baying and howling.
‘Ask me ‘e’s tryin’ ter be like ‘is Lordship ‘imself, there’s been some money thrown about here, you see the new gardens and the shrubberies … Course, it’s not a patch on Lonsdale’s place, but that’s what Sir Charles is after.’
Freda dusted and swept, stirred the stew and told Ed to pop over to see if Freedom and Evelyne had everything they needed. Grumbling, he put on his heavy coat and went out, crossing the yard to the stables. Freedom, Evelyne and the baby had been installed in the new stable complex along with the stable hands and gamekeepers. Ed looked around the two rooms, sparsely furnished with just the bare essentials, and he could tell that Evelyne was upset. Freedom had gone out to the woods and from the small window Ed could see his figure like a small dot on the white fields, running flat out.
‘Well, there’s one of us glad to be back here. There he goes, like a hare, isn’t he?’
Evelyne snapped that she could use him indoors as she had to make up a bed for the baby, and Freedom had not lifted a finger since they arrived. He’d already had a row with the head stableboy because he had not been allowed to ride one of Sir Charles’ hunters.
Ed made soothing noises while he watched four gardeners hauling a massive Christmas tree that was to stand in front of the drawing-room windows of The Grange. Sir Charles had not arrived home yet, and from the number of lighted windows in the house Ed knew all hell would be let loose as Miss Balfour organized the servants in their preparations for Christmas.
Evelyne handed the baby to him, and he cooed and chucked him under the chin. Ed looked up to see Evie, neat and tidy as ever, putting on her coat. ‘Yer not goin’ out at this hour, Evie. You’ll catch yer death.’
‘I’m just going over to the kitchens to see everybody, say hello.’
The cook, the footmen, the housemaids whooped when Evelyne entered the kitchen.
‘Well, let’s have a look at you, well I never, so you’re married, well, well, and he’s back as the British Champion, well, well.’
They opened a bottle of cooking sherry to celebrate.
‘So you’re back, well don’t expect no special treatment from me, Miss Jones,’ Miss Balfour snapped, ‘And I’ll thank you not to keep everyone chatting in my kitchen when there’s work to be done.’
‘Will you not toast my good health, and my baby’s, Miss Balfour?’
Begrudgingly, Miss Balfour sipped a sherry then spoke with thin, pursed lips, ‘Here’s good health to you, is it a boy you have? Well, that’s very nice, now if you will excuse me …’ She left, ordering all of them to return to work. The housemaids sighed and looked at Evelyne as though she were a heroine, and she was delighted at being the centre of attention. She had two more sherries before she left with her cheeks flushed and rosy.
In the cold starlit December night with the thick carpet of snow, The Grange looked magical. Evelyne breathed in the clear air, maybe it was good that they’d all come here, away from the dirty London traffic.
‘You look as pretty as a picture, I’ve been watching you.’
Freedom slipped his arm around her and she cuddled close.
‘Happy, manushi?’
She looked up into his smiling, handsome face. ‘I am, an’ you’re a rinkeney man all right, Freedom Stubbs.’
He roared with laughter at her use of the Romany word for ‘handsome’, and together they walked towards Ed and Freda’s cottage. They peered like children into the kitchen and then giggled. Ed had their son on his lap and Freda was standing by giving him instructions on how to change a nappy.
‘I don’t think ‘e needs one, love, ‘e’s just done it all over me best pants.’
The following morning there was bright sunshine and Ed talked the stableboys into allowing Freedom to ride. ‘Yer know, lads, if ‘e wasn’t a champion boxer ‘e could ‘ave been a jockey, will you look at ‘im with that animal, bloody marvel, my God ‘e’s a wonderful fella.’ Ed glowed with pride and beamed at Mr Plath as he strode through the stableyard.
‘Ah, Meadows, all the servants are to gather in the main hall for Christmas gift time, will you instruct your party to be in the hall on the dot of eight?’
