Easterleigh Hall at War (26 page)

Evie was hurrying upstairs to find Richard even before Mrs Moore called to her to do so. She saw Lord and Lady Brampton heading down the stairs, making for the main doors. She stood in their way, her arms spread wide. ‘I am acting commandant and you will not take food from these patients,' she said quietly. ‘You will not, do you hear me?'

Lord Brampton pushed past her, his wife too, clutching her skirts to her as though the very presence of a cook would contaminate her. They hurried through the doors and down the steps where Margaret's parents waited to say farewell, their Rolls-Royce at the ready. Evie flew past them, and across to the marquee. ‘Richard,' she shouted, her voice so high that he swung round mid-sentence. Mr Harvey turned too, breaking off from instructing the young pitmen who were lining up the chairs around the edge. This was where they would triage the injured from the Somme when they arrived, today, tomorrow or next week.

Richard limped to Evie as she explained, and she and Mr Harvey followed as he hurried past the departing Rolls-Royce, nodding to Margaret's parents as he did so, and then on, into the old stable yard, hot on the heels of his parents-in-law who were heading towards their car. The engine of the Bramptons' Rolls-Royce was running in the garage yard, the chauffeur was behind the wheel, and the blacksmith, and Evie's da, Bob Forbes, stood in front of the car, preventing him from driving forward. Mrs Moore rushed up the steps, pointing to the boot of the car. ‘Captain, they've taken hamper after hamper of food that we need for the patients, though Evie told them not to. I asked Bob to block the car.'

Lady Brampton was climbing into the back seat while Lord Brampton was trying to push aside the blacksmith, who was in his Sunday best, hiding the muscles which usually terrified any potential opposition.

Richard held up his hand, and the blacksmith stepped back. Richard took his place. ‘Please, Brampton, this is no way to behave. I will ask you to agree that we may remove the hampers from your car. It is unacceptable that you should deprive those in need.'

Lady Veronica was running up the kitchen steps, her hair escaping from her bun. ‘Father, we need every bit of food. We have convoys of wounded that could arrive at any minute over the next few days. How can you? And Stepmama, what are you thinking? You have your reputations to consider.'

Evie was already heading towards the boot. She turned the handle, opened it, and started to drag out a hamper which was so heavy it could have fed an army. Veronica helped. They dropped it to the ground, and took another. Lord Brampton pushed at Richard, whose balance was much improved. With Bob Forbes' help, and the blacksmith's, he stood his ground.

Brampton shouted, ‘This is my house. I insist on taking what is mine.'

Richard shook his head. ‘It is not yours for the duration of the war, or have you forgotten that you have passed the running of it all to me, and your daughter? We need this food for our people, and now I suggest that you remember who you are and leave with as much dignity as you can muster, yet again. This is becoming too much of a habit.'

The blacksmith was helping to empty the car now. He carried a hamper on either shoulder down the steps and into the kitchen. Evie followed with another, and Lady Veronica yet another. The blacksmith returned for more.

Millie had disappeared. Evie went in search of her, dragging her from the laundry and into Richard's office in which Ron was doing paperwork. He looked up, registered the look on Evie's face and left, closing the door quietly. Evie held Millie by the shoulders. ‘If you ever forge my signature again, I will have you dismissed. You will repay the money you received for the greengage jam you stole in May. You will replace whatever you have put into your pockets when helping the chauffeur. I will check that you do. Now get out of here and watch your step. It is only because you are Jack's wife and Tim's mother that I am saying nothing.'

Millie pushed out her chin, opening her mouth, her eyes filling with tears, which Evie ignored. Crying was just another of Millie's ploys.

Ron knocked on the door. ‘The convoys have arrived, Evie, so all hands to the pump. We need to finish clearing the marquee.'

Evie thrust Millie in front of her, out through the door and almost into the arms of Mrs Moore and Mrs Green, who grabbed her and marched her to the cool pantry. Evie heard them shouting at her, accusing her of taking the jam. She heard Millie's reply. ‘You'll all be sorry, you mark my words. You're just horrid to me, you always have been and Evie said you'd never know. She's a liar.'

Evie hurried through the kitchen and up the steps, running through the stable yard but slowing to a walk once she was crossing the drive. To run spread panic.

