Easterleigh Hall (23 page)

Mrs Dale and the committee, ranged on chairs at the rear of the stage, were appealing for calm, hushing with their hands as though the suffragettes were a pack of rampaging hounds, and perhaps we are, Evie thought, starting to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

Grace was still clapping, her eyes alight, her face flushed. She said, ‘Perhaps she does have one, but not the sort of which Lady B would approve. A friend perhaps? I am just so surprised at her, but why, when Miss Wainton was such a supporter of women's votes? I should have realised.'

Evie wished she'd met Miss Wainton. Easterleigh Hall must have been a happier place in her time. It was then the first brick came through a window, with a burst of sound and crashing of glass. It silenced the women. The brick had hit a woman sitting two seats away from Evie. There was a great pounding at the door, and the yelling of men. For a moment Evie couldn't think or react, and it seemed it was the same for everyone. Then chairs scraped. Women moved. Jeers were heard. Another brick crashed through a window, this time nearer to the front. More glass, more screams. Now the women were rushing, but not to any one point. They were milling, panicking.

Mrs Dale called, ‘Back exit. Make for the back exit.'

It wasn't the first time a meeting had been invaded, which was why the doors were always locked and no hall would be booked unless it had a rear exit. It was the first time for Evie, though, and for a moment she could do nothing but stare helplessly as the bricks came thick and fast. ‘To the rear,' Grace shouted, then the doors cracked open and men roared in, red-faced from the booze, their scarves tied at their necks, their caps cockeyed on their heads, racing for the women who scattered, shouting now, not screaming, throwing chairs in the way of the men, and then stampeding in a body to the exit, those that could. Groups were cut off, surrounded.

Evie and Grace raced through a gap with Betty Clark but Evie saw Lady Veronica over to the left, near the stage in the path of a mob whose fists were flying. ‘Mucky buggers,' Evie shouted above the noise. ‘We need to get her out, we need to keep her anonymous. Think if the Bastard got to hear of it.'

Grace took a moment to take in the situation while Betty kept on towards the rear, then Evie was forcing her way back against the tide. Grace joined her and together they stepped over fallen chairs, discarded bags, all the while being pushed, shoved and knocked by fleeing women and jeering men. The sound seemed almost to drown out thought and they acted by instinct. Bricks were still flying through the windows, and they dodged them as glass showered down and was crunched underfoot.

Lady Veronica was moving forward now, pulling the speaker along. Their hats were lopsided, their feathers flapping uselessly. Evie and Grace stared at one another, unable to accept that Brampton's daughter was with this girl who'd just spoken about being imprisoned for her views. ‘If her father knew, he'd strangle her with his bare hands,' Grace shouted against the noise.

‘Aye, but she spoke against her.' Evie's reply was lost as a man grabbed her coat, throwing her off balance, wielding a pick in his other hand. Evie felt herself being wrenched to the ground. His breath was foul in her face and heavy with beer. He was no pitman for there were no blue scars, no staining of the skin. Grace was beating his back. He loosened his grip. Evie scrambled to her feet, stamping on his boots, but they were steel-capped. He kicked at her, catching her shin. The pain took her breath away, but only for a moment, for then she went for his eyes with her nails and he swore, swinging the pick at her, but Grace grabbed his arm. Evie wrenched the pick from him. It was too heavy and whacked into the floor. She wrenched it up by the head, jabbing at his belly, taking the wind out of him. He groaned and dropped.

Grace laughed, wild and high. ‘I should offer the other cheek but instead I want to slap his.' She gestured Evie onwards, pointing towards Lady Veronica, who had been separated from her friend by a stream of women powering towards the front entrance now; all the men were within the hall, it seemed, and heading towards the rear exit. Some women had picked up chairs and were attacking the men, who were backing towards the stage, their arms up, shielding themselves.

Lady Veronica was hatless, her fair hair awry. Evie clung to her pick, holding the head and wielding the handle, jabbing a way clear towards her. Grace had grabbed a chair and was stabbing like a lion-tamer. They seized Lady Veronica, who was now swinging a chair at the men. Grace shouted, ‘Leave it now. Come out. You mustn't be recognised.'

