In Distant Fields Read online

  ‘Where is Cuthbert?’ he asked, using the tone of voice that he would sometimes employ in the training of one of his gun dogs.

  ‘That is what I have been trying to tell you – Bertie, today, is attending Alfred Thorncroft’s funeral, Cecil.’

  ‘He is at the funeral of the Castleton grocer’s son?’

  ‘He is at the funeral of a dear friend—’

  ‘He should be out with Daylesford, doing the rounds.’

  ‘He excused himself to Daylesford. Daylesford understood. He is a gentleman.’

  There was a small silence, during which Cheeseman stared at the space between the two protagonists. If it had been a cricket match and he the umpire, he would have raised his arm to indicate that her ladyship had hit a six. However, one look at Mr Milborne told him that this realisation had not gone unnoticed by him, and that boded ill, so no one was really surprised when the door slammed behind Cecil, and both the footmen blinked as it rattled the decanters on the sideboard, taking up the sound and seeming to throw it across the room and from there to slip seamlessly out between the ill-fitting dining-room windows to join the icy weather outside.

  ‘Would your ladyship care for some fruit?’

  Maude looked up at Cheeseman. A few years ago after such a distressing moment, the eyes she now lifted to her butler would have had tears in them – but thankfully no longer. She had grown stronger with age.

  ‘Yes, I would care for some fruit, Cheeseman. Thank you. Such a pity that the dining-room door will keep slamming, do you not think? We must ask Daylesford to get Jeffryes to see to it, when things are back to rights.’

  ‘Yes, your ladyship.’

  Cheeseman took the grape scissors and carefully cut Maude some grapes grown in her own hot-house, and placed them on a gold and blue decorated fruit plate, itself resting on a wrought-silver server in front of her.

  ‘Thank you, Cheeseman.’

  Cheeseman retired back to his original position in the old, shabby dining room. All the servants at Milborne House would do anything for her ladyship. Such was certainly not the case when it came to Mr Cecil, who was known as ‘the Kaiser’ below stairs, and, secretly, to his sons too.

  ‘A bully is born every minute,’ Cheeseman’s mother used to say, ‘and it’s up to us to stand up to them, George my boy.’

  How right she was. Ever since he had taken up his position at Milborne House, Cheeseman could honestly say that he had made it his business to stand up to Mr Cecil, if only by his silence. Silence could not only be deafening, it could be defeating – at least he had always found it so. It said much more than words. More than that, silence was ominous; it threatened. He could honestly swear on the family Bible that he had hardly addressed a look to Mr Cecil in many a month. He knew Cecil did not like it. Cheeseman, on the other hand, greatly enjoyed it. It was this enjoyment more than anything that had kept him from leaving Milborne House. He had had offers from guests who came to stay at the house and were impressed by his work, naturally, but his devotion to her ladyship was one hundred per cent. While her ladyship was at Milborne House, Cheeseman made it his business to stay put, refusing more lucrative offers, even turning away opportunities to become a butler in a royal household. In his view her ladyship was a heroine out of a book, not that he would ever be caught reading one, but if he did, he would certainly have expected it to star someone such as Lady Maude Milborne.

  Maude stood up, only too glad luncheon was over, yet already dreading dinner, and when the time came she was only too glad of the company of her sons. She appreciated that Hughie and Cuthbert made it their business to miss as many meals as possible when their father was in residence, making sure to come to breakfast at dawn, and remain out of doors all day, and only reluctantly appearing at night for dinner, which they now did if only to support their mother. The meal dragged on, and on, and on until at last they were able to follow Maude out of the room, their faces showing understandable relief that dinner was over, but perhaps because the weather outside was crisp and clear, Hughie’s asthma was at its worst, as a consequence of which he was in no mood to see Cecil bully Maude. But he was determined to be strong, which made it all the more difficult when he announced that he was going to America, because on hearing the news his parents seemed to change roles instantly. His mother fell silent, and his father brightened.

  ‘Doing something at last, are you, Hughie?’

