In Love and War (6 page)

Elsie stood back for a moment, watching the mourners shake off the mantle of sobriety as they began to enjoy themselves, even if some of them looked a bit shifty as they sipped their drinks and munched on the sandwiches and pies. She had been surprised and touched by the condolences she had received. Monique Mead might have been known as the Frenchwoman, but it seemed that in death she had, at last, been accepted by the villagers as one of their own.

Elsie turned with a start as Marianne tapped her on the arm. ‘It's going well, isn't it? We've done Monique proud.'

‘It's all down to you,' Elsie said earnestly. ‘I can't thank you enough for taking all this trouble. Ma was a very modest woman. She wouldn't understand why there was all this fuss over someone like her.'

‘We're all important. I'm only just beginning to realise that.' Marianne gazed round at the crowd of women wearing black. ‘I'm afraid this is a sign of things to come. All these families have sent someone close to them to war, and who knows how many will come home? You've made me think about something other than myself, Elsie.'

‘Me? How? I don't understand.'

‘I know you want to leave here and do something for the war effort. I thought at first that you were crazy, but while I was organising all this I've spent time in the village, talking to people. The war in Europe is going to affect all of us, and we can't pretend it's not happening.'

‘But you don't need to work. I have to earn my own living.'

‘I can't rusticate here for the rest of my life. I'm driving back to London with Henri in the morning.'

‘You're leaving home?'

‘I'm considering my options. I've been invited to stay with an old school friend whose aunt has a flat in London. She's Felicia Wilby – you must have heard of her.'

‘Felicia Wilby the actress?' Elsie was impressed.

‘That's right. It's going to be fun, and I can't wait to get away.' Marianne looked round and waved. ‘There's Henri. I must go and rescue the poor fellow. Cora Mason has got her claws into him and she'll bore him to death.' She hurried off across the crushed grass.

Elsie stood for a moment, watching the people she had grown up amongst as they made the most of the free food and drink. It was hard not to feel bitter, and yet Ma had never held a grudge against the people whose prejudices had kept them from welcoming her into their midst.

‘Elsie.' Henri strode across the lawn, coming to a halt at her side. ‘Are you all right?'

‘Yes, thank you.'

He smiled but there was a question in his dark eyes. ‘You are so polite, chérie. Would you tell me any different, I wonder?'

‘I am sad, of course, but I am grateful to Miss Marianne for doing all this.'

‘It is too much, yes?'

She nodded. ‘It is a bit too much.'

‘Marianne means well, I think.'

‘You're going back to London tomorrow.'

‘We leave in the morning. I wanted to say au revoir.'

‘You mean goodbye.'

He raised her hand to his lips. ‘No, that's not what I meant. We will meet again, Elsie.' His dark eyes held her gaze and he smiled. ‘Your new hairstyle suits you very well. I like it.'

He strolled off, returning to Marianne's side as she chatted to the vicar and his wife. Elsie could still feel the soft imprint of his warm lips on the back of her hand and she raised it to her cheek, holding it there and printing it indelibly in her memory. Even a scullery maid was allowed to dream. She came back to earth as Mrs Coker lumbered towards her. ‘We could do with a hand clearing away,' she said breathlessly. ‘Emily's been at the fruit cup and Nancy's had to put her to bed.'

‘I'll come now.'

Mrs Coker hesitated. ‘Take a tip from me, Elsie. Don't get involved with them upstairs. It can only lead to heartbreak.'

Tan Cottage echoed with memories, but the overriding feeling was one of sadness and loss. Elsie could not bring herself to sleep in her mother's bed. Even though she had changed the sheets and had hung the counterpane outside in the sunshine, the smell of the sick room still lingered in the folds of the material. Sometimes she awakened in the middle of the night thinking she could hear her mother coughing, and would rise from her bed on the kitchen floor, but then she remembered that Ma was no longer with her. The sounds persisted and she realised they came from the pasture where the cows made noises that sounded oddly human in the still of the night.

