Книга - Evie’s Choice

Evie’s Choice
Terri Nixon


1917. Driving an ambulance through the mud in Flanders, aristocrat Evie Creswell is a long way from home. At Oaklands Manor all she had been expected to do was to look pretty and make a good marriage. But with the arrival of World War One everything changed…And Evie, to the horror of her family, does not choose a husband from her blue-blooded set; instead she weds artist Will Davies, who works as a butcher’s apprentice. Soon she is struggling nightly to transport the wounded to hospital, avoiding the shells and gas attacks – her privileged home life, and her family’s disappointment at her marriage, a lifetime away.And while Evie drives an ambulance in Belgium, Will is in the trenches in France. He withdraws from her, the trauma of his experience taking hold. Evie has the courage to deal with her war work, but it breaks her heart to think she is losing Will’s love. Can their marriage survive this terrible war? That is, if they both get out alive…Perfect for fans of Nadine Dorries, Dilly Court and Annie Murray.The story continues in Kitty’s War out now!Previously published as A Rose in Flanders Field.Praise for Terri Nixon'This is a wonderful, wonderful read. It sucked me in from the very beginning and just made me one with the story. Journey with Books 'Exciting and poignant by turns, with both laughter and tears, will grip you from the first page to the last.' Shaz's Book Blog










Driving an ambulance through the mud in Flanders, aristocrat Evie Creswell is a long way from home. At Oaklands Manor all she had been expected to do was to look pretty and make a good marriage. But with the arrival of World War One everything changed…

And Evie, to the horror of her family, does not choose a husband from her blue-blooded set; instead she weds artist Will Davies, who works as a butcher’s apprentice. Soon she is struggling nightly to transport the wounded to hospital, avoiding the shells and gas attacks – her privileged home life, and her family’s disappointment at her marriage, a lifetime away.

And while Evie drives an ambulance in Belgium, Will is in the trenches in France. He withdraws from her, the trauma of his experience taking hold. Evie has the courage to deal with her war work, but it breaks her heart to think she is losing Will’s love. Can their marriage survive this terrible war? That is, if they both get out alive…


Evie’s Choice

Terri Nixon







Copyright (#ulink_d56b9b3e-b9f1-5607-89d0-195561d862cf)

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2014

Copyright © Terri Nixon 2014

Terri Nixon asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

E-book Edition © July 2014 ISBN: 9781472096470

Version date: 2018-07-02


TERRI NIXON

was born in Plymouth, England in 1965. At the age of 9 she moved with her family to Cornwall, to a small village on the edge of Bodmin Moor, where she discovered a love of writing that has stayed with her ever since. She also discovered apple-scrumping, and how to jump out of a hayloft without breaking any bones, but no-one's ever offered to pay her for doing those.

Since her first short stories appeared in small-press paperback in 2002, Terri has appeared in both print and online fiction collections, and is proud to have contributed to the Shirley Jackson award-nominated hardback collection: Bound for Evil, by Dead Letter Press. Her first novel was Maid of Oaklands Manor, published by Piatkus Entice, and shortlisted in the "Best Historical Read" category at the Festival of Romance 2013.

Terri now lives in Plymouth with her youngest son, and works in the Faculty of Arts and Humanities at Plymouth University, where she is constantly baffled by the number of students who don’t possess pens.


I would like to thank everyone who has continued to support me over this past year, and I hope this new offering has been worth it! Special thanks to my youngest son, Dom, for his patient indulgence as I look blankly at him over the lid of my laptop while my mind struggles to re-connect with day-to-day reality.

Thanks also to my agent, Kate (Kate Nash Literary Agency), to my editor, and to everyone who has worked towards getting this book to publication; the support, professionalism and advice has been invaluable.

I would also like to publicly thank the editors of Lady Under Fire on the Western Front, (the wartime letters of Lady Dorothie Feilding) which I read over and over again while planning this book, along with many other first-hand accounts of those at the ‘sharp end’ during the Great War.

And finally, to all those fallen during that conflict, and those who gave everything to help them; a sacrifice beyond imagining, a debt beyond measure.


Contents

Cover (#u30e18160-9a84-5ddd-a176-7df944e9d05b)

Blurb (#uf66d03b9-23a2-5340-954e-c4c237acab00)

Title Page (#ue03ca28e-0401-5100-8d52-fbc9923b13ff)

Copyright (#u0674028c-881f-5494-99f6-8de8ce52a137)

Author Bio (#ue17c768b-2754-5650-a04e-b207829f28c1)

Acknowledgments (#ue97cb41c-ba67-5659-8577-b0b6e787d70f)

Dedication (#u520d022e-9279-5028-814e-42207759bb9e)

Chapter One (#u6f81df08-4152-5e12-afea-67e17daa81c9)

Chapter Two (#u046f6200-0db3-5880-bde3-8de94288a618)

Chapter Three (#uf41893d8-36eb-55a4-9f85-3c8cc8408a0e)

Chapter Four (#u361eba78-3dcc-5ca5-a7f4-32e2bd5971e1)

Chapter Five (#uf04f2913-4375-5720-86fd-4ebbbde7dc72)

Chapter Six (#ube6396ca-6c5f-5e9d-b8ad-327d5eb28f74)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty (#litres_trial_promo)

Endpages (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)


To my wonderful parents: Anne and Eddie Deegan. Your encouragement has been unstinting, as has your patience with my relentless blathering. This one’s for you.


Chapter One (#ulink_5fa4c1c7-6a3d-5a3e-b758-7482f018d812)

Flanders, Belgium, February 1917.

The explosion was more than a noise, it was a pressure, and a fist, and a scream that started in the pit of my stomach and flashed outward through every nerve. Pulsing light from relentless shelling afforded glimpses through the dark of the uneven road ahead, and I had long ago learned to use this sinister glow as I guided the ambulance between dressing station and clearing station, but tonight it seemed Fritz was sending over all he had. Our chaps would give it back twice as hard though – at least that’s what I told myself, what we always told ourselves, and what we always made sure to tell the boys who looked to us for reassurance that their suffering was not in vain.

The wheels slid on half-frozen mud, and all my driving experience melted into mere hope; on a night like this it would come down to luck as to whether we stayed on the road or pitched off into the even rougher ground beyond, and luck has a famously capricious heart.

It occurred, not for the first time, that less than three years before, my prayers would have been no more intense than the wish that my mother would stop trying to marry me off to one of her friends’ “perfectly charming” sons. Even then I’d had no interest in, or need of, a husband, but it was a sobering thought that most of those adventurous and brightly confident young men would now be entrenched in mud, and finding their own prayers much altered.

Those who still lived.

I blinked hard to relieve my eyes from the strain of staring at the road, and a second later my heart faltered as I identified the cause of this latest, and loudest, of explosions. A moment later Kitty, the new girl, cried out in dismay as she saw it too: the large house ahead, and the sprawling collection of tents and outbuildings in its grounds that served as the casualty clearing station, was ablaze. Part of the roof was gone, a gaping mouth from which flames belched and licked ravenously at the overhanging trees, setting even the wettest canvas of the nearby tents alight. The painted red cross had collapsed inward, and while many of the staff retained their sense of duty, many more did not – chaos had the night in its grip now, and it was each man for himself. The two sister-stations, one empty and waiting and one already taking the overspill from the house, were in danger of catching too, and panic was evident in every silhouette that stumbled in search of safety, and in every cry that transcended the roar of flame and the crack of wood and glass.

Time was short, and I turned the wheel before we reached the road junction, sending silent but heartfelt apologies to my wounded, and then we were bumping over the roughly pitted grass towards the burning buildings. The moment I pulled to a stop, Kitty was in the back urging those more able to bunch up to make room, and explaining we must go another ten miles to the base hospital in the town. Exclamations of dismay followed me as I jumped down, and I understood every one of them; the men would have been blessing every turn of the wheels that brought us closer to help, and now they must hold on a little longer. There was little doubt that, for some, it would prove too long.

The intense heat stung every exposed inch of skin as I ran towards a group of evacuees, huddling as far away from the billowing smoke as they could get, and I drew a deep breath in readiness for shouting, feeling the moisture stripped from my throat the moment my mouth opened.

‘Two! We can take two –’ I broke off, coughing, bent double with it and unable to shout again, but one of the orderlies had seen me and when I rose, gasping and teary-eyed, he gestured me over.

In the end we took three; two more in the back, and one sitter up front with us, a boy no older than Kitty herself by his looks. He had just begun treatment for shrapnel wounds to the arm and shoulder, and moving at all must have jarred him terribly, but as soon as he was settled in his seat he began talking, with cautious relief, about being shipped back to England. I exchanged a glance with Kitty, and we both found wan smiles for what he considered his good luck before we rolled off once more towards the town. There was a harsh jerk and a new rattling sound as we rejoined the road, and I wondered how many more trips we could make before something else fell off the ambulance, or broke, and I would be required to spend the rest of this freezing night lying in the mud with my tool box.

When we got to the hospital we found one of the new blessés had died, and the shrapnel-wounded boy’s relief fell away, leaving him paler than ever and deeply subdued; I gathered they had been friends. We covered the dead man with his blanket and te boy hitched a breath, , and there was no more talk of Blighty while the VAD led him away to have his wounds redressed. Kitty and I hurriedly sluiced down the inside of the ambulance, and set off back to the dressing station for one more trip.

And one more.

When the night’s grim work was finally over we returned to our little cottage, and I went over the ambulance with my torch, checking carefully underneath. Gertie, as we’d named her, had been a godsend, but she was fast reaching the end of her useful life as an ambulance, and must soon be retired before she became a danger rather than an inconvenience. Rather like myself, it seemed at times. By the time she had been emptied of blood-soaked blankets and stretchers, there remained precious few hours in which to steal a bit of sleep.

Kitty went gratefully to the room we shared and fell into bed immediately, but I sat at the kitchen table, pen in hand, and a blank sheet in front of me. I never told my husband what I had been doing; he had his own worries, and his own dark stories, and to heap mine upon him would be cruel and unnecessary. Instead I wrote that Kitty Maitland was an absolute treasure, although nerves made her clumsy and she still kept knocking things down. Naturally we had immediately nicknamed her Skittles. I wrote that the weather here was as vicious as it was in France, and that I hoped he was making good use of the warm scarf I had sent him. I told him some of the girls in the ambulance corps were jealous of us because their commandant was utterly hard-hearted, and they wished they had set up alone as we had. I wished him a happy thirtieth birthday.

Then I laid my pen down, folded the letter ready to post, and burst into tears.


Chapter Two (#ulink_6bcfc855-47e0-5beb-a84c-6b362466932f)

Oaklands Manor, Cheshire, New Year’s Eve 1911.

I paused at the foot of the back stairwell and carefully rearranged my expression, then pushed open the kitchen door. Instantly all talk ceased, and only began again, in hesitant tones, as I nodded demurely in greeting and crossed to speak to the cook.

Mrs Hannah looked up. ‘Miss Evangeline. And what might we do for you this morning?’

‘I’m sorry for disturbing you,’ I said, in my most timid voice, ‘but I was just on my way out and Mother has asked me to pass on a message.’

‘Why ever didn’t she ring down?’

‘She knew you were busy, I expect,’ I said, gesturing at the table laden with vegetables.

‘Well, she’d be right,’ Mrs Hannah agreed, ‘and if Mercy leaves, like she’s saying, things will soon get even busier.’

I glanced at the scullery maid, who was on her knees with her head in the grate, and lowered my voice. ‘Poor Mercy. She was never happy here, was she?’

‘Ideas above her station, should you ask me,’ the cook opined, not bothering to match my discreet tones. If Mrs Cavendish had heard she’d certainly have given her one of her special “Head-Housekeeper” looks that usually sent the recipient scuttling away, although Mrs Hannah always ignored them. I liked Mrs Hannah.

She was looking at me now, knife paused mid-chop. ‘The message then, Miss Evangeline?’

‘Oh, yes. Well, you know how mother has given you that recipe for the loaf her grandmother used to make?’

‘The fruit loaf, yes.’

‘And you know how she specifically told you to follow it to the letter?’

‘I do.’ Mrs Hannah’s eyes narrowed, but I kept my expression carefully blank.

‘Well, it appears she made a little mistake. Where it says dates, it should say raisins. And where it says half a cup of sugar, she has asked me to make it particularly clear that she meant to write one whole cup.’

‘I see. Is that all then?’

I pretended to think for a moment. ‘There was one other thing, now you mention it. You’ll see Mother has specified almonds to be laid along the top?’

‘I expect you’ll be saying she didn’t mean that either.’

‘She didn’t, no.’

‘Would she have meant glazed fruit, do you think?’

I beamed. ‘Exactly. And it’s most important you don’t forget about the sugar, Mrs Hannah.’

Mrs Hannah raised an eyebrow and favoured me with a rare, amused little smile. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to follow the instructions to the letter.’

‘Thank you,’ I said, although I wasn’t sure if she meant to follow the original instructions, or my own amendments; only time would tell, but I had done my best. Mother’s cake ideas always looked wonderful on their plates, but it was best they stayed there if the illusion of perfection was to be maintained. I paused on my way out, and turned back to make sure Mrs Hannah was absolutely sure about the swapping of dates for raisins, but was distracted by a knock at the side door.

Ruth, the kitchen maid, hurried into the hall to answer, and returned followed by two men. I recognised Frank Markham, the local butcher from Breckenhall, but behind him stood a young man I had never seen before; an attractive boy of around twenty, with tumbled brown hair and a faintly bemused look on his face. He was bowed under the weight of a large wooden box.

‘Morning, Ruth. Mrs Hannah.’ Mr Markham ushered the young man forward. ‘This is Will Davies, my new apprentice. He’ll be helping with deliveries from now on, so don’t you ladies go giving him a hard time.’ He winked at Ruth, who ignored him and greeted the apprentice with a good deal more enthusiasm than was proper; I saw Mrs Hannah roll her eyes, but she said nothing and went on with her work. I hoped someone would take Ruth aside one day soon, she was becoming quite the little madam from what I’d heard.

Will staggered to the table to relieve himself of his burden, and as he stood upright again his eyes found mine. It was hard to see what colour they were from this distance, but they crinkled when he smiled, and a dimple deepened in his cheek. I blinked in surprise at the casual nod he gave me, then realised he wouldn’t know I wasn’t just another of the kitchen staff, wearing my plain outdoor coat as I was. It was an interesting notion.

I watched as the apprentice went through the delivery order, enjoying the way he kept stealing glances my way, and that dimple kept reappearing. But before someone could address me by my title, and ruin the fun, I slipped back out into the corridor and up the stairs to the main front door, exploring the unexpected tingle I had felt when our eyes had locked. I’d quite liked it.

A week into the new year I saw the apprentice again, and this time there was no hiding who I was. I was wearing my best coat this time, and getting into the car with Mother and my younger brother Lawrence to go to church, when the butcher’s van rattled up the drive. Will was seated beside Mr Markham, wearing a fixed look of terror at the older man’s driving, and I hid a smile in my glove as I pictured how much paler he’d look if I was behind the wheel; the illicit lessons I begged whenever I went to stay with the London family were going well, but I tended to pay little attention to the words of caution that came with them, and people were starting to find urgent business elsewhere when they saw me approaching them with a hopeful expression.

Will’s eyes widened slightly on seeing me, and I saw realisation slip into place, then he grinned at me and winked. The tingle woke up again, stronger this time, and I was unable to prevent an answering smile from crossing my face. Just before I turned my head away I saw his expression soften, and he settled more happily back into his seat, all sign of nerves gone as the van pulled to a stop by the back gate. I glanced at Mother, but she was accepting the footman’s assistance into the car; neither the butcher nor his apprentice held any interest for her. It already felt like a rather delicious secret.

