? I rather like being looked on as a saint!’
‘Proper madams – that’s what they were when they were growing up, I can tell yer, Ada. But I agree with yer. Lady Eloise and my Miss Rene ’ave turned out champion.’
‘Ooh, I can feel my head growing and bursting out of my halo!’
They all laughed at this and Eloise felt the tension lift. ‘Let’s talk about the future, shall we? Tell me your plans, Ada. I’m so excited for you.’
Ada outlined her plans to become a seamstress, and her fears about what might go wrong.
‘Yours plans are attainable, Ada. Tell me, where did you train?’
‘Mostly at me mam’s knee – she was a time-served seamstress. She was taken on by a French lady, who ran an exclusive gown shop in Leeds. Mam were that good that, when she married and had me and Beryl, Madame Camilla installed a sewing machine in our house and had a sort of cage built in the corner of our parlour. Mam used to sit in this cage working away for hours, while we played around the outside of it. As we got older she taught us her skills. Not that Beryl took to it, but I did. I inherited an old treadle-machine that Madame didn’t want back. I used it for years, earning a bit here and there by making things. I never retrieved it from the rubble of me cottage, though, and I reckon it’s ruined now.’
‘Well, my advice to you would be to get a new one, and to make up some samples that I can show to my friends for you. They do all have their own favourite outlets, so they will need winning over with something very special.’
‘I will, M’lady, but I don’t know where to start.’
‘Leave it with me. I know several industrialists and can ask amongst them. Enjoy your Christmas as much as you can. It’s been a terrible year for all of us, and we have ongoing things that worry and upset us, but hopefully we will have a little joy over the next two weeks.’
‘Aye, things like war and death are great levellers. We’re all in the same boat, when hit by the devastation they cause. I’ll be thinking of you, M’lady, and hoping you and your family can find some peace an’ all.’
‘Thank you, Ada, we will try. And I will be thinking of you and praying you find some peace, too. I feel much happier that you have Annie and are here in London, away from all the sad reminders of the life you used to have.’
Ada seemed to hesitate. ‘M’lady, can I tell you sommat I’ve told Rene, and I know she will have told you, about the connection between your cousin Edith and my Jimmy. Well, even before that, I felt sommat between me and Edith. From the moment Rene told me about her, I knew we were linked in some way. I knew she must be a very courageous lady, to do what she set out to do. Anyway, from then on I’ve felt a kinship with her, of sorts. It helps me to think of her courage, and to try to be the same as her. It is something to cling on to. When you think about her, think of the strength and courage she has and latch on to that. It might help you an’ all.’
Feeling the lump rise to her throat again, Eloise smiled through tingling tears. ‘That’s lovely. Thank you. I will, and I will tell Edith’s mother your story, and how Edith helps you. Just maybe she can find a way of doing the same.’
The party was in full swing, and the ballroom was fit to burst with the number of people in it. The heat, despite having all four French doors open, was stifling. A three-piece music group played tunes that had the hardier amongst them dancing reels and waltzes. Eloise thought the atmosphere was wonderful, until a commotion near one of the French doors caught everyone’s attention.
‘It’s Lady Muriel – she has fainted!’ This cry alarmed Eloise. She had been most surprised when her aunt and uncle had accepted her invitation. It had been sent out of courtesy, and she hadn’t expected them to come. But Aunt Muriel, in one of her brave moments, had said to her, ‘I have decided that yes, we will come to your charity ball, Eloise, my dear. Life has to go on, and it won’t stand a chance of doing so without the magnificent effort our young people are making. We will support you, darling. Your work is much needed, and I admire the way you have found yourself a niche to do your bit, despite the restrictions the family grief has put upon you.’ Eloise had been astonished. ‘Thank you, but you really don’t have to attend if you would rather not. Your donation is more than generous enough.’ But her aunt had been insistent. ‘No, we will come. God knows we could do with some light relief from all the pain and worry. As this is a charity ball, it is socially acceptable for us to attend, which makes it easier.’
Now, looking down on the pale, crumpled form of her beloved aunt, Eloise felt guilt at even putting her aunt in such a position, knowing how frail she had become.
‘Give her air, please!’ the commanding voice of her Uncle Christopher boomed out. Holding a distinct, doctor-in-command tone, the order didn’t offend, but made everyone move back. Lady Davina Fortescue even took hold of the door and wafted it backwards and forwards to create a draught. It was something Eloise would have expected her to command one of the servants to do, rather than take on the task herself.
