Grace's Story Page 13

  I might have continued to think the same way, were it not for a conversation I happened to overhear shortly afterwards. Lady Vye was still not up to riding, but she wanted to see Bella so we’d brought the horse in from the paddock that morning. I was quietly brushing the tangles out of her tail when Lady Vye and the Colonel came into the stables. They were talking together in low voices and I shrank back so as not to intrude.

  ‘Why should you think such a thing?’ the Colonel was asking. ‘The strain of these past few days must have been intolerable, of course, but -’

  ‘Because I saw the body,’ Lady Vye interrupted, her voice very clear and cold. ‘It’s bound to come out at the inquest, so you might as well know. You see, he didn’t drown. There’s a great deal more to it than that.’

  Twelve

  One always pictures Heaven, and I find myself apt to slip into an idea of a sanctified place, with harps and wings and things floating about …But when you are struggling along through foot-deep sticky mud, and there are shells bursting on the path in front of you, and corpses lying about, then when you pray, you think of all the happiness and beauty you have ever known, and get a closer conception.

  From a letter by Lieutenant Christian Carver from Flanders to his brother, August 1916. He died of his wounds in July, 1917, aged 20.

  His Lordship’s funeral took place under a perfectly blue, early-summer sky. Colonel Vye, Mr Braithwaite and four of the senior menservants carried the coffin from its resting place in our chapel, out through the Hall’s main doors and on to a farm wagon pulled by two young Friesian horses with black plumes nodding at their heads. They’d been borrowed for the occasion and only recently trained for carriage work. My father (who had to drive them) was worried they’d misbehave, but even they seemed to understand what a solemn affair this was and stood stock still while the coffin was loaded aboard.

  It was a sad sight. Lord Vye had been the head of our household, for better or worse, our protector and provider for many years. A few of the servants had known him since he was a boy. Old Mrs Henderson was there amongst them; she’d been housekeeper at the Hall well before Mrs Maroney (during my mother’s time, in fact) and, according to Ma, could remember the day Edward Vye had been born. The church bells had rung then to celebrate the arrival of an heir, and now they tolled to mourn his passing. His life had come full circle.

  The family followed His Lordship’s coffin. Both Lady Vyes came first, with Charles and Lionel behind, then Lord Vye’s sister Eugenie, the Duchess of Clarebourne, with her husband and their two daughters, and then Dr and Mrs Hathaway and Philip, with Mr Vye’s wife Henrietta next to him. (Unlike the doctor, John Vye hadn’t been able to get back from France in time.) I caught my mother’s eye as they passed, and knew exactly why she was looking at me so meaningfully. ‘There goes Master Philip in the bosom of his family,’ that’s what she was saying, ‘and here you are, in your rightful place.’ I was waiting with the gig to take the Dragon Lady to church, since she’d refused to travel in any of the motor-cars kindly lent by the Duke of Clarebourne. The rest of the household was lined up on the steps opposite, but, all the same, it was clear where I belonged. My hair was tied up in a black net under a black top hat, and I felt hot and uncomfortable in my black crêpe costume with its long, cumbersome skirt.

  The mournful procession of carriages and motor-cars set off at a snail’s pace for Stonemartin church while the servants followed on foot. Everyone in the village had turned out to pay their last respects to His Lordship. Families stood at garden gates to watch the cortège pass by and then fall in behind; the children wide-eyed and quiet for once, their mothers ready to keep them in order with a warning pinch. Something was missing from the scene, though at first I couldn’t work out what. Then suddenly it struck me. There wasn’t a single young man to be seen - apart from Johnny Jones, that is, who was soft in the head and spent all his time throwing stones into the duckpond. They had all gone off to fight. What would become of the village if they never came back?