I found my thoughts straying to him more and more often. I’d look out for the van from my window and suddenly find some reason to be downstairs, or wandering along the drive, and when we glimpsed each other the smiles were quick to come, slow to fade, and warmer every time. Then one bright day in early March, the day before I was due to leave for London for two months, my mother’s maid and I were in Breckenhall, buying last-minute gifts for the London family.

Behind us was the open-air market, full of tantalising smells and sounds, brightly-coloured clothing, and bric-a-brac and old books. I compared it to the imminent wait in the stuffy post office while Alice bought stamps for about a hundred thousand letters, and eyed the busy stalls longingly.

Then I stiffened my backbone. ‘I’m going to just walk around by myself for a little while thank you, Peters.’

Peters was used, by now, to my impatience to be off alone, and it never seemed to ruffle her rather elegant feathers when I suggested it. But she had her orders. ‘Of course we’ll visit the market, but Lady Creswell told me I must stay with you.’

‘I’m sure she doesn’t mean you’re to be glued to my side,’ I protested.

‘No, of course not, but –’

I reminded myself of the difference in our positions, although I felt guilty doing it. ‘Just ten minutes,’ I said firmly. Then my façade slipped, and I reverted to the child I had been and, in her eyes at least, still was. ‘Please, Alice? After tomorrow I shan’t have a single minute to myself what with all those boring parties and dinners. People fussing over me morning, noon and night, dressmakers measuring –’

‘All right! Ten minutes.’ She looked resigned, but wore a reluctant smile. ‘I’ll be waiting by the cake stall.’ I was already walking away, and she raised her voice to call after me: ‘Just don’t tell your mother you were able to talk me into it!’ As if I would give Mother any reason to stop me coming into town.

After a happy few minutes spent enjoying the freedom, and sampling breads at a particularly delicious-smelling stall, I rounded a corner and saw, just ahead, a small boy standing alone. He looked to be around five years old, and he didn’t appear upset at first, but, as I watched, sudden realisation of his lonely state seemed to hit him and his lip began to tremble. I took a step closer but another figure appeared from behind a stall and crouched down in front of him, and my heart skipped as I recognised Will. He looked calm and competent, and, wrapped up warm against the hours he spent standing around in the early spring chill, he seemed older than I’d first thought.

The little boy was crying in earnest now, but Will paid no attention to the tears and instead kept up a cheerful chatter as he peeled the outer page off his newspaper. Still talking, his fingers worked quickly for a minute or two and then he held something out. The boy stopped snuffling and took the paper boat, and a bright smile spread over his face as he mimed its passage through an imaginary rough sea before showing it to a harried-looking nursery nurse, who seized his hand and pulled him away. She threw a brief ‘thank you’ at Will before vanishing into the crowd, and I went over to him, and found my voice.

‘Hello again.’

Will jumped, but when he turned to look at me there was no nervousness in his expression, just unabashed pleasure. Up this close I could see his eyes were a clear and lovely blue, beneath eyebrows a few shades darker than his hair, and his features were stronger and leaner than I had thought at first. Will Davies was evidently something of a charmer, and I found myself for once unable to think of anything else to say. I could only twist my fingers together and hope he would speak first.

He did, but it didn’t really help. ‘Miss Creswell,’ he said, nodding.

‘Mr Davies. That was…very clever, what you did for that little boy.’ He looked at me for a moment, and his eyes narrowed just a little bit and he took another sheet off his newspaper. He unfolded it, then his nimble fingers went to work again and a moment later he was handing me a rose, barely out of bud, with the petals curling outwards in the first welcoming hint of the full bloom to come.

I took it, and the expression on my face must have been much the same as the little boy’s. The fact that the rose was black and white, with smudgy print and a flimsy stem, meant nothing; it had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, just for me. ‘Thank you,’ I said, and tucked it into the band around my hat. ‘That should annoy Mother quite satisfactorily.’

Will laughed. The sound was lower than I’d expected it might be, and my response to it was a faint but pleasant confusion.

‘Talk in the kitchen says you’re off to London,’ he said.

‘I leave tomorrow. I’m expected to attend an awful lot of very dull parties with an awful lot of very dull people.’

‘Oh, I’m sure you’ll have fun when you get used to it.’ But his expression said, clearer than words, that he hoped I would not. Something clicked into place between us in that moment, but it remained unspoken. It sat, quietly glowing inside me, and in him it manifested itself in a forced lightness of tone.‘What time is your train?’

‘Well, that’s the good part, at least,’ I said, ‘I don’t have to sit on the train and breathe in all that cigar smoke. Uncle Jack is going to be taking me down in his motor car.’

‘The Silver Ghost?’ Will whistled. ‘You are a very lucky girl, Miss Evangeline.’

‘Call me Evie.’ It suddenly seemed important that he not think of me as one of the Creswells, after all he wasn’t one of the servants. If I had expected a modest protest from him I was pleasantly surprised.

‘Evie,’ he said, pretending to mull it over. Then he nodded. ‘I approve. As long as you promise to call me Lord William, and to bow each time you see me.’

‘My Lord,’ I said, dropping into an elaborate curtsey. Rising, I saw his smile, just before it faltered and we fell into silence. We both looked away, casting about for something to say to prolong the meeting, and with a sinking heart I remembered my arrangement with Miss Peters.

‘I have to go. Although I would have loved to stand here all afternoon, even in this faintly awkward silence.’ Turning it into a joke made it a little easier, at least, and he was surprised into a laugh. ‘Thank you so much for the sweet gift,’ I added, my voice a little softer. I wanted him to know I meant it, that I wasn’t merely being polite.

His smile slipped, leaving his expression defiantly hopeful. ‘I’ll never make one for anyone else.’

‘Good. I’m glad.’ I looked at him for a long moment, and then, obeying an instinct deeper than both etiquette and good sense, I stepped close and placed a quick kiss on the edge of his mouth. I paused, then said, ‘I have a feeling I’m going to miss you, Will Davies. Why is that, do you suppose?’

‘Because I’m irresistible?’

I smiled. ‘Have a lovely spring, I’ll be thinking of you. And when the new scullery maid starts in a week or two just make sure you’re not too irresistible.’ I briefly wondered at my own boldness, at both the kiss and the implication behind my words, but it was an exhilarating feeling nevertheless, and the look on his face told me it was not unwelcome. When I left him standing there I was determined not to look back, but felt the weight of his gaze between my shoulder blades like a warm hand, and the smile on my face made people glance twice at me and give me quizzical little smiles in return. But it was with Will that my mind stayed from that moment on.

Those two months felt like two years. The London Creswells were charming company, and the house magnificent, but it wasn’t Oaklands. In the same way, there had been plenty of potential suitors, many of them handsome enough, all without a doubt extremely wealthy, and some of them even amusing, but there had been no Will Davies among them. Not one of them made me smile the way he did, or caused my chest to flutter the way his touch had. I arrived back at Breckenhall on a warm day in the middle of May, and would have loved to have found some reason to wander around the town, and past Frank Markham’s shop window a few times, but the train had been delayed so we were late arriving. At least I was back in the same town, and might see Will at any time, and I would have to be content with that for now.

Uncle Jack, who wasn’t my uncle at all but an old friend of my deceased father, was dressed in his usual casual clothes that we both knew would make Mother wince, and it cheered me so much to see him that disappointment was pushed to the to the back of my mind. My attention was taken up, for the moment, with the opportunity to put some of those clandestine driving lessons into practice: here was Uncle Jack in his marvellous motor, and no Mother to put her foot firmly down on the fun. But he was not to be moved.

‘Absolutely not. Your mother would never allow me to set foot in the house again if anyone were to see you. And as for what she would do to you, well –’

‘Then we shall keep each other’s secret.’

‘We shall do nothing of the sort. And you don’t know how to drive anyway.’

‘Oh, don’t I?’ I couldn’t help grinning.

‘Evie …’

‘For your information, Uncle Jack, I’ve been driving a good deal whilst in London.’

‘Why did you have to tell me that?’ he groaned. ‘Now I can’t pretend any more that I’d no idea.’

‘You knew?’

‘I’d heard. But if your mother knew she’d have you confined to your rooms until you turn sixty.’

‘Then it’s a good thing I know you won’t tell her,’ I said, though with less certainty than hope. ‘Besides,’ I went on, eyeing him up and down, ‘someone who dresses as you do can’t possibly tell tales to my mother and expect them to be believed.’

‘What’s wrong with the way I dress?’

‘Honestly, you never wear the right clothes! It’s why I love you, of course.’

I stopped as we reached the car, and stared in surprise. A girl of around my own age sat huddled in the back, looking at me with wide blue eyes, and a terrified look on her face.

I wasn’t quite sure what to say, but I had to say something, if only to make the poor girl feel better. ‘Hello, whoever you are! Uncle Jack, have you been out collecting waifs and strays, or are you going to tell me this is your latest conquest?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, you should know who this is, she works for you after all. In fact I’m taking her back to work now.’

I frowned, looking again at the girl. ‘I’ve never seen you before, and I do know the staff rather well, unlike my mother.’

‘I’m n-new. I’ve only been at Oaklands for two months.’ She must be the new scullery maid. Her voice was soft, a little husky-sounding, and had a very rustic accent.

‘Well then.’ I turned back to Uncle Jack in triumph. ‘You see? For all your disapproval, this girl began work after I’d already left for London.’ I looked at the girl again. ‘You’re very pretty, but you’re a skinny thing. We must make sure Mrs Hannah feeds you up. What’s your name?’

‘Mar…Lizzy.’

She’d been about to say Mary, which must have been her real name, but she’d have been made to change that, of course, since our housemaid was called Mary. ‘Mare Lizzy?’ I deliberately misunderstood, smiling. The smile faded as I considered that the girl might well find an audience for her escapades today, and that word would almost certainly get back to Mother. I should nip rumour in the bud now.

‘Well, Mare Lizzy, I know how words are thrown around in the kitchens, and when they’re caught they’re often fumbled. I’d hate for anyone to be under the mistaken impression I’d gone against my mother’s wishes whilst in London.’

‘Of course not,’ she responded promptly. ‘I’m sure I shan’t remember a thing of our meeting once I’m back at work.’

Our eyes met and held for a moment, then my smile returned. ‘I have a feeling I can trust you, Mare Lizzy.’

‘I’m just Lizzy.’

‘I know that, silly,’ I said. ‘Uncle Jack, if we don’t hurry I shall be late for tea, and Just Lizzy will be late for work.’

‘I’m not the one standing around gossiping,’ he said. ‘And I do wish you wouldn’t call me Uncle Jack. It makes me feel ancient.’

‘You are ancient!’ I winked at Lizzy before climbing into the front seat. She was looking quite terrified both of the motor car, and of me, but I instinctively liked her, and although our paths didn’t cross again for quite some time I often thought back to that short journey, and the way she had sat in silence once the car had begun to move, embracing the new experience with quiet but intense enjoyment, her natural fear falling away to leave her breathless and bright-eyed as we parted company. I made Uncle Jack stop at the bottom of the drive, and turned around, genuinely regretful.

‘Lizzy, I don’t want to sound mean but I really think it might be better if you walked from here. Mother will hear the approach of the car, if she hasn’t already, and will certainly come to meet us at the door.’ I shrugged, not sure how to put it without causing offence. ‘She doesn’t approve of family and servants mixing company I’m afraid. Terribly old-fashioned, of course, but I must respect her wishes.’

‘When you’re in her house at least.’

As the words left her lips to hang unretractably between us, Lizzy looked at me as though she wished the car would burst into flames around her. My own stunned surprise faded into realisation that she was absolutely right, and I almost laughed outright but managed to contain it; I must appear to possess some dignity at least. So I turned away instead, nearly putting my teeth through my lip in my effort to appear stern. I daren’t look at Uncle Jack, who’d clearly had the same thoughts, and was staring straight ahead as if he had never been up our drive before, and was trying to see right up to the end of it.

Lizzy slipped from the car to begin her walk, and I saw her miserably embarrassed gaze following the car, as it roared up to the house with far more haste than was necessary. Neither of us suspected for one moment that we had just met the dearest friend each of us would ever know.


Chapter Three (#ulink_63a5a4ff-d52b-58ef-944c-8c795d8acd72)

The summer limped on. It seemed I had no time to myself, no opportunity to be looking out of the window for sight of Frank Markham’s van, and certainly none to be walking around Breckenhall in the hopes of seeing Will. There was a faint disappointment that he wasn’t seeking me out either, but I admitted I was being unreasonable; how could he possibly? Nevertheless, I began to wonder if I’d imagined the connection and growing warmth between us, and the sense of anticipation that had been coiling in my stomach since my return home was replaced by niggling doubt, and even faint embarrassment.

August was creeping towards its end, and my childhood with it. I would be eighteen on the twenty-third, and after that my life would be even less my own than it was now; strange how I had always envied the grown-ups their freedom, never suspecting that they were as much fettered by expectation as Lawrence and me. I found my interest in the Suffrage movement increasing; the sense of change just around the corner found an anchor in some frustrated corner of my mind, and began to pull…more than once Uncle Jack and I talked about it – he had reservations, not about the principle, but about the way the cause was gathering momentum; too fast and potentially dangerous. But to me it sounded not only exciting but inevitable and necessary, and I began to read as much literature as I could on the subject..

A few days before my birthday, thoughts of politics, and even of Will, had been swamped in importance by Mother’s insistence that I behave according to my new status and take a personal maid. Everyone seemed certain the kitchen maid, Ruth, would be chosen. I didn’t want a maid, could think of few worse things than having a little shadow, of any shape or size, but that it was likely to be the awful Ruth Wilkins was too much, and I said so.

‘I am not asking you for your views,’ Mother said mildly. ‘I am simply telling you what is expected of you. Besides, you will find a maid utterly invaluable, and, since we will be entertaining more now, Peters will not be at your disposal any longer.’

‘But does it have to be Ruth? She’s…well, she’s not at all the kind of person I can turn to if I need anything.’

Her voice became firmer. ‘Your maid is not your friend, Evangeline, and in any case, you know nothing about Ruth. She is an exceptionally good worker, according to Mrs Cavendish, and keen to better herself. I think she should do quite nicely.’

I sighed. Mother didn’t know I spent more time talking to the staff than I did my own family, so I was not supposed to know anything about the girl. But I did, of course, and I didn’t like any of it. She might well be skilled, and on the surface appear a dedicated worker, but in reality I knew her to be lazy, rude and selfish, with one ambition only: to move “upstairs”. I had never trusted her, and if I couldn’t trust my maid then surely it was better not to have one. But Mother waved my argument away, and I was on the verge of resorting to begging, and even promising to behave more like a young lady, when Uncle Jack spoke up from where he sat in the corner.

‘Lily, perhaps Evie might be permitted to make her own choice from the staff? And then whoever she chooses might be allowed to either accept or decline.’

I turned in indignation, to demand he explain why anyone would be likely to decline, and caught the ghost of his grin. ‘That’s a wonderful idea,’ I said instead, refusing to rise to his teasing. ‘What do you think, Mother?’

Mother sighed and glanced at Uncle Jack, who nodded encouragement. ‘Oh, very well. Although Ruth will be disappointed; she has long been the certain choice.’

‘Not mine!’ Seeing her expression I realised I was in danger of upsetting everything, and made myself stop there.

‘You have until Friday morning,’ Mother said. ‘Please, darling, do choose wisely.’

‘But my birthday is Friday, I’ll need someone to –’

‘Whoever you choose will still be needed up until Saturday morning at least,’ Mother said. ‘There are lots of preparations to make for the party on Saturday night. But don’t worry, Alice will see to you on Friday. Now do go for a walk while you think about it, your pacing up and down here is giving me quite a headache.’

‘I’m sorry. Yes, I’ll do that.’

‘If you see Lawrence while you’re out, tell him he’s late for his lessons yet again. Mr Stoper is in danger of losing his patience.’

‘I will. And I’ll come and tell you as soon as I’ve chosen.’

