Easterleigh Hall at War Read Free

do. Now, I have half an hour to show you how much I love you, Evie Forbes.’ She felt his arm around her waist, his kisses on her neck, and turned into him. He dropped the herbs, but the scent was still on his hands as he cupped her face. He was the same age as the other two and looked as many years older as they did, but she suspected she was no rose any more, if she ever had been. It didn’t matter, he was here, he was safe for now, and what was more, he was hers. They clung to one another. ‘I love you,’ he repeated. ‘I love you so much I could drown in it.’
    â€˜Don’t,’ she said against his mouth. ‘Don’t you dare or I will kill you myself.’ They didn’t laugh, because time was so short and the future so . . . what? Uncertain? Dangerous? Impossible? When would it end? Who would survive? What would happen if they lost? She buried her face in his shoulder and he rocked her back and forth and she thought again of her mother’s endless sayings, which frequently drove those who knew her to want to strangle her. She would say, yet again, ‘All will be well.’ This time Evie found comfort in the words.
    Half an hour later Lady Veronica used her hands to sweep the vegetable waste on to sheets of Mr Harvey’s out-of-date
Daily Sketch
. The juice from the carrot tops seeped into the front page, which told of the Scarborough, Hartlepool and Whitby deaths and casualties resulting from the shelling by the German navy. Evie said, ‘It’s hard to believe, Ver.’
    â€˜Nowhere’s safe, Evie,’ Lady Veronica almost whispered, rolling up the waste and putting it into the compost bucket. ‘How is Mrs Green’s niece?’
    Mrs Moore was passing. ‘The shrapnel wounds to her leg are healing and she’s home with her mother, and so Mrs Green will be back from Whitby within days to take up her housekeeping duties. She thanks you for the hamper, Your Ladyship, and asks after your husband. I told her Captain Richard is improving but not yet able to function downstairs. I hope you find him improved again today, slightly at least?’
    Lady Veronica sat down on a stool, easing her back and wiping her hands on her apron. ‘I do believe he is, Mrs Moore. Just a tad.’
    Evie snatched a look at the clock before saying briskly, ‘Now, enough chat, let’s get the roasts out so they can rest. It won’t be for long enough, but it will have to do. It’ll be a bit of a trudge to get it all up to the ward, so perhaps you should suggest that Mr Auberon and his little troop help Archie and Mr Harvey transport the feast to the multitude, Lady Veronica.’ She tried to remember to address Veronica properly in the company of others. She passed her a heavyweight oven cloth. ‘You hoy out the turkeys if you wouldn’t mind, and Annie, you take the middle range, there should be six geese in there, and watch the fat. We mustn’t spill a drop as we’ll need every scrap for January. Who knows what food shortages are coming? I’ll handle the hams. How’s the soup, Mrs Moore?’
    Chaos took over for the last hour with only one mishap. Lady Veronica burned her arm. It was dusted with flour, and she was told it was a medal. She promised she’d wear it proudly.
    Somehow Mr Harvey had organised the tables in the ballroom ward so that everyone could be seated, though it would be shoulder to shoulder with one’s neighbour. All around would be the recovering enlisted men still bedbound; the officers had their own cubicles, created from the many bedrooms on the second floor.
    For now, sherry was served in the great hall and helped to ease the social revolution that was occurring. Nicely lubricated, Mr Auberon led the gaggle into the ballroom, taking his place at the head of the long, long table covered in pristine white linen tablecloths. The fact that they were really sheets was ignored. The glasses glistened,