Grace's Story

by Jennie Walters

  ‘Oh, that doesn’t matter,’ she snapped, shaking off my arm. ‘Shopping was only an excuse.’

  ‘An excuse for what?’ I stared at her, wondering what on earth she could mean.

  Florrie looked back at me, her eyes welling up again, and then out it came: the secret she must have been hugging to herself for weeks. ‘Alf will be waiting for me at the church. We’re meant to be getting married at ten o’clock! Now he’ll think I’ve changed my mind.’

  She clutched my hands between hers. ‘Please, Grace, you have to help me get there somehow!’

  Ten

  It is rather a difficult time to get through, this period we have now entered, which a writer in one of the papers spoke of as being between ‘the end of the beginning and the beginning of the end’ of the war.

  From The Lady, 11 February 1915

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me sooner, Florrie?’ I asked, passing her my clean handkerchief. ‘Why keep it such a big secret?’

  ‘Because I can’t risk Mrs Jeakes or anyone else finding out.’ She blew her nose. ‘I need to carry on working here while Alf’s away. What am I going to do otherwise? Sit at home worrying and waiting for a telegram? I wanted to talk to you so many times, but Alf made me promise not to tell a soul. He’s convinced his mother’s going to hear of it. That’s why we’re going all the way to St Stephen’s at Hardingbridge. It was going to be just the two of us - and the vicar, of course. Alf’s arranged it all. What if he thinks I don’t want to marry him any more?’

  I put an arm around her shoulders and wondered what to do. Father was off with Moonlight and the gig; Bella and Daffodil were out in the field and I could never catch either of them in time to harness up to the dog-cart. Anyway, Bella wasn’t used to pulling a carriage and Daffodil was far too slow; it would take us hours to reach the town, if we managed to get there at all. There was only one possibility. It was such a dangerous, wild idea that I even succeeded in shocking myself, and dismissed it immediately. But then I thought about what a good friend Florrie had been to me, and how awful it would be if Alf got killed thinking she didn’t want to marry him, and decided anything was worth a try.

  ‘Dry your eyes,’ I said, helping Florrie up. ‘You’re going to St Stephen’s in style!’

  My father had two different sets of livery. Top hat and tailcoat for driving a carriage; peaked cap, dark coat, rubber mackintosh (if it was wet) and goggles for taking out the Rolls-Royce. He kept the key to the motor-car in the inside pocket of this coat, which hung on a peg in the harness-room. ‘Sorry, Da,’ I told him silently, rifling guiltily through the pocket to find it, ‘but this is an emergency.’ With a bit of luck, he’d never find out. I slipped the mackintosh over my riding breeches and woollen jersey, tucked up my hair under the peaked cap and unhooked the goggles. We were set!

  Could I really do this, though? Drive all that way without killing the pair of us or running the motor-car into a ditch, like Mr Gallagher?

  Florrie didn’t seem to have any doubts. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, giving me a quick hug. ‘No one’ll recognise you in that get-up. I won’t forget this, Gracie. Now let’s be on our way before somebody spots us!’

  She must have been desperate even to think of stowing away in the Rolls-Royce - Florrie, this was, who’d never put a foot out of line in all the time I’d known her. She flung the barn doors wide, her face pale and her jaw set, and waited while I steered the ambulance through. (Luckily, Da had got into the habit of reversing it into place at night so he could drive straight out the next day.) Then she bolted the doors behind us, climbed in and hunkered down below the passenger seat in the place where people usually put their feet.

  ‘Throw the rug over me,’ she hissed. ‘It’ll look like your father’s going to the station on his own as usual.’

  You would never have known she was there. We’d have got away all right, for sure, if only someone hadn’t been lurking in the stable yard, watching our every move. A certain someone who was waiting to step out and catch us red-handed. Mrs Jeakes was that certain someone. If we hadn’t been going so slowly, I’d have knocked her over; as it was, I only just managed to stop in time.

  ‘Now I’ve got you!’ she cried, snatching away the rug to reveal Florrie’s horrified face. ‘I thought you were up to something, young lady. You’ve been a bag of nerves all morning. And what a surprise - here’s Miss Stanbury, your partner in crime. I know it’s you under those goggles, so you might as well take them off and tell me what you’re up to. Going to meet a couple of young men, I suppose. The very idea, with Alf about to leave for the Front! And just wait till your father hears about this, Grace. Stealing Lord Vye’s motor-car to go gallivanting! Well, I wouldn’t have you back in the kitchen for love nor money, and I told your mother so the other day.’