I wandered down the drive and out onto the Breckenhall road, my mind ranging over the staff as I went. The second housemaid, Emma Bird, was sweet, but she had a dreadfully intense and obvious crush on Uncle Jack, and since they would see each other often it might be embarrassing for him. I smiled to myself; that might be reason enough to choose her! But it wouldn’t be fair on poor Emma to use her for such sport.

Mary Deegan, the other housemaid, was lovely. She was kind and hard-working, rather serious much of the time, but I was sure she would soon unbend once we got to know each other. Yes, Mary was a good choice. Anyone would be, except Ruth! Emma said she hadn’t improved at all and had taken an instant dislike to the new scullery maid.

Lizzy! I stopped in the road wondering why I hadn’t thought of her straight away. She might be new, but Mother had said I might have my choice, she hadn’t said it must be someone who had worked here a long time. I thought back to my first sight of the girl as she huddled in the back of Uncle Jack’s car, hatless, with dark hair that had started out merely cloudy, and had ended up a terrific mess from the wind that whipped it into tangles. She had been looking at me then as if she thought I might dismiss her on the spot if she opened her mouth, and yet she had spoken up, with blunt honesty. Just Lizzy. Yes, perfect!

A rumbling in the road behind me made me look back. It was Markham’s van, crawling along no faster than I was walking, but the butcher himself was not driving it – instead Will Davies sat behind the wheel, squinting through the glass and concentrating on the road so hard he had not recognised me. I stopped walking and waited until he drew alongside, then I waved, and his expression was so comically startled that I couldn’t help laughing. But I didn’t laugh for long.

The van lurched to the right, tugged that way by Will’s determination to keep control of the vehicle despite lifting his left hand to wave back to me, and, as he realised what he had done, he grabbed the wheel again and sent the van careering across the road. It cut in front of me, and as I cried out in shock at the near miss, the van toppled into the ditch, precariously balanced on two wheels, and its driver spilled over the half-door to land sprawled beside it.

‘Will!’

He raised his head and looked at me, dazed, and I saw he was moments away from being crushed. He saw it too, and scrambled to his feet, and I grabbed his hand and pulled him away a bare second before the van crashed onto its side. We stood there, both of us staring at the van, and then at each other. Will opened his mouth to say something, but instead turned back to the van that had chuntered into silence. We were both breathing hard and I realised, at the same moment Will did, that we were still holding hands. He didn’t let go.

Instead he said in an awed voice, ‘I think you might have just saved my life.’

It gave me a strange feeling to realise he was right. On the other hand …‘Well, it was my fault you crashed. Will Mr Markham fire you for this?’

‘No, I’m too good at my job.’

I was about to tease him about his lack of modesty, but such was his confidence I was certain he was justified in it. ‘What will you do now?’

‘Walk.’

I stared at him, and he stared back, and then, out of nowhere we both erupted into laughter. It sounded wonderful in the summer air, free from hysteria, and unforced, and Will was still smiling as he stood back and let go of my hand.

He walked around to the back of the van and grimaced, then glanced at me curiously before bending to pick up one of the empty boxes that had fallen out. ‘Why are you walking alone, anyway?’

‘Mother was getting a headache.’

He blinked. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘I was driving her to distraction, as usual, pacing up and down.’ I went to help him and, with an odd mixture of pique and amusement I realised he wasn’t going to say, “No, Miss Evangeline, you mustn’t.” I hid my own smile as I dragged an empty box out of the ditch and placed it on top of the one he had laid beside him.

‘What prompted all the pacing?’ he asked.

It did sound silly, and petulant, even to my own ears, and I sighed; ‘It’s my birthday in two days. I’m expected to take a maid, although I don’t want one.’

‘It certainly looks as though you don’t need one,’ he observed, as I helped him lift another box.

I gave him a wry look. ‘Apparently it has little to do with ability, and everything to do with tradition. Besides, Mother says I won’t have Alice to help out any more, since we’re going to be having a lot more house guests from now on.’

‘Finding you a husband?’

‘Don’t, please!’

He leaned on the underneath of the van. ‘So you’ll be eighteen then,’ he said, and the way his eyes locked onto mine was both unnerving and deeply, viscerally, exciting.

‘Yes. Mother wanted me to have Ruth Wilkins.’ He winced, and I couldn’t help laughing. ‘Do you know her?’

‘Not as well as Frank Markham does,’ he said. ‘The two of them have been carrying on at least for as long as I’ve known him, probably much longer.’

Clearly none of the other staff were aware of this or Ruth would have had her marching orders, good worker or not. But I was trying to appear a woman of the world, and so I tried not to let my surprise and distaste show. ‘Well, I don’t like her,’ I said.

‘You’re a good judge of character then. I don’t think even Mr Markham likes her, particularly.’

I didn’t want to think about Ruth; the more I heard the more I realised I’d had a lucky escape. ‘I’ve made my choice anyway,’ I said, still pleased with it, ‘and it’s most certainly not Ruth. It’s the new scullery maid.’

‘Lizzy Parker?’

‘Just Lizzy.’ He looked puzzled, and I grinned. ‘It doesn’t matter. Yes, Lizzy Parker. She seems a lively sort, and I’m sure we’ll get on famously.’

‘She’s an angel,’ he agreed, and I was ashamed to feel a tingle of jealousy at his warm familiarity, but when I glanced at him he was looking back at me with an odd look on his face and I didn’t think Lizzy was on his mind at all at that moment.

Something about that look made me ask, ‘How old are you, Will?’

‘Older than you think, probably,’ he said. ‘Most people think I’m about twenty.’

‘I thought that.’

‘I was twenty-five last January.’

I studied him closely, noting, for the first time, the way he held himself; there was none of the gawky awkwardness of a young man just growing into his body, he was comfortable and at ease with his own strength. He was having an increasingly unsettling effect on me and I sought refuge in teasing.

‘That seems a little older that I’d have expected for a butcher’s boy,’ I observed, hoping the flush did not show as vividly as it felt.

Will moved a step closer. ‘I’m no boy, Evie.’ He brushed his hand over my wrist, and we both watched as my fingers and his twined together, capturing each other in wordless acceptance of the attraction between us. Once again we each sought something to say, our eyes still on our linked hands as if they might say it for us. Will took a deep breath, and his free hand rose to my face, but before he could speak again we heard an alarmed, childlike voice from the other side of the van.

‘Mr Markham? Are you all right?’

We froze, staring at each other. My mind raced; Lawrence was decent enough, for a brother, but if he saw Will and me together by the stricken van he might easily let something slip during his inevitable telling of the story later.

Will leaned in close, and his breath brushed warm on my cheek as he whispered, ‘I’ll tell you more about my life one day, and how I came to be working for Markham. If you’d like that?’

‘I would.’ We both took a step back, and I smoothed down my skirt with hands that shook and still felt Will’s warmth. Lawrence was still on the other side of the van and hadn’t seen us, so I moved away, stepping over a patch of mud. My foot came down short of my intended spot, and I slipped. Quick as lightning Will’s hand was at my waist, steadying me, and I caught my breath, hoping he would keep it there. But with Lawrence so close it would have been foolish to risk him seeing us, and Will let go of me as soon as my footing was secure once more. I wondered if he felt the same twinge of disappointment as I did.

There was no possible way to avoid being seen; Lawrence was having a good look around the van and it mustn’t seem as if we were hiding. Ignoring Will’s horrified look I stepped out into the road, in full view.

‘Lawrence! Thank goodness.’ His face, open and honest and very young for fifteen years old, went blank with astonishment at seeing me there. ‘I’m afraid I’ve caused a terrible accident,’ I went on. ‘Luckily no one was hurt, but it’s entirely my fault Mr Davies crashed the van.’

‘Yours? How?’

‘I wasn’t paying attention, and walked right out in front of him. If he hadn’t been so quick he might have run me over.’

Lawrence looked awestruck. He was a sweet boy and I felt bad for deceiving him, but this was an event he would be telling everyone about for some time, and I couldn’t risk asking him to keep quiet about my being here, he was too excited.

‘It wasn’t entirely your fault, Miss,’ Will said, emerging from behind the van to stand behind me. I couldn’t see his face, but he had managed to inject a note of annoyance into his voice and it was hard not to smile.

‘Oh, you’re too kind, Mr Davies, but it was.’ I turned to him. Sure enough he was scowling, but I was close enough to see the flicker of amusement in his eyes, and the dimple came and went quickly. ‘You must be very shaken. Come back to the house, Mrs Hannah will be pleased to make you a warm drink.’

‘Thank you, Miss. Sir.’ Will nodded at Lawrence, who smiled at the address. He would have to get used to it; he was heir to Oaklands after all, and people would soon be accepting him as more than just “the little boy at the Manor”.

Will and I were careful to keep our distance as we walked back up the long driveway, allowing Lawrence to walk between us and ask Will all kinds of questions, about the van, and about driving in particular. Remembering Will’s fierce concentration as he drove, I was sure I could have answered those questions with more detail, and certainly more enthusiasm, but I let them chatter, and instead concentrated on the way my feelings towards Will had intensified during my time away. It was impossible to ignore the way he’d looked at me just before Lawrence had arrived and, while it might be socially unacceptable, there was no longer any doubt in my mind that Will and myself had a path to travel together at some point.

I reluctantly let Lawrence take charge of directing Will to the kitchens, and found Mother in the hall saying goodbye to Uncle Jack. Because of his government work he was often away for long stretches of time, and he didn’t even live with us, but it was difficult to remember that and always a wrench when he left. This time though, I knew he would be back in time for my party on Saturday, which made it easier to see him off cheerfully. I wished I was going too, and that we could both stay away until after Saturday; as excited as I was, part of me still dreaded this party and the way my life would change after it.

Although my birthday was on Friday, the Saturday-to-Monday that followed would be when I was presented with my birthright, the Kalteng Star. Most thought it a thing of beauty: a blue diamond mined by the first of the wealthy Creswells at the turn of the last century, and upon which all future family wealth was built. But all it represented to me was discord and upset. Our family, and our distant cousins, the Wingfields, had been at loggerheads for years over that stone, and on Saturday I would become its sole custodian. I wouldn’t even own it, it was simply mine to use, to create more wealth, until the last Creswell heir died, taking the family name with him. Beautiful, yes, set as it was into a plain gold band and worn on a fine chain, but still it was destined to bring nothing but pain, until it passed out of our lives forever. That day could not come soon enough.

Putting it out of my mind for now, I followed Mother and Uncle Jack out to the front door again and tried not to look around for Will – it was strange knowing he was in the house talking to other people, and I felt a new twinge of envy for those who ensnared his attention now.

Uncle Jack hugged me goodbye. He really was more like a father than my own had been, and I looked forward to his return; he seemed to bring a breath of adventure and mystery with him every time, and I enjoyed our long discussions, even though they almost always turned heated. Maybe even because of that. He never underestimated my intelligence the way most of Mother’s friends did, and while we disagreed on many things, including my intention to adopt the purple, green and white uniform of the Suffragette, he never once made me wish I had not expressed an opinion at all.

I didn’t know how he would feel about my latest decision, though, so I waited until we were all standing in the sunlight outside the front door and he would have less time to retract his suggestion. On the other hand, if he left before I had mother’s agreement, I would have no ally at all. Simon was lifting the familiar, single bag into the back of the Silver Ghost, and the August sun glinted off the metal as he closed the door. It was now or never.

‘I have decided who I’d like as my maid,’ I announced.

Mother turned to me, a look of wary hope on her face. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve seen sense about Ruth?’

I shook my head. ‘I thought about Mary Deegan.’

‘Ah yes, now she would be an excellent choice,’ Mother said, and her voice turned warm, but I was about to ruin this rare moment of approval.

‘She would, but she’s such a good housemaid, I thought it might be hard to replace her.’

‘That’s true,’ Mother said. I saw Uncle Jack looking at me with a little lift to his eyebrow; he had guessed I was going to say something unexpected and was waiting, with clear amusement, to see what it was.

‘I’ve decided I want to ask Lizzy Parker,’ I said. Another glance at Uncle Jack showed a brief look of surprise, quickly followed by understanding, and then a smile.

‘Lizzy Parker,’ Mother mused. Then her eyebrows shot up into her hairline. ‘The scullery maid? What do you know about her? She’s only been here for a month.’

‘Six months,’ I pointed out. ‘And we did meet once, on the day I came back from London. I’m sure if I ask Mrs Cavendish I’ll hear nothing but good reports about her.’

‘She did seem polite and well-mannered,’ Uncle Jack put in. Mother looked at him in surprise and he explained how we’d offered Lizzy a ride home. ‘I got the impression she, ah…’ he broke off and his mouth twitched a little bit, ‘she seems to have a burning desire to do well.’

It was an odd thing to say, but he didn’t elaborate. ‘Anyway, I liked her,’ I said to Mother, ‘and you told me to choose carefully. Well, I have.’

Mother was, thankfully, too distracted with other things to argue. ‘Very well, if you insist. I will speak to her on Saturday morning.’

Our attention was drawn to the quiet click of the tall wooden gate that led into the kitchen gardens, and Will nodded respectfully before striding off down the drive. My brother rounded the corner of the house, calling out to his new hero, and that envy flickered again as Will turned, smiled at Lawrence, and waited for him to catch up. Mother frowned and started to protest at the way her son was behaving with the tradesman, and I hurriedly kissed Uncle Jack goodbye and went back indoors, wondering how long it would be before that breathtaking smile was once more directed at me. Wondering, too, about what Will had been about to say before Lawrence’s arrival had stopped him.

My birthday party, and Lizzy’s first day as my maid, blurred into a mess of riding, dressing, catching the envious eyes of family members – particularly the Wingfields – as they watched Uncle Jack hang the wretched blue diamond around my neck, and the relief that I had, without doubt, made the right choice in Lizzy. She was attentive, gentle and funny, and with a sharp intelligence that I already knew would question everything, weigh up the answers, and then reach her own conclusions anyway. A girl after my own heart, and, despite what Mother had said, I knew she would be a good friend.

Shortly afterwards, when all the fuss had died down, my thoughts turned once again to the man who had laughingly dubbed himself “Lord William”. I tried to convince myself I’d been wrong about that path we were to travel, that he was a distraction, nothing more, but even as I acknowledged it I felt my heart squeeze a little at the thought of his hand on my wrist, his breath on my skin, and his voice, low and soft, speaking my name. Distraction or otherwise, the need to see him again was growing, and it was something I could not ignore.

It was market day in Breckenhall.Sitting in my room, looking out at the sunshine and at Lawrence larking about with our cousins on the tennis court, I knew I couldn’t wait a moment longer, and changed into the plainest of my dresses, left a note for Lizzy and, unable to find anyone to drive me, I walked into town.

Despite my eagerness I moderated my pace, deliberately keeping my mind on banal things; diary appointments, the next time I might ride to hounds, and what to buy Lawrence for his birthday. As I drew closer to town, however, my feet began to overtake my patience, and when I began hearing the sounds of the busy market drifting down the road it was all I could do not to break into a run. Once in the square I steadied myself, feeling the heat in my skin that I tried to tell myself was just a result of my fast walk. Will was manning Mr Markham’s stall, urging customers to go across to the shop before all the best cuts were sold, and after the first lurch of excitement at seeing him I held back and watched him. I enjoyed hearing the laughter of the crowds as he kept up a running line of banter, folding small bits of paper into intriguing shapes to give to the children. Word had spread from the delighted recipients to their friends, and there was a small queue waiting; I watched his hands, busy at work as he spoke to his customers, hardly sparing a glance downwards, utterly confident in his creations.

Eventually he looked around and saw me, and the look on his face jolted me severely. I had hoped for a smile, one of those grins that lit up his face, but he looked as if someone had reached into his chest and stolen his breath. His words faltered and he gave the crowd a distracted smile, but his eyes were pulled back to mine again immediately. I felt my own heart stuttering, and couldn’t look away, no matter what propriety dictated. His patter faded and the small group dispersed, so I made my way over to the stall and, making sure he was still looking, stepped between the backdrop and the high wall of the town hall. A moment later he was there and before I had time to blink I was in his arms. I’m no boy, Evie…I knew it for certain when he held me, and the way he breathed my name made me tremble.

