In Love and War (5 page)

She slumped down on a wooden chair at the kitchen table and it was only then that she realised she was still clutching the bag of biscuits and the jar of Bovril. She put them down and sat staring at them as if they were the last tangible link with the mother she had just lost. The sun went down and shadows gathered around her until she was in almost complete darkness, and at last tears came. She buried her head in her arms and sobbed.

She awakened to sunshine and birdsong, and for a moment she could not think why she was slumped over the kitchen table and not in her bed. She raised her head and the realisation that she was completely alone hit her with such force that it took her breath away. She rose unsteadily to her feet and moved stiffly to the back door. Outside the air was redolent with the scents of late summer. The fragrance of honeysuckle and the white roses that her mother had loved mingled with the scent of warm grass, and there was the unmistakeable tang of salt from the sea only half a mile away across the chalk downs. It was a new dawn and a new day. Nothing could take away the pain of loss, but the feeling of grief was tempered by the knowledge that her mother's suffering was over. Ma might be gone, but Elsie could still feel her love enveloping her like a warm blanket, and no matter what the future held, nothing could take that away: Ma would live in her heart forever, and she must do her best to make her proud. She caught a sudden waft of her mother's favourite cologne and she felt her presence even though she could not see her.

She walked slowly to the pump and worked the handle; water spurted out, creating a rainbow, and she stuck her head beneath the ice-cold stream. She straightened up, shaking the droplets from her long hair. Acting on a sudden impulse she hurried back into the house and searched the dresser drawer until she found a pair of scissors. If this was to be a new beginning then she would be one of the emancipated women who were going to help run the country in time of war.

She took one tress at a time and snipped through her wet locks until she had created a semblance of the bob she had styled for Marianne. She seized a towel and roughly dried her hair, feeling suddenly light-headed and free, but there was something else she still had to face.

She went slowly up the stairs to her mother's room. It remained just as it must have been when Ma had left it, frozen in time like a still life. The bed was unmade and the medicine bottle, glass and jug of water were on the table. The sickly scent of illness pervaded the atmosphere and Elsie moved swiftly to open the window. Her mother's brush and comb lay on the pine chest together with the faded photograph of Elsie's father, standing proud in his army uniform. She ran the comb through her rapidly drying hair which had already begun to curl wildly, and she stared critically at the result in the fly-spotted mirror. With several snips of the scissors she evened off the ragged ends, and nodded to herself, acknowledging her work. ‘I'll make you proud of me, Ma, and that's a promise I intend to keep.'

When Elsie walked into the kitchen at Darcy Hall there was an awkward silence. Mrs Coker offered her condolences in a brusque, slightly embarrassed manner. ‘Monique will be missed,' she murmured, casting a critical eye over Elsie's new hairstyle. ‘Put your cap on. This is no time for frivolity.' She returned to kneading the bread dough with renewed vigour. Phyllis and Nancy were over-effusive and hugged Elsie, but if they had any opinions as to her short hair they kept them to themselves. The rest of the servants muttered words of sympathy and then hurried off to go about their duties as if nothing had happened.

Later that morning, after luncheon had been served and cleared away, Mrs Tranter made a special point of taking Elsie aside and telling her that the job was hers for as long as she needed it. It did not seem appropriate to mention the fact that she would be leaving as soon as she was able to find work elsewhere. In the meantime there were funeral arrangements to be made, although Elsie had no idea how she would raise the money to pay for such a solemn event. She went about her duties in a haze, finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate her thoughts.

When the last dish was washed, dried and put away Mrs Coker waited until everyone, with the exception of Elsie, had hurried off to enjoy their brief period of free time. ‘Mrs Tranter agrees with me that you should have the rest of the day off. There must be arrangements to be made and that sort of thing.' She hesitated, staring at a point somewhere above Elsie's head. ‘It's a difficult time for you, I know.' She cleared her throat noisily and patted Elsie on the shoulder. ‘I'll see you in the morning, first thing, and don't be late.'

‘Thank you, Mrs Coker.'