  ‘Please, Mrs Jeakes,’ I interrupted when she paused to draw breath, ‘it’s not like that at all. Honestly.’

  ‘Then what is it like?’ she asked us, glaring at us both. Florrie had climbed out of the footwell and was slumped in the passenger seat, hardly daring to look at her. Coming face to face with the cook seemed to have drained her last drop of bravado. She glanced in my direction, begging me with her eyes not to give away the secret. I opened my mouth to speak, and then shut it again.

  ‘I thought as much.’ Without another word, Mrs Jeakes opened the passenger door for Florrie to step down.

  ‘It’s Alf we’re going to meet, at the church in Hardingbridge,’ I burst out, unable to hold my tongue a second longer. ‘He and Florrie are meant to be getting married in an hour! My father took the gig so this was the only way we could think of getting there.’ This plan was Florrie’s last chance. Surely it was better to throw ourselves on Mrs Jeakes’ mercy than admit defeat at the first fence?

  ‘Oh, my good Lord,’ she said faintly. ‘Is this true, Florrie?’

  Florrie nodded her head.

  ‘Why didn’t you say so before, you silly girl?’

  ‘Because I thought you wouldn’t let me go,’ Florrie muttered. ‘And I wanted to carry on working in the kitchens just the same afterwards, even if I was married.’

  ‘Do you think I’m in a hurry to lose the best kitchenmaid I ever had?’ Mrs Jeakes slammed the motor-car door shut. ‘Now off you go, and look sharp about it. That young man has kept you waiting long enough - the pair of you should have been walking down the aisle months ago.’

  ‘Alf’s mother thinks he’s too young to take a wife,’ Florrie said. ‘When he mentioned the idea, she had hysterics. We’ll tell her when the war’s over and she’s not so worked up.’

  I switched on the engine and revved the accelerator as a gentle reminder that perhaps we should be on our way. There wasn’t a second to spare.

  ‘Wait.’ Florrie laid a hand on my arm. Heavens, now what was it? She turned to Mrs Jeakes. ‘Won’t you come to the church with us? You’re the nearest thing to a mother I’ve got. I should like it very much if you could give me away.’

  I’d never seen Mrs Jeakes lost for words before. She stood there, opening and closing her mouth like a fish, before eventually stammering, ‘You’ll have to let me fetch a hat.’

  ‘There’s no time for that,’ I said, trying to keep calm.

  ‘I’m sure the vicar won’t mind,’ Florrie said, moving up so there was room on the seat beside her.

  Mrs Jeakes was still hesitating. Oh, when were ever going to leave? I couldn’t stand much more of this shilly shallying about. ‘I’ve never ridden in one of these things before,’ she said, finally clambering up on to the running board. ‘Grace, are you any better at driving than you are at cooking?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ I replied, putting on the goggles and sounding more confident than I felt.

  The engine stalled as it grated into first gear and Mrs Jeakes gave me one of her looks which I did my best to ignore. Inching past the front of the house was terrifying, but I reminded myself that no one could possibly recognise me in the cap and goggles, and felt braver.

>   ‘Can’t we go a little faster?’ Florrie pleaded, once we were on our way down the drive. Unfortunately my foot went down too hard on the accelerator so that the motor-car leapt forward in a great lurch, scattering a group of nurses walking up from the dower house. Florrie screamed blue murder and I saw Mrs Jeakes crossing herself out of the corner of my eye.

  That was the moment I realised how horrible driving really was. Manoeuvring the ambulance around the yard was one thing; taking to the open road, quite another. I gripped the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turned white and sat hunched up over it, trying to remember to look in the mirror now and then, change into the right gear and remember which pedal was which.

