Twisted Strands (30 page)

Eveleen bit her lip and shook her head. ‘No. He joined up and he’s there for the duration now.’

‘Can’t he just – not go back?’

Now Eveleen was vehement. ‘No. He’d be shot as a deserter.’

Mary gasped. ‘Do they really do that?’

Eveleen nodded. ‘Oh yes.’

Soberly they both watched as the two men walked across the yard and into the field.

‘Today’s been marvellous for him, Mam. For the first time since he came home he’s begun to relax.’

‘Why not stay a few days then? Till he has to go back?’

‘Oh, we can’t. I have to get back. The factory . . .’

Mary cast a wry glance at her daughter. ‘Surely your husband’s welfare comes before the factory,’ she said primly.

‘Well, yes. But Richard agreed to me becoming a director whilst he’s away. I don’t want to fail him.’

‘You’ll be failing him if you drag him back to the city, where he’s obviously not quite so at ease. But if you don’t want to stay,’ there was accusation in her
tone, ‘then let Richard stay with us for a few days. Bridie’s bed is always made up and aired in case she arrives back suddenly.’

Eveleen said, ‘If he wants to, of course he can.’

But when the two men returned to the house and the idea was put to them, Richard shook his head sadly. ‘I would love to have stayed, but I have to report back the day after tomorrow. We
– we sail for France in three days’ time.’

‘So soon?’ Eveleen cried and put her arms about him, steeling herself not to beg him to stay, to desert, as moments ago her mother had suggested.

As the light began to fade, they said goodbye, Sid profuse in his thanks. ‘I wish all my mates could have had what you’ve given me.’

As they were driving home up the hill towards Bernby, Richard glanced up the driveway of Fairfield House. ‘Is he still there?’

Carefully Eveleen said, ‘I believe so.’

‘The place looks neglected.’

‘The whole estate is up for sale. Even the house. It seems Stephen has drunk and gambled away the family fortune,’ Eveleen explained.

‘Oh, so that’s it. I thought he might have joined up.’

Eveleen gave a wry laugh. ‘I don’t think Stephen Dunsmore will go to war willingly.’

His voice was lower now and above the engine noise Eveleen only just caught her husband’s words. ‘Perhaps he’s the sensible one.’

‘Do you know,’ Eveleen was telling her father-in-law three days later, as they walked around the factory together, ‘Sid is so much better. We brought him back
on Sunday evening. It was like a miracle to see the change in him. Even Richard managed to relax a little, although he was only there a few hours.’

‘Yes, Richard did mention it when he came to say goodbye before he left. I expect it was the peace and quiet. They say that on the south coast you can hear the gunfire from France. Imagine
what it must be like to be there.’

Brinsley and Eveleen exchanged a sober look.

‘I suppose,’ she said thoughtfully, ‘that, even though Sid was back home, somehow it’s never completely quiet in the city, is it? Not even at night. Perhaps that’s
why he couldn’t recover here.’

‘Not like in the country,’ Brinsley agreed. He was silent for a moment and then asked, ‘Have you seen the wounded around the city? Those that are so badly injured they’ll
never go back to the war?’

Eveleen nodded and bit her lip to stop it trembling. ‘Yes,’ she said at last. ‘It – it’s frightening, isn’t it?’

‘One of our former employees came to see me yesterday. He’s lost an arm and can’t find work. Of course, he can’t go back to his previous job as a twisthand. Even he knows
that. But I’m trying to find something for him to do. Any suggestions?’

‘There might be something in the warehouse. I’ll see what I can do.’

Brinsley nodded his thanks. ‘Of course, what would do him good is a spell in the countryside.’

They both spoke at once. ‘What we ought to do—’ ‘Couldn’t we—?’

They laughed and then Brinsley continued. ‘What we ought to do is buy a property somewhere in the countryside for the soldiers to go when they’re discharged on medical grounds. A
place to convalesce where they can heal physically and mentally. Perhaps they could even learn new skills that would help them to find employment of some kind. I’m a wealthy man, Eveleen.
I’d like to do something like that. I’d feel I was doing my bit to help with the war.’ He glanced at her and then looked away, adding softly, ‘It – it would help me to
think I was keeping Richard safe.’