Lady Veronica's eyes were wild and she pulled free of Grace, who grabbed and shook her. ‘It's me, Grace Manton. Come, now.'

At last the wildness cleared and the young woman nodded. ‘You're here?' ‘Not for long,' Grace yelled as they were jostled by two women who were beating at the brawny hands that had captured them by their skirts. Grace led as they fought their way to the front exit, Evie keeping her face turned away. Lady Veronica was unlikely to recognise her anyway, hidden in the pantry as she'd been while the siblings scoffed cakes. One of the women in front called, ‘The journalists are here, and the police. Cover your faces.'

Lady Veronica looked half mad with excitement and fear. Evie saw her reach up to find her hat gone, and now fear won out. She hesitated. Evie snatched off her own and pulled her shawl over her head, half hiding her face. She took her hat to Lady Veronica and pulled it low over her brow. Her friend had caught up with them, also hatless, and placed herself at the front. ‘Walk behind me. I don't mind the publicity, it helps the cause.'

Together they pushed and shoved out into the early evening air. Evie and Grace flanked Lady Veronica, jostling through the jeering crowd. Evie called out to the police, ‘You should be in there, arresting the slecky beggars, not outside where it's canny and safe, man. It could be your mam in there.'

One laughed, and struck her with his baton. ‘My mam's got more sense.' Evie braced, Grace tugged her on. ‘No, we need to get away from here.'

There was a blur as a woman hurled herself at the policeman on Evie's right. It was Lady Veronica's friend, and she left Lady Veronica exposed. Cameras were flashing. Evie pulled the girl's hat down harder and dragged her through the melee. An egg burst on her cheek, some man stuck out his foot. She jumped. Grace took over, charging the men, catching up with a group of women and staying in their wake. Finally they were through and out into the dark street. It seemed that silence fell. Utter silence. Evie stepped back out of sight.

Grace was asking the whereabouts of her Ladyship's carriage. ‘The groom is waiting at the Red Lion stables. He thinks Lady Margaret and I are visiting with friends of Lady Esther.' Lady Veronica's voice was shaking.

Grace took her into the stables, but Evie remained on the road to avoid the groom. She wiped the egg from her face. ‘By, I could have had that for my breakfast,' she said aloud but couldn't smile.

The trip home was quiet except when, soft-voiced, they talked of how women were hated. How, even within the group, they disagreed.

Evie's shin was hurting badly by the time Grace dropped her at the crossroads. She rode her bicycle back to the bothy and slowly dragged her way up the path, reaching the vegetable-garden wall, and then felt an arm around her. ‘Busy day, bonny lass.' It was Simon and he kissed her hair as she described what had happened, but did not mention Lady Veronica. It was best that no one else knew.

IT WAS NOVEMBER
at Easterleigh Hall and though Evie had thought the first month had flown, that was as nothing to the summer months when the sun had baked the earth hard and dry. Undaunted, the gardeners had taken water from the butts and then the lake to ensure that vegetables and fruit had continued to grow. Evie's visits to Simon had continued, and so had the sea-coaling, and with each week she felt more love for the bonny lad, and more delight in the home that the Forbes now owned; so some things had changed, but only some. Here she was, yet again hiding in the pantry just because Auberon and Veronica wanted a piece of cake in the warmth of the range.

She almost tore the paper as she ticked off the sacks of flour, currants, and blocks of salt, making a list of goods needing replenishment. Mrs Moore had decided that she must learn the restocking procedure, the stocktaking procedure and all places in between until they became second nature, because if Evie intended to run her own kitchen, not to mention a hotel, this would be necessary.

As she worked she thought of the fields which the Forbes' house overlooked. Though it was more than a half-mile walk to the pithead for her father and brothers, they gloried in their sense of freedom and empowerment. Grace outlined the progress of the work on the other two houses on their way to the meetings, which had become a picture of calm after the storm.

The assault had unified the group, for now, a situation helped by the passing of Lloyd George's so-called People's Budget in the House of Commons, so the pressure for votes could be brought to bear by them all. But the whole shenanigans had revealed schisms within the women's movement that Evie had not dreamt could be there.