  Once we were through the Swallowcliffe gates, I felt happier that no one would recognise me, but twice as nervous to be out on the public highway. At least there weren’t many other carriages or motor-cars about, that was one blessing. If it hadn’t been for that old man on a bicycle, everything would have been fine - and I still think it was only Florrie screaming and grabbing my arm as we were about to overtake that sent us swerving past so close. We didn’t touch him, I’d swear it, but the bike wobbled and the old fellow flew over its handlebars into a ditch. We were within a hair’s breadth of finishing up there, too; the motor-car’s wheels were bouncing over tussocks of grass along the bumpy verge and I had to haul on the steering wheel as hard as ever I could to stay on the road.

  ‘Is he all right?’ I yelled, not daring to turn around.

  ‘I think he’s moving,’ Florrie reported, looking back. ‘Yes, he’s alive! He’s shaking his fist and shouting.’

  ‘Oh, let me out!’ Mrs Jeakes had her hands over her eyes. ‘I can’t do this, Florrie, not even for you.’

  ‘We’ll be fine,’ I called, my heart thumping like billy-oh. What if I’d killed him? ‘Just leave the driving to me. I’m getting the hang of it now.’

  It was too late to turn back - but once Florrie was delivered and we were safe home (if we made it that far), I was never going to touch the motor again so long as I lived. Give me a horse and carriage any day of the week.

  Brides are supposed to be late, and I got Florrie to the church only fifteen minutes after she was meant to have been there. Alf was already at the gate, looking out for her – very smart in his khaki uniform. You can imagine his face when the ambulance drew up and there were Mrs Jeakes and Florrie, sitting inside it. He opened the door and they spilled out.

  ‘All right, love?’ I heard him ask, lifting down his bride-to-be. ‘You’re white as a sheet!’

  We all needed a minute to catch our breath. Mrs Jeakes wiped her face with a handkerchief, muttering something I didn’t catch, but she perked up once Alf had given her a nip of brandy from his hip flask. ‘I was beginning to think you weren’t coming,’ he said to Florrie.

  ‘We had a problem with the transport,’ she said, ‘as you can probably tell.’

  ‘Just give me that flask, Alf,’ Mrs Jeakes said. ‘It’ll take the rest of the bottle before I set foot in a motor-car again.’ Tidying her hair, she untied her apron, rolled it up and thrust it at me. ‘Now, isn’t somebody meant to be getting married?’

  ‘Come in with us?’ Florrie asked me as an afterthought, but I wouldn’t have felt right dressed in riding breeches and a mackintosh, and asked to be excused. I leaned against the Rolls and watched the three of them walk up the path to the church door, arm in arm. Tears came to my eyes, and I couldn’t tell whether they were happy or sad. Then again, people always cry at weddings, don’t they? That’s another tradition. Even secret, last-minute weddings in the middle of wartime.

  It didn’t seem very long at all before the door opened again, and Florrie was walking through it as a married woman. I ran up to offer my congratulations and admire the ring, and then hurry Mrs Jeakes away because the sooner we set off, the sooner this nightmare would be over. Quite apart from the dreadful business of driving, I was terrified of my father coming back to the stables before us to find the Rolls-Royce gone.

  ‘See you on Monday.’ Florrie hugged us both, her eyes all shining and teary. ‘Just think, I’m Mrs Fortescue now! Mrs Florence Fortescue. Doesn’t that sound swanky? Oh, Grace, thank you for everything. I’m sorry about those things I said in the motor-car.’

  ‘You get us home in one piece, that’s all I ask,’ Mrs Jeakes ordered, settling the travelling rug over her knees.

  We set off. My legs were shaking at first but I kept telling myself to keep calm and, little by little, handling the motor-car did seem to become slightly easier. Once we were out of Hardingbridge, I noticed that Mrs Jeakes had opened her eyes and she only screamed once, at the sight of a herd of cows unexpectedly around the corner. I managed to put on the brake without stalling and we waited while they lumbered across the road from one field to another. Now that the engine was idling along, we could hear ourselves think.

  ‘You were right, you know,’ Mrs Jeakes said suddenly. ‘You don’t have the patience to work in a kitchen. I could never have turned you into another Florrie, no matter how hard I tried. You probably are better off in the stables than anywhere else.’

  ‘I wish my mother understood,’ I said, watching the lovely brown Jerseys amble past. ‘She wants my life to be just the same as hers, but what’s right for her is never going to suit me. We’re chalk and cheese.’

