The Downstairs Maid (26 page)

Lord Barton stared at him for several seconds, and then inclined his head. ‘Had I known this earlier I might have objected but there’s no point in making a song and dance of it now.’

Nicolas looked relieved. ‘Thank you, sir. I’m glad to have your blessing.’

‘Well, we shall all have to do our bit now,’ Lord Barton said. ‘I dare say I may be called on to sit on a few committees. I heard that the government will be looking for houses to use as convalescent homes for the wounded. I do not think this house is quite large enough for their needs. Barton Abbey would have been ideal – but that belongs to your uncle …’

The look in his eyes told his children what he thought of that situation.

‘Does this mean I can go to London with Amy?’ Lizzie asked.

‘No, I do not think so, my dear. Your mother is uneasy enough about Amy going without her – and she will be devastated when she hears Nicolas’s news. Perhaps in a few months’ time if the war continues, though they say it will be over quite soon.’

‘You don’t believe that?’ Nicolas said softly and his father hesitated, and then shook his head.

‘No, I don’t believe it, but we should allow your mother and grandmother to do so, however. There is no purpose in upsetting them more than necessary.’

‘I think we should mingle. People are looking to us for a lead. Perhaps you should say something, Father?’

‘Yes, of course. I must do so at once.’

Lord Barton walked towards a little group of worried looking villagers and estate workers, his children following behind.

‘Goodness knows what this means for the estate,’ Nicolas said. ‘I pity Jonathan. He will have a hell of a time finding decent employees. I dare say he will cope, but I don’t envy him at all …’

Nicolas frowned as he saw the effect the news of war had on everyone at the fete. Of course most people had been expecting it for months, but it was a shock just the same. People looked at each other in fear, wondering what the future would mean, because a lot of men were going to die even if the war was over in a few months.

Nicolas didn’t believe that for one moment. The papers would be filled with jingoistic nonsense but the truth of it was that the Germans were far more prepared than they were. The government had been dragging its feet, as usual, hoping for peace rather than planning for war.

He was glad he’d volunteered before it happened rather than getting caught in the general rush. There would be queues at every recruiting station – hundreds of men eager and willing to sign up, but once they discovered the reality of war they would soon wish themselves back in their dull little lives at home.

Nicolas shuddered, and then glanced at Emily as she carted a pile of dirty dishes back to the kitchens. She worked like a trooper, because she’d been on her feet long before the family was up. He felt a pang of regret. Emily was lovely. He thought about the moment when their heads had clashed and he’d wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her. She’d taken all the blame herself, laughing and apologising for her stupidity, when it was just as much his.

Of course there could never be anything between them. Nicolas knew that the divide was too great. His father would disown him if he attempted to bring a girl of her class into the family, and Emily was too nice, too decent a girl for anything less than marriage. He’d always liked her, from the first time he’d seen her looking at him so proudly in the fields – and then at the dance when Amy had been so mean about her clothes. All Nicolas had noticed was that she was lovely, until his sister had pointed out the faults with her clothes and her boots. At least she had her white satin slippers now. He wondered if she’d been pleased with them; he hoped so. He would have liked to give her much more … but of course that wasn’t possible. It would never be possible and he should put her right out of his mind.

His entire family would be scandalised if he dared to think of courting a servant! Even if to him she was the most beautiful girl in the world.

‘Well, there it is then,’ Mrs Hattersley said when Tomas brought the news to the kitchen. ‘I sensed it was coming but that doesn’t make things any easier.’

Lord Barton had made the announcement of war just as the fete was drawing to its close. Emily had been in the kitchen washing up, but she and Mrs Hattersley were enjoying a well-earned cup of tea when the footman entered, looking worried. As soon as he told them the news, she understood his anxiety.

‘Are you going to join up, Tomas?’ Emily asked.

‘Not unless they force me,’ the footman replied. ‘I don’t see why I should rush to volunteer.’

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Mrs Hattersley said. ‘Where would we be if all the men in the house rushed off to join the army?’

‘My brother and two of my cousins are going. That’s enough for any family,’ Tomas said. ‘I’m not a coward, Emily, so don’t think it, but I can’t see the point of rushing to throw my life away.’