Elsie continued to work in the kitchens at Darcy Hall, doing what was required of her without complaint, but as the days went by and she read about the atrocities in Europe, she became even more determined to do something that would contribute to the war effort. Young men were dying in their hundreds of thousands, and the plight of the Belgian refugees, displaced by the advancing German army, struck a chord deep within her. The newspapers were filled with stories of families torn apart and women and children arriving in England with little more than the clothes on their backs. She knew she must do something, but it was difficult to know where to start.

In the privacy of her own home she studied the situations vacant columns in the newspapers discarded by Mr Winter, but she had had to wait until no one was looking before she had taken the relevant page and slipped it into her apron pocket. If it became common knowledge that she was seeking employment elsewhere she might lose the job she had, and that would be a disaster. It was difficult to save enough to pay the rent on Tan Cottage as it was, let alone find money for necessities. It was late September and there was a hint of autumn in the air. The leaves on the trees were heavy with dust and beginning to turn subtle shades of russet and gold. Skeins of wild geese flew overhead morning and evening, honking and calling to each other as they headed for the fields where they would feed on the ears of corn left after the crop had been harvested, building themselves up to face the winter. The cold weather was coming and there would be the additional expense of paying for coal and candles or lamp oil. Mrs Tranter had offered Elsie a bed in the attic rooms with the junior kitchen maids, Emily and Jane, but if she accepted a live-in position she feared she might condemn herself to a life in service. She had glimpsed another way of life and been treated as an equal by Marianne and Henri, and nothing would be the same again. Cook and Mrs Tranter had tried to warn her against becoming too friendly with her employers, and Elsie was beginning to realise that they were right.

Marianne had been in London for almost a month and no one knew when she might return. It was obvious to Elsie that both Marianne and Henri had moved on within their own circle and that she had been forgotten. For all she knew Henri might have returned to France and might even have been one of the casualties of the battle of Le Cateau that had claimed so many lives. She had applied for several positions locally without success. A cordite factory had been set up at Holton Heath, but it would cost her more to travel there each day than she could earn, and although she did apply she received a negative response by return of post.

On her day off she caught a bus to the nearest town and made enquiries at the railway station to see if they needed porters or someone to work in the tearoom, again without success. She tried the bus depot but they needed drivers and she had to admit that she had never been behind the wheel. She went into shops and offered her services but the shopkeepers seemed to favour young boys or older men, and she was turned away. She spent a few pennies on a cup of tea and a sticky bun, and caught the bus back to Sutton Darcy feeling frustrated and angry. She boiled an egg and buttered a slice of bread, and was just about to sit down to eat her frugal meal when someone rapped on the front door. She went to open it and to her surprise it was the rent collector. He doffed his cap. ‘Good evening, Miss Mead.'

‘You're a day early, Mr Thompson.' She reached into her pocket and took out her purse.

‘Only a day, Miss Mead. Is it a problem?'

She counted out the coins. ‘No. I made sure I have enough.'

He took the money and dropped it into a leather pouch. He hesitated, eyeing her warily.

‘Was there something else, Mr Thompson?'

‘I'm afraid so, Miss Mead. I have to give you a week's notice to quit Tan Cottage.' He took an envelope from his breast pocket and pressed it into her hand. ‘I'm sorry, but it's the landlord's orders.'

‘I have to leave my home? Why?'

‘I'm sorry, Miss Mead. The landlord is terminating the agreement, which was with Mrs Monique Mead. It's only just come to his attention that the lady is deceased.'

‘But you can't turn me out. I've been paying the rent regular as clockwork.'

‘I know, but it's not my decision. The owner has another tenant in mind who can afford to pay almost double the amount your mother was paying.'

‘You can't do this to me.'

‘I'm afraid I can, miss. You have a week to pack up and leave Tan Cottage, and that's final.'

ELSIE SAT IN
the corner of the third class railway compartment, staring out of the window as the train chugged into Waterloo station. It came to a halt with a screech of iron wheels on iron rails and a huge burst of steam from the massive engine. There was a moment of chaos as the other passengers gathered their possessions and reached up to heave their luggage from the racks. She sat very still, waiting while they jostled each other in their efforts to climb down to the platform, even though Waterloo was the terminus and the train would be there for some time before it began its return journey.