  The only person who could have attended Lord Vye’s funeral but chose not to, was Daisy Jackson. She kept to her little room (where the boys’ nanny used to sleep), saying she didn’t want to intrude on our grief. That didn’t sound very convincing to me, and while it would have been cruel to ask too many questions, I desperately wanted to find out what she knew. Colonel Vye had returned from the inquest in Ireland very grim and quiet, but there was no news of any cause of death. And why had Lady Vye turned so cold? Her face might have been carved from white marble. It was strange, because everyone knew how tender-hearted she was; when her last horse had to be put down after a nasty fall, she’d wept for days. So far as we knew, she hadn’t shed a single tear for her husband. ‘Shock, that’s what it is,’ my mother decided, but I wasn’t so sure.

  After the church service, we trailed back to Swallowcliffe where Lord Vye was laid to rest in the family burial ground, beside the cedar grove in a quiet corner of the park. And that afternoon we were summoned to the chapel, for Her Ladyship to tell us what was going to happen next.

  ‘We have all suffered a great blow,’ she began, ‘and I understand how unsettled you must be feeling. I’d like you to know that I intend to run the estate exactly as it has always been run until Charles comes of age. I shall have the support of Mr Braithwaite and Colonel Vye, who has managed to transfer himself to the War Office in London so that he can spend more time helping us here. There may be a few small changes, of course …’ and now she glanced at my mother, who was standing close by. I’d wondered why Ma seemed to be pushing herself forward; she still only worked mornings at Swallowcliffe, yet there she was, standing beside Mrs Jeakes like one of the regular staff. And incidentally, where was Mrs Maroney?

  ‘Mrs Maroney has decided to return to her family in Newcastle,’ Lady Vye went on, as if I’d asked the question out loud, ‘but we’re fortunate to have Mrs Stanbury, who will take over as housekeeper with immediate effect.’

  Come again?

  ‘There can be hardly anyone who knows the house as well as she does, so we shall be in good hands. Thank you, all of you, for your loyal support. Whatever the future brings, we will face it together.’

  ‘Did you know about Ma becoming housekeeper?’ I asked my father as we were saddling up the horses early that evening. It was such a relief to be out of the skirt and back in breeches again, with only a black armband for mourning. To be honest, I was looking forward to getting away from the house, too, and out into the open air.

  ‘She only told me last night. Hey, girl, easy now.’ Bella couldn’t wait to get outside either; she was too impatient to accept the bit and tossed her head about until my father calmed her down with a quiet word. ‘I think it’ll be good for your mother,’ Da went on, opening her mouth and slipping in the snaffle before she’d even realised what he was about. ‘Take her mind off things.’ We were desperately worried about Tom, not having heard from him for ages - too worried even to admit it to each other.

  I was leading Moonlight into the yard when Philip walked up. ‘There you are, Grace,’ he said, almost offhand. ‘I was hoping we could have a talk some time, when it’s convenient.’ It was hard to know how to reply after my mother’s warning; I had to think for a second. ‘We can talk now, if you like.’ Strictly speaking, we weren’t alone because my father would be following me into the yard any minute, so Ma couldn’t really object. Had I done anything to offend Philip? He hadn’t been near the stables for a while, and now he looked quite cross, glaring at me with his hands in his pockets. He’d changed out of his mourning clothes too, I happened to notice.

  ‘But you’re about to take the horses out. This can’t be a good moment.’

  ‘Why don’t you come with us?’ The words were out of my mouth before I’d properly thought about them, and for some reason I blushed. (Why couldn’t I stop doing that?) ‘It’s a lovely day, and you could probably do with a break, after - well, after today.’ Unfortunately now I’d started talking I couldn�
�t seem to stop. ‘I’m so sorry about your uncle,’ I ended lamely.

  ‘Thank you.’ He looked at Moonlight as if trying to make up his mind. ‘All right, then, I will.’

  I handed him the horse’s reins and ran to saddle up Daffodil, telling my father on the way that Master Philip would be coming for a ride too. He didn’t seem to mind, and I thought how much more sensible he was about such matters than Ma; I suppose it was because he trusted me. At last the three of us trotted out of the yard with Bella leading the way, dancing about in excitement.

  ‘This one wants to take off,’ Da called, turning round to us. ‘I’ll let her go when we get to the gallops - she needs a good run. Don’t worry about keeping up.’

