Easterleigh Hall at War Read Free Page A

the cutlery too. Chrysanthemums on short stalks were arranged in shallow bowls down the centre of the tables, and candles were lit in candlesticks taken from the silver safe.
    Lady Wendover, a middle-aged VAD, was waiting to take her seat next to Maudie, one of the scullery maids, another VAD would sit next to Daisy, a housemaid. Evie thought they could discuss the merits of soda in the scullery, or the virtues of sprinkling tea leaves on the carpets before brushing, rather than the usual subject of how lazy the servants were. She grinned as Jack, who sat opposite her, and a few places down from Mr Auberon, raised an eyebrow. He’d always been able to read her like a book. So had her da and mam, who were to Jack’s left and chuckling at her.
    Mrs Moore leaned into her, saying in a voice meant to be a whisper but which was considerably louder, ‘If you feed the beggars well, it will always be an occasion of cheer no matter who has to sit next to whom.’
    Perhaps Mr Auberon heard, for not long after, when the turkeys had been carved on the side table, and the main course was about to begin, he proposed a toast to the kitchen, absent friends, and lastly, the King, mentioning that it was a rare occasion for cheer, grinning at Mrs Moore and Evie as he did so. After glasses were raised, sipped and replaced, they sat again, except for Roger the valet, who Evie saw hurrying to the baize door, having said to Simon that he wasn’t going to sit opposite ‘that monstrosity’ for a minute longer. The ‘monstrosity’ was Sergeant Harris, who wore a tin mask to hide his facial injuries and sat alongside Captain Simmons whose nose had got lost, as he delighted in telling everyone, due to carelessness. He would then stick his thumb between his fore and middle finger and say, ‘Good grief, and here it is, after all.’
    As Roger stormed off Evie and Jack exchanged another look, this time one of fury. Mrs Moore said forcefully, but for the family alone, ‘Then he’ll go hungry. There’s nothing left downstairs for even a sparrow to peck on, and with the dogs taking up both armchairs he’ll have to make do with a stool.’
    Evie pretended not to notice Millie, Jack’s wife, flush at these words, laying down her knife and fork. Jack sat next to her, his stepson Tim on his lap, with lashings of cranberry sauce on his small plate. Evie smiled. It was a sure bet that this would be the two-year-old’s favourite part of the meal. He was a lovely little lad, but was there an increasing look of his father, bloody Roger, about him? Dear God, she hoped not and if there was, that it was the end of any family resemblance.
    Simon ran his hand along her arm and it was only then she saw she had gripped her knife and fork so tightly her knuckles had whitened. He nudged her with his knee and whispered, ‘Stop fretting; Millie wouldn’t jeopardise what she has with Jack to go chasing after the bloke who made her pregnant when she was the kitchenmaid, and dumped her. She’s not that big a fool.’
    Jack helped Tim to another great dollop of cranberry and shrugged when his mam said it would rot the bairn’s teeth. ‘Sugar could get short soon enough, Mam. It’s Christmas, we’ll let him, shall we?’
    Soon conversations were fluttering more easily around the long table, and laughter was spreading. Bravo for Mr Auberon, Evie thought. He’d been right, everything had changed, even the nobs, but perhaps it wouldn’t take long to get back to the old order once the war was over, if it ever was. Evie whispered, ‘Si, we must remember this: good food, good company, and wine. When things get difficult let’s just think of it. I prefer it to looking up at a moon dangling in the sky like the poets say.’
    He laughed. ‘It’s because you live and breathe cooking, and I love you for it. One day I’ll be home, we’ll all be home and you can