Impulsively Eveleen reached out for his hand and held it. ‘Oh, I knew you’d understand. That’s just how I feel about the factory. If I – if we – can keep it going,
if it survives, then so will Richard. I – I thought I was being silly.’

Brinsley shook his head. ‘No, my dear, we’re just clinging on to any kind of belief that will give us hope.’

They smiled at each other and walked on, but now Eveleen had a faraway look in her eyes as a plan began to form in her mind. ‘Would it have to be near Nottingham?’

‘Well, not too far away. It’s our own boys we want to help.’

‘What about Bernby? Is it too far away?’

‘Bernby?’ The older man looked startled. ‘Where – where your mother lives?’ There was an unmistakable look of longing in his face for a brief moment as he asked
gently, ‘How is she? How is Mary?’

Eveleen touched his hand in an understanding gesture. ‘She’s well – and happy.’

Brinsley nodded but seemed as if he could not speak for a moment. Then he cleared his throat, murmured, ‘I’m glad,’ and then turned back to their previous topic of
conversation. ‘Why do you suggest Bernby?’

‘I just might know of a place that would be perfect.’ Eveleen’s heart beat a little faster. Fairfield House, Stephen Dunsmore’s home. She could not prevent the tinge of
vindictive pleasure it would give her to become the owner of that house.

‘Leave it with me,’ she said. ‘I’ll find out if it’s still for sale.’

‘Eveleen, my dear, what a lovely surprise.’ Stephen Dunsmore staggered across the floor of the morning room at Fairfield House. Although it was only eleven in the
morning, he was already obviously drunk.

‘Stephen,’ she said calmly, drawing off her gloves and moving to stand in front of the roaring fire. She held out her hands to its warmth before turning to face him.

He lurched towards her. ‘To what do I owe the pleashure.’ He grinned foolishly, standing in front of her, swaying slightly.

She regarded him steadily. The handsome young man she had once believed she loved with all her heart was now a bloated, dissolute wreck. Stephen had been her first love and he had spurned her,
turned his back on her when she most needed his love and protection. When her father had died, he had been instrumental in having them turned out of their tied farmhouse, Pear Tree Farm. Now her
mother, along with Josh, owned that farm. That had been a small, but sweet, vengeance. Richard had made that possible, but today Eveleen was here to wreak her own revenge in a much bigger way.

She moved to pull the bell rope to summon the butler.

‘Shall we have some tea?’ she said, smiling sweetly at Stephen. He looked startled for a moment, then he grinned.

‘Make yourshelf at home, lovely Eveleen.’

‘Oh, I will,’ she said and sat, uninvited, on the sofa. Stephen dropped down heavily beside her and leant towards her, the fumes of alcohol on his breath wafting into her face.
‘Thish ish very nice.’

She looked at him fully then. The once smooth face was now blotched with ugly red patches. The bright blue eyes were now bloodshot and his hands trembled.

The butler entered and Eveleen glanced coolly at him. ‘Tea and scones, if you please, Tomkins.’

The man glanced at Stephen, who nodded his approval. Eveleen smiled inwardly. The manservant, who had always treated her with disdain, was shortly in for a shock. As, indeed, was the man seated
beside her. Even when the butler had closed the door, Eveleen waited, not wanting to be the first to open the conversation that must begin.

‘I’ll be leaving here soon,’ Stephen said. ‘I’ve had to sell the estate. This blasted war . . . it’s been the ruin of us.’

‘The only thing that’s ruined the Dunsmore estate, Stephen, is you.’

‘Eh?’ Her words penetrated his befuddled state and drove home deeply. He pulled himself away from her, tried to stand, but found he could not. He sagged back against the cushions and
protested weakly, ‘What right have you to say that?’

‘I have every right because it’s the truth. Your grandfather built up this estate virtually from nothing. Incidentally, with a great deal of help from my grandfather, who was granted
the tenancy of Pear Tree Farm. Your father carried on the good work, again,’ she added pointedly, ‘with no little help from my father. It wasn’t until you – the third
generation – were put in charge of running the estate, when your father became involved in politics, that it began to go downhill. You’ve drunk and gambled away your
inheritance.’

‘How dare you?’ He scrambled to his feet and stood over her, his fists clenched. Slowly Eveleen rose too and faced him squarely. ‘Oh, I dare, Stephen. I dare because I am now
the owner of Fairfield House and all the surrounding land. In fact, I own all the Dunsmore estate.’ Then she added scathingly, ‘What’s left of it.’