  Cecil took up his oil lamp from the drawing-room table, swaying a little as he did so – the port that evening having been unusually good.

  ‘Yes, Papa, doing something at last.’

  Inwardly Hughie cursed the noise from his chest, knowing that at any moment his father was quite likely to make a derisory comment about it.

  ‘Perhaps your brother will be tempted to follow your example? No trouble following you – your chest makes enough noise for ten men!’ Cecil went on, laughing heartily.

  Hughie smiled at this. He and Bertie had made an agreement when they were quite small that they would smile, no matter what the Kaiser handed out to them.

  ‘Have you any particular ambition that you wish to pursue in America, Hughie, dear?’ Maude put in quickly.

  ‘Yes, Mamma, I have been offered a position in a bank.’

  There was a ghastly silence. It was a silence that, in a novel, would be described as ‘the silence of the morgue’. Seconds turned into a full-blown minute, until at last a voice was heard.

  ‘You have been offered a position in a bank?’ Cecil turned to Maude. ‘Did you hear that, Maude? Hughie is all set to become a snob!’

  Snobs, as anyone employed in charging interest on money were always called, were looked down on, as was anyone who made money on the back of some other person’s wealth. Cheeseman knew this, as did all the servants. Bankers, stockbrokers, folk from the City would never expect to be invited to places such as Bauders Castle or Milborne House, being all too aware that old families considered usury to be one of the root causes of evil in their society. The lending and making of money by the exacting of percentages was considered base; so, if Mr Hughie had suddenly announced that he had just been out to the stables and shot his pet spaniel, his news could not have been more terrible.

  ‘When are you due to depart, Hughie, dear?’ Maude put away her handkerchief and shut her reticule with a snap.

  ‘From Southampton, as soon as there is a sailing.’

  Cecil turned to Maude, a triumphant look in his eye. ‘I always told you that Hughie was no good,’ he said, taking up his lamp. ‘Do not,’ he said, turning round at the drawing-room door, ‘do not ever expect me to address another word to you. As of this minute, if you pursue this ambition, you are no longer my son.’

  Bertie waited until the door had been closed behind his father, and then he looked across at Hughie.

  ‘Well, that is a relief for you, Hughie, at any rate,’ he said, going across to fetch his own oil lamp, preparatory to going to bed.

  Maude turned to Cheeseman. ‘You may all go now, Cheeseman.’

  ‘Thank you, my lady.’

  Cheeseman withdrew with dignity, followed by a sleepy footman.

  Outside the drawing-room doors, and having made sure that the master of the house had indeed retired to bed to be undressed by his valet, Cheeseman let out a vast sigh of relief, and his step towards the green baize door that separated the world of the servants from the world of the masters, was lighter than it had been for weeks. One son down, now only one to go. Whatever Mr Hughie’s life in America might turn out to be, it had to be a great deal better than that which he had not enjoyed at Milborne House.

  Chapter Four

  Comings and Goings

  With the thaw that had started two days earlier continuing to take the frost out of the ground, it was decided that hunting could be resumed on New Year’s Day.

  Naturally the house party at Bauders Castle was, as always, divided between those who wanted to shoot and those who preferred to ride to hounds. After a late night many of
the young men usually chose to shoot rather than ride, preferring the noise of their shotguns to a line of fences on board a keen hunter. This New Year’s Day, however, found most of the bloods electing to follow hounds, which was quite understandable once the rumour was abroad that Partita and Kitty were to make their appearance, which they duly did, riding sidesaddle on perfectly turned-out matching greys.

  ‘What a sight to set before a duke!’ Pug Stapleton murmured as all eyes rested on the two young ladies, their shiny top hats and veils at just the right angle, their impeccably cut riding jackets and tailored skirts showing off their tiny waists and perfect deportment. Partita was in a velvet habit of the same dark blue as her father’s personal hunting livery, with a matching hat worn to the front of her perfectly coiffed blonde hair, while Kitty was wearing a superb hunting skirt and tailored jacket in lovat green, once the treasured property of Aunt Agatha.