The seconds ticked away, each one deepening Eloise’s concern as she watched all of her uncle’s loving ministrations to revive Aunt Muriel have no effect. Gradually her face drained of the little colour she had had and took on the look of white porcelain, making her rouge all the more obvious.
No one in the vicinity spoke. The music had stopped, and only the hushed tones of those who could not see what was happening could be heard.
The initial guilt Eloise felt had been banished by a deep fear that had taken its place. Her mind filled with prayers: Dear God, no. Not Aunt Muriel. Please not Aunt Muriel!
Looking around and finding her parents close by, she read the same terror on their faces. Eloise looked back at the horror of the scene in front of her. Her uncle’s voice penetrated her panicked mind.
‘No, Muriel, my darling, don’t leave me. Don’t leave me.’
Another voice took charge. It belonged to the Duke of Cumbria, who voiced what they all wanted to hear. ‘Tell us what to do, Christopher. Do we need an ambulance? Do you want us to help you get Lady Muriel home? Can you treat her yourself? Just tell us what to do!’
If Eloise lived to be a hundred she knew at that moment she would never forget the words her uncle spoke, or his tone of utter despair. ‘It is too late. Oh God, my Muriel. My life. My love.’ His sob ripped Eloise’s heart from her. He crumpled and lay beside the unmoving wax-like figure of his beloved wife. ‘My family, my family. My Edith missing, my sons in danger, and now my darling Muriel gone.’ But nothing affected Eloise more than when his voice rose in pleading anger, ‘Why? Why? God, tell me, why?’
On the day that Eloise was meant to be giving out the hampers and gifts in the church hall of Rossworth village she stood looking into the gaping, dark hole of the family crypt, set in the centre of the parish-church cemetery, next door to the hall.
The unreality of the situation hit her, as she saw Andrina’s coffin inside, still looking brand-new and sitting on a shelf above that of her grandmother. All the caskets were made of lead and, apart from discolouring, hadn’t deteriorated. She could see several of her ancestors’ caskets from where she stood. Aunt Muriel’s casket was placed on a shelf at the back, where there was room for one more. Who will that be? Eventually there will be room for two there.
The surreal discussion that had taken place a few days ago, as the plans for this funeral were made, came back to her. Uncle Christopher had wanted Aunt Muriel in the Mellor family crypt, as opposed to her own family one, so that he could lie near her after his own demise. Eloise’s father had agreed, but had expressed his concern that the crypt might not be big enough and that a new one would have to be built for Christopher and his descendants. There hadn’t been any time to im
plement the plan, and so it had been agreed that Aunt Muriel should start her repose in this crypt and then be moved to the new one when it was ready. Special permission had already been gained for this to happen.
The new crypt would be built on the plot of land that Eloise stood on. Andrina’s death had been just the start of this journey, she thought, as she wondered how many of them would still be alive by the time this war ended. Although Andrina’s death hadn’t been due to the war, all of their lives were in danger because of it now: her cousins through direct action there, and those of them at home through the Zeppelin bombing raids. Even Aunt Muriel’s death was, she felt, a consequence of the strain the war had put on her. Unbeknown to Eloise, her aunt had had a weak heart, and the condition had been aggravated by her fear for the safety and welfare of her children, and Edith in particular.
Poor Edith would never see her mother again. How will she bear it . . . ? But then, will we ever see Edith again? Somehow all hope of anything good happening in the future has deserted me today.
As he stood next to her, Christian’s body shook with sobs and something told her he was having similar thoughts. She took his hand in hers. On his other side stood Uncle Christopher, staring at the crypt in the same way she had been, his face telling of his heartbreak. On his right stood Douglas, who appeared not to feel anything, as his face was devoid of any expression. But she knew his pain cut just as deeply into him as it did the rest of them. Douglas had always been like a closed, locked door – there was no getting through without the key. Sometimes, when she had been much younger, she had seen it open when he’d played games with her and Andrina. She knew that behind what looked like an uncaring, serious young man lived a kind-hearted soul.
Worry seeped into her as she watched him. Other discussions had centred on his inheritance and the fact that, being the male heir to Aunt Muriel’s family seat, Douglas would become the new lord of the estate.