Elsie found herself alone in the vast echoing kitchen. The silence was worse than the general hubbub of voices and the clattering of pots and pans. It was hot and stuffy and she took her cap off, wiping the perspiration from her brow. She had finished mopping the floor and was about take the bucket outside and empty its contents down the drain when she heard quick footsteps on the stairs. She turned and was surprised to see that it was Marianne who entered the room. She paused, a picture of elegance in a cream shantung outfit with the fashionable peg top silhouette, which made her look as though she had stepped from the pages of
Weldon's Ladies' Journal
. She stopped, staring at Elsie in amazement. ‘You did it. You cut your hair.'

‘I wanted a change.'

‘Good for you,' Marianne said, smiling. ‘It suits you.'

‘Did you want something, miss?'

‘Yes, I was looking for you as it happens.' The hobble skirt forced Marianne to take tiny steps as she made her way carefully across the wet floor. ‘I was so sorry to hear about your mother. I would have come down earlier but Henri had to leave for London and his parents are returning to Paris, so I drove them to the station.'

Elsie shivered even though the heat in the kitchen was stifling. She had hoped to see Henri again, if only to thank him for his kindness, but now he had gone she felt as though she had lost more than a friend. ‘Of course,' she murmured. ‘I understand.'

Marianne hesitated, biting her lip. ‘It's rough luck, old thing. I know what it's like to be without your mother, even though mine is still in the land of the living.' She threw up her hands. ‘I'm saying all the wrong things, but I just wanted you to know that you have our sympathy, and if there's anything I can do to help . . .' Her voice tailed off. ‘You're not crying, are you?'

Elsie dashed her hand across her eyes. ‘No, Miss Marianne. I'm just a bit tired, that's all.'

‘Of course you are. I doubt if you slept much last night.'

‘I'm fine, really I am, and I must get on.'

‘Yes, I understand.' Marianne began to retrace her steps, but stopped, turning to Elsie with an embarrassed smile. ‘Look, I realise things must be difficult for you – financially, I mean. I wouldn't have thought of it myself, but Henri said you were probably a bit hard up and, well, to be blunt, Elsie, what I'm trying to say is I want you to send the account for the funeral expenses to me.'

‘To you?' Elsie stared at her in astonishment. ‘Why would you want to pay for my mother's funeral?'

‘I've just come into the money left to me by my grandfather, and it seems the right thing to do. You must allow me to help, if only to prove to Henri that I'm not a spoilt army brat, I'm quite the reverse, in fact.'

‘He asked you to do this for me?'

‘Not exactly, but he's very generous and does all sorts of things for his employees when they're in difficulties. Besides which he's as rich as Croesus, which explains my family's clumsy attempts at match-making.' Marianne gurgled with laughter. ‘Don't look so shocked; it's still the done thing in my set, but I'm not playing their game. Henri and I are like brother and sister. I'll pick the man I want to marry. Anyway, I'm digressing. Will you allow me to do this for you?'

‘I – I don't know what to say.'

Marianne put her head on one side, frowning. ‘I'm free this afternoon, as it happens, and I'm at a loose end. Why don't I come with you to see the vicar? It's clear that you could use a friend.'

‘I'm not a charity case,' Elsie said sharply. ‘I'm sure you can find something to do that's more amusing than helping me to arrange my mother's funeral.' She knew she was being unreasonable, but she felt as if the last vestige of pride had been stripped away from her. She snatched up the bucket and marched out into the yard.

Marianne had gone when Elsie returned to the kitchen and she felt ashamed of her outburst. It had been kind of Marianne to offer financial help, but they were not friends and never could be: the social divide was too great to allow that to happen, and she did not want to feel obligated to the Winter family. A life in service was not for her. Marianne's careless words had made her realise how foolish she had been to imagine that Henri Bellaire was interested in her as a person. He must have seen her as another opportunity to help someone less fortunate than himself, and she herself had been dazzled by his charm and good looks. ‘You're an idiot, Elsie Mead,' she said out loud. ‘And talking to yourself is the first sign of madness.'

Elsie was on her way home when she heard the roar of a motor car engine and the parp-parp of its horn. She jumped aside, almost tumbling into the ditch as the car screeched to a halt at her side.