A couple with two noisy children were the first to alight, followed by a burly man wearing a mustard yellow suit which made him look like a bookie or a barker at a fairground. He tipped his bowler hat and apologised as he trod on Elsie's toe and had to turn sideways to get his bulk through the door. He was followed by two prim ladies dressed from head to foot in black, who had sat side by side with their knitting needles clicking all the way from Southampton. They had cast darkling looks at the badly behaved children, tut-tutting but not daring to speak out. Elsie was the last to leave the compartment and she stepped down onto the platform, standing very still while people rushed past her to the barrier. London had a strange smoky smell combined with the hot metallic odour emanating from the hissing steam engine. The air felt heavy and warm compared to the fresh sea breezes on the coast, and everywhere there was noise and bustle.

She made her way to the barrier and handed in her ticket, but the feeling of excitement and anticipation evaporated as she emerged from the station concourse and stepped into the busy London street. Nothing could have prepared her for the sheer volume of horse-drawn traffic interspersed with motor vehicles, and the pavements were crowded with people who all seemed to be in a tearing hurry. The noise and the confusion made her head spin, and worse still she had no idea how to get to her destination. Mr Soames, who had worked in London as a young man, had advised her to take a cab to the address she had been given by the charity that had offered her work. She had read an article about the Women's Emergency Corps in
The Times
, and had written off to the address in Baker Street, citing her fluency in French as her most useful asset. The reply had been swift and positive, offering her a job as interpreter. There had been no mention of a wage, but she assumed that they would not expect her to work for nothing, and had written back accepting the post.

It was only now that she realised how little she knew of life in the big city and hailing a cab was easier said than done. She waved hopefully at a likely-looking vehicle but it sped past her, and she was just beginning to wonder if she was invisible when a hansom cab drew up at the kerb and a man leapt out, tossed a coin to the cabby and strode into the station. Elsie ran up to the cab, waving frantically. ‘I want to go to Baker Street, please, sir.'

‘Hop in, miss.'

She heaved her suitcase into the vehicle and climbed in after it, falling onto the seat as it lurched forward into the seething mass of traffic. Elsie did not know which way to look. There seemed to be places of interest on both sides of the road and then they were crossing Waterloo Bridge and she had her first sight of the River Thames, wending its majestic course through the city in sinuous serpentine curves, its coffee-coloured tidal waters gliding onwards to join the North Sea. Her knowledge of London had been gleaned from reading newspapers and looking through magazines discarded by Josephine Winter, but nothing had prepared her for the reality or the cost of the cab ride to Baker Street. She paid the cabby what he asked and then she remembered that Mr Soames had warned her that tipping was expected, and she gave him threepence, which seemed to satisfy him, but left her with an extremely light purse. She picked up her suitcase and walked into the office of the Women's Emergency Committee.

The woman who interviewed her wore a businesslike shirt and tie and a tight hobble skirt. She placed a cigarette in a long holder and clenched it between her teeth, eyeing Elsie through a plume of smoke. ‘So why do you want to do charity work, Miss Mead?'

Taken aback, Elsie struggled to find an answer. ‘I need a job, miss, and I'm fluent in French.'

‘My name is Charlotte Greenway. You may address me as Charlotte or Miss Greenway.'

‘Yes, m— I mean, Miss Greenway.'

Charlotte leaned her elbows on the desk, fixing Elsie with a hard stare. ‘You do realise that this is unpaid work, don't you?'

‘Unpaid?' Elsie gulped and swallowed as her throat constricted in panic. ‘But – but I thought it was a proper job. I've come all the way from Dorset and I gave my notice in at Darcy Hall.'

Charlotte's stern expression softened and she took the cigarette holder from her mouth, flicking ash into an overflowing ashtray on her desk. ‘I see.' She stood up and paced the room, replacing the holder between her teeth. ‘This is unfortunate.' She came to a halt beside Elsie. ‘We do have an amenity fund. I might be able to organise a small remuneration for you, but I'm afraid it won't be enough to live on, unless you have somewhere to stay that costs next to nothing.'