‘You can help Emily bring the plates back from the refreshment tent, and leftovers, if there are any,’ Mrs Hattersley said. ‘I don’t know about dinner tonight. I’m all of a flutter. I think it will have to be something simple.’

‘They shouldn’t expect any more,’ Tomas said. ‘You’ve both been run off your feet all day.’

‘I could do with a rest,’ Emily said, ‘but I suppose we’d better make a start. Bring those trays, Tomas. We might borrow one of the gardener’s trolleys and bring back a load instead of carting one at a time.’

‘You’ll do no such thing,’ Mrs Hattersley said. ‘I don’t want more of the china broken thank you. Mary dropped a tray when she was bringing back a pile of empty plates.’

Emily could understand Mary dropping a tray, because they’d all been on the go since five that morning. She was tired herself but Mrs Hattersley didn’t seem to think she needed a rest.

Tomas looked at her a couple of times as they walked to the refreshment tent. Most of the stalls had been taken down but the trestle tables set up inside the marquee were still loaded with dirty crockery.

‘Cat got your tongue, Emily?’

‘I’m just tired …’ She glanced at a man coming out of the tent. ‘Oh no …’

‘What’s wrong?’

‘I know that man. Don’t leave me, Tomas. If he tries to come near me, don’t let him. Please. It’s very important that he shouldn’t get me alone.’

Tomas’s gaze narrowed. ‘Who is he? Has he harmed you? If he tries anything today, I’ll knock his head off.’

‘I thought he’d left the district.’

‘He’ll be leaving quick enough if he upsets you.’

‘Thank you.’ She shot him a grateful smile just as her uncle saw her and began to walk in their direction.

‘Emily,’ Derek said as he came up to them. ‘Your mother told me I should find you here.’

‘Please stand aside and let me get on with my work.’

‘It’s important, Emily. They’ve carted Joe off to the infirmary and your mother wants you to go to him as soon as you can.’

She stared at him, her heart thudding against her chest. ‘How do I know you’re telling me the truth?’

‘I wouldn’t lie to you about something like this.’ Derek’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’ve got a truck I borrowed from your pa’s neighbour, to take you, but if you don’t want a lift find your own way there.’

‘I’d rather go alone.’

‘Suit yourself.’

Her heart caught as he turned and walked off. She turned to Tomas and fear was in her eyes. ‘I need to get to the infirmary but I can’t trust him. How can I get to Ely quickly?’

‘I’ll ask Mr Nicolas if I can take you in the Daimler. I drive it to the garage for repairs sometimes.’ Tomas sprinted off while Emily watched her uncle’s retreating back and agonised over whether she’d done the right thing. As she tried to fight down her panic, she saw Mr Nicolas turn his head and then start walking towards her. Instinctively, she went to meet him.

‘Come with me, Emily. I’ll take you in to Ely myself. Are you all right like that or do you need to change?’

‘I should like to go at once, sir.’

‘Tomas will explain to Mrs Hattersley so you will not be in trouble.’

She hurried to keep up with his long strides. In her distress for her father she had forgotten to be shy or to worry about keeping to her place.

‘My father has not been well for a while. The doctor said he ought to be at the sea, because the air is better, but he wouldn’t listen. He didn’t want to take so much time off work.’

‘Better a few months at a clinic than eternity in a box. Now he’s had this setback he may listen to his doctor.’

Emily dug her nails into the palms of her hands. She could feel a scream building inside her head but she fought it down.

Her father couldn’t die. He mustn’t die, because she couldn’t bear it if he did. The tears were close but she refused to let them fall. Her father was ill but he was strong. He would fight for his life and then he’d go to the sea and get better.

‘I am sorry, Miss Carter. We sent your uncle for you immediately but that was some hours ago. Your father had an attack of coughing and his heart failed him. No one had realised that his heart was weak. His doctor told us he was in the first stages of consumption but any signs of heart trouble had been missed.’

‘Damned incompetence,’ Nicolas muttered. ‘This is supposed to be a hospital. Surely you could have done something once you had him here?’

‘I’m afraid it was too late by the time we realised he was in difficulty.’

