‘Me neither, miss,’ I said, ‘but for the order I’m collecting for Mrs Townsend. Pastries. For the New Year luncheon.’
She looked at my empty hands, then at the alcove from which I’d come. ‘An unusual place from which to purchase pastries.’
I followed her gaze. The brass plaque on the black door read
Before I could think of an excuse, Hannah cleared her throat and fumbled a brown paper package in her hands. ‘Well,’ she said, the word hanging in the air between us.
I waited, miserably, for the accusation to come.
Hannah shifted her position, straightened her neck and looked directly at me. She stayed that way for a moment then finally she spoke. ‘Well Grace,’ she said decisively. ‘It would appear we each have a secret.’
So stunned was I that at first I didn’t answer. I had been so nervous I hadn’t realised she was equally so. I swallowed, clutched the rim of my hidden cargo. ‘Miss?’
She nodded, then confounded me, reaching forward to clasp one of my hands vehemently. ‘I congratulate you, Grace.’
‘You do, miss?’
‘Yes,’ she said fervently. ‘For I know what it is you hide beneath your coat.’
‘Miss?’
‘I know, because I’ve been doing the same.’ She indicated her package and bit back an excited smile. ‘These aren’t music sheets, Grace.’
‘No, miss?’
‘And I’m certainly not taking music classes.’ Her eyes widened. ‘Lessons for pleasure. At a time like this! Can you even imagine?’
I shook my head, mystified.
She leaned forward, conspiratorially. ‘Which is your favourite? Typing or shorthand?’
‘I couldn’t say, miss.’
She nodded. ‘You’re right of course: silly to talk of favourites. They’re each as important as the other.’ She paused, smiled slightly. ‘Though I must admit a certain partiality to shorthand. There’s something exciting about it. It’s like… ’
‘Like a secret code?’ I said, thinking of the Chinese box.
‘Yes.’ Her eyes shone. ‘Yes, that’s it exactly. A secret code. A mystery.’
‘Yes, miss.’
She straightened then, and nodded toward the door. ‘Well, I’d better get on. Miss Dove will be expecting me, and I daren’t keep her waiting. As you know, she’s fierce about tardiness.’
I curtseyed and stepped out from under the awning.
‘Grace?’
I turned back, blinking through the falling sleet. ‘Yes miss?’
She lifted a finger to her lips. ‘We share a secret now.’
I nodded, and we held each other’s gaze in a moment of accord, until, seemingly satisfied, she smiled and disappeared behind Miss Dove’s black door.
On 31 December, as the final moments of 1915 bled away, the staff gathered round the servants’ hall dining table to usher in the New Year. Lord Ashbury had allowed us a bottle of champagne and two of beer, and Mrs Townsend had conjured something of a feast from the ration-plundered pantry. We all hushed as the clock marched toward the ultimate moment, then cheered as it chimed in the New Year. When Mr Hamilton had led us in a spirited verse of ‘Auld Lang Syne’, conversation turned, as it always does, to plans and promises for the New Year. Katie had just informed us of her resolution never again to sneak cake from the larder, when Alfred made his announcement.
‘I’ve joined up,’ he said, looking directly at Mr Hamilton. ‘I’m going to the war.’
I drew breath and everyone else fell silent, awaiting Mr Hamilton’s reaction. Finally, he spoke. ‘Well,’ he said, tightening his mouth into a grim smile. ‘That’s a very worthy sentiment, Alfred, and I’ll talk to the Master about it on your behalf, but I must say I don’t imagine he’ll be willing to part with you.’
Alfred swallowed. ‘Thank you, Mr Hamilton. But there’s no need for that.’ He took a breath. ‘I’ve spoken to the Master myself. When he visited from London. He said I was doing the right thing, wished me luck.’
Mr Hamilton digested this. His eyes flickered at what he perceived as Alfred’s perfidy. ‘Of course. The right thing.’
‘I’ll be leaving in March,’ Alfred said tentatively. ‘They’ll send me for training first.’
‘Then what,’ Mrs Townsend said, finally finding her voice. Her hands were firmly planted on her well-padded hips.
‘Then…’ an excited smile crept onto his lips. ‘Then France, I guess.’
‘Well,’ Mr Hamilton said stiffly, collecting himself. ‘This deserves a toast.’ He stood and held his glass aloft, the rest of us following tentatively his lead. ‘To Alfred. May he be returned to us as happy and as healthy as he left us.’
‘Here, here,’ Mrs Townsend said, unable to disguise her pride. ‘And sooner rather than later.’
‘Steady on, Mrs T,’ Alfred said, grinning. ‘Not too soon. I want to be sure and have some adventures.’
‘You just be sure and take care of yourself, my boy,’ Mrs Townsend said, her eyes glistening.
Alfred turned to me as the others refilled their glasses. ‘Doing my bit to defend the country, I am Grace.’
I nodded, wanting him to know that he had never been a coward. That I had never thought it of him.
‘Write to me, will you Gracie? Promise?’
I nodded again. ‘Course I will.’
He smiled at me and I felt my cheeks warm.
‘While we’re celebrating,’ Myra cut in, tapping her glass for quiet, ‘I have some news of my own.’
Katie gasped. ‘You’re never getting married, are you Myra?’
‘Of course not,’ Myra scowled.
‘Then what?’ Mrs Townsend said. ‘Don’t tell me you’re leaving us too? I don’t think I could take it.’
‘Not exactly,’ Myra said. ‘I’ve signed on to become a railway train guard. Down at the village station. I’ve been looking for a way to help with the war effort and then I saw the advertisement when I was running errands last week.’ She turned to Mr Hamilton. ‘I’ve already spoken with the Mistress and she said it was all right so long as I could still fit in my duties. She said it reflected well on this house that the staff are all doing their bit.’
‘Indeed,’ Mr Hamilton said through a sigh. ‘So long as the staff still manages to do their bit
