Well, it might work; anyway, there was no other option. Seizing the bucket, I drenched Patterson in a stream of cold water as he bent over Philip’s body. With a bellow, he turned around to face me. I was utterly terrified, but somehow desperation and fear helped me think straight; quick as a flash, I nipped in closer and jammed the bucket over his head. He fumbled to tear the thing off with both hands, sending the pitchfork clattering to the ground. I scooped it up and ran for my life.
‘Grace! Whatever’s the matter?’ My father and the captain were trotting into the yard at that very moment.
‘Patterson’s gone mad!’ I gasped, clutching the fork against my heaving chest. ‘He’s in there with Philip. Hurry, Da!’
I ran up Bella and Moonlight’s stirrups and tied them by their reins to rings in the yard. Then I waited for what seemed like a lifetime. Nothing on God’s earth would have made me go back into the stables, even though I was worried to death about Philip. Perhaps that was why. I didn’t want to see what might have happened to him. At long last, three people emerged: my father and the captain, half-dragging, half-carrying Private Patterson between them. They led him straight towards the house, Da only glancing over in my direction to make sure I was well out of the way. A few minutes later, Philip was standing in the stable doorway and I was running over to meet him, and then somehow his arms were around me and we were holding each other, and the wave of relief washing over me was so wonderful that I wanted to cry.
‘It’s all right,’ he said, stroking my hair. ‘Grace, you saved my life! How can I ever thank you?’
‘But you saved mine to begin with, so we’re even.’
Talking had broken the spell, though, and suddenly I was hot with embarrassment. What were we doing, Philip and I, clutching each other like this where anyone could see us? The same thought must have occurred to him; he dropped his arms and we hurriedly stepped apart. I searched in my breeches pocket for a handkerchief, not wanting to meet his eyes. When I risked a quick look, he was rubbing his arm and gazing into the distance.
‘Did he hurt you?’ I asked.
Philip shook his head; I noticed he was blushing a little too. ‘Not really. That cold water seemed to bring him to his senses.’
I tried to think of something else to say. ‘He was always so quiet before. Do you know what brought this on?’
‘The army want him back at the Front - we heard this morning. His mind might have been shot to pieces but he could hold a gun and see where to shoot, and that’s all they seem to care about. Well, he’ll be no use to them now, poor fellow.’
‘What’ll happen to him?’
‘He’ll go to a secure hospital for treatment, I hope.’ Philip sighed. ‘I should have seen this coming. We’ll have to stop the patients riding, it’s too much of a risk.’
‘No, you won’t! Not on my account, anyway. Look how they enjoy it, and the good it does them. Something like this won’t ever happen again.’
‘We’ll make sure it doesn’t. Your father and I will have to stay with the men all the time, and you must come and find us if you think something’s wrong.’ He took my hand. ‘Promise me you’ll be careful for once, Grace. If you came to any harm, I’d never forgive myself.’
‘All right, I promise.’ I had to extricate my hand after a few seconds; he didn’t seem to want to let it go. ‘Better see to the horses and tidy the place up, I suppose,’ I said eventually.
Philip insisted on sitting me down for a while before I started work, however, so after we’d put Bella and Moonlight away, we went to the harness-room where I managed to make a pot of tea - clumsy and flustered though I was. When our fingers touched as I passed him the cup, I almost dropped it. We sat there making awkward conversation about nothing in particular until my father arrived ten minutes later. He might have been surprised to find us together, but he didn’t say so; perhaps he was too relieved I was safe to notice.
I left the two of them talking and slipped away to the stables, wanting to be quietly on my own to think. The ground had shifted under my feet. What had just passed between Philip and me? Could he really care for me in the way I imagined, or was it nothing more than that: my imagination running away with me? My heart was thumping and my palms were damp, and it was only partly down to Private Patterson.
‘Would you mind telling me exactly what you think you’re doing, young lady?’ I couldn’t remember ever seeing my mother so agitated. The veins in her neck stood out like rope and her face was flushed with anger. ‘Acting the hussy with Master Philip, of all people!’