‘Now, Freda, there’s no need to get all uppity, all they want is us all gathered, like. Sir Charles hands out ‘is gifts to the servants, see, then we ‘ave a shindig, a dance in the ballroom.’
Freda pursed her lips, furious to be classed with the servants.
Evelyne laughed, ‘Oh, come on, Freda, it’ll be fun, and you can get all dressed up. Of course we’re not servants, well, not any more.’
Ed refrained from pointing out to the two women that while they might not be staff, both he and Freedom were employed by Sir Charles. He was too relieved that Evelyne had accepted it and even seemed bent on enjoying her stay at The Grange.
Promptly at eight, not a minute before or after, the staff lined up in the hall. It was impressive to watch, there were kitchen maids, scullery maids, ladies’ maids, butlers, footmen, valets, cooks, gardeners, stableboys, dog handlers, gunsmiths. Miss Balfour stood at one end of the hall with the general house manager, the estate manager and two secretaries. In a small group slightly apart from the general household staff stood Ed, Freda, Freedom and Evelyne.
Everyone wore their Sunday best or their immaculate uniforms, and the line of more than forty people stood as though on parade. It dawned on Evelyne just how wealthy this household was, how could some have so much and others so little?
Miss Balfour shook hands with Freedom and congratulated him as if she was telling him he’d brought in muck from the stables, ‘Sir Charles will be coming down any moment, he will wish you all a happy Christmas, and then you are to file past him one at a time …’
At that moment he appeared on the staircase, and there was a sudden hush. In clipped tones he wished every one of them a happy Christmas and a prosperous New Year, thanked them for all their good work, and hoped they would remain one big family.
Sir Charles handed Ed and Freda their gifts, polite, charming, and then turned to Freedom, who received the same cordial handshake with his neatly wrapped gift. Evelyne felt humiliated, as if she was lined up in the poorhouse, and accepted her token gift with lowered eyes, not once looking into the monocle.
‘Do hope you will enjoy the dance, thank you for your service.’
‘Well, manushi, I suppose we should go an’ perform for our lord and master.’
Evelyne muttered that Sir Charles might be his lord, but he certainly wasn’t hers.
In the ballroom a small orchestra played a waltz. Evelyne removed the heavy coat she was wearing over the satin gown Sir Charles had bought her in Cardiff, and got many admiring glances. Freda had shortened it, sewn on a few sequins to freshen it up, and arranged Evelyne’s hair the way Freedom liked it in a long braid down her back with ribbon threaded through, green to match her eyes. This was the only time of year that Sir Charles actually mixed with his servants so it was quite an occasion.
Tables were laid for Sir Charles and his guests at one end of the ballroom, with pristine white cloths, silver and crystal, but they were empty as yet. A long buffet at one side was covered with cloths, and tables were ranged round the other walls for the staff. Evelyne and Freedom sat with Freda and Ed and a group of the stableboys. Ed and Freedom were sitting with their heads close together, discussing boxing as usual, and Freda gave Evelyne a little shake of her head and a shrug.
The orchestra played on, and the evening began to liven up as they all did the hokey-cokey around the room. Everyone was in high spirits, singing at the tops of their voices, ‘You put your right foot in, right foot out, in, out, in out, and shake it all about … and that’s what it’s all about … Oh, the hokey-cokey, oh, the hokey-cokey … Knees bend, arms stretch, Ra! Ra! Ra!’
During the dance Sir Charles and his guests arrived and crossed the floor to their reserved tables. When the music ended Freda flopped down in her chair, fanning herself with her hankie, ‘Oh, I’m too old, too old for this kind of dance, darlink, I must have a long drink.’
Evelyne laughed. She was flushed, too, and she headed for the table where drinks were being served. She turned to look over at Sir Charles’ table, and her heart stopped.
David Collins was standing staring across the ballroom. He was lighting a cigarette in a thin gold holder. She had forgotten how handsome he was, how refined. She was josded along the queue for drinks, and asked for two lemonades. As she waited for them she saw Sir Charles gesturing to Freedom to join his table. Evelyne stood on