The stretchers were being offloaded as she slipped into the marquee. One man was walking around in circles, with that strange shell-shocked shake and staring eyes. Stan led him away, to the quiet ward in one of the estate cottages. Triage would be waiting for him there. In the marquee, magically it seemed, the floor was clear, and the pitmen had finished lining up the chairs around the room. The triage team were waiting in a bunch at the entrance. She thought of her men, and thanked God they were out of it for now, though as Grace had written, they'd be thinking of escape every day. Evie wished with all her heart that they wouldn't. There was the hoot of a horn, the crunch of gravel, and the Rolls swept through the bustle taking Brampton and his wife away, thank God.

Ver stood on the front steps holding Richard's hand, gripping it very hard. ‘What will he do with our home when the war is over, darling?'

She and Richard watched the Rolls until it disappeared out of the drive. He said, ‘We'll have to wait and see. We just can't even think of it, Ver. We simply can't, there's too much to do now.'

Ver looked at the cedar tree. It was still strong, calm and a haven for the smokers. She smiled. All would be well. Indeed, all must be well, because she and Evie were responsible for everyone. She said, ‘I wish we'd let them have their wretched hampers now.'

Richard put his arm round her shoulders. ‘It's done now and the new patients will be fed well, as our beloved tyrants Evie and Mrs Moore insist. They would not have been, had your father had his way, because he would have been back for more, and Evie knew that. One problem at a time, Ver, don't you think? It's the only way.'

They watched as yet more ambulances arrived. There was work to do. Tomorrow must take care of itself, but Ver saw the worry on her husband's face, and knew it was reflected on her own. ‘Smile,' she insisted, ‘it's what we must do, and thank God for Evie.'

JACK USED HIS
elbows to wriggle along the eighteen-inch wide, twelve-inch high tunnel, pushing the enamel spoil bowl before him as silently as possible. The candle was stuck to the bottom of another bowl with its own wax and the flame flickered with every movement, but at least it was still flickering, he thought. He was slithering over rock, jagged from their narrow chisel marks created from stolen cutlery. He clutched the freshly sharpened knife and spoon that the tunnel committee had ‘released' from the guards' kitchen store. They were wrapped in cloth so filthy it was as hard as board, but it prevented telltale clinking.

It had been easier working in clay but now they were through that and it could be back to rock, chipping away with sharpened cutlery, using the cloth to muffle the sound. They'd padded the communal mining clothes he'd changed into at the mouth of the tunnel, but nevertheless he and the other five tunnellers had open sores on their elbows and knees.

Jesus. He caught his elbow on the edge of the rock they'd failed to smooth properly in the left wall last week, and it tore through the padding. Well, it bloody would, wouldn't it? It took more than half an hour to get to the face now that the tunnel extended to 70 yards. The poor air gave the tunnellers only half an hour once they reached it, and then they had to slowly ease backwards to the mouth, but it was a damn sight better than it would have been. The air pump he, Dave and Mart had devised had wiped the smile off the supercilious bastard who had refused to let them fitten up when they had first arrived. Prancing into Aub's room, he had told him to get his orderlies back to making beds. Major Dobbs was his name, and he wasn't coming anyway.

Jack grinned now, hauling himself onwards as the tunnel sloped upwards, remembering Aub's roar as he backed that overfed major into a corner while Jack had sat, hungry and ill, not yet used to his new surroundings. Aub had threatened all sorts of things, making Dobbs drop his bloody book he carried everywhere. He'd blustered and carried on and then Captain Frost and Smythe had entered, and between them they'd lifted the daft bugger out in the passageway and just dropped him.

They'd heard no more.

It had taken a good four weeks to get him, Charlie, Dave, Si and Mart up to full strength, using the escaping officers' food parcels. The fact that the guards who doled out the goods from the parcels insisted on opening the tins and mixing the contents together on the pretext of searching for hidden escape tools was neither here nor there. He'd become quite used to custard and tinned ham, all chopped up together.

The guards had even done it to the parcels from Easterleigh Hall which had started arriving the moment Evie knew they were safe. Jack forbade them to write that news to Evie or she would come out here and sort 'em out. ‘We must tell her immediately, then,' Auberon had spluttered, eating with them, as he so often did, along with Smythe and Frost.