Ma had paid an unexpected visit to the stables early that morning, a couple of weeks after the incident with Private Patterson, only to discover Philip chatting to me while I groomed Bella. What was I meant to have done, told him to go away? ‘But we were only talking!’ I protested. ‘Where’s the harm in that?’
‘Where’s the harm?’ she repeated, taking me by the shoulders. I could feel her fingernails digging into my skin. ‘I’ll tell you where’s the harm! Carry on simpering at Master Philip like that and you’ll end up in trouble. What do you think he wants from you? Lessons in stable management?’
‘You’ve got it all wrong!’ My face must have been as red as hers by now. ‘We’re friends, the same as you and Mrs Hathaway. And I wasn’t simpering. He passed me the hoof-pick and I thanked him, that was all.’
‘Oh, Grace. You silly little thing.’ My mother sank into a chair and put her head in her hands. By the time she’d straightened up, her voice was a little calmer. ‘You can’t be friends with Philip Hathaway. What could the pair of you have in common? I might chat with Miss Harriet sometimes’ (which is what she still calls Mrs Hathaway) ‘but that’s quite another matter. I’m careful not to overstep the mark, and I’ve known her twenty-five years. Master Philip is a young man and you’re a good-looking girl, even if you are dressed up like a stable-boy half the time. I know exactly why he’s hanging around here, and don’t you go getting any daft ideas about it.’
‘It’s nothing like that, Ma.’ I hated the way she was making me feel: dirty and cheap. ‘We talk about the war, and the patients, and books we’ve read. He likes Charles Dickens as much as you do! He’s Tom’s friend - why shouldn’t he be mine, too? We’re not so very different at the end of the day, even if he is one of the family.’
Philip had taken to dropping in on me every so often. We never spoke about what had happened after Private Patterson had been taken away and things gradually became more comfortable between us, which was a relief. I didn’t enjoy feeling so awkward. True, my heart would usually skip a beat at the sight of him, but only because I couldn’t help remembering the shelter of his arms, the comforting warmth of his woollen jersey and the feel of his heart underneath it, beating next to mine. I knew he had only held me because we had both been so frightened, and that such an extraordinary moment would never come again. No, I enjoyed his company and that was all. Da seemed to be out most of the time, running errands for Mrs Hathaway or taking the men riding, and I didn’t like working on my own in the stables nearly so much these days. Philip seemed interested in my opinion, and we ended up having all sorts of conversations. I was glad now that I’d stayed on at school till I was fourteen - Ma had insisted on it - and that she’d encouraged me to read so many books. Philip and I still couldn’t agree about the war, though.
‘You should hear the men’s stories!’ he would say, trying to convince me. ‘Being ordered to run straight into enemy fire, knowing they’re about to be mown down. What’s the point of it? It’s just a senseless slaughter, and I don’t want any part of it.’
‘You can’t help being a part of it,’ I’d retort. ‘We have to stick up for what’s right and that means fighting, whether you like it or not. How does it make you feel, seeing these men wounded for your sake?’
We went round and round in circles, although at least we could discuss the matter now. How could I explain to Ma that Philip seemed to have become a person I could talk to about anything?
I didn’t even understand it myself.
‘You haven’t been listening to a word I’ve been saying, have you?’ she demanded. ‘All right, I’ll tell you a story. When I was about your age, I had a friend called Iris. Iris Baker. She was the loveliest girl, quite a bit older than me, with hair yellow as butter and the sort of skin they call peaches and cream. She took me under her wing when I first came to Swallowcliffe, which was just like her: you couldn’t find a sweeter, kinder person in the whole world. Well, Iris became fond of a young gentleman, one of the gentry. They probably talked about everything, too, only that didn’t do Iris much good when she ended up expecting his baby. He dropped her pretty quickly then, her young man, and she died in the workhouse less than a year later. So you might like to bear Iris in mind the next time Master Philip comes calling.’