  Top hats were raised to the ladies, caps were doffed and forelocks touched as the two lovely young women rode into the heart of the restless and excited horses, all ready for the off, highly polished hoofs dancing restlessly over the gravel of the forecourts as stirrup cups were handed round, to the accompaniment of the sounds of bits rattling and leather slapping against gleaming coats steaming gently in the crisp air.

  The Duke sat apart from the throng, as still as the handsome horse under him. The only part of Barrymore Boy’s body that was moving was his head, his huge dark brown eyes seeming to be swivelling under frowning brows as if checking on the behaviour of the younger equines in his charge, his large ears moving backwards and forwards, seeming to be listening in two directions, as his reddening nostrils slowly flared until he snorted a light warning to his master that, as far as he was concerned, they were ready to go and do the day’s business.

  As if prompted by his horse, the Duke nodded to his huntsmen, his Field Master and his whippers-in, an ancient silvered hunting horn was raised and the call to move away blew out across the park. At once all chatter stopped as girths were given a final check, reins were gathered, and glinting spurs dug into horses’ sides and the field moved off. Everyone tried to contain their excited mounts at the walk or the trot, not all of them successfully, as several of the more highly strung animals, resisting their bits, attempted to break into a canter, their riders managing to rein them in tightly, so they were forced to dance on the spot, the steam rising from their bodies adding to the mist that had not yet cleared.

  Behind them the great house stood empty, deserted except for all the family’s pet dogs, lying stretched by the fires, while below stairs the servants regrouped and planned their next attack on the rooms above them.

  Wavell sat at the head of the table in the servants’ hall, his mid-morning cup of tea nearly empty, his eyes on all the members of his company as they wearily conversed, some grumbling, some laughing, the younger ones, fresh to the household, still amazed by the pageantry they had seen over the Christmas holiday, the glamour, the decorum, the beauty.

  Finally their commander rose from his position at the head of the table and with a nod to Mrs Coggle, his second in command, he went to do battle once more, his troops rising behind him, preparing to arm themselves with mops, buckets, dusters, polishes and brushes. Moments later there was a frenzy of activity as they went into action, sweeping, cleaning, washing and tidying, returning the state rooms back to normality, so that by the time their superiors returned, their quarters would be warm, clean and orderly, with fires lit, brasses shining, leather glossy, and woodwork gleaming. Nothing would be out of place and nothing would be missing. Sets of clothes would be laid out for tea, shoes polished and paired ready, undergarments ironed, hairbrushes washed and put back in place, fresh soaps unwrapped and laid in hand-polished basins with shining taps, decanters filled, bottles wiped and set, glasses bright, and fresh cigarettes and cigars placed in silver boxes in the smoking room. After which Wavell, at some silent signal, would begin his inspection, finishing with a check on the settings for dinner, making sure the places were laid at exactly the correct distances from each other, the knives, forks and spoons correctly ordered, and the glasses placed within perfect reach. Then hands would be washed and inspected, fresh gloves would be taken, shoulders would be brushed, uniforms checked and straightened, and final orders issued for the next phase of the campaign, the body of household troops signalled into action by bells calling them to their various posts and finally by the sonorous boom of the great gong as it summoned all to the table. By midnight once again, the house would fall quiet, the nocturnal silence broken only by the melodious call of Birdie, the nightwatchman, as he made his rounds, calling out the passing of another hour in the life of Bauders Castle.

  ‘What did you make of the hunt meet then, Miss Malone?’ Tully asked Bridie when he found her. ‘Quite a sight, eh?’

  ‘It was a lovely sight,’ Bridie sighed. ‘As beautiful as the dawn, and as fair as the summer, as my grandmother used to say.’

  Tully stared at her. ‘I wish I could talk like you, Miss Malone, I do truly. You have a way of talking …’ he shook his head in admiration. ‘Where are you from?’

  ‘Timbuktu,’ Bridie replied, eyeing him and deciding she liked what she saw. ‘And where are you from, Mr Tully?’

  ‘You’re not from Timbuktu,’ Tully laughed, putting his cap back on carefully as if it was the most expensive hat in the world. ‘You’re from Ireland, I know that – as I am from here. Here’s where I was born and bred.’