‘Lord William,’ I murmured in return, and felt him laugh. I pulled back and looked up into his face, suddenly shy. ‘I didn’t know if you…I mean –’

‘Does this reassure you?’ He lowered his face to kiss me, and the rest of the world slipped away to become nothing more than a background hum and a vague awareness of a breeze in my hair. Will’s lips were gentle but firm as they moved over mine, and my mouth opened without any conscious decision on my part. Our hands moved restlessly as they sought a closer hold, and as the kiss deepened I felt the sharp, hard nip of his teeth and returned it.

When we finally broke apart, both more than a little shaken by the intensity of the moment, he stepped back and raised a questioning eyebrow. With an effort, I remembered the question.

‘Well, yes,’ I said, a little breathlessly. ‘That was very reassuring indeed.’

He smiled and leaned in for another kiss, a softer one this time, our lips barely brushing. ‘Good.’ Then he made a small sound of annoyance and glanced at his pocket watch. ‘Frank will be over in a moment. Quick, when can I see you again?’

He peeked out from our hiding place to check both the stall and the imminent arrival of his employer, and I thought fast. ‘I ride alone when I can. Up behind Oaklands and towards the quarry. I try to go out on Sundays, usually as soon as I’ve changed after church, and stay out until teatime if the weather’s dry.’

Will touched my cheek and I leaned into his hand. ‘Well, there’s a rare bit of luck; Sundays are my afternoons off. I’ll be waiting by the quarry after lunch.’ He frowned slightly, but it was a happy kind of puzzlement. ‘I know this is ridiculous, but I have the vague suspicion I might have fallen for you.’

‘Ridiculous,’ I agreed, but my eyes stayed on his and I felt the pull between us, impossible to ignore. I daren’t press my lips to his again, for fear we’d become lost in time, so I let them linger against his jaw instead. It was almost as hard to break away. ‘This has to be our secret, for a while at least.’

He nodded. ‘It’s not that I’m ashamed of you,’ he said solemnly, ‘but, you know, a man of my social position has his reputation to consider.’ I cuffed his arm and he smiled. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t tell a soul.’

‘One day we’re going to be able to tell everyone and not think for one minute they wouldn’t approve,’ I said. ‘Things are definitely changing.’

He studied me for a moment. ‘I hope you’re right, I honestly do. In the meantime, not a word, I promise.’

‘Not a word,’ I repeated, and he drew me close again, his hands locked in the small of my back, only the contented sigh stirring my hair telling me his happiness matched my own.

Five months later he was holding me again, but neither of us was happy.


Chapter Four (#ulink_598a2296-d591-5b0e-9851-9ba913cce93d)

Breckenhall Quarry, January 1913.

On New Year’s Eve, my worst fears about the Kalteng Star had come true. It had gone missing during the huge party mother had thrown, and although I’d fully believed in my own desire to be rid of it, the shock rippled through all of us. Mother was obviously distraught, although to others I knew she made a vast effort to appear coldly calm, and I felt the guilt lying over me like a terrible weight throughout the fruitless search.

But in the end the blame had fallen squarely on Lizzy, and nothing we had been able to do had persuaded the jury otherwise. The so-called evidence had built and built, and I had watched even her fiery determination crumple in the face of it, until she stood, shaking and helpless while they delivered the verdict.

Mary Deegan, who had formed a closeness with Lizzy from her first day, had defied etiquette and put her arm around me as the words fell like rocks into the silence, and Lizzy had looked back at us both as they’d taken her down. Her face was white and stunned, her eyes looked bigger and bluer than ever in contrast as she no doubt prayed for a last minute intervention, and then she was gone, to begin a ten-year prison sentence in Holloway Women’s Prison, London.

We returned to Oaklands in silence. Mary was fighting tears but she wouldn’t let them fall in front of me. That was another way in which she and Lizzy were different; had it been the other way around I know Lizzy would have been unable to control her distress. But I could tell Mary wanted to be alone, and so, after a brief word of mutual comfort, and a heartfelt promise to do everything I could to get Lizzy freed, I let her go and went to my own rooms to try and make sense of what had happened.

I had not gone downstairs at all that night, and Mother had not tried to persuade me. She too was in a state of shock, but for her it was more to do with the loss of the Kalteng Star than the terrible injustice that had befallen my friend. She told me Ruth would take up Lizzy’s position first thing in the morning and I nodded, too wrung out to argue. I fell into bed, and lay awake with burning eyes until the early hours, wondering what Lizzy was doing and if she was all right.

When I awoke from a shallow and unsatisfactory sleep, I had taken advantage of the fact that I was temporarily without a formal maid to leave the house unnoticed. I asked the stable-boy Billy to saddle Orion, and rode up to the quarry. Even though it wasn’t a Sunday I knew Will would not let me down. Sure enough he was there, and clearly had been for some time; he was freezing cold and shivering in the biting January wind, and came down the hill to meet me. I slid off Orion and into his arms, and we clung together, leaning into the buffeting wind while I wept out all the anger and despair I’d kept hidden in front of everyone else. When I eventually wiped my eyes, he took my hand and we walked in silence up the hill, over the wet grass, to the big rock at the top.

‘I’m so sorry I wasn’t there yesterday,’ he said as we sat down, heedless of the puddles in the uneven surface. ‘Markham said he wanted to go to support Ruth, if you ever did, and someone had to keep the shop open.’

I shook my head, dismissing the apology. ‘I knew that diamond was going to cause upset. I told Lizzy so myself the night I got it.’

‘Who do you think really stole it?’

‘I have no idea. I would suspect the Wingfield boys if they hadn’t been seen elsewhere at the time.’

‘What about their mother, Clarissa, isn’t it?’

‘She was questioned by the police, and lots of people saw her too.’ I sighed; it had all been going around and around in my head for so long I was dizzy with it. ‘I’m going to write to Uncle Jack as soon as I get home. He works for the government, he must be able to do something.’

‘Darling, he’s a diplomat, he’s not part of the –’

‘It doesn’t matter! I have to do something!’

Will pulled me against him and tucked my head beneath his chin. ‘I’m sorry. Yes, you’re right, he might at least know someone who can help.’

‘We have to try everything,’ I said, and I felt him nodding.

‘We will.’ He paused, then went on, ‘Evie, I know she’s closer to you than your own family, but trying to absorb Lizzy’s unhappiness won’t ease it for her. Can you imagine how cross she’d be if she knew you were spending your days worrying and crying over something you have no power to change?’

I drew back, suspicious. He sounded awfully selfish, and it surprised and unsettled me. He frowned, then realised what was going through my mind and shook his head. ‘I’m not suggesting you forget about her, that you ignore your feelings or that you be cheerful for anyone’s sake but your own, and hers. All I’m saying is that, when you write to her, you hold on to that determination we all love about you, and don’t show her a moment’s doubt. Do your crying with me, cry all the time if you need to.’ He touched my cheek, and his face was earnest, and more than a little helpless. ‘I don’t want to see you sad, but if you must be sad with someone, let it always be me.’

That afternoon when I returned home, I wrote to Uncle Jack, and then to Lizzy, keeping Will’s words in mind and forcing my determined cheerfulness onto the paper.

‘Dearest Lizzy. I have written to Uncle Jack in the hopes he may help secure your release, I don’t know how, but he does seem to know some terribly important people. I await his response, but will write to you immediately as soon as I hear he is on his way, for I am sure he soon will be!

Yr loving friend,

Evie.’

As I reread the words before sliding the paper into the waiting envelope, I felt them wrap themselves around the despair in my heart and soothe it; there was nothing more I could do, but Uncle Jack would ride to the rescue, there was no question about it. Lizzy’s fate now lay in his hands, and my own rested in mine and Will’s; it had come as a breathtaking shock to discover how suddenly everything could change, and I realised I must treasure every fleeting and fragile moment of joy while it was still within reach.

The spring of 1913 was dull and wet, and gave way to an equally dull, but dry summer. Will and I continued to meet each Sunday; it was difficult to find any more time since mother had realised I would soon be turning nineteen, and was in danger of becoming the spinster of the parish. Of course, the loss of the Kalteng Star was having an effect on the number of potential husbands that crossed the threshold of Oaklands Manor, but there were still plenty for Mother to urge in my direction, and to question me over after I had returned from whichever dinner or party I had been whisked away to.

I played my part, of course. I danced with fathers, spoke glowingly to mothers of their sons’ fine qualities, befriended sisters and curtseyed to grandmothers. I laughed with suitors and allowed a brief brush of lips on my gloved hand when we parted, and told Mother I’d had a wonderful time and would very much like to see that young man again. Then I went to my room, dismissed Ruth, and lay in the dark thinking of Will.

The day after a particularly excruciating party was a Sunday, and despite a strong breeze it was a rare sunny one. With Orion loosely tethered to a bush and munching at the grass, I climbed onto the high rock and looked across the valley to see Will, striding up over the hill with that eagerness he never tried to hide. His dark hair blew back from his face, showing strong, clean lines of jaw and cheekbone, and I enjoyed watching the unconsciously graceful ease with which he moved across the uneven ground towards me.

I stood up and waved, the wind whipping at my skirts and threatening to tug me right off the rock, and he shouted at me to sit down before something awful happened but instead I began to dance from foot to foot, just to make him walk faster. It worked; he began to run, laughing, until he was able to spring up beside me and press his smiling mouth to mine.

He tasted cold and fresh after his walk, and his skin was flushed with good health and contentment. I could tell he was going to say something momentous and romantic, and I waited with impatient and growing anticipation, while he searched for the right words.

Eventually he took my hand, and fixed his eyes tenderly on mine. ‘You’ve got a hole in your jacket.’

I blinked at him, then gave him a look of mock annoyance. ‘And here I was thinking you were about to declare your endless devotion.’

‘Oh, that too,’ he said with a grin, and tugged my hair gently. ‘Ruth not up to Lizzy’s standard then?’ My humour faded, and I sat down. He sat beside me and put an arm around my shoulder. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to remind you.’

‘It’s never far from my mind anyway. I do wish Uncle Jack would write back, no one’s heard from him since the turn of the year.’

‘Do you think he’ll be able to help?’

‘I’m sure he will. He must be owed a favour or two, after all he’s always shooting off at a moment’s notice and it can’t be all his own choice.’

‘And Ruth?’ He waggled his finger through the hole in my jacket pocket.

‘She’s a disaster, of course. She might have been a good kitchen maid but her skills don’t extend any further than that, and she doesn’t seem at all disposed to learning. She doesn’t have Lizzy’s deftness of touch, and doesn’t notice when something needs doing. I have to ask her half a dozen times at least.’

He grinned at my grumpy tone. ‘But is she as cold as ever?’

‘More so, I would say.’ But I didn’t want to waste our time talking about Ruth. ‘I’m thinking of telling Mother I don’t want a maid at all.’

‘You’d want one if Lizzy was still here,’ he pointed out.

‘She was very good, but I miss her friendship more than her skill with a needle. Besides, I can dress myself. And,’ I added drily, ‘I could mend my own clothes a sight better than Ruth Wilkins. I can’t help feeling it’s time to let go of all that nonsense.’

‘So you’re still convinced everything is going to change,’ Will said, staring out over the hills. Then he swung back to face me and stared at me closely. I was ready for him to tell me I had a smudge on my nose, or a leaf in my hair, but instead he said, ‘I want to marry you, Evie. One day. When we can, without upsetting your family. Will you let me?’

I felt a smile creep across my face and saw it answered in his own. ‘Never mind my family,’ I said, ‘it’s not them you’re marrying.’

‘What sort of an answer is that?’

‘It’s a resounding, thunderous yes!’ I stood up again and cupped my hands to my mouth, bellowing down the valley in a most unladylike manner, ‘Mother, can you hear this? I’m going to marry the butcher’s boy!’

I turned back, still laughing, but Will had stood too, and was looking at me oddly. He folded his arms across his chest, tucking his hands into his armpits, but it seemed less as a way of keeping warm than of keeping his distance.

My own laughter died. ‘What is it?’

‘Why did you say “yes”, Evie?’ he asked quietly, his words almost whipped away in the summer wind.

‘What do you mean? I said it because I want to marry you!’

He blew out a breath and looked down at his feet, and I could see he was struggling with something he didn’t want to say aloud, but felt he must. Eventually he looked back at me, and there was a confused kind of hope in his expression.

‘Are you sure you’re not saying it just to upset the apple cart, and you’ll change your mind later?’

‘No! Why ever would you ask such a thing?’

‘In the market, when I gave you the rose, I thought it was sweet and funny that you put it in your hat-band and said it would annoy your mother. I told myself it was because you were, I don’t know…’ he shrugged, embarrassed, ‘a little bit moved, maybe, and couldn’t think of anything else to say.’

‘I was! That was exactly it. Will, don’t –’

‘No, listen. Just now, when you agreed to marry me, shouldn’t your first reaction have been to come to me? To kiss me? But no, you stood up and, well yes, gloated that you were going to marry the butcher’s boy. Not me, not Will Davies. The “butcher’s boy”.’

Remorse struck me as I stared at him, at his usually open, cheerful face, now tight-jawed and frowning. I couldn’t blame him for his anger. I wanted to go to him, as I should have done before but it would just look false now – it was far too late. I simply didn’t know what to do.

I looked at him helplessly, hoping my regret would show through my wordless inability to move. He looked back, his face pale, his own silence begging me to contradict what he’d said, but I couldn’t find anything big enough, and significant enough, to say. The feelings were swelling inside me, but they couldn’t find a way to be expressed. Eventually I found a tiny voice and managed, ‘Do you still want to marry me?’

He let his arms drop, but he didn’t hold them out to invite me closer. ‘Of course I do,’ he said, gently enough, then went on in a firmer voice, ‘but I won’t be your toy, a means of annoyance to your mother.’ He shook his head, his expression touched with exasperation now. ‘I don’t understand you sometimes. You clearly love her, but you have this need to push her to the limit of her endurance. I can’t just be another weapon in your armoury.’

That stung. ‘This is about you and me, Will, no one else.’

‘And what of your mother?’

‘Well, of course I love her, even though she’s sometimes hard to love.’ I saw a way to convince him then, and hurried on: ‘And yet I’m prepared to risk hurting her to be with you. Doesn’t that tell you all you need to know?’

‘You torment her at every chance,’ he pointed out, but he had softened his stance and now took a hesitant step closer. ‘Look, I know you’ve always been a bit of a tearaway, but you’re growing up fast, and Lady Creswell needs to get to know the young lady you’ve become. She’ll never like me, I understand that, but when she sees you’re serious she might give us her blessing.’

I shook my head. ‘She won’t. And it’s not because of who you are, because if she knew you she would love you as much as I do. It’s because of who you’re not.’

He slumped a little then, but my words seemed to reach him and he accepted my tentative embrace. We stood for a while, on top of the rock, while our first ever moments of discord gradually slipped away into the breeze, and began to appreciate, once more, this precious time alone together.

I ran a finger over the back of one of his hands, noting the slender strength of his fingers and remembering their dexterity with the paper sculptures. ‘You never did tell me: how did you end up working for Mr Markham? And what do you want to do, really?’

‘I suppose if you’re going to marry me you ought to know something about me,’ he conceded. ‘I have no deep, dark secrets, but you’re right, butchery was never my first choice.’ He jumped off the rock and turned to me, hands outstretched to help, but I’d been jumping off this rock for years and, with a withering look at him, I managed it quite well again today without his help. He grinned and took my hand, tucking it around his arm as we walked up towards the big quarry pit that lay over the hill.

‘Dad wanted me to take over the business. He worked seven days a week, but that wasn’t why I left, I’ve never been afraid of a full working life. I just felt as if I had no time to do what I loved most: sculpting wood.’