  So it looked as though Philip might get his private conversation after all. We rode along the edge of the park, past the woods where Copenhagen had taken off with me what seemed like a lifetime ago, and on towards the fields beyond. At the edge of the first was a broad stretch of grass, sloping gently uphill, where we would let the horses have their head. Almost as soon as my father had closed the gate after us, Bella was away, stretching her neck and throwing out her legs with the sheer joy of running free. Philip and I cantered along behind her for a while, but neither Moonlight nor Daffodil was in the mood for a race.

  Eventually we reined them back and walked more sedately alongside the hawthorn hedge. I drank in the bitter-sweet scent of its creamy blossom, heavy on the evening air. Dusk would soon be falling and already the emerald green of grass and leaves had become deeper, more intense. A lark sang its heart out somewhere high above us, and a handful of swallows swooped across the empty indigo sky.

  ‘Isn’t it beautiful?’ I turned to Philip, hoping the ride had made him a little less grumpy.

  He wasn’t looking at the countryside. ‘Grace, I’ve been thinking things over,’ he said, by way of a reply. ‘It’s my birthday tomorrow. I shall be nineteen.’

  ‘Oh! Well, happy birthday for tomorrow.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to ask when I’m planning to join up? Come on, don’t disappoint me. I was counting on a lecture from you about doing my duty.’

  ‘You know what I think. It’s up to you to decide.’

  ‘Can’t we talk it over one last time? You see, I’m beginning to come around to your way of thinking. I can’t go on much longer, standing on the sidelines while other men are dying and being wounded, day after day. And I’ve been wondering whether there’s another reason why I don’t want to fight. Tell me honestly, do you think it’s because I’m a coward?’

  ‘I did at first.’ I looked him straight in the eye. ‘Not any more, though - not after what happened in the stables.’

  ‘Oh, yes. That.’ He laughed, but I shouldn’t have brought the matter up; there was an awkwardness about the conversation now. Neither of us spoke for a minute or two, and then he said, ‘It would probably take more courage to stay here than do what everyone expects. I still believe this war’s wrong, and yet how can I speak out against it when so many men have been killed already? How could their families bear to think it was all for nothing? And yet that’s what I feel - it is all for nothing, and somebody has to say so.’

  The funny thing was, just as his attitude was changing, so was mine. I didn’t entirely agree with him yet, but Tom’s letter to my father and the effect of all our discussions had started me thinking rather differently about the war. ‘Perhaps you should work in a hospital at the Front for a while,’ I suggested. ‘You wouldn’t have to fight, but you could see how things are and you’d be a part of them.’

  His face cleared. ‘That’s exactly what I was thinking. It would be a way of earning the right to an opinion, if you like.’

  Daffodil was starting to fidget, tempted by the lush spring grass which I wouldn’t let her eat. ‘Shall we go back?’ I said, turning for home. ‘Da’s probably reached the coast by now. He won’t expect us to wait.’

  ‘Just a minute.’ Philip caught my arm. ‘Grace, I couldn’t imagine talking to anyone else like this. If I do go away, will you write to me?’

  ‘What, me? Why?’ I was so astonished, I simply couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  ‘Why not?’ He smiled. ‘I shall miss you, for one thing. You must have realised by now that I like you a great deal.’

  My heart had begun pounding. Perhaps I had some idea, but I didn’t know for sure. Now was the time to find out. ‘What is it about me that you like, exactly?’ I asked, my mother’s words coming back to me. ‘Compared to, say, somebody more suitable - like Miss Wainwright, for example.’

  Amelia Wainwright was the daughter of one of the volunteer ladies, and spent a great deal of time up at the Hall with her mother. She had been the only useful person in the pyjama-making party, apparently; Ma was forever telling me how elegant Miss Wainwright was, and how neatly she sewed, and how prettily she spoke.

  Philip groaned. ‘Heaven preserve me from somebody suitable like Miss Wainwright! She’s never had an original thought or done a brave thing in her life. You’re worth ten of her, even if you are only a - ’ He stopped.

