He didn’t reach for her hand or touch her again. He started towards the door and she followed.
‘No, it’s best we don’t go up the stairs together,’ he said. ‘Wait until I’ve had time to get to my room. There are more reasons for you to be about the house at night than me, Kate. We must be careful. You agree?’
‘Yes,’ she said, hoping that this would not be the only time they lay together.
* * *
Kate woke early from a deep sleep. She ached between her legs and lay for a moment or two reliving what had happened the night before. Part of her was elated that Philip had finallydeclared what she had hoped was true and the other part was an irritating voice of caution that told her this just could not be. How many servant girls ended up being married to the men who employed them? None.
She thought of Eliza and Mr Winton’s treatment of her. At least he’d not taken advantage of Kate in the same way. She suspected that the master’s time alone in London, before the family had arrived, was her saviour there. He’d had plenty of time to arrange such secret encounters outside the family home. She believed Philip to be as unlike his father as a dove was to an eagle. She turned to face the wall, with her hands between her knees. What now? How would Philip be with her when they met face to face once more? What of Archie? She should be honest with him but she also needed to be honest with herself. She liked Archie a lot but not in the same way as Philip. Going over and over it all wasn’t helping her to decide between them. Must she decide? She could end up losing both of them. It was making her head spin. The world was turning upside down and she was helping shake its foundations even further. There was no one she could talk to about her fears for the future. What had happened between her and Philip could lose her this job if Mr and Mrs Winton found out. She might fall pregnant. Philip might abandon her. These questions had no answers and continuing to dwell on them was not helping. She would just have to keep her worries to herself and get on with her work.
The daily tasks kept her busy enough. Philip did not appear during the morning or, if he did, she didn’t see him. When the evening came around again, she met Miss Clara in the hallway and enquired as to how her fundraising was progressing.
‘So much to do!’ Clara sighed. ‘Didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye to Philip. He left it rather late to catch his train. He should be in Kingston-upon-Thames by now, officer training forthe Sussex Regiment. I never thought it of him. My brother an officer! Proud of him though. We all are, aren’t we?’ Clara said.
Kate nodded but could not smile or agree with Clara. She was hurting too much inside. He was gone and he might never want to be with her again. She could be carrying his child. Could she trust him to stick by her whatever happened? She didn’t know.
Chapter Twenty
January 1915
They had all been gone from home three months now. It was an empty and dismal Christmas, no one had the heart for any celebrations. The new year had begun with little will for wishing anyone happiness. She stood with two rag dolls in her hand gazing out of Sophie’s bedroom window. The children were having their afternoon visit with their mother and Kate was meant to be tidying, but although her body was in the room, her mind was elsewhere. She traced the path of a raindrop down the window pane and then another and another. If the weather was as bad in France as it was in England then they would be having a cold and miserable time.
What was it like across the Channel? Was it much the same as England? It wasn’t so far away after all. There would be towns and villages, fields and rivers, farms and woodlands. There might even be a village just like Micklewell, with its stream flowing down the main street and sticklebacks weaving in and out of the watercress beds.
Whatever must it be like to be in a foreign land, where the people spoke another language, to walk into a strange place and look for the enemy at every turn, to have a rifle put in your hands and told to shoot at someone? Philip was such a gentle person. She could feel that lingering sense of touch, his hands moving across her body, reading her responses, finding her, holding her. She couldn’t see him leading a battalion of men, ordering them to fire, aiming at someone’s heart.
Perhaps it was easier for Fred given that he had been taught how to fire a gun by their father. The two of them would go out hunting rabbits or pheasant, or sometimes they would take a shot at pigeons closer to home. She couldn’t picture Philip doingthe same thing. Archie was skilful with a shovel and a rake, and was strong and hardworking, but faced with killing a man, could he do it? She didn’t want to think about what they would see and be expected to do. She was grateful that her father, at forty-four, was considered too old.
She came away from the window, placed the dolls on the pillow and sat down on the bed. She reached into her skirt pocket and brought out the letter from Fred she’d received before he went to France. She unfolded it carefully. The paper was getting fragile and beginning to fall apart along the creases.
Dear Kate,
Well here I am about to get on a transport for Southampton Docks. Next time I write I will be in France. The training was hard but me and the boys are all looking forward to it. We’re defending our country and doing our bit. I don’t have much time to write more as I have to get my kit bag together and leave soon. I’ll be home before you know it and we can eat pheasant stew and have a glass of ale or two.
Your loving brother,
Fred.
Kate hoped that he was right and that they could all get back normal. Everyone around her was on edge. Everyone had someone in their family who’d gone to fight. Mrs B had a nephew in the navy. Mary’s cousin was serving in the Army Transport Corps. Mr Winton was always scanning the newspaper reports and Mrs Winton had joined Clara in raising funds to support the war effort. There was nothing else on people’s minds.
Mr Winton saw it as his responsibility to keep the staff informed of what was going on in the war effort though, whether they wanted to hear it or not. As Kate finished her tidying tasksfor the day she heard the bell that summoned them to the evening report from the master.
She hurried downstairs and arrived at the sitting-room door at the same time as Mary and Mrs B. Mrs B knocked on the door.
‘Come!’ Mr Winton called.
They trooped in, one behind the other and stood in a straight line, facing the master who remained seated. Mr Winton cleared his throat, folded his newspaper meticulously and placed it on the side table.
‘Now,’ he said, pursing his lips and smoothing his moustache. ‘The current situation is complicated, but I have simplified it in order that you may understand.’
Mary shifted uncomfortably. She’d told Kate that when the master was holding forth, she thought he was going to question her afterwards to make sure she’d listened. He never had yet but there was always a possibility that he might, so Kate attended to everything he said.
‘There have been battles between the Turks who are on the side of the Germans and the Russians who support us. The Russians, I am pleased to say, are winning the fight and pushing the Turks back.’
Kate tried to take in the information and listen patiently but was hoping to hear of the British army, not the Russians and the Turks. They were rooted to the spot though and unable to escape or interrupt. The master’s voice droned on but he eventually turned his attentions to news closer to home and Kate renewed her efforts to show interest.
‘There have been Zeppelin raids in the east of England. Now, I expect you’re wondering what a Zeppelin is. A Zeppelin is an air ship, like a gigantic, cigar-shaped balloon. It’s made out of a steel framework and filled with hydrogen . . .’