She got up. ‘If I see the pair of you together like that again, I shall tell your father you’re not to work in the stables any more. It’s not right, and I’ve said as much all along. You’ll have to come back inside the house. If Mrs Jeakes won’t take you, I’m sure Mrs Maroney could do with the help.’
Now she’d got my attention. I knew Da had been worried about me since the episode with Private Patterson; it wouldn’t take much to persuade him I’d be better off as a housemaid. My mother was quite wrong about Philip and me, but she could still put her foot down and make my life unbearable. Perhaps we would have to see less of each other - for the time being, at least. That shouldn’t be so very hard.
‘You’ve got nothing to worry about, Ma, I promise. But I’ll take care not to find myself alone with him, if you like.’
She gave me a long look. ‘You should have remembered how to behave in the first place. Well, things should be getting back to normal next week, and not before time. His Lordship’s coming home. He’ll soon put a stop to this sort of carry on.’
We had been expecting the Vyes for weeks, but Easter had come and gone and they’d stayed in America. It seemed Lady Vye’s family couldn’t bear to let her go, but her sons must have missed her. They had to spend the school holiday with their aunt and uncle in London and that couldn’t have been much fun, what with the Duchess of Clarebourne (Lord Vye’s other sister, besides Mrs Hathaway) being so particular and not used to boys.
The day before the Vyes were due to return, we were all a little preoccupied. ‘What do you think His Lordship’s going to say when he sees what Mrs Hathaway’s done to the Rolls-Royce?’ I asked nobody in particular, pulling off my boots.
‘Oh, Gracie, for the twentieth time – we don’t know,’ Florrie replied. ‘And take those horrible things outside. They smell to high heaven.’
She was a little overwrought, because word had come that Alf had finally finished with training camp and was going into action overseas. I’d agreed to take her into Hardingbridge on my trip to the railway station the next morning (a Saturday), so that she could buy a few things to post him before he left. ‘Now you won’t forget, will you?’ she said when I came back into our room, minus the boots. ‘I’ll call at the stables when we’re done with breakfast, about nine. Promise you won’t go without me, even if I’m a few minutes late. Grace? Are you listening?’
The Vyes’ ship should already have docked in Liverpool by now and they’d be catching a train home the next morning. With so much else going on, why was Florrie getting herself in a state about a little bit of shopping? Then again, worry takes people in different ways. If I started thinking about Tom, I found myself sweeping the same patch of yard twenty times, or giving Cobweb twice as many oats as she should have had and Pippin none at all. Everybody was fearful for somebody they loved, and we were learning to make allowances for each other in such terrible times. Mrs Jeakes had lost a nephew at Gallipoli, and one dreadful day we learned that Isaac and Jim had been killed in the same battle, fighting side by side. That hit my father very hard.
‘I remember the day I first set eyes on Jim, six years ago,’ he told me. ‘A skinny lad who wouldn’t say boo to a goose, and about as much use around the stables to begin with as a yard of pump water. But he loved the horses, and you could see he was willing to learn. He had no family, you know. Isaac was like a brother to him.’
‘At least they were together,’ I said. Although how much consolation was that, really?
There was something I should very much have liked to talk to my father about. I’d found a letter in Da’s coat pocket while looking for the key to the feed-store, and recognised Tom’s handwriting. As soon as I started reading, I realised it wasn’t meant for my eyes, and yet it was impossible to stop.
13 April 1915
Dear Father
Sorry not to have written for a while but to be honest I’ve been rather down in the dumps of late and don’t want to worry Ma and the girls. So this letter is just for you – man to man, if you like.