‘Is my mother here?’ Emily asked. She was too stunned to think clearly or to blame anyone for her father’s death, even though her companion obviously thought the infirmary was to blame. The smell of disinfectant and carbolic was stinging her nostrils and the dark cream and bottle green paint on the walls was depressing. It was a horrible place and she hated to think of her father lying here in one of the narrow beds with bars up the sides. He’d been too young – this place was for the old and the infirm, people who had nowhere else to go. ‘Was she with him when he died?’

‘Mrs Carter was waiting in the corridor. She had a small child with her and we couldn’t allow her into the ward.’

‘My father died alone?’ Emily stared at the doctor in horror. Giving a cry of despair, she turned instinctively to her companion who responded to her need by putting his arms about her. Her father had been all alone in his last hours. The thought was unbearable, tearing her apart as she pictured him lying there in pain with no one to comfort him.

She should have been with him. She’d been having fun at the fete and her father was lying in a hospital bed dying. The pain intensified to such a degree that she thought she would die of it. Pa alone and frightened …

Nicolas stroked her hair as she wept against his shoulder. ‘He couldn’t have known much about it, Emily. I should imagine he was unconscious – is that not so, doctor?’

‘Yes … of course, Mr Barton. He was already unconscious when he arrived. He couldn’t have known or suffered after the first few minutes or so.’

‘It’s all right to cry, Emily,’ Nicolas said and she felt the touch of his lips on the top of her head. He smelled of fresh, light cologne, leather and wood, and the clean scent of his linen. His arms felt strong as they supported her, his body warm and comforting. ‘Would you like to see him? That would be all right, wouldn’t it, doctor?’

‘Yes, of course, sir.’

Emily looked up at the man holding her. His sensitive face was concerned for her, caring. The expression in his eyes made her dare to ask, ‘Would you come with me please?’

‘I should not dream of leaving you.’

She hesitated, then nodded and drew back. ‘Yes, I would like to say goodbye. It was just the thought of him lying alone, thinking no one cared.’

‘I’m sure he wouldn’t have thought it even if he’d known what was happening. I imagine he knew you loved him.’

‘He loved me. I’m not sure if he knew how much I loved him.’ She looked at the doctor. ‘Has my mother been to see him since it happened?’

‘She left as soon as we told her the news. Apparently, the child needed changing and she wished to catch the bus to get home.’

Emily flinched, feeling as if she’d been struck. How could her mother just leave her husband lying there and go home without even saying goodbye? Ma had never truly loved him, but surely she cared enough to say goodbye? A wave of hopeless despair swept through Emily. If only she’d been at home with him, perhaps she might have seen how ill he was – she might have got him here in time?

But it was all useless now. He was dead.

‘I should like to see him now please.’

Nicolas held out his hand to her and she took it. His strong fingers clasping hers tightly gave her courage.

‘Death is only moving on to another place,’ he said. ‘If you believe in God you will believe in the resurrection.’

‘Do you believe?’

‘Most of the time,’ he said and smiled wryly. ‘It isn’t always easy but I manage it most of the time.’

‘Then I shall try,’ she said. ‘It’s the least I can do for him.’

Nicolas nodded to her and her head lifted, pride giving her the strength to face the worst moment of her life.

Emily’s eyes felt gritty from crying. She sat on the edge of her bed and looked round her room at the manor. She’d made it her own, bringing things from her bedroom at home, all the little pieces that her father had given her over the years – stuff that she’d thought of as junk. It wasn’t junk to her any more, but precious, more valuable to her than the Sevres porcelain dishes that lived in the cabinets downstairs in the manor and only came out on special occasions.

Getting up, she walked over to the little chest of drawers on which her treasures were displayed. There was a cut-glass bowl with a silver top. Only one of a set and therefore not saleable, her father had told her. He’d given her the little Derby figurine too, because it had been repaired on one hand. There was an opaque glass vase with a tiny chip at the lip; it would have been valuable had it been perfect – and a set of silver brushes for her hair, slightly dented but nothing Christopher couldn’t have sorted out. Pa had given her them as a birthday gift. At the time she wished he’d bought her a new pair of shoes, but the shoes would’ve been worn out by now and the silver brushes would last for ever.