I should have expected this; his eye for crafting beautiful things was clearly echoed in the skill of his hands. ‘I had a friend,’ he went on. ‘Nathan. He lived in Blackpool too, but he had family in Breckenhall. Quite well off, I think. We both shared this…’ he looked down at his free hand and flexed the fingers reflectively, ‘this need to create, I suppose.’ He glanced down at me, a little embarrassed, a little defiant.

‘Go on,’ I said, delighted to be learning about him at last. ‘Where is Nathan now? Oh, and what was the family business you couldn’t wait to get away from?’

Will stopped and withdrew his arm from mine to shove his hands in his pockets. ‘You’ll laugh.’

‘I won’t, I promise.’

‘Cross your heart?’

‘Absolutely. I will not laugh.’

His eyes narrowed in warning, then he shrugged. ‘All right. It was a butcher’s shop.’

I bit my lip, but it was no good, and although I didn’t laugh outright I did feel a wide smile on my face that made him roll his eyes, pull my hat down over my ears and stalk off. I chased him, letting the giggles out at last, and caught his hand. ‘Wait! I want to hear the rest!’

‘I’ll tell you the rest if you promise not to say the word “butcher” to me once more today.’

‘I promise,’ I said again, with the proper solemnity, and he sighed.

‘Might as well get the grass to promise not to grow,’ he grumbled. ‘Anyway, Nathan was – is – an artist. A proper artist, not like me; I just like to make things, but he’s a painter.’

‘I don’t see why that makes you less than a “proper” artist,’ I protested.

Will shook his head. ‘He had real talent, everyone said so. He was offered a studio here in Breckenhall, one of his family left it to him. So he asked me if I wanted to leave Blackpool, come here and set up with him in business. He would take commissions, I would work on my carvings and sculptures, and we would sell them at the market.’ He shrugged again. ‘It all sounded wonderful. I was just in the way at home, anyway.’

‘In the way? How could you be?’

‘I’m the youngest of five. There were plenty of others to take my place beside Dad.’

I tried to imagine how anyone could make him feel anything less than special, but I couldn’t begin to. ‘So the two of you came to Breckenhall, set up your studio, and what happened then?’

‘Nathan’s dream carried us for a while. I sold a few pieces and we set ourselves up using our savings. But we’d not thought it through really; frames, oils, canvas, brushes…it all cost much more money than we’d allowed for.’

‘But you owned the studio outright?’

‘Yes. We partitioned it off and slept in one half, worked in the other. It was fun, those few years,’ Will said, smiling in remembrance. ‘We got on well, and we were able to spend all our time doing the thing we each loved the most. I was able to get by without spending too much on equipment; I walked to the forest and gathered hardwoods there, so all I had to do was keep my blades sharp. And eat and keep warm, of course.’

I wished I’d known him then, it gave me an odd feeling to think he’d been there all this time, I’d probably even seen him selling his carvings in the market without noticing him…it didn’t seem possible now. ‘Sounds heavenly,’ I said.

‘Well, I knew things were difficult, but I thought we were muddling through. Then one day Nathan stayed up late to finish a project he was working on, and when I woke up I found a note. He’d gone.’

‘Gone? Where?’

Will shrugged. ‘Just…gone. He’d been struggling for a long time, borrowing from friends and family, until he found himself in so much debt he couldn’t pay it back. Not even his family could help. I had no idea things were so bad.’

‘What about the studio?’ I said, aghast, ‘Couldn’t you sell that?’

‘He’d already sold it, without telling me, and now I owed rent to the new owners.’

‘What on earth did you do?’

‘I sold everything I could to pay the back rent, found a smaller room above the fruit shop, and just when I thought I would have to go back to Blackpool with my tail between my legs, I saw the note in Frank Markham’s window.’ He looked at his hands again and gave a rueful laugh. ‘It seemed I’d learned more from my father than I thought, Markham was very impressed despite my “advanced age”. He gave me the job there and then.’

‘Well, thank goodness he did,’ I said, ‘or I’d never have met you.’

Will stopped and turned me to face him. ‘Thank goodness,’ he echoed, and I stood very still, breathless, thinking how close I had come to driving him away with my childish need to provoke my mother.

‘I’m sorry,’ I blurted. ‘You had every right to be angry.’

‘I wasn’t –’

‘Yes, you were.’

He smiled, suddenly. ‘Yes, I was. Bloody angry, actually. There was I, baring my soul to you, and all you can do is start yelling down the valley.’

‘Sorry,’ I said again, then gave him my wickedest grin. ‘You do look very handsome when you’re angry though, I must remember that. Perhaps I should begin a list of all the things that make you cross.’

He growled, and lunged for me, but I danced back out of reach and sat down on the grass. ‘You’re so easy-going, what does make you angry?’

‘Apart from young ladies reacting incorrectly to proposals of marriage?’

‘Apart from that, yes.’

He sat next to me, and pretended to consider. ‘Grown-ups sulking,’ he said at last. ‘I find that more annoying than almost anything.’

I lay back and rolled over, letting out the biggest, grumpiest sigh I could manage. He chuckled, and I felt his hand on my back, but although I smiled into the crook of my elbow I didn’t roll over. I liked the feeling of the persistent rubbing of his hand through the thin material of my dress, and as he lifted the hair away from the nape of my neck I knew what would happen next. Sure enough, his lips touched the newly exposed and tender skin and I bit my arm to keep from letting out a sigh of pleasure; I wasn’t ready for this to end yet, and as I gave another grunt of feigned annoyance I felt his mouth curve against my neck in a smile that I knew would be wide and beautiful.

‘I’m getting very angry now,’ he whispered, and the warmth of his breath sent a shock of longing through me that I wasn’t prepared for. My playacting ceased immediately and I lay very still, aware of the heat of his hand at my shoulder, and of the cool shade of his body. He kissed my neck again, and his hand moved gently down my side to cup my hip, then roll me gently towards him, brushing across my body to rest at my waist. I found myself unable to speak, but it didn’t matter; his face blocked out the sun, and as his lips touched mine, I knew this time things were different.

Our afternoons had always held the frisson of forbidden pleasure, and, while I knew the attraction between us had been growing, I had never, until now, felt the almost painful need to take our innocent kisses any further. Now, as he drew back and looked down at me, his breathing suddenly shallow, I felt a sweet, tugging sensation in the pit of my stomach that grew stronger the more I studied him. I noticed every single thing about him; the way his hair flopped untidily across his brow; the stray lash that lay beside his left eye; the slightly reddened skin along his jaw where he’d shaved in a hurry before coming out to meet me. I felt his hand slide up from my waist and across my ribcage to lie tentatively beneath my breast, and then his thumb moved to caress the swell there and he closed his eyes.

I kept mine open. His collar was open in the August warmth, and I saw the muscles move in the strong, smooth column of his throat, and the pulse beating rapidly below the angle of his jaw. I smelled grass and soap, the faint tang of moorland animals, and my own light perfume, all mingling in the dry air, and then his mouth was on mine and as my lips parted I felt him sigh against me, and I was lost.

I came to only moments later. Will jerked away from me as if I had slapped him, and I stared up at him in mortified astonishment before realising he had not moved voluntarily. A tall shadow fell over us both, and even as I recognised the angry face of my cousin David Wingfield, Will rolled away from me and came to his feet. Before he had gained his balance David shoved at him and he stumbled back, but recovered in time to deflect a blow that would otherwise had crashed into the side of his head. His own fist came up with a short, quick motion and connected with David’s jaw, and from where I lay I could see David go sprawling backwards.

Will turned back to me, stunned, and crouched down. ‘Darling, I’m so sorry, are you all right?’

‘What on earth is going on?’ I said, putting my hand in his.

He pulled me to my feet. ‘I have no idea why he’s here, but you’d better –’

Before he could finish, David’s foot rammed into the back of his knee and he staggered into me, carrying me back to the ground with a grunt, and my teeth clacked together painfully. He only just avoided landing on top of me by rolling onto his side and, off-balance and worried about me, he failed to move out of the way quickly enough and David’s next kick took him below the breastbone, knocking the breath from his body. He slumped, gasping, but the next time David’s foot flew out he caught it and tugged hard, spilling David onto his back again.

Will climbed to his feet, pale and still dragging painful breaths, and waited until David was upright again before advancing with his fists ready. I stared at them both, dizzy with the suddenness with which everything had changed, and wanting to go to Will and make sure he was all right. But he was completely focused on David now, and as David lunged, he easily dodged and clipped David on the point of his chin.

I watched, my heart slowing as the panic eased; Will was older, and easily the most agile and stronger of the two, and, despite the bruising kick, he was breathing more easily now. I wondered what had brought David up to the quarry in the first place, and, hot on the heels of that came the more urgent question: how could we prevent him from telling everyone what he had seen?

The two circled one another like wolves, the twenty-six-year-old and the seventeen-year-old, but David had already lost and we all three knew it. He eyed Will warily; Will had pushed his sleeves back to reveal forearms made strong by the hard work he did six and a half days out of seven, and the muscles flexed beneath his skin as he tightened and relaxed his fists. There was a gleam of sweat along his brow, and his eyes flashed bright blue in the sunlight, but now they weren’t friendly at all.

David cleared his throat and stepped back, dropping his hands back to his sides, an act I reluctantly admitted took courage. Defiantly, he raised his chin and I could see the red mark that would bruise nicely later. ‘I’ll have you arrested if I catch you anywhere near Miss Creswell again.’ His gaze flicked to me, and although I was quite respectably dressed I felt as if Will’s warm hands had left blazing prints all across my summer dress, and that they must have shown. Then he looked back at Will, clearly relieved as Will also dropped his guard and assumed a more relaxed position.

David’s tone turned rather snooty and I lost the fleeting sympathy I’d felt. ‘Who are you, anyway? No gentleman, that’s for sure. A gentleman would never assault a lady while she was out riding.’

‘What do you want, David?’ I said, moving to Will’s side. ‘Just say what you came for and then leave.’

‘I came to see you, as a matter of fact,’ he said. ‘Your mother invited me to dinner.’

Whatever I had been expecting, it wasn’t that. ‘What on earth for? And how did you know where I was?’

‘Everyone knows where you come to get away from everything, even your stable-hand. It’s a good thing I came, if you ask me, another few minutes and that low-born thug might have done anything!’

‘Watch who you’re calling a thug,’ Will said with deceptive mildness, but I saw him tensing up again.

David did too, and stepped back, his voice betraying his nervousness. ‘Whatever you claim to be the case, you cannot deny I came along just in time,’ he said. Privately I couldn’t help agreeing, but for a very different reason. I found my eyes drawn once more to the muscular arms that brushed mine as we stood side by side, and knew that if they were around me right this minute I would have surrendered everything, wholly and without a second thought.

‘Are you going to tell anyone what you’ve seen?’ I wanted to know.

‘Well now, I don’t know what I’ve seen, do I?’ David looked cunning suddenly, and I wanted to slap him. ‘It’s hardly your fault if some ruffian attacks you while you’re sleeping in the sun.’

Will and I looked at each other, and I could see he was going to admit to exactly that, if it meant maintaining our secret for my sake. I spoke quickly, before he could. ‘That isn’t what happened, David, you know it isn’t.’

‘Evie –’ Will began.

‘No, it’s not and you can’t pretend it is either. You’ll lose your job and Mr…your employer will suffer too,’ I said, almost naming Markham in my hurry to make my point. Mother would be certain to discover who Will was, and that would be the last time he or Markham would be delivering to Oaklands. Not to mention Will’s reputation being torn to shreds. I could not allow that.

I turned back to David, who was glancing from me to Will and back again. ‘David, I know you’re going to run back to your mother and tell her what you saw, but you need to know that won’t make any difference at all.’

‘Any difference to what?’

‘To us.’ I slipped my hand into Will’s and, after a glance of mingled exasperation and pride, he raised it to his lips. ‘Nor to what you came here for,’ I added, and David flushed.

‘I merely came to dinner,’ he reminded me. ‘At the invitation of your mother.’

‘And the instigation of yours,’ I said acidly. ‘She must be quite sure I will get the Kalteng Star back one day, and what better way to ensure it goes back to the Wingfields than if you and I were to marry?’

‘The diamond is gone,’ he protested, but there was no conviction behind his words; he clearly believed the same as his mother, that Lizzy would soon break under the terrible conditions inside Holloway, and tell someone where she had hidden it. Except I knew she hadn’t taken it to begin with, and with any luck we would never see it again.

‘Then Clarissa won’t be too disappointed to learn that I have no intention of joining our two families again,’ I said.

‘Aren’t you two related anyway?’ Will said.

‘Only distantly. David’s great-grandmother was my great-aunt Catherine.’

‘So it’s legal for you to wed?’

‘Legal, but not in the least desirable,’ I said, ‘particularly after the way he helped convict Lizzy.’

‘I simply came to dinner,’ he repeated stubbornly. ‘Please allow me to escort you back, Miss Creswell.’

‘I have Orion,’ I reminded him, profoundly grateful for the excuse. ‘And it’s nowhere near time to eat yet. At least Mrs Hannah will have plenty of notice of your cancellation.’

David’s jaw dropped. ‘Are you refusing me the hospitality offered by Lady Creswell?’

‘Not at all. Do stay, if you wish. I hope you enjoy talking to Mother.’

‘Won’t you be there?’

I smiled sweetly. ‘I expect I shall have a headache later. It’s probably best if I take a tray in my room.’

Will’s hand tightened on mine as he choked back a laugh, and I gripped hard in return. David looked at us both, searching for a way to save face. In the end he simply turned on his heel and strode off down the hill, no doubt aware of the picture of dignity he made. This was spoiled slightly as he had to take a sudden side-step to avoid the inevitable sheeps’ leavings, and his ankle turned; his disappearing silhouette cut a rather less dashing figure from that moment on. Will and I leaned on each other in relief at being alone again.

‘Do you really think your two mothers are conspiring to have you married off?’ Will said. I was glad of the distraction, even if it meant discussing such an unsavoury thought; I was too conscious of the silence, of the peace that had fallen over us, and of the heat of his body.

‘The Kalteng Star does funny things to people’s minds,’ I said. ‘I wouldn’t be at all surprised.’

‘But, as you said, it’s gone. We don’t know who stole it, and it’s fairly certain you’ll never get it back.’

‘Thank goodness, although Clarissa must think differently.’ I realised something then, and smiled. ‘Do you know, Lord William, that never once in all the time I have known and loved you, did it occur to me that you might have had your head turned by it too?’

He gave me an amused look; it had obviously never occurred to him either. ‘Not even when I told you how much I’d struggled before, to make a living from sculpting?’

‘Not even then. Besides, you’re here with me now even though I don’t have that fortune any longer.’

‘You’re still a very wealthy young woman,’ he pointed out. ‘Although the first time we saw each other I think we both knew we would be standing together one day. That was back when I thought you were kitchen staff at Oaklands, of course.’

‘But I knew who you were.’

He put his arm around my shoulder. ‘And it didn’t make any difference to you, so why should it to me? The way I see it, loving you comes with a great deal more complication than loving me could ever do.’

‘You’re right,’ I said a little glumly, making him smile. ‘You have my sympathies. Promise you’ll never give up on me?’

‘I promise. I only hope David is too embarrassed to tell his mother, or yours, what he saw up here.’

I had to speak of it, now the moment had passed and I felt safe from my own unexpectedly fierce desire. ‘Will, about before, when David found us –’

‘I’m not going to tell you I’m sorry,’ he interrupted, but I shook my head.

‘But we can’t … you know. We shouldn’t. And today I felt…’ I was struggling to find the words, but he was there with his own and, as always, they cut straight to the heart of things.

‘Only a word from you would have stopped me.’ He held my shoulders and ducked down so his eyes were level with mine and there was no hiding. ‘And you wouldn’t have said that word, would you?’