‘You vindictive bitch!’ Veins bulged in his neck and throbbed at his temple. For a moment, Eveleen thought he might have a seizure. ‘How the hell did you manage
that?’

‘Agents working for me spoke to your father. He was only too glad to sell up, to salvage what was left of the estate before every last penny went across the bar or the gambling tables. I
now own every square of ground, every brick, every stick of furniture.’ In truth, it was Brinsley’s money that had bought it, but he had insisted that the names on the deeds should be
Richard and Eveleen Stokes.

‘When the war’s over, my dear,’ he had said, ‘it will be a wonderful country home for you. A marvellous place to bring up my grandson.’

Eveleen turned away from Stephen and went to stand once more in front of the fire. In clear ringing tones, she said, ‘You will vacate these premises by the end of the week,
Mr
Dunsmore
.’

Eveleen stood in front of the white marble fireplace watching the man who had once treated her so callously, waiting for the surge of triumph, for the sweet satisfaction of revenge.

But it did not come. Instead her victory over him was hollow and shameful. She had used the wealth of her husband’s family to make the purchase. Her outward reason had been to give help
and succour to wounded veteran soldiers, but Eveleen knew that, deep down, her motives had not been completely unselfish, as were her father-in-law’s.

Stephen lurched across the space between them, tripped on the carpet and almost fell against her. Regaining his balance, he stood in front of her and shook his fist in her face.

‘You scheming, heartless bitch,’ he spluttered again.

She faced him, outwardly calm. ‘And weren’t you just as heartless sixteen years ago when you had Jackson throw us out of the only home we had? At least you have a home to go to. I
presume that your parents have a house in London. You’re not exactly out on the streets, are you, Stephen?’

‘I might as well be,’ he mumbled, turning away from her as the truth of his situation began to sink in. ‘I can hardly face my father now I’ve lost the family
estate.’

There was silence between them, whilst he shambled around the room, touching objects, gazing at pictures and portraits of his family. It was a pathetic gesture and if he had hoped to appeal to
Eveleen’s softer side he almost succeeded. The sight of this once-proud, handsome man – a man she had idolized – stripped of all his possessions and reduced almost to poverty
shook her resolve. But then he reeled towards the drinks cabinet, picked up a decanter and splashed liquid into a glass. He drank it in one gulp and poured another, which quickly followed the
first. The spark of sympathy Eveleen had begun to feel died in that moment.

‘I shall enlisht,’ he slurred the words, even though by his bold statement he was trying to salvage a vestige of dignity. Then he pointed a shaking finger at her. ‘You will be
sending me to my death.’

Eveleen trembled inwardly, but she lifted her chin and defended herself stoutly. ‘No, I’m not. I’m buying your house, not sending you to the Front.’

But deep inside the feeling of guilt would not go away.

As a small compensation for her actions, Eveleen kept on all the staff at Fairfield House, even Tomkins, the sour-faced butler, who had always treated her with such contempt.
He was too old to find other employment. Besides, having worked at Fairfield House all his adult life, he would be useful, Eveleen thought. She smiled to herself. It would be punishment enough for
him to think that she, the once scruffy daughter of the estate’s stockman, was now his employer.

‘Life will be very different for you all here,’ she told them as she explained the plans she had for the estate and the house in particular. ‘The land will still be farmed and
Bill Morton will be the estate bailiff. But the house is to become a convalescent home for soldiers.’

They took her news stoically enough, glad still to have employment and she heard later that the estate workers had accepted the changes with the same thankfulness.

At Pear Tree Farm Mary could hardly take in the news. ‘What would your father have thought? To see you as the owner of all this.’ She waved her arm to encompass all the land around
them. Then she glanced ironically at her daughter. ‘And all of it without having to marry Master Stephen.’

Eveleen stood in the middle of the farmyard as she had done so many times in her life. Behind the house, to the east, the fields sloped down to the beck and then rose again on the other side
towards the trees of Bernby Covert lining the hilltop. The place where, as a young, wilful and oh-so-innocent girl, she had run to meet Stephen, flinging herself into his arms, her face upturned to
receive his passionate kisses. But the sweetness of that time had been soured by his selfish, callous attitude.