  ‘And I’m from a part of Ireland sure you’ll never have heard of ever. Did you ever hear of Galway?’

  ‘I did,’ Tully nodded. ‘His Grace had a fine racer by that very name. Won four races in a row. A jumper. Lovely horse he was, and he was called Galway Boy, because that’s where he was bred, and it’s in Ireland. See?’

  ‘And that’s where I’m from. Now if you don’t mind, Mr Tully …’ Bridie stopped by a door into the side of the house.

  ‘Just Tully, Miss Malone. Tully’s my Christian name – Tuttle’s the surname. Tully Tuttle is my name in full.’

  ‘And sure how old are yous, Tully Tuttle, when you’re at home? You don’t look an hour over sixteen.’

  ‘I’m eighteen and a bit,’ Tully replied hotly. ‘I shall be eighteen and a half in two months’ time.’

  ‘Well, I’m much too old to be talking to you. Sure am’t I old enough to be your elder sister, so?’

  ‘There you go again!’ Tully exclaimed. ‘I never met a girl who could make me laugh the way you do!’

  ‘So you think I’m funny then?’

  ‘You are. Old enough to be my elder sister! I mean to say!’

  Tully shook his head in delight, his eyes closed. When he opened them Bridie was gone.

  ‘Miss Malone?’ he called after her, running into the house and down the long dark corridor into which he saw her retreating fast. ‘Miss Malone? You’re not upset, are you?’

  She slowed her pace to allow him to catch up, turning round to look at him with a prim and quite straight face.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘No, I’m not upset now. But I well might be in the future if you continue laughing at me.’

  ‘I wasn’t laughing at you, honest, Miss Malone.’

  Tully looked sheepish.

  ‘So that’s all right then,’ Bridie replied, gathering up her skirts, ‘Not that you’ll have the chance.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean, Mr Tully, that my mistress and I leaves for London town tomorrow by the train so you won’t be getting any more of your grand chances to find me so definitely amusing.’

  ‘You’re going back to London?’

  ‘What else would I mean?’

  ‘I meant – I meant to say that what you just said was interesting news. That you were returning to London. I hope you enjoyed your stay at Bauders.’

  Now it was Bridie’s turn to laugh. ‘God bless us and save us,’ she said. ‘And aren’t you the polite one? As well as the funny one. Yes, thank yo
u, Mr Tully Tuttle,’ she continued, imitating the manner of her mistress. ‘I have enjoyed my stay greatly and look forward to many more such grand occasions.’

  ‘There you go again.’

  Tully tried not to smile and they both fell silent for a second or two, Tully looking at her so hard that Bridie dropped her eyes. Finally Tully cleared his throat and took off his cap once again, to hold it and twist it in his big hands.

  ‘Bridie,’ he asked nervously. ‘I don’t know whether you have a lot to do at this very moment, but I have nothing to do for a while – I’ve done morning stables,’

  ‘I have our packing to do, so I do.’ Bridie didn’t look at him. She stood staring at the ground, suddenly unsure of what to do next.

  ‘I have to go out in half an hour to do second horses. But if you could spare perhaps ten minutes?’ As Bridie looked up at him he continued, ‘I could show you round the stables. I’d like to show you my work. Would you like that? That is, if you can spare ten minutes.’

  Bridie found herself thinking that she would like that very much indeed, so she spared him more than ten minutes.

  Tinker and Tommy Taylor were nearly caught in a fond embrace by Mrs Coggle, the housekeeper.

  ‘Who’s that in there?’ they heard her call, even though, once they had been made aware of her approach, they had been as silent as mice – which was what gave Tommy the idea for their salvation, since, were Mrs Coggle to discover the sweethearts, she would have absolutely no hesitation in demanding their instant dismissal. ‘Is there someone in there?’ she demanded. ‘Because if so—’

  ‘It’s all right, missus!’ Tommy called back in the broadest of Midland accents. “S only the ratman! Need have no fear there!’