  ‘Even if I am only a servant?’ I finished the sentence for him. At least he had the wit to look embarrassed. ‘That’s the point, though, isn’t it? I’m a servant and you’re one of the family, and if anyone finds out that I’m writing to you, I shall be the one in trouble. You shouldn’t have asked me.’

  ‘But don’t you remember what we said last summer? When this war’s over, everything will be different. Come on, Grace! When did you worry what other people think? Surely the only thing that matters is whether you’re as fond of me as I am of you.’

  ‘How can you possibly say that?’ I snapped, angry that he should be so shortsighted and selfish. ‘The world might be changing, but no doubt there’ll still be Vyes at Swallowcliffe and servants to look after them for a good few years to come. I shan’t be welcome in the drawing room yet a while.’

  I kicked Daffodil on, suddenly wanting to reach the safety of the stables as soon as possible. It didn’t matter how much I liked Philip, that only made things worse. We cantered for home, the words ‘only a servant’ keeping time in my head with the horse’s hooves. Daffodil was so slow that there was no chance of leaving Philip behind, although I very much wanted to. He had made me realise the hopelessness of the situation far more effectively than my mother could ever have done, and I didn’t want to be in his company a moment longer. At last I had to admit Ma was right: we couldn’t even be friends, let alone anything more.

  When we were dismounting in the stable yard, he tried to explain. ‘Grace, I didn’t mean to offend you, it was just a slip of the tongue. I never think of you as a servant.’

  ‘Well, thank you for the compliment, but that’s what I am, so you might as well face up to it. How do you imagine your family would feel if they found out I was writing to you?’

  ‘Oh, my parents wouldn’t mind in the slightest. They’d be glad - ’

  There was more to Philip’s family than Dr and Mrs Hathaway, however. With perfect timing, old Lady Vye appeared to underline the point. ‘Philip, your mother is looking for you.’

  We turned around to find her standing there, leaning on the silver-topped cane she had taken to using outside. She must have seen us riding along together from her bedroom window on the eastern side of the Hall and come down immediately. ‘Kindly return to the house at once. Leave your horse for the girl to deal with.’

  He had to obey, of course. With only the briefest of glances at me, he was gone, and the Dragon Lady and I were left face to face.

  ‘Get about your work,’ she ordered me coldly, ‘and stay away from my grandson.’ She shot me a look of such intense dislike that I felt my insides turn to water. ‘Don’t imagine for a moment this is the end of the matter.’

  I had no idea what was said to Philip, but the next morning I found a letter addressed to me, tucked among the brushes and curry combs in the harness-room where I would be sure to find it.

  D
ear Grace

  I am writing to apologise most sincerely for any embarrassment I may have caused you. Please forgive me - this was never my intention. Our friendship has been a source of great support to me, but I accept that it cannot continue. Rest assured that I will do nothing to compromise your position in any way.

  With every good wish for your future happiness,

  Philip Hathaway

  So that was that. Ma would be pleased, at least. I didn’t even wish Philip a happy birthday, and from that moment on, he no longer called by the stables for a chat. When he took the men riding, he only spoke to my father and scarcely glanced at me. Yet it wasn’t quite the end of the affair, as the Dragon Lady had warned - although it didn’t come to quite the conclusion she might have expected. I was summoned to see young Lady Vye in her husband’s old study, which she had taken over as her own. Expecting to be given a severe dressing-down at least, or notice to leave at worst, you can imagine how nervous I was feeling. Her Ladyship had nothing of the sort in mind, however.

  ‘Grace, I realise you’re rather cut off in the stables,’ she said. ‘If for any reason you ever feel uncomfortable there, please come and tell me. I’m sure we could find something for you to do inside the house.’

  ‘Oh, no! Thank you all the same, M’lady,’ I assured her, ‘but I should like to stay where I am.’ Being with the horses was a great consolation, and the idea of working for my mother didn’t fill me with any enthusiasm. I was very grateful to Lady Vye, however, for not having taken the same line as her mother-in-law.