‘No,’ I confessed in a small voice. What did that make me? But the sudden, brilliant smile on his face banished the question and replaced it with the knowledge that it simply meant that this man and myself were meant to be together. As we’d both known from the start.

‘Come on,’ he said, tugging my hand, ‘it’s almost time you were back home.’

‘Just a bit longer?’ I pleaded. Despite the faintly tainted atmosphere that drifted around what had, for so long, been our private haven, it was such a heavenly day I hated to think it must end, and that I wouldn’t see Will again for a whole week. He was breath and life to me now, how had I survived so long without him? Soon it would be even longer between chances; the year was aging rapidly and there were few places we could meet without risk.

‘Just a few minutes then.’ He made it sound as though he were doing me the greatest turn, but his eagerness to sit down and draw me down next to him gave him away. I smiled and looked down the hill towards Oaklands Manor. Beautiful it might be, bathed in the reddish gold of the late afternoon sun, but I couldn’t wait for the day when I could move out and set up home with Will.

As if he could read my mind, he slipped his hand into mine. ‘Don’t you think we ought to set a date then?’

‘What about my mother?’

‘Tell her, or don’t. Only you can decide, but you’d better decide quickly.’

‘Oh there you go again, getting all cross and handsome.’

He scowled and turned to press me down into the grass, and kissed me until I could barely breathe.

‘God, Evie…I can’t wait much longer.’ He rolled away to lie staring up at the sky.

I understood he was not blaming me and suddenly, out of nowhere, I whispered, ‘Then let’s not wait.’ I immediately panicked when he looked at me long and consideringly, and wished I hadn’t said it. It would be unfair of me to change my mind now, and I wasn’t even sure I’d be able to, but I felt a churning, nervous wariness at the thought of what I had suggested.

His finger traced a gentle line from my temple to my jaw. ‘Listen. I love you desperately, and you know I want you, but this shouldn’t be something we may someday come to regret. It’s too precious.’

I nodded, part of me relieved, the rest aching like never before, and lay back down, close to his side, reluctant to break contact. ‘Then let’s do something else. Something exciting.’

He gave a soft laugh. ‘Such as what?’

‘Go somewhere. Away from Breckenhall, somewhere where people aren’t interested in us, and we don’t have to pretend we’re not mad about each other.’

‘Are you mad about me?’ he teased.

‘Yes, but only a little bit.’

Still smiling, he twisted towards me and kissed me. It did little to dispel the sense of longing but I couldn’t help smiling in return, and returned his kiss with renewed enthusiasm; now we had agreed to wait, it felt safe to do so. As we broke apart I felt his strong white teeth tug gently at my lower lip, and it was difficult not to pull him close again. ‘So,’ he said, in a voice that had turned faintly husky. He cleared his throat and tried again. ‘You think we should go somewhere we can walk together and hold hands, right in front of everyone?’

‘It sounds silly when you say it like that, but don’t you think it would be wonderful? We could go to the seaside –’

‘The weather won’t last more than another few days.’

‘Then we’ll go as soon as we can. We can take a picnic lunch.’

Will sat up. ‘Why don’t we go to Blackpool?’

‘Blackpool?’ I tried not to sound disappointed; it was his home town, after all. But I’d hoped for somewhere a little more romantic.

‘Do you remember last year, when they lit it all up? Absolutely thousands of lights. For Princess Louise when she opened the promenade.’

‘Oh, yes, Ava Cartwright was there with her aunt. She did say it was beautiful,’ I conceded.

‘Well, Frank told me yesterday they were so successful, they plan on doing it again this year.’

I nodded, warming to the idea. It didn’t really matter where we were, after all, provided we were together. ‘All right, we can travel separately, but on the same train, then spend the day and evening at the Pleasure Beach. We’ll see the lights, then be home before anyone’s even noticed.’

‘I’m not sure when I’ll be able to get away, but I’ll try.’

‘You’re looking a bit peaky,’ I said, putting a solicitous hand on his forehead.’

He affected a look of deep suffering. ‘I believe you’re right. I feel a rather uncomfortable sickness coming on. Possibly in a few days.’

I laughed. ‘How will I know when you’re going to be laid up with this awful illness?’

‘I’ll leave a message in the summer house, as long as Mr Shackleton’s not looking.’

‘He spends most of his time in the sheds at this time of year,’ I said. ‘I’ll check the summer house every day. Now I believe it’s time to return, and face the rather off-key music that’s waiting to accompany dinner.’

David had left before I returned, declining dinner on the grounds that the walk in the sun had left him with a headache. I couldn’t help feeling cheated that he had appropriated my own excuse, and I was forced to dine en famille after all. Dinner was an awkward and silent affair; Mother kept looking at me narrowly, no doubt she had seen the blossoming bruise on David’s chin, and noted how he favoured his right ankle as he walked, and she clearly suspected I had something to do with both. Quite what she thought I had done, I didn’t know, but those looks across the table were enough to convince me she had her notions anyway.

I missed Uncle Jack more than ever that evening; he was always the one to keep up a lively conversation and to dampen any signs of discord. I missed his gentle teasing, and the way he would coax Mother, in even the most morose of her moods, into a reluctant smile that made her beautiful and familiar again. He hadn’t been home since New Year’s Eve, almost nine months ago, and I was once more growing worried about Lizzy; the days were flying by for me, but every day she spent in that awful place must feel like a week. Mother clearly felt Jack’s absence almost as keenly as I did and I wondered, not for the first time, if the two of them were closer than they had led us to believe. I fervently hoped they were; there was no one I would rather have as a step-father than Jack Carlisle.

Lawrence sensed the tension in the silence and kept raising his eyebrows at me, but I studiously ignored him, and he pouted when he realised he was being left out of something yet again. Subsequently he requested to leave the table the moment his last forkful was taken, and to avoid the inevitable questions I did the same. But Mother took the rare step of coming to find me later.

‘Evangeline,’ she said, sitting down at my dressing table without being asked. I felt my stomach turn over nervously; she never came to my rooms unless it was something serious, the last time had been the day the diamond had gone missing.

‘If this is about David –’

‘Darling, I understand. I do. It can’t be easy for you.’

‘Easy?’

‘But you mustn’t worry. If you didn’t actually…if he didn’t…’

‘Didn’t what?’ I knew, of course. I just wanted to see how much David had told her.

‘If you were both still fully clothed,’ she said in a rush, her face looking as hot as mine felt.

I chose to misunderstand, just in case. ‘Why would either David or myself be otherwise?’

‘Not David!’ Mother tensed further as she realised she’d have to explain. ‘The other young man. Were you both dressed when David found you?’

Relief welled up, and the dark thoughts about how she would react were swept aside. ‘We were,’ I said. ‘Nothing happened, and I’m very very happy.’

She looked a little surprised at my sudden change in temperament, but she smiled. ‘Then so am I.’

I bent to put my arms around her, and when she hugged me in return all the years fell away, and I was a little girl again and my mother loved me even though I was such an effort for her. I felt horrible for assuming she would rather see me unhappy than wed to the man I loved.

‘You should have told me,’ she said, her voice muffled against my shoulder. ‘I wanted you to tell me yourself, and waited for it. I’m so sad you felt you couldn’t.’

‘I didn’t think you’d understand,’ I confessed. ‘It was hard to know where to begin.’

‘Of course I understand, darling, you mustn’t feel at fault. Now, what did he look like?’

I stepped back, with the prickling suspicion that all was not well after all. ‘What did who look like?’

‘David would only describe him as a thuggish sort of a man, with messy hair and a fierce look in his eyes. Blue eyes, he says, which may help but not much. I gather there was quite a struggle so he might be bruised as well. We must call Inspector Bailey of course. And you’re to stop riding out alone.’

I couldn’t speak. Quite aside from the exaggeration about Will’s appearance, and the “struggle”, I couldn’t believe David had told that story after all, it would achieve nothing. Was it simply revenge?

‘Mother, what David told you is a lie,’ I said at last.

‘I beg your pardon?’ It was only then that I saw she had been battling her own emotions, and there were tears in her eyes for my presumed suffering. I could have wept myself; the one time we had found a kind of bond in far too long, and now I must shatter it again. I felt a fleeting urge to allow her mistaken belief to continue, just to maintain that bond, but it wasn’t fair on Will.

‘I wasn’t being attacked,’ I said, ‘I was lying down with…with a man. We were dressed,’ I added quickly, as the colour drained from her face. ‘We were kissing. But that’s all we were doing. I promise, it was nothing more –’

‘Who was it?’ Her voice was flat, and my own anger kindled.

‘It doesn’t matter. It’s someone who makes me happy and who loves me as much as I love him. But he’s not of “our class”, so I already know what you’re going to say.’

‘Who?’ she repeated.

‘I’m not going to tell you,’ I said, trying to sound stubborn, but instead I heard pleading in my tone. ‘Mother, I don’t want to upset you, but –’

‘Upset me?’ She rose, smoothing down her skirts with shaking hands. ‘I don’t know what makes you think you can upset me now. Letting your maid steal our family’s fortune, your own birthright, that upset me. This?’ She gestured blithely, but her jaw was tight. ‘This is nothing. It will pass.’ But she paused at the door, and her tone softened a little. ‘I assume he’s a handsome boy?’

Man, I wanted to say, but didn’t. ‘Some would say so.’

‘Then be careful. A boy’s demeanour rarely matches a pleasant appearance, and the handsome ones are often the cause of more heartache than the plain ones.’ Her expression turned reflective for a moment, and I wondered again about her and Uncle Jack. Then she shook the thoughts away. ‘Don’t forget your choices are more limited now you have lost the Kalteng Star.’

‘I didn’t lose it, it was stolen. And W…he’s never been interested in my fortune. Even when I still had the diamond.’

She looked startled. ‘How long have you and this boy been courting?’

‘We met in the spring. But have only properly become close since the end of last summer. After my birthday,’ I added pointedly.

She came back in, and a shadow of that bond I had wanted to prolong reappeared as she took my hand. ‘Sweetheart, I’m sorry. I assumed this was some fleeting bit of nonsense, some momentary loss of control.’ I remembered how close that had been to the truth, but again held my tongue.

Mother squeezed my hand. ‘I don’t want you to be unhappy, of course I don’t. And this sounds terribly old-fashioned and you’ll hate it, but thanks to the terms of John Creswell’s will, the future of our family depends on your match, not Lawrence’s. You will never be asked to marry against your wishes, but if the Kalteng Star is ever returned to us, then whoever you have married must be worthy of it. You do understand?’

‘Yes,’ I said. Better to let her think she had convinced me, and to keep her warmth and sympathy, than to lose everything. But I was not going to give in entirely, even on the surface. ‘I won’t marry David Wingfield though.’

Mother looked at me for a moment, with pursed lips. ‘Our two families make poor enemies,’ she said at last. ‘I’ve always known that. However, you will not find me pushing the matter any further. It was Clarissa who suggested this advance of his, not me.’

‘Is that your way of trying to say you don’t blame me?’

A reluctant smile crossed her lips and I loved her again, in that moment. She leaned in close and whispered, ‘He’s a terrible little oik, and his mother’s frightful.’

She smiled again as she opened the door, and now there was an understanding between us that I could feel all the way across the room. Will was right; I was no longer a wayward, rebellious child with too much energy and too little patience, I was a woman, as Mother was, and she was ready now to help me find my way through the often dark and frightening maze of adult relationships and obligations.

There was a touching similarity between this acceptance, and when Will and I had kissed goodbye earlier. There had been no question of his being the friendly, funny butcher’s boy, consorting in secret with the heiress; when Will Davies kissed me at Breckenhall Quarry that day, he was the young man with strength in his hands, and nothing but goodness in his heart. The same hands and heart for which I would defy anyone, and in which I willingly placed the rest of my life. I had no idea, in the happy, heady arrogance of youth, that I would have to fight so hard to remain there.


Chapter Five (#ulink_75db26ab-db9c-595d-8ba0-d0f40af47b45)

The train was quite full. I couldn’t even be sure Will was on it at all, and spent the entire journey in a state of agitation until I saw his dark head bobbing on the crowded platform by the second-class carriages. For the first time, I had the complete freedom to walk up to him in public, and I noticed one or two people looking twice at us and felt a second’s uncertainty, but they were only reacting to the sight of two excited youngsters and I made myself relax. The wind tugged at my hat, and I knew it wouldn’t be long before my neat curls were tumbling about my face, despite the care I had taken with them that morning; I had wanted Will to see me looking glamorous for once, instead of my usual windblown self, but he didn’t appear to even notice my efforts and I was caught between exasperation and amusement. His own dark hair was already whipped into spikes, and I hoped he would never decide to start using oils on it and tame that fresh, clean look that was so typical of him.

He took my hand and tucked it beneath his arm. ‘Where first?’

‘I am desperate to go on that captive flying machine,’ I said eagerly, pointing to the huge apparatus in the distance. ‘Ava went on it last year and screamed all the way around, so she said. Can you think of anything more exciting than screaming in public and not being glared at?’

Will laughed. ‘I might have guessed you’d make a beeline for that. Let’s go!’

I could quite see why Ava had screamed her head off. I did too, to start with, but then I just laughed, thrilled to be so high up, secured by the huge, spider-like arms that were, in turn, fixed to the central frame. Nestled against Will, his arm about my shoulder, I abandoned any attempt to hold my hat on and held it in my hand instead while we whizzed around in the chilly air, listening to the yells of the other riders.

We staggered off a little while later, still breathless and barely able to speak, but both of us grinning with delight. I put my hat back on, fiddling with the loosened hair-pins but it was a pointless exercise and Will removed it again, and bent to kiss me.

‘Now, tell me again how clever I am, and what a wonderful idea it was to come here.’

‘I suppose I could come to like it,’ I said, and ducked away as he swiped at me with my hat.

The day passed in a blur of sightseeing, paddling and funfair rides, and looking around the Winter Gardens, and eventually we even stopped looking over our shoulders. It was almost perfect. We had an early dinner then went for a walk, admiring the glittering beauty of thousands of lights against the night sky, and I finally admitted to Will that his idea was the best possible one, and that we must return to Blackpool one day soon. I had thought he might have wanted to visit his family, but the subject did not arise, and I didn’t want to make him feel obliged either to them, or to me.

The shadows lengthened and we had, by unspoken agreement, begun walking towards the train station, but I wasn’t ready to end the day yet. ‘Why don’t we see what’s showing at the theatre?’

‘We’re too late,’ he said, though reluctantly. ‘Whatever it is will have started by now.’

‘Well, there are a lot of people over there,’ I observed, pointing. A large group, mainly women, I noted, had gathered at the entrance to a small theatre across the street. ‘Perhaps there’s a late play. Come on, we can always get the last train.’

It wasn’t until we had crossed the road and were outside the theatre that we saw what had drawn the crowds, and Will frowned. ‘It’s anti-suffrage,’ he said. ‘Come on, let’s leave it.’

‘No, we’re here now. I’d like to hear what they have to say.’

‘Evie –’

‘I’m open-minded, it’s only fair,’ I pointed out. I was interested in seeing how this movement could possibly dispute the need for women’s votes; it was preposterous to think they might have a valid argument, and I knew I’d go away fully convinced of the rightness of my beliefs, but there was a sense of fair play that niggled. I wanted to hear both sides.

‘We’ll just stay for a short while,’ I promised.

‘All right. But no lecturing me on the way home,’ he warned. ‘You have a habit of preaching to the choir.’

‘No preaching,’ I said solemnly. ‘You have my word. Let’s go in.’

We were jostled on our way through, quite roughly, and seeing the purple, green and white badges and sashes I belatedly realised the majority of people were not here to listen to the speeches, but to protest them. It was tempting to tell them that I was on their side, that there was no need to shove, but Will pulled me through quickly and I made do with nodding understandingly at their colours instead.

