The Death of Hope Andrew Wareham (book club reads TXT) 📖

and dating from Elizabeth to Victoriaby way of the Restoration and early Georgian. Each builder had been true to histimes, had clung to the genius of the day. A glance at the upper storeysuggested thirty bedrooms, some with tiny diamond panes, others under pointed redbrickGothick arches, a few broadly welcoming the light of the eighteenth century.The roof line was uneven, all tiled but of differing colours and size. A partof the roof was half-mansard, most was simply steep-pitched against the snowsnot uncommon in Norfolk.

The entry led through double oak doors intoa grand hallway, twenty feet high and as broad. At least two dozen doors led tovarious reception and dining rooms and to the rear offices.

“So many servants it would need, Mr Baker!Not at all practical in this day and age.”

Mr Baker showed triumphant – he hadconsidered the servant problem.

“From Belgium in the first instance, MissPrimrose. Three families of them. Thereafter, more foreigners, ma’am. You willnot mind the odd brown or yellow skin, I am sure, ma’am!”

Primrose did not know if that was thecase. She felt there was little choice, particularly as she was rapidly fallinginto love with the house – it was warm and eccentric, much as she believed herselfto be. She would happily spend her days in such a mansion. In the back of her mindwas an awareness that she was spoiled, a rich brat indulging herself. Thatbeing so, she would nonetheless enjoy her existence in such luxury, the morefor having a much-loved husband at her side, provided only he survived thisdamnable war.

“Another battle in Artois, sir. In that partof the lines where Richard is serving.”

“The figures are high again, as well.”

Her mother made her first contribution tothe conversation.

“I am sure the Colonel will be well, Primrose.Men of his rank do not go headlong into battle, I believe.”

“He has already taken part in a trenchraid, Mother. He believes that he must lead his men, not tell them to go infront of him. We know him to be the bravest of the brave – I could wish he werenot. He must do what he knows is right. I am not to ask him to go against hisnature, much though I wish he might.”

“He has come through safe so far, Miss Primrose.He has the luck with him, I much hope.”

They inspected the house, slowly over twohours, meeting the staff, finding some of the Belgians to be wholly at home inservice, one family to be of a place in life that had given them their ownservants prior to the war.

“I can cook, madame. My husband will mindthe wine cellar and the library. My daughters are of ten and twelve and canboth clean and dust and learn their English. One day, we shall return to Cineyand my husband will take back his place as attorney in the town and all will bewell again. Until then, madame, we are to be thankful for a place to live, aroof over our heads, especially in so pleasant a little town. London was notfor me, madame!”

“No, it is a smelly town, Mrs Bouchard.Not my favourite place.”

“I am glad to get the girls away as well.There are wicked men in London, madame, offering money to other refugees fortheir little girls.”

They were appalled by such vileness, hadnot heard of its like.

Mr Baker shook his head.

“They have been telling me to open anoffice in London, Miss Primrose, a place where drawings could be made anddiscussed easily with the War Office. I think I must do so and will send a pairof clever young men there to do the work. I do not think it will see me oftenif that is what happens in Town.”

“You said there was a possibility of brownor yellow men coming into our service, Mr Baker. How would that be so?”

“The servants of dead officers, MissPrimrose. Often, men who have spent years in India or on the China Station willbring favoured servants back with them. Dying in the Trenches, they leave thesemen at a loose end. I have taken two on at my own house, having had them recommendedfrom the barracks at Bedford, being part of the regimental family now. I have foundthem good, reliable men. With your permission, I would seek more.”

It made sense, in its own way. The poormen could not be left without work in a strange land. She wondered how theywould get on in the most rural county of Norfolk.

“The furniture is all old, Miss Primrose.I have it in mind to throw it all out and refurbish from top to bottom. Some ofthese dressers might be three hundred years old, fit for the bonfire andnothing else.”

She thought they fitted with the ambienceof the house, begged that he should leave all in place, leaving it to the pair ofthem to decide what would stay and what must go. She debated introducing Mr Bakerto the concept of the ‘antique’, decided it might be too much by the way ofhard work.

“What of the gardens, sir? Are they large?You spoke of the orchard last night.”

He did not in fact know exactly what theboundaries were. The Belgian gardener offered to show him.

A vast vegetable garden to the rear, allin good order and getting better rapidly, the gardener one to value hisvegetables. To the front, an acre of lawns and driveway in a semicircle betweentwo gates. On the east side, a hedge across ten yards of lawn, looking out overthe sea. The south sprawled over several acres down to the boathouse by way ofthirty or more apple trees and a number of pears. Six goats presided over thegrassland, led by a curly horned billy who stared at them with evil slit eyes,announcing his ownership of grass and flock.

“Good milk, sir.”

Neither lady nor Mr Baker were in thehabit of drinking goat’s milk. The gardener was much in favour – it left morefor him and his family.

Inspection disclosed a small rowing dinghywith a pair of oars forlorn in the middle of the boathouse.

“Might be you would want to buy a yacht,Miss Primrose.”

“I think that decision might be left toRichard, sir. I