  Mrs Jeakes laughed. ‘Oh no, you’re not. Two peas in a pod, is more like it. And there’s no need to give me that look. I first met your ma when she was younger than you are now, so I should know. She might have looked like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, but the tricks she used to play! Sneaking out to meet your father at all hours, for one thing.’

  ‘What, my mother? Are you sure?’ Well, she certainly had no business calling me a hussy!

  ‘Who do you think used to let her back in again? She wasn’t so sensible then, you know. She’d jump into trouble feet first and only stop to think about it afterwards, just like you. Did she ever tell you about the time Miss Harriet - Mrs Hathaway, I mean - wasn’t allowed to go to the fair, so your ma dressed her up in some old clothes and they ran off together?’ Mrs Jeakes folded her hands in her lap and smiled infuriatingly. ‘But I’d better not give away too many secrets.’

  We sat quietly for a while before she went on, more seriously, ‘I know why your mother wants you to follow in her shoes. You young ones don’t understand how we feel about the Hall. We’ve spent our lives here - good lives they’ve been, too - and we want to see the old traditions kept going. There have been Vyes at Swallowcliffe for hundreds of years. Families like theirs make this country what it is and you’re a lucky girl to work for them, so don’t you ever forget it.’

  I decided not to take her up on that. Mrs Jeakes might be showing her softer side but I wasn’t going to argue when she took on that tone of voice, and held my tongue as we carried on our way back to the Hall. When at last we reached the gates, she decided to walk up the drive instead of risk being caught in the motor-car with me - which wasn’t very loyal, but I suppose her milk of human kindness had run out.

  Mrs Jeakes must have had second sight. There was no sign of my father anywhere but Mrs Hathaway and Colonel Vye were waiting for me outside the barn, their faces like thunder. My heart sank to the very bottom of my boots. I drew the motor-car to a halt, switched off the engine and climbed down to face the music.

  ‘I need taking to the station at Hardingbridge, Stanbury,’ the Colonel rapped out. ‘To catch the London train, so don’t hang about, there’s a good chap.’

  For a second, I wondered whether to try passing myself off as my father. The Colonel was bound to recognise me sooner or later, though (especially if we had to talk) and it was probably better to come clean in front of Mrs Hathaway, who might speak up in my defence.

  ‘Grace?’ She stared in surprise as I took off the cap and goggles. ‘I didn’t know you could drive the ambulance.’

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ the Colonel exploded. ‘Where’s your fathe
r? I have to get to the station in time for the next train.’

  ‘I think he’s still out with the Dowager Lady Vye, sir.’

  ‘Can you take me, then?’ he demanded, bristling with impatience. ‘Seeing as you seem to have commandeered this vehicle for your own use.’

  I hesitated. ‘The trouble is, sir, it’s all right for me to drive about the estate but I shouldn’t really go out on the public road, not being seventeen yet. If anyone should stop us -’

  ‘This is an emergency, as I shall explain.’ He wrenched open the passenger door before I could reach it and jumped in. ‘If you can handle this motor-car, you can take me to the station. Come on, now, at the double!’

  There was nothing else for it; I had to grit my teeth and set off on that dreadful journey all over again. I’d had some more practice by now, but Colonel Vye was a lot more impatient than my previous passengers and that made me even more nervous. (We passed Mrs Jeakes, trudging up the drive as we made our way down it; you can imagine her face when she saw us sailing past.) I knew the Colonel wanted me to hurry, but I wouldn’t go any faster than twenty miles an hour; if we were stopped for breaking the speed limit, he’d certainly miss his train. Why did he need to get to London in such a hurry, though, when the Vyes were due back in a couple of hours? It must have been some urgent matter to do with the war.

  At last we arrived at Hardingbridge station and Colonel Vye shot out of the motor like a bullet from a gun, pausing only to snatch up a copy of the latest newspaper and throw down a coin on the paper boy’s stand. I’d have driven off straight away, except that a word the boy was shouting caught my attention. He was saying something about the Lusitania - a name I had only heard a few days before, when my father had told me this was the passenger ship bringing Lord and Lady Vye home from America.

  Now it was my turn to leap out of the Rolls.

  ‘’Ere, you can’t read it for free!’ the lad protested indignantly as I snatched a newspaper out of his hand and stared in disbelief at the front page. The world spun around me; all I could hold on to were these two dreadful words: