Ella’s Journey: The perfect wartime romance to fall in love with this summer

CHAPTER THREE

Mrs S was summoned to conduct Ella from the library to her room. Very little was said as they crossed the threshold through the green baize door and climbed the steep and narrow back stairs to the servants’ quarters, tucked away in the attics. Ella looked out of the windows as they crossed the half-landing on each floor to mount the next flight. The sky outside was darkening and, over the fields beyond the garden wall, lights were beginning to twinkle through a greying dusk. The rush to get everything ready for Christmas had resumed down below, but up here it was cold and quiet.

Mrs S broke the silence. ‘I’ve moved Doris out of the room. She can share with Rosa until it is decided what’s to be done.’

She pushed open the door to the room and Ella passed through, automatically heading for the window to gaze out.

‘You’d be as well to put your things together. I don’t think the master will be wanting to keep you after this.’ Mrs S sighed and closed the door. Ella, staring unseeing out of the window, heard the key click in the lock.

Her cheeks were hot with shame and indignation, her mind a jumble of words unsaid. The thought that floated to the top of this seething mass was the likelihood of the loss of her job. How would her mother manage without the money that Ella sent home to her? How could she begin to tell her what had happened?

Ella turned away from the window and sank onto the bed. Scenes from just a few minutes earlier began to play out in her head.

Mr Ward had been sitting at his desk, Mrs Ward silhouetted in the window, her back to the light so that Ella had found it difficult to read her expression. There was no mistaking Mr Ward’s mood, however. His brows were drawn together in a frown and his mouth pursed into a thin line.

‘Ella, we have reason to believe that you may have been involved in an act that has proved injurious to the health of one of our guests.’

Ella was puzzled, her mind racing to make sense of this turn of events. So it was nothing to do with her late return from town, or her family? This was something quite unexpected.

Mr Ward continued, ‘I see you do not deny it. You must have been aware of the potentially fatal consequences of your actions when you entered into this ridiculous pact with Grace. I would like you to go away and think very hard about your behaviour. I have already consulted Mrs Sugden about your character and, whilst she assures me that you have conducted yourself in an exemplary fashion whilst in our employment, I am not minded to be lenient in my view of this. You have run the risk of bringing my good name, and that of my family, into disrepute by your actions. You will go to your room, Ella, and think long and hard on this.’

He turned his attention back to papers on his desk, to signify the interview was at an end. Mrs Ward had not moved throughout Mr Ward’s speech but, as Ella turned to leave – stunned by what she had heard and unsure of how she might defend herself – she saw that Mrs Ward was gazing on her husband with an expression that was very hard to read.

On the silent walk to her room, Ella had struggled to piece the jigsaw together. Something had clearly happened that involved Grace, the youngest daughter of the household, and somehow Ella was taking the blame for it. With a sinking heart, she pictured the small bottle she had handed over to Grace earlier in the week. Stoppered by a cork and without benefit of a label, the pearly glass held a dark, mysterious liquid.

‘Shake it well,’ she’d whispered. ‘And mind, no more than two or three drops in his drink. Be sure to keep the bottle well hidden.’

CHAPTER FOUR

Over on the other side of town, Albert could barely remember how he had found his way home from the tearoom after Ella had delivered the terrible news. After she’d gone, he’d been vaguely aware of curious glances, of conversations briefly stilled, of whispering behind hands. Within a minute or two, though, the large room was filled with its previous level of chatter and he had paid quickly and left, the atmosphere deeply at odds with his shocked frame of mind.

Alice was dead. Ella had given him no further details of what had happened to her sister, of how or exactly when it had happened. He couldn’t comprehend it. Throughout his apprenticeship, spent living alone in York, he had been sustained by the thought of the woods and valleys that surrounded Northwaite, his true home, and of Alice going about her day-to-day routine there. At first, he had thought more often of Alice than of his family, reliving her companionship on walks to the mill in the morning, his visit to see her at home when her baby Beth was born, the warmth and welcome of her family in such contrast to his own. He’d longed daily to be back in Northwaite, but as time passed in York and the opportunity to return home hadn’t arisen, the longing had faded into something held at a distance, in the back of his mind. Alice and Beth, he realised now, had become frozen in time, exactly as he had left them, seven years ago. Seven years! Albert was startled to realise just how much time had passed. No wonder seeing Ella had given him such a shock; she must be almost the same age as Alice had been when he had left Northwaite.

Albert had arrived home without being conscious of how he had done so, his feet treading an automatic path while his thoughts were engaged elsewhere. He needed to find Ella again, to discover exactly what had happened to Alice, and he knew he would have no rest until he had. And if he couldn’t find her, then he would return to Northwaite as soon as possible and seek the truth there. It wouldn’t be the return he had imagined, the return he had subconsciously been putting off until the moment was right. He had wanted to go back as a success, to show his family what he had made of himself, but above all to impress Alice. For well over a year now, his skills had been sought after both in York and elsewhere as word had spread within the close community of stonemasons. So why hadn’t he gone back? Had he feared that the vision he had held in his mind for so long, a fantasy of the part he could play in Alice’s life, could never be realised?

Albert thought back over the events of seven years ago. He tried hard to put the shocking news that he had just heard in context to see how it impacted on everything he knew. His career as a stonemason was a direct result of the fire at the mill, which had employed the majority of the working-age population in his home village of Northwaite. Alice had once worked there, Ella worked there and he himself was a nightwatchman there. On that fateful night, he had tried to put out the fire but it was beyond him, and the mill owner’s son had died in the blaze, attempting to save books and papers from the office. Williams, the overlooker, who had been the only other person present during the fire, had appeared at Albert’s house the very next morning. He had news of a reward given by Mr Weatherall, the mill owner, in recognition of Albert’s heroic efforts to stop the spread of the fire. And, seeing that the mill would be closed for the foreseeable future, there was also the offer of an apprenticeship as a stonemason in York, to be taken up immediately.

Albert had been grateful to Williams and had never thought to question his role in all this and the haste with which he had been despatched. He was only too delighted to get the longed-for opportunity. Now that very same opportunity, which he had hoped would raise his standing in the world and make him a suitable prospect as a husband, was cast in quite a new light. Alice had died, seemingly very soon after he had left, but he didn’t yet know why. A piece of the jigsaw was missing; he needed to talk to Ella again.

Albert sat at the table, still muffled in his overcoat, and looked around, taking in the sparsely furnished room, his neatly made bed in one corner, the desk positioned by the window to make best use of the light, the one easy chair set by the unlit fire. He buried his head in his hands. What had he done?

CHAPTER FIVE

While the family celebrated the festive season, Ella remained confined to her room. She’d spent the night tossing and turning in her narrow bed, dozing fitfully and waking to discover how little time had passed; how the window was still filled with darkness, the sky dotted with twinkling stars. As the stars faded, to be replaced by the grey light of dawn, she felt a sense of relief. Soon she would be able to hear the sounds of the household coming to life; of Doris and Rosa dragging themselves, yawning, down the stairs to start the day. Ella felt a terrible pang of guilt. They would have to take over her duties as well as their own, and all this at Christmastime with so much extra work needing to be done.

Today was Christmas Eve, when the tree would go up in the entrance hall. Last year, Ella had helped to decorate it, her first ever Christmas tree. She’d been entranced by the delicate glass baubles, each one wrapped in tissue paper and carefully boxed. She had never seen anything like it; the tree so tall that the butler, Mr Stevens, had needed to climb a stepladder to hang the decorations from the top branches. He had only managed to place the star on the top by going up to the landing and leaning precariously over, Rosa and Doris hanging on to his coat-tails and squealing while Mrs S stood at the base, alternately telling the maids to shush and gasping in fright herself. When the decorating was finished, and the candles placed in each holder all around the branches, the Wards’ youngest son John was called to see the candles lit for the first time.

Ella had felt sure that his saucer-eyed amazement had only been a reflection of her own expression. She could have stared at the tree for hours, drinking in each and every detail, how the flames of the candles sparkled and reflected in the glass baubles as they spun and shifted in the draughts of the hall.

John’s governess had gone home for the holidays and although Mr and Mrs Ward were there for the lighting ceremony, it was Ella that John sought out, reaching for her hand and gripping it hard, wordlessly. She had bent towards him.

‘It’s beautiful, John. Have you ever seen anything like it?’ She so wished that her niece Beth were here. Ella would have taken her around the tree, pointing out the sparkling colours of the spinning baubles, and the little toys and striped sugar canes hanging from the branches.

John found his voice. ‘Yes, I have. Last year.’

Ella smiled. ‘You can remember it?’

‘Of course I can.’ John was scornful. ‘I’m not a baby. I’m six.’ He paused. ‘It was in our other house and it wasn’t as tall as this one. I think this year’s tree is the best of all.’

Mr Stevens, handing out candied fruits, a Christmas treat for the family and staff, heard John’s words and bent to offer him a fruit jelly.

‘Well, Master John, it’s lucky we had enough decorations to cover such a tall tree. Now, you’ll have to let go of Ella. She has work to do and it’s time for your bed. Christmas Day is nearly here.’

Ella wasn’t sure whether it was she or John who had been the most reluctant to be parted from the spectacle, but the family were moving through to have their drinks and, with extra guests expected, her help would be needed in serving the Christmas Eve dinner. She had bent down to whisper to John, who was exhibiting a mulish expression, bottom lip stuck out and jaw set in preparation for a battle over bedtime.

‘John, Father Christmas can’t visit unless he knows you are asleep. So off you go to bed now and in the morning you can come downstairs to check. If you are lucky, and if you have been a good boy, perhaps he will have left some presents for you under the tree.’

That had been a year ago. She had been so looking forward to a repetition of the ceremony this year, to experiencing the same magical feel and all the wonderful scents of the house at Christmas. She remembered lingering in the hallway every time she had cause to pass through it, to drink in the scent of the pine needles. Instead, she was locked up here alone in the chill of her room, a world away from the lights, warmth and bustle of the household on Christmas Eve. She heard Doris and Rosa go down the stairs, and huddled back under the covers. There seemed little point in getting up, only to sit fully dressed in the cold, with nothing to do except strain her ears for sounds from below that might give her some sense of belonging to the celebrations.

She must have dozed again, waking with a guilty start to the sound of the key turning in the lock. It was Doris, bringing a tray with breakfast for her: tea, and a hunk of bread and butter. It was poorer fare than Ella could have expected had she been at the breakfast table with the other servants, but she was grateful for it all the same, even though the tea was stewed and all but cold after being carried up the chilly staircase.

‘You’re to stay up here until Christmas has passed,’ Doris said in solemn tones. ‘Whatever have you done, Ella? And all the extra work you’ve given us at this time of year, too. What can you have been thinking of?’

Her words sounded harsh but Ella could see that Doris was torn between scolding and concern. She knew only too well how much Ella needed her job.

‘Mr Ward will talk to you again on Boxing Day evening, after the guests have gone, Mrs S said to tell you. She’s too busy to come up here herself.’

Doris cast a quick glance around the room and sighed. ‘It’s little better than a cell, what with all the brightness down below for Christmastime. I must go, I have so many things to do, but I’ll try to be back.’ And with that she was gone, the key turned firmly in the lock.

Sitting up in bed, covers drawn up under her chin, Ella took a few bites of the bread and butter. She’d thought herself hungry but, although she had gulped down the cold tea, the bread tasted like ashes in her mouth and she struggled to swallow it. Doris’s words rang in her ears. ‘Little better than a cell.’ A cell was where her sister Alice had died, locked up all alone, denied any contact with her mother and with her baby. She couldn’t begin to imagine what that must have felt like. Then her thoughts turned to her mother, now living in Nortonstall with Thomas, Annie, Beattie and Beth. She hoped that the money she had been able to send them meant that they could have some sort of proper celebration for Christmas.

Ella wasn’t sure how long she had been sitting there, gazing sightlessly at the opposite wall, sighing occasionally and shedding a few tears, before cries from the garden below roused her. Aware of a change in the light, she looked at the window; large fluffy flakes were falling silently against a yellow-grey sky. It was snowing, and snowing hard. Ella swung her legs out of bed, shivering as her feet struck the cold floorboards, and wrapped the shawl from the end of her bed around her shoulders. From the window, she could see that the snow must have been falling for a while. The garden was thick with it and the dark, bare winter branches of the trees were tipped with white frosting. Across the pristine whiteness of the snowy lawn, John was racing up and down, spreading his boot tracks far and wide and uttering little yelps of excitement. He stopped suddenly, spread out his arms and flung his head back, mouth open. It looked to Ella as though he was trying to eat the snow as it fell and she smiled, wanting to bang on the glass and wave. Then she thought better of it and hastily drew back. She didn’t want John to spot her and to ask questions, the answers to which might upset him. It pained her to see him out in the snow on his own, with no one to share the fun. If she had been downstairs, she would have begged for a few minutes to spend outside with him. Mrs S would have grumbled but granted it: like all the servants she felt sorry for John, neglected in a household where his older siblings and parents were always preoccupied with their own concerns.

There would be no festivities for Ella this year. She tried to tell herself it was no different to previous years with the Ottershaws, but it was still a cruel blow. She couldn’t bear to think about what the future might hold if she were to be sent home. It would mean employment somewhere like the Ottershaws’ once again. A life of drudgery for very little reward, slaving for ignorant, boorish people who treated her like the dirt they employed her to clean up.

Ella clenched her fists, driving her nails into her palms. What had actually happened? She couldn’t imagine what had gone so wrong, but as the Christmas celebrations rolled inexorably on without her, she had plenty of time to reflect on the events of the past fifteen months, and what had put her in this awful position.

CHAPTER SIX

Ella had first met Mr Ward on a Sunday in August the previous year back in Nortonstall, where she was a live-in servant and where the rest of the family now lived, forced to move away from their Northwaite home after the mill tragedy. On that particular day the sun was beating down with a ferocity the like of which Ella had never experienced before. She’d found it hard to tear herself away from six-year-old Beth, made fractious by the heat but cooled by a game involving a pail of water, set in the shade of the one tree that overhung their tiny yard. Ella, with her niece settled on her lap, had floated leaves as boats on the water’s surface, and then splashed her fingers to make waves to rock them, increasing her efforts to whip up a storm.

‘Watch out Beth, the waves are going to capsize the boats!’ Ella had tilted the pail slightly so that the water sloshed over Beth’s toes. Beth had screamed, her shock at the chill swiftly followed by delight.

‘Don’t get her over-excited, mind,’ Sarah, Ella’s mother, had warned, folding laundry that had dried almost as soon as it had been spread out to dry in the sun. ‘I’ll never get her settled after you’ve gone.’

Of course, when Ella’s home-time came, Beth had wailed and tried to tear herself out of Sarah’s arms, holding her hands out beseechingly to Ella.

‘Don’t cry,’ Ella begged. ‘I’ll come back as soon as I can. Be good until I do.’

Now, as she hurried towards the Ottershaws’ house, the cries were still ringing in her ears. She’d doubtless be in trouble for being late, even though she rarely had any time off at all. She worked for them all the hours she was awake, and she had the feeling that they would have had her work for them in her sleep too, if it were only possible.

Hurrying down the road, conscious of the sweat trickling down her back and darkening the fabric of her dress under her armpits, she began to wish she had left on time. It really was too hot to be out in this heat, let alone in a hurry.

She rounded the corner then halted, startled at the sight before her. At first, she couldn’t quite take it in. It was a motorcar, a rare enough sight in Nortonstall, where horse and trap or horse and cart were still the normal way of getting around, other than on foot. A motorcar was generally viewed with fear, and Ella understood this, being nervous of them herself. On the odd occasion that one had appeared in Nortonstall, it had travelled through at what seemed to Ella to be a terrifying speed and with a great deal of noise, scattering men, women, children, dogs, cats and horses in alarm.

This motorcar, its gleaming paint made dusty by the roads it had traversed was, however, stationary. Moreover, it seemed to be in some sort of trouble. At any rate, a man was standing at the front end of it from which a cloud of steam issued, along with a loud hiss. The man was wafting his hat somewhat ineffectually over the steam. He looked red in the face, whether from the steam or the heat of the sun, or because of the bother, Ella couldn’t be sure.

She put her head down, glancing out of the corner of her eye as she passed, but she didn’t speak. As a car owner, he was likely to be a gentleman and not someone she would expect to speak to her, either.

She had only gone a few paces before she heard, ‘Excuse me!’

She didn’t like to look back, but nobody else was around. Was he addressing her?

‘Excuse me! Miss?’

This time, she faltered in her step. It looked as though she was, indeed, the object of his attention. Feeling even hotter, with embarrassment this time, she turned to look back.

The man was facing her. ‘I wonder, do you know of anywhere I could get water around here?’

Ella took in his appearance. He was short, in early middle age with dark wavy hair and a prosperous air about him. He also looked as hot as Ella herself felt. She wasn’t sure if he required the water for himself, or for the car. She looked along the street. Normally it would have been busy, being the high road through town, with the shops open and bustling. But today was Sunday, and the road, shimmering a little in the heat haze, was deserted. The heat had taken everyone away, either to the cool of the river bank or indoors.

She hesitated. ‘I live’ – she caught herself – ‘rather, work, just around the corner from here. I’d be glad to fetch you water, sir, if you can wait?’

The man laughed. ‘I can certainly wait. I won’t be going anywhere for some time.’

Ella turned to head for the Ottershaws’, before turning back again.

‘Ah, how much water do you require, sir?’ She was still unsure whether he needed it for the car or himself.

‘A good question. If you were able to bring a jugful, that should suffice.’

He was either very thirsty or it was, indeed, for his car, Ella thought.

Even more conscious of her tardiness now, she hurried along the street, turning left to climb the steep slope of West Hill towards the Ottershaws’ house. It commanded a striking view over the town and appeared to be an imposing house from the outside. That impression was forgotten the minute you stepped through the door. A warren of small rooms led off a dark hallway and from each one, today as on any other day, there came the sound of a child crying.

‘So, you’ve deigned to come back. Do you realise what a burden you have placed on Mrs Ottershaw? How can you expect us to trust you the next time you say you want leave to visit your family?’

Mr Ottershaw had planted himself firmly in the hallway while Mrs Ottershaw, very red in the face and with her hair quite dishevelled, seemed to be grappling with several children at once in the parlour.

‘I’m very sorry, sir. I was detained on the way back. I’m afraid I will need to go out again but I promise I will return at once.’ Ella attempted to slip past Mr Ottershaw, who was having none of it.