Jack took even greater care now, only about five feet from the surface. The officers on the tunnelling rota a month ago had reported that they hadn't been able to hack through the stone that had blocked their passage. Jack had checked and agreed they should go over the top and boarded the roof tightly. He was on the downward slope now, back to the depth of eight feet or so, where any noise he made would be less audible. The candle was still flickering, so all was well, but the headache was beginning. Mart would be pumping the bellows, taking turns with Dave. Charlie and Simon were on shift tomorrow, but helping Roger today with the work the ‘orderlies' had been recruited for.

Jack inched forward, the sweat falling into his mouth. He thought of the cans they'd collected while they built up their strength, pinching the empty biscuit tins from rooms, much as they ‘borrowed' the bed boards from everyone without asking. Secrecy was everything. Only those escaping must know of the tunnel.

He'd shown the toffs how to create an air pipe by linking the cans together and feeding the result with air from the bellows they made from a ‘borrowed' leather jacket and a few bits of wood. The pilot had never got to the bottom of his loss, and the toff tunnellers had accepted them from that moment on.

It didn't stop the headaches at the face, because you couldn't create a silk purse out of a sow's ear, or good air out of bad, but you could make it possible to continue the tunnel into the rye field. Colonel Mathers had agreed that this was the right place to come to the surface. At that thought Jack increased his pace; within weeks the rye would be the right height to hide their exit, but by Colonel Mathers' reckoning harvesting would begin within a month. It would be tight, as they only had three hours available in the day and approximately two yards to go. Appel finished at 11 a.m. after which they dispersed, changed their clothes and tunnelling could start. The Germans stopped for lunch from midday to about three o'clock, and the second appel was at four. Jack squinted at his tools. They'd laugh at Auld Maud to see these two little beauties, but with patience, it was surprising what could be achieved.

Finally he reached the face. They'd broken through into clay two days ago, on his shift, so progress was quicker but he had to prop and board tomorrow. What if the roof came down now? What if they hit rock? So near and yet so far? Had Aub had any luck ‘releasing' any more bed boards?

He filled the spoil bowl, raising his body, easing it under him, wincing as the edge caught at his hip bone, pushing it free of his body, tugging on the rope for Dave to pull it back. There was barely room for the men to reach the bloody tunnel mouth because of the bags of spoil, which were stacked in the cellar. An officer had discovered the disused entrance right at the back under the stage of the concert hall when he'd chased a rat in there, trying to beat it with a broom.

They'd hidden the entrance by ‘borrowing' a saw from the civilian carpenter who came on a regular basis to maintain the old army barracks. Lieutenant Brothers had cut out several of the wooden boards that lined the back of the space beneath the stage, removed the nails but kept the heads in place so they looked untouched. He'd then replaced the boards, using two bolts on the inside to secure everything in place. Bloody clever, some of these bosses.

They'd be going out during a show, and rehearsals were under way, covering the noise and movements they made. Simon was in it, but an understudy was taking his role on the night so he could come too. Fifteen men would be going, and the tunnel would remain open for another lot to use when Colonel Mathers gave the go-ahead.

Jack felt a tug on the rope and pulled the bowl back. He'd loosened a mass of spoil and his head was splitting. Three more bowls and then his time was up, he'd go back with the last one. He worked on, mentally ticking off the escape requirements. They had their clothes ready, grey, dyed, borrowed where necessary, brought in by the new lot from the Somme. What a bloody disgrace that was, all those lives. He was attacking the face aggressively now as his anger grew, and his doubts. Should he make Charlie stay here? He didn't want him in the line, not again. But he wasn't a child and wanted to come.

The bowl was full again. Sent it off. Back it came. One more, and then it was time to go, taking his bursting bloody head with him. He smiled, tasting his dirty sweat. He backed down the tunnel, wriggling, hating the pain, and the bloody rats. He lay down, pressing his head into the ground as one whose eyes had glinted at him from the darkness ran over him to get out of the tunnel first. Bastard. Another one for the lieutenant to chase but they should be grateful to the creatures, because the youngster had realised that the rat had gone somewhere, and had been determined to find out where.