I wonder what people are saying about the war at home. It seems a long time since we set off for France, all excited and certain we were doing the right thing. Well, are we, Da? Doing the right thing, I mean. Because I’m not so sure any more and that’s a terrible thing to admit. You remember the ceasefire at Christmas that we read about in the newspaper? There’s a chap I know who was out here at the time. He went over into no man’s land and got talking to one of the Huns – a decent fellow, he said, who used to work at a baker’s in London and knew the Walworth Road like the back of his hand. Anyway, this German said his lot were sick of the fighting and wanted to go home just as much as we did. What’s the point of it, trying to kill all of them before they can kill us? And when will it end? When there’s nobody left alive?
I don’t want to trouble you, but these thoughts are going round and round in my head and it’s hard to share them with anybody here since we’re all in the same boat. No sense in rocking it, eh? But if anything should happen to me (which God forbid), I wanted you to know what was on my mind. You can tell people at home this war might not be quite how they imagine. I sometimes think about that girl who gave me a white feather and wonder what she would make of it.
This letter might not get past the authorities so I’ve asked a pal of mine going home on leave to post it to you at the Hall. Don’t think too badly of me, Da. You’ve been the best father a fellow could have and all I hope is not to let you down. Remember how you used to race me about the yard in a wheelbarrow? I often find myself dreaming about the old days, and wake up happy.
Your loving son
Tom Stanbury
That letter made me cry, and it also made me think. If Tom thought the Germans weren’t so different from us, of course he wouldn’t want to kill them and of course he’d question the war - but where would that get him? Philip’s idea of letting the generals fight it out with each other made some more sense to me now, and I ached to talk things over with him. I couldn’t discuss Tom’s letter with my father because I should never have read it in the first place, and Florrie was hardly the right person, with Alf about to leave for the Front. Philip was the only one I wanted to see, but he hadn’t come by the stables for a few days and I could hardly go to look for him after my mother’s warning. Why did she have to be so strict and wrong-headed? I went about my work in a very bad temper, and the thought that I might be missing Philip’s company more than he was missing mine did nothing to improve my spirits.
Eventually I reasoned that Philip was bound to be spending more time with the family now, and I would just have to lump it. Apart from Lord and Lady Vye coming home, the Colonel had also arrived unexpectedly on leave; I’d seen him from a distance, chatting to Mrs Hathaway as they walked along the terrace together. He stopped to talk to some of the men, too, and didn’t seem at all put out to find the house turned upside down. Yet what would His Lordship make of all these changes? Swallowcliffe had become a different place in the four months he’d been away. It even smelled different: carbolic soap and disinfectant instead of the usual mixture of beeswax polish, woodsmoke and flowers. There were nurses everywhere, patients in beds all over t
he ground floor, Matron installed in the library, the billiard room full of medical supplies - not to mention the motor-car, with a great box fitted on the back to turn it into an ambulance. Every time I looked at it, I felt sick to my stomach.
‘Stop daydreaming and look lively,’ Da said, catching me leaning on the broom that Saturday morning. ‘Old Lady Vye wants to pay some calls before the family arrive, so you’d better make sure the gig’s spotless.’
‘But what about going to the station?’ I asked. ‘I thought we had patients to collect.’
Da shook his head. ‘Mrs Hathaway says there’s nobody for us this week. They’re all too badly injured and being sent to the London hospitals.’
I watched him drive the gig away half an hour later, wondering how I was going to tell Florrie the shopping trip she was so keen on would have to be postponed.
‘Oh, Grace, sorry to make you wait.’ She turned up all in a fluster, wearing her best linen suit and a hat I’d not seen before. ‘I burnt the porridge and Mrs Jeakes made me scour the saucepan. I thought she’d never let me get away!’
When I broke the bad news, she didn’t seem to understand at first. I had to tell her twice, very slowly, and then she burst into tears. What on earth was going on? I’d never seen Florrie cry before, not even when she dropped a saucepan of boiling soup and scalded her arm so badly it came up in a blister.
‘Don’t take on so,’ I soothed, patting her back. ‘You never know, we might be going to the station tomorrow. It’s not the end of the world. You can always post something on to Alf later, if the worst comes to the worst. We send things out to Tom the whole time.’
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