‘I thought you could do with a lift?' With the engine still running Marianne leaned across and opened the passenger door. ‘Hop in.'

Elsie hesitated. She should refuse and keep her pride, but curiosity overcame caution and she climbed in beside her. ‘This is Henri's car.'

‘It's mine for the time being. He decided to travel by train and left it in my safe keeping until he returns at the weekend.' Marianne accelerated and the vehicle leapt forward in a series of bunny hops. ‘I haven't quite got the hang of the thing yet,' she said, laughing. She shot a sideways glance at Elsie. ‘Do relax; I'm perfectly capable behind the wheel. I had a few lessons in Switzerland from a divine man who was the brother of one of my best friends. Unfortunately he turned out to have a wife and child in Hampstead, but I didn't find that out for quite a while, and I didn't let on for a long time after that.' She chortled with laughter. ‘Are you shocked, Elsie?'

‘No, I don't think so.' Elsie held on to her straw hat.

‘You're full of surprises. I had you down as being an innocent and maybe a bit of a prude.'

‘I grew up in Sutton Darcy. You'd be shocked if you knew half of what goes on.'

‘You must enlighten me some time, but first things first. Where would you like me to drop you?'

‘I was on my way to the vicarage.'

‘I thought as much. I'm sorry I upset you earlier. I'm not noted for my tact, Elsie. Am I forgiven?'

‘Actually I'm the one who should apologise,' Elsie said with a reluctant smile. ‘You were trying to help, but you must understand why I couldn't accept such a generous offer.'

‘Apology accepted. I did think you were a bit hard on me, although I still don't see why you won't allow me to pay for the funeral.' Marianne swerved in order to avoid a pothole. ‘Your mother was kind to me when I was a child. I used to sneak down to the kitchen when the servants had their afternoon break. Monique was always there, mopping the floor or scrubbing that huge pine table, and she used to look the other way when I raided the pantry for jam tarts or biscuits. She always had time for me and we had long conversations in French, which helped no end when I spent my summers in Provence with Henri's family.'

‘I didn't know that, but it's typical of Ma. She was the nicest, kindest person I've ever known.'

‘So you understand why I want to make sure she has a proper send-off? I'm sure my father would agree with me, if he were here now. He always took an interest in the servants' welfare, and I know for a fact that he thought highly of your mother.'

‘Ma cried when your parents left for India. She was very loyal.'

‘Which is all the more reason for the Winters to honour her memory. What do you say to that, Elsie?'

Monique's funeral took place a week later. The younger men from the village were notable by their absence as the congregation filed into the church, but those who were left behind had come to mourn for a woman who, in life, had been considered an outsider, even though she had come to Sutton Darcy as a bride more than twenty-three years ago. Marianne had seen to it that everyone from Darcy Hall attended the service, including her aunt and uncle, and to Elsie's astonishment Henri had travelled from London for the occasion, although she suspected that the real motive for his visit was to collect his motor car.

The service was short but moving and Elsie found it almost impossible to control her emotions, but when she saw the coffin lowered into the ground it was so final that she could not contain her tears. Despite the fact that people surrounded the grave she had never felt so lost and alone. Marianne slipped her arm around her shoulders and gave her a gentle hug. ‘We'll take you home, Elsie.' She turned to Henri. ‘I've invited everyone back to the Hall for light refreshments. Will you drive, or shall I?'

Tables and chairs had been set out on the lawns in front of Darcy Hall and trestles set up to hold barrels of beer and cider. Lemonade and ginger beer were provided for those who did not drink alcohol and the kitchen staff bustled to and fro with plates of sandwiches, meat pies, cakes and biscuits, all prepared under the strict eye of Mrs Coker.

Despite the sadness of the occasion a party atmosphere began to emerge, especially when the barrels were tapped and Soames produced a bowl of fruit cup, to which he was seen to add half a bottle of brandy. People began to relax and soon they were laughing and chattering. The sun beat down from a cloudless sky but its heat was tempered by a cool breeze off the sea, and for a while it seemed that everyone was able to forget the war that overshadowed their daily lives.