She examined the shelves and bit back her irritation. Millie was told constantly that she must refill the shelves methodically. It went in one ear and out of the other, for the girl could reduce even the most efficient system to a shambles in no more time than it took to scream, and one day Evie would. The trouble was that the moment anyone took Millie to task she folded up into a gibbering mess with shaking hands and pale face, which Evie had begun to think she rehearsed. So, for the sake of the timetable, either Evie or Mrs Moore ended up feeding her cups of tea and sympathy, and putting her on to a canny little beggar of a task that required little diligence.

Soon that old fat Father Christmas would be thudding down the chimney giving the maids more debris to sweep up, so it might be an idea to write a request for the foisty lass to work as she should. Surely by 1910 she'd have sorted herself out?

Evie took a moment to go through the upcoming catering as she totted up the boxes of tea. There was still one shooting party, with guests arriving on Friday, but it was the last, which was a grand relief all round. Archie and James were tired of hoying out with the hampers, James in particular as he was not only valet for Mr Auberon, but for Lord Brampton when he returned for the shooting parties, as Roger remained in Leeds.

Mr Harvey would be especially delighted when November was finished and with it the shooting, for serving out on the moor was like living in a barn full of holes, he said. He'd taken to wearing two pairs of long johns beneath his trousers, or so Mrs Moore had confided this morning, though how she knew Evie preferred not to imagine. Her thoughts must have shown because Mrs Moore said, ‘That face is not a pretty sight, Evie Anston, now get cracking with the toast.'

Evie replied, ‘I expect my face is no worse a sight than Mr Harvey in two pairs of long johns.' Mrs Moore laughed until her chins wobbled. Her rheumatics had been much better all summer, though it was not a good idea for her to miss her rest in the afternoon when sitting with the Brampton whelps, as Jack still called them.

As always, Evie left the door ajar and heard and saw the two whelps discussing the blocking of the People's Budget by the House of Lords, dropping in and out of French as they discussed their father's determination that the peers should stop this budget that pandered to the working classes. Would they be pleased at how they'd brought on Evie's French? Perhaps not, daft beggars, Evie thought. Lady Veronica said, ‘I do hope that he doesn't make a fool of himself and us this weekend in front of the guns by going on and on.' Auberon took the last fancy after Lady Veronica had shaken her head. ‘No, you have it, you need it. How's it going at the mine?'

Mr Auberon spoke in French with his mouth full. Damn, Evie thought, the tablecloth would be flecked with crumbs. ‘I'm learning from Davies, you know, Ver, and I can think much more clearly when Father's away. It's just awful that we have to economise. I hate it but I can't take another beating. Not yet. I have to let my ribs recover. Every accident down that godforsaken pit makes me wonder if it's my fault. Well, it probably is, but I have my targets, and I am trying to find a way to allow some new props.' He shrugged. ‘At least this weekend I can show that production's up and costs are down.'

He changed into English. ‘It's remarkable when you think of it, Ver. Coal is just essential for everything. It's the most magical of material, it underpins the Empire, it underpins Father's steelworks. It's like a living thing.'

She replied in French, ‘Yes, but it kills, and more so when we don't consider safety. There's a world of difference between trying and doing, Aub.'

Evie saw Mr Auberon stand, his face flushed. ‘Thank you Mrs Moore. Veronica, I have work to do.' He strutted to the door, his head held high, but as he left the kitchen and hurried down the passageway Evie felt a surge of pity, pity which had been emerging throughout the summer as she had listened to so many of these discussions.

What must it be like to have a father like his, and it was all very well for Lady Veronica to be so righteous but who the hell hoyed out to rescue Auberon when he needed it?

She stopped, her pencil hovering above her list, wondering where all that had come from. Let's just get you a soapbox, shall we, Miss Evie Forbes? But she was coming to realise that nothing was black and white. Most people did the best they could, and there did not seem to be the same black heart in Mr Auberon as there was in his father.

She'd told Jack of Auberon's reluctance to make the economies, but her brother had not wanted to hear such claggy dottle. When she had spoken about it to Simon he had merely laughed and kissed her, and told her not to worry about things, they'd all work out. With his kisses all else faded. She smiled now and longed to be with him.