Inside, I was surprised to see a generous crowd, with standing room only at the back, and as my eyes adjusted to the gloom I began to feel uneasy; there was an air of menace about some of these women, their expressions were not open and interested, as I believed mine was, but hard and determined. I hoped any heckling would not work against the cause, but acknowledged the movement had grown more and more militant over the past few years. Emily Davison’s death at the Derby back in June had fuelled things no end, and I’d heard awful stories about what went on at rallies.

I faced the front again as the first of the speeches began, and before five minutes had passed I knew I’d been right to come in. The anti-suffragists might well have supported women’s votes in local elections, but what was the use in that, if we were to have no say in Parliament? Nothing had changed, after all. I turned to Will to tell him we could go now, and as I did so, out of the corner of my eye I saw a small, tight band of women in WSPU colours move into the aisle and towards the stage with firm, purposeful strides.

One was holding a bucket of water which I assumed would soon be flung at the speaker, but two more waved an anti-suffrage banner, which surprised me until a flare of light made it all horrifically clear; a fourth Suffragette had touched a lighted match to the edge of the banner, and the flame took hold quickly. More quickly, it seemed, than the two ladies holding the banner had foreseen, and one of them dropped it with a shout. She stumbled backwards into the woman holding the bucket ready, just for this purpose I now realised, and the bucket thudded to the floor, spilling its contents.

‘Drop it in the water!’ someone cried, and the woman threw the burning banner towards where the carpet was wettest, but the water had soaked away and the fire burned greedily across the carpet and licked at the legs of the chairs closest to the stage. Panic was rippling through the people close enough to see what had happened, and although the fire was not a big one, it was spreading fast. Those who’d been seated closest to the aisle scrambled over their neighbours’ knees, while those who hadn’t fully grasped what was happening merely stared about them, bemused and in the way.

Will had seized my hand and started pulling the moment the banner had landed, or we wouldn’t have stood a chance. Someone shoved into me from behind and I nearly fell, but managed to keep my feet, and from behind me I could hear shouts and screams, and someone yelled that they had the fire extinguisher, and to stand back. But it was too late; panic had swept the room, mostly through those who couldn’t see what was happening, and although the fire was quickly brought under control, hysteria propelled people towards exits that were soon jammed.

The next time someone hit me from behind I knew I wouldn’t fall; there was nowhere to fall into. I, in turn, barrelled into the person in front, a woman who turned and shrieked into my face. Luckily I couldn’t hear her words or I might have let my own anger loose. Will’s arm came around my shoulder and I took comfort from his presence, while fighting the urge to shove with all my strength, to get through, to find a clear space and fresh air.

The noise level had risen by now to a deafening, shrill cacophony of voices, some begging for calm, others, like the woman in front of me, simply screaming in fearful frustration. Will’s strength held firm beside me, and he lowered his mouth to my ear so I could hear him without straining.

‘Steady, and keep moving. Don’t let go of me.’ He wrapped my arms around his waist, and whenever I stumbled he tightened his grip on my shoulder and kept talking to me in a low, steady voice to calm my shredded nerves. A crash sounded from up near the stage, and we turned to see the front row of people had tried to exit through the back of the stage, but brought down one of the scenery pillars which had been supporting the proscenium arch. The whole thing collapsed, and now the screams were terrible, and people were lying beneath the fallen scenery.

We were at the door now, bruised and shaken, but as I stumbled out into the blessed freedom of the lobby I felt Will’s hand drop away from my shoulder and he eased me away from him, holding my arms.

‘Go out onto the street,’ he said, urgent now. ‘I’ll meet you there.’

Before I could question him, he’d fought his way back into the auditorium, thrusting his way through the people still spilling out, who nevertheless parted instinctively to let him past. I was about to follow when a weeping voice stopped me, and I looked around to see a young girl in WSPU colours, sobbing and holding her arm across her chest. I felt a flash of anger towards her at first, then remembered my own recent, passionate beliefs in the movement, and drew her carefully out of the crowd where I could help her better.

For the most part my mind was with Will as he went back inside to help where he could, but I was able to lend half an ear to the girl, who was Scottish, very pretty, and about my own age. Her sobs, it turned out, were not for her injured arm, but for her little sister.

‘Please help me find her!’

‘How old is she?’

‘Twelve.’

My anger flooded back. ‘What on earth were you thinking, bringing such a young girl along to a rally?’

‘I wanted her to understand how important it all is,’ the girl said earnestly. ‘She needs to learn how the –’

‘Stop!’ I held up my hand. ‘I don’t need a lecture, you little idiot! Wait here, and don’t go anywhere. What’s her name?’ I looked around, but couldn’t see any children.

‘Helen. She has black hair and is wearing a green dress.’

I placed the young Suffragette firmly in a corner, where I could be reasonably sure of finding her again, then I followed Will’s example and pushed back into the auditorium.

Inside all was still chaos in the aisles, although most of the rows of seats were free of people now. I looked helplessly around, realising a twelve-year-old girl would be almost impossible to spot. Then I had an idea, and climbed over the back of the rear-most seats onto the ones in front, scanning the crowds as I went. From my vantage point I saw Will, helping a hobbling woman to a seat, and judged by the way she half-rose and then settled down, that he’d convinced her of the relative safety of staying where she was.

Taking my cue from his common sense, I climbed back down and began speaking to the people nearest me.

‘The fire’s out! It’s safe here, don’t push! Just sit down and wait, and you’ll get out quicker, and without injury! Sit down, just wait…’

Gradually the word seemed to filter through, and the shoving eased off. I began to ask people if they’d seen a twelve-year-old girl in a green dress but noone had. Just when I was starting to despair of ever finding her, and assumed she must have made her way outside after all, I saw a crumpled form near the edge of the stage. It was dressed in green. I scrambled back over the seats, my skirts held high, not caring who was watching, and yelled to Will, pointing with my free hand. We reached her at the same time, and I laid my hand on her back.

She jerked upright, gasping and terrified, and I could see blood matting her dark fringe.

‘Hush, Helen, it’s all right,’ I soothed.

She stared at me. ‘How do you know my name?’

‘Your sister has been looking for you,’ I said. ‘Sit still a moment, let’s make sure you’re fit to move.’

Will and I helped her to a sitting position, and I looked her over carefully. ‘Did you faint at all?’

‘I was hit on the head by something, but I didnae faint. I was a’scairt the rest of the scenery would come down on me, so I stayed curled up.’ The little girl had a lilting accent just like her sister’s, and would grow into a similar beauty one day. For now though she was tear-streaked and frightened, and hiccupped her way through a list of her bumps and bruises. None of them seemed serious, but Will asked her if she’d mind if he carried her anyway, just to be sure. She looked at him in awe and shook her head, and he scooped her up, carrying her easily and carefully through the thinning crowd.

I found the elder sister where I’d left her, and she swooped down on Helen with a cry of relief as Will lowered her carefully to the floor. ‘There y’are ya wee rascal! What did I tell ye about staying close?’

‘She was hit by some falling scenery,’ Will said, and the reproach in his voice halted the girl’s harangue. ‘I’m sure she’s fine, but you should get a doctor to look at her, she’s cut her head.’

‘I’m all right,’ Helen said in a small voice, and smiled shyly up at Will. I looked at him too, seeing him through her eyes, and felt a stirring of hero-worship myself. I met his embarrassed eyes and gave him a little smile.

‘We have a train to catch,’ I said. The two girls thanked us profusely, and as we left we could hear them talking excitedly about what had happened, and heard the older girl make Helen promise not to tell their parents what had happened.

Will grinned down at me and took my hand. ‘How about you, Florence Nightingale, are you all right?’

‘I’m better than that,’ I told him, ‘I’m a little bit more in love with you than I was before, if that’s possible.’

He laughed and waved a dismissive hand, but I was serious. I’d seen another side to him today: a courage that balanced the fun-loving side, and a calm strength that settled him just a little deeper into my heart. Walking beside him back towards the station I wanted everyone to know the bone-deep beauty of this man, and what he was capable of. I wanted people to look at me and envy me, and I wanted him to know how unutterably proud of him I was.

But if the day had shown me a new Will Davies, it had also shown me a new Evie Creswell, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about her. On the train, sitting close to him, I broached the question that had been bothering me. ‘Will, am I different?’

‘Different?’

‘To what I was. To the way you saw me.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘It’s just, today…’ I hesitated, wondering if I was courting trouble even putting the thought in his head. ‘I mean, all this time you’ve told me you admired me for my beliefs, and principles, and the way I could make you believe things too. Lizzy was the same. But now, after what happened, I feel as if…how could I let something like this shake those beliefs? But it has.’

He twisted in his seat and took my hands. ‘Evie, listen to me. We’re still growing into what we will eventually become. If everyone waited until they believed they were fully formed before deciding they loved someone, the human race would die out. We’re never “finished”, so of course our ideals will change, we’ll change.’

‘But do you think we’ll change too much?’

‘Do you mean will I stop loving you? Tell me this, will you stop loving me if I change?’

‘No!’

‘And nothing will ever make me think you’re not worth my whole life, Evie. I will never, ever give up on you, and I want you to promise the same.’

I looked at him, I saw the earnest truth in his face, and I spoke from the heart, not suspecting how the weight of the words would return one day to reshape our lives. ‘I pledge my life on it.’


Chapter Six (#ulink_2f000e7d-0018-5cb3-bd7e-bd64f7b9d44e)

Breckenhall Quarry, July 1914.

‘Will you go?’

‘Yes, if they call us.’

I shivered, despite the warmth of the day. The news from Europe was increasingly disturbing, and I could tell Mother was becoming more and more concerned about Uncle Jack. His letters had been scarce, and very short, but if it hadn’t been for those brief notes it would have been more worrying still. Now, though, my attention was fixed closer to home, and I looked sideways at Will, who sat with his knees raised and his hands drooped between them.

‘It may not come to it,’ he said, feeling the weight of my gaze, and turning to me. His eyes held mine and we both knew he didn’t believe that any more than I did.

‘If you go, I’m going to find a way to volunteer, too,’ I said. The words were out of my mouth before I’d realised I was going to say them, but the determination took hold nevertheless. ‘If all the boys join up, the girls will have to pitch in and take up the slack.’

He grinned. ‘I can just see you up to your elbows in pig entrails,’ he said, and threw a handful of grass at me.

‘Well, maybe not your job,’ I conceded, and returned the favour, hitting him squarely in the mouth with a lucky throw. While he spluttered and spat out the grass, I lay back and stared up at the sky, wondering how something as perfect and clear, and such a beautiful, rich blue could be looking down on a world so full of uncertainty and fear.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ he said, and something in his voice made me raise myself onto my elbows again.

‘What? You sound nervous.’

‘Not nervous exactly. It’s just…with what’s probably coming and all, don’t you think –’

‘Yes.’

‘You don’t know what I was going to say!’

‘Yes I do.’ I smiled and sat up all the way, slipping my hand beneath his knee to link my fingers with his, and said it again, slowly. ‘Yes. I do.’

He returned my smile, and the tension left him. ‘Well then, now you’ll have to tell your mother.’

‘No. I mean, yes, I will, but I’m going to tell her afterwards. I can’t give her the slightest opportunity to put a stop to it.’

‘How on earth will you keep it from her? The vicar at Breckenhall is bound to say something.’

‘Then we won’t marry in Breckenhall. We’ll find somewhere further away. I hope Uncle Jack comes home in time, he’d be pleased to give me away.’

‘Even to me?’

‘Especially to you,’ I said. Jack Carlisle would take one look at Will and me together, and not a single question would pass his lips about suitability or income. And if I asked him to leave it to me to tell Mother, he would do it. ‘I’ll find somewhere with a discreet minister, and we can set a date for sometime before Christmas. That’s bound to give us time, and maybe the Kaiser will call off the show and leave Russia alone, and it will all come to nothing.’

But just two days later, on the first day of August, Germany declared war on Russia. The news came over the radio that, in order for them to remove France as a hindrance, they had asked for permission to move their army through Belgium, and, while the world listened with bated breath, Belgium held her ground and refused.

‘But what does that mean?’ Mother fretted. ‘For us?’

‘It means that, if the Kaiser doesn’t withdraw his army, we’re going to have to go in and make him,’ I said. I felt quite sick and, despite my calm words, I was having a great deal of trouble straightening my thoughts to really understand what it all meant.

‘Why do we have to do it?’ She glanced over at Lawrence, and I could see the worry on her face. ‘It’s got nothing to do with us, surely?’

‘Evidently it’s to do with a treaty made back in the 1830s,’ I said, not adding that it was Will who’d told me about it. ‘Perhaps the Germans will withdraw when they realise what they’ve done, and that they can’t win.’

But of course, they hadn’t. Our government sent an ultimatum that was ignored, and by eleven o’clock on the night of the fourth of August, we too were at war.

To begin with, nothing seemed different. The sun still shone; night and day still came and went; people still went to work, only now their expressions slipped too easily from cheerfulness to shadowed fear. But gradually the little changes that were happening all over the country began to make themselves felt in everyday life. Shops closed as their owners answered the call to arms; the government put out a further call, for one hundred thousand volunteers, and Will joined the reserves. I tried to hold on to the common belief that the war would be short-lived, maybe even over before Christmas, but it seemed more and more evident now that this would be a protracted struggle, and that our men were being sent into a special kind of hell; the thought of Will joining them made me break into a cool sweat and pray constantly for the war to end before it was too late.

One afternoon in late August, Will met me at the quarry with an unusually sombre expression, and his face was pale. I saw immediately what he held, and my breathing sharpened into something painful.

‘When?’

‘Tenth of September.’

‘Oh, God. Oh, God, Will…’

He seized me roughly and pulled me to him with a strange, sighing sob. All the enthusiasm when he’d spoken of joining up, of doing his duty, of protecting the innocent, had fled as we held each other, and I felt him shuddering under my fiercely gripping hands. It made the way he finally squared his shoulders and stood straight all the more courageous in my eyes; he was not naïve enough to think he was riding into glory, the shining hero of the tale. He understood some of what he was going into, and he was terrified, but he would still do it.

‘I must marry you before I leave,’ he said, and touched my face. ‘I must.’

I thought quickly. ‘We’ll go to Gretna. Mary will be a witness, and you must find one too.’ I spoke fast, hoping the trembling in my voice wasn’t as obvious to him as it was to me. My mind was not on weddings, though, it was on the letter I’d been mulling over for a week or more, applying for a post with the Red Cross, and I hesitated no longer; if Will was going overseas in defence of another country, I could do no less in defence of his own.

Gretna, Scotland, September 1914.

‘This is Martin Barrow,’ Will said as he drew me into the little sitting room. ‘He’s taking my place as Markham’s apprentice, once … well, once I’ve left.’

‘Very nice to meet you, Martin,’ I said.

He shook my hand, a tall, earnest-looking young man with a friendly face. ‘Miss,’ he said. He glanced at Will, and then back at me, and to my surprise he looked a little shamefaced. ‘I’d have joined up too, if I could,’ he said, and it was only when he limped over to close the sitting room door that I realised why he hadn’t. I wished he didn’t look so guilty over it, but it wasn’t my place to presume how he felt, I might have read him wrong.

I gestured to my own companion. ‘This is Mary Deegan, ,’ I said. ‘I understand you’ll be travelling back to Breckenhall together on the same train.’

The two nodded to each other, and as Mary went over to introduce herself properly, Will slipped his arm around my waist. ‘I can’t believe we’re doing this,’ he said, nuzzling my ear.

‘And I can’t believe I haven’t told Mother,’ I said, and sighed. ‘I know she’ll take it badly but it’s not you, it’s…’

‘It’s what I’m not,’ Will said, but he didn’t sound resentful. ‘Darling, I know all that, let’s not go over the same old ground. Not today.’

‘Come upstairs, Evie,’ Mary said, coming over. She was smiling and I glanced past her at Martin, who was trying to pretend he hadn’t been staring after her. ‘Let’s get you changed.’

I kissed Will lightly, our very last chaste kiss as single people, and followed Mary up the winding hotel staircase to the little room above. I looked at the bed nervously and felt my insides do a slow roll, but there was excitement there too, heightened by the memory of his breath on my skin.

My dress was quite simply cut, but when I’d first tried it on I knew that, of all the glorious and expensive gowns I’d worn in the past, this one was the one I would keep forever. Mary had made it from some ivory lace I had found in Breckenhall market, and since she was the only person, other than Uncle Jack, who I’d told about the marriage, I knew it had been made with pleasure and secrecy, which gave it a feel of something very personal. And tonight I would remove it in front of my husband. That nervous roll came again and I took a deep breath to calm the shaking that had suddenly seized my fingers and knees; would I please him, after all this time of waiting and anticipation?

Mary helped me dress and I wished, with a familiar sweep of sorrow, that Lizzy could be here too. In my mind I could hear her amused voice teasing me about how excited I was, and I could see her long dark hair tumbling out from beneath her hat as she tried, yet again in vain, to tidy her appearance before Mother saw her. It was too painful to think of what she might be doing now, and although I hated myself for doing so I tried to put her to the back of my mind and concentrate, instead, on this perfect day.

‘Promise me you won’t tell anyone,’ I said to Mary, for the hundredth time.

She nodded. ‘I do promise, Evie, you know that.’

‘Not even Lizzy.’ It seemed my friend would not stay in the back of my mind after all.

‘Of course, if you say so, but why haven’t you told her yourself? She’d be so happy for you both.’

‘I wanted to, but I can’t. If someone reads the letter before it reaches her, and passes the news back to Oaklands, it will hurt Mother all the more.’

Mary finished off the simple garland I wore around my head, and straightened the short veil. ‘I won’t say anything, not until you’re able to. It’s not my place anyway.’

‘Thank you.’ I touched her arm gratefully. I’d made up my mind to tell Lizzy as soon as Mother knew, but the trouble was I had no idea when that would be. That I had been lying to her was the worst part, but it had seemed necessary at the beginning, and the longer it went on the harder it had become to stop. Now she would be devastated, not only at my deceit, but also at the fact that she had been excluded from her only daughter’s wedding.

‘Please give me a moment alone,’ I said to Mary when we were satisfied with my appearance, or in my case, almost satisfied. Mary stepped outside and I went to my suitcase and withdrew a small black box. Carefully I opened the lid and took out a battered, black and white paper flower, which I lifted to my lips and kissed before twisting the stem around the belt of my dress. It lay against the beautifully cut lace, incongruous and grubby-looking, and I knew I’d been right to wait until Mary had left the room; she would have tried strenuously to convince me not to wear it, and I would have resisted, and we would have wasted a good deal of time – time neither Will nor I could spare now.

I stepped out through the door, holding my small bouquet against my waist to hide the rose, and only moved it aside when I drew level with Will. The movement drew his eye downward, and then he looked back at me and there was deep and complicated emotion in every line of his face. He kissed his own finger and touched it to the half-uncurled petals, unknowingly mimicking my own gesture, and then he smiled into my eyes and I felt my heart turn over.

The service was quick and simple; those who conducted it were well used to situations like ours, and not an eyebrow was raised even though Mary and Martin were our only witnesses. I remembered standing on the rock above the quarry and yelling to the world that I was going to marry this man, and here we were. Within ten minutes we were legally wed, and back out in the autumn sunshine, hardly able to believe we had actually done it.

After the glorious summer, the weather remained warm. It seemed impossible to think that tomorrow Will would board a train for the coast, and a day later he would be on foreign soil. A shadow seemed to cross the blameless blue sky and I shivered; yes, it did seem impossible, but with every minute that passed we drew closer to the moment when it would become a dark and terrifying reality. What had seemed a wildly romantic notion might have also had the uncomfortable taste of something we had been using to keep the fear at bay, but looking at my new husband and his slightly bemused air of giddy happiness, I knew it was more than that; planning the wedding had provided a welcome distraction, but that did not lessen its importance, or the joy we felt that we were finally together. I also allowed myself the pleasure of having seen Martin steal more than one fascinated glance Mary’s way, although I was sure she herself had not noticed.

They left after tea, and by then Mary had begun returning Martin’s attentions; it seemed they shared an interest in travel, and Martin had grown up in India with his family, so they had much to discuss. She also seemed to be flushing and laughing a good deal more than I was used to seeing. Will noticed too, and after we had waved them off on their return home, he smiled. ‘Do you suppose they even still remember who we are?’

I smiled. ‘Does it matter?’

‘No,’ he admitted, and took my hand. ‘It’s still early, Mrs Davies. Shall we walk up the lane before supper?’

The sun was just beginning its slow descent on this, the happiest day I had ever known, and as we reached the top of the hill, Will pulled me to a halt. I turned to see the orange-gold light setting his eyes on fire and burnishing his skin, and an intensity in his expression that I knew would be mirrored in my own. Without a word passing between us, we turned to go back to the hotel, a new urgency in our steps and all thoughts of the earliness of the hour banished.

In our room he took me by the shoulders and brushed his lips against my forehead with the most gentle of touches that, nevertheless, shot straight through me, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. He stepped back and removed his jacket and shirt, and, unable suddenly to look at his face, and instead keeping my eyes on his surprisingly compact, muscular body, I eased my gown over my shoulders. When we moved close together again I had only my petticoats on, and the friction of the fine silk sliding between us ignited that heat and made us both gasp.

But we were not yet close enough, and when he raised my arms and slipped the last remaining barrier away my hands went to his chest, as if by the touch of my fingers on his skin I would finally realise he was mine. He pulled me closer, and I let my hands drift down his sides, over the strong swell of his ribcage, feeling him tremble with the lightness of my touch. I wondered if he was as drawn to my body as I was to his or whether, now he saw me without the mystery and flattery of my clothing, he might be disappointed.

The question must have shown in my face because his hand came up to touch my jaw. ‘Evie Davies, you are, without doubt, the most beautiful creature on this good earth,’ he breathed, and then his mouth came down on mine.

Eventually he broke the kiss and led me to the bed. I lay down and he looked at me for a long, delicious moment before stretching out beside me and, easing one hand beneath me, he lifted me closer. He raised his free hand to my breast and I arched towards him, longing for the complete possession that seemed to hover so close, yet still danced out of reach. All the while he was kissing wherever he could reach, along my cheekbones and down to my jaw, his lips blazing across my face to my eyes as if he couldn’t taste enough of me all at once. Thrilled at the thought that I excited him so much, I let my hands choose their path across his broad back and down to his hips, and my teeth nipped gently at his shoulder, my lips moving hungrily over the smooth skin.

Nervousness almost stole my pleasure as he moved across me, and I tensed as he positioned himself so that his entry was as smooth and painless as it could be, his eyes on mine in silent apology. But after a brief flash of pain my hips rose of their own volition to meet him and I didn’t even have to think about matching his rhythm; all thought seemed to be happening on another level of my consciousness and there was only sensation now. Our movements grew more urgent and I tried to pull him deeper inside me, knowing that, as wonderful as it was, there was something more and I had to either have it or die.

All at once the warmth I had always felt in his presence – in my heart, on my skin, in my stomach – was now concentrated in one place and growing. Just as I thought I could bear it no longer, that elusive feeling I had sensed before rushed through me to meet that warmth, and the collision was everything. It was glorious. With every beat of my heart the sensation pulsed more heavily in every part of me, only fading away as Will, spent and exhausted, sank down to lie beside me.

After a moment he rolled towards me again, supporting himself on one elbow. I opened my eyes and smiled, and he looked relieved and brushed away a curl that had stuck to my cheek. His fingers were trembling. ‘It didn’t hurt too much?’

I could feel his thundering heart as his chest pressed against my arm. ‘It was awful,’ I said, ‘I never want to go through anything like that ever again.’

Will laughed, a shaky, breathless sound, and dropped his hand to my hip. ‘Never?’ he asked in a low voice.

I scratched my short nails lightly across his stomach. ‘Never,’ I breathed, and kissed his shoulder, moving down across his chest, tasting the light, salt sweat of him and loving it. ‘Not for at least ten minutes.’

It turned out ten minutes was a lot shorter than I’d thought.

In the morning we left that magical place behind forever, and to my embarrassment Will showed me he had taken some of the paper from the little supply in our room. ‘I’ll write to you on this, so we can remember,’ he said. ‘Whenever you see this hotel crest,’ he traced it with one finger, ‘you will know it’s you I’m thinking of. I’m going to kiss every single page,’ he grinned, warming to his promise as I rolled my eyes in disbelief, ‘and whenever you get a letter from me on this paper, you will think of our wedding night.’

Despite my teasing look, I was unbelievably touched; Will was not what I would have thought of as a particularly romantic young man, but I had no doubt that he would do exactly as he’d said. And when he left later that same day to join his unit, I thought of the ridiculous little stack of paper tucked into his shirt, and wished I could have taken its place.

Waiting with him at the station was a strange, hollow affair. He wore his uniform now – an oddly plain, muddy-green, ill-fitting affair of rough wool – and carried a hessian kit-bag; it was as if he were going to stay with a friend for a week, nothing more. That we were surrounded by people in the same clothes, and that some of them openly wept, only served to heighten the sense of unreality.

As the train pulled into the platform, the mood changed. It became charged with a brittle air of patriotic fervour, men straightening their backs and declaring it time to “get over there and sort the Bosche out”. Someone slapped Will’s shoulder, and he gave them a mechanical grin and slapped back. They had never met before, yet now they were quite likely to be living side by side and entrusting their lives to one another. Someone, somewhere down the platform began to sing “It’s a long way to Tipperary”, and a few disjointed voices joined in.

My heart suddenly, and finally, accepted that he was going, and it stopped beating for a breathless, terrifying moment. The thought flashed into my head: what if it doesn’t start again? But of course it did, and the racing, sickening feeling made me dizzy. I looked up into Will’s face and he seemed more dear to me then, more precious and more fragile than I had ever seen him. These people didn’t know him. How could he go off with them when they didn’t understand him? Didn’t realise that, beyond the cheerful smile and the clear, friendly blue eyes, he was a man of warmth and wit, and a quiet, fierce intelligence? Would they ever have the chance to realise how lucky they were to be with him?

His voice, when he spoke, wasn’t raised to shout over the cries of others. Instead it was pitched low, easily cutting beneath it and straight into my aching heart.

‘Evie, my impossible, exasperating wife, I love you so very, very much.’ He faltered, searching for words when we both knew there were none. At last he sighed. ‘Promise me you’ll be careful.’

‘I will if you will.’ I was trying hard not to cry in front of him; there would be time for weeping, so much time, but this was not it. So I smiled, but the movement loosened the tears that had gathered in my eyes, and they spilled anyway.

‘I promise.’ He bent to kiss my forehead and the warm press of his lips almost sent me spinning into hysterical pleading…don’t go! But he drew himself upright and away from me. He stood tall and straight, somehow making that awful uniform look like a thing of honour, touched my cheek once, and then he was gone, heading for the coast, and God alone knew what awaited him there. I stood with countless others, long after the train had pulled out of sight around the bend and, as the chuffing faded and voices started to filter back in, I blinked, swallowed, and let out a shaky breath. Soon I would be leaving too, to begin my Red Cross training; each of us had answered the call to arms in our own way, and I could only pray that, when I saw him again, it was not as a shattered, broken echo of the man he was now.

Back at Breckenhall I made my way to the fruit shop above which Will had taken his rooms. He would have to surrender them, or be faced with a dreadful debt when he returned…I emphasised the when, which kept trying to change itself to if. It would help no one to think of that. In the meantime all his things would stay at Oaklands, and I needed to know how much there was to bring across.

I knocked on the landlady’s door and introduced myself; she knew me only as one of the Creswells from the manor, and I told her I had come on behalf of Will’s family, to pay rent in advance and remove his belongings so she could let the room out again. In all the time we had been together I had never come here, it had been too much of a risk. The stairs were narrow and dark, and I pictured him climbing them at night, exhausted from his work, looking forward to a wash and a quick meal before bed – where perhaps he might have lain and thought of me, as I did of him. Through the pain of missing him, the thought made me smile, just a little. Even the smile hurt, made me feel disloyal.

The landlady unlocked the door and I gave her the two weeks rent money I had brought. ‘I can take just a few things now, but I’ll send for the rest tomorrow.’ She nodded, already used to her tenants’ sudden departures. I waited until she had gone back down the stairs, then turned to take my first look at where Will had lived for the past three years.

The room was not a big one and the first thing that struck me was the clutter, although a second look revealed it to be no mess, but rather a collection of paintings, carvings and sculptures. The largest of these stood on the table, half-covered by a carelessly thrown sheet which I drew back to reveal a statuette, standing around a foot high and carved in dark wood. It was the shape of a woman, her hair escaping her hat and shaped into wild curls that blew across her face, hiding the features, but I didn’t need to see them; I raised my hand to my own face, tears thick at the back of my throat.

The statuette wore the roughly outlined symbol of the Red Cross on her front, standing out against her uniform dress, and her legs were not yet shaped, just a solid block of wood. It felt as if my own legs were the same; just an unmoving lump, unable to take another step. The care that had gone into the carving of this piece sang from every notch and scrape, and the knife he had used to craft it lay on the table beside it, curls of wood littering the table as if he had been called away from his work suddenly. As I looked closer I saw, in the girl’s hat, a tiny rose carved out of the same block, and with a sharp pang I remembered his face when he’d seen the paper rose at my waist just yesterday. The rose itself was back in its box, and would go with me to Rugby, and from there to France, or wherever we were sent.

This piece was the one I would take with me tonight. I glanced around: the majority of the space was taken up with paintings, most of them facing the wall, and when I turned one or two of them around I understood at once why Nathan had been so unsuccessful towards the end. It wasn’t a lack of talent, far from it, but the paintings were dark and tortured-looking, full of deep reds and blacks, and swirls of mashed colours in thick oil that seemed to leap, screaming, from the canvas. Bodiless faces; roaring rivers; tall, black buildings; a huge, Golem-like creature bearing down on a tiny, helpless man…symbols of the trapped terror the artist was feeling for his debts, no doubt.

Disturbed, I turned these paintings back to the wall. It was little wonder Will had faced them that way, it would be impossible to sleep in this room otherwise. I looked at one or two others and they were calmer, presumably painted during earlier, easier days, but of less artistic merit that I could discern. It was ironic that Nathan’s best work had emerged as a result of the lack of success of these lesser pieces, and that gave me a pinch of sadness for Will’s unknown friend, but it was followed by frustration that he had given Will this dream, and then left him alone with the nightmare.

I went back to the table and picked up two of Will’s small pieces: a miniature cottage no bigger than my hand, but intricately carved in soft, pale wood; and a daisy of around the same size – both unpainted – and then I wrapped the statuette in the cloth again and tucked her under my arm. I would have everything brought over to Oaklands tomorrow, but for tonight I would have these things to remind me of my husband when I lay down in my bed, alone once again.

I slipped off my wedding band before the car arrived, and on the way home I rehearsed my cheerful lies; I’d already said I was attending a wedding, giving the impression it was a friend from London who was getting married, and fixed the description of my own gown in my head, ready to attribute it to the fictitious bride. The way the lies fell from my lips, cheerful or otherwise, disturbed me, but I wasn’t ready yet to place this burden on Mother’s shoulders; she was already distressed about my imminent departure to the Red Cross. Neither was I ready to turn this joyful news into something cold and hurtful, to be argued over rather than held tightly and treasured.

I tried once more to tell the truth before I left, but my mother’s despair at my stubborn insistence on going overseas, instead of serving in England, stole any inclination I had to heap more woe upon her, and it simply grew more and more difficult to tell her the truth. It seemed easier, and kinder, to let her believe I had too much to think about to waste time on hopeless, and unsuitable, romantic entanglements.





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