Ella’s Journey: The perfect wartime romance to fall in love with this summer
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‘Now, don’t go letting all this cake spoil your appetite for your tea or I’ll be in no end of trouble,’ Ella warned. ‘Why don’t you put your books away now and run around outside for a bit? Look – the sun’s shining and you could put your coat and scarf on and take your ball?’
Ella knew it was unlikely. John was a solitary boy, an afterthought, his sisters older than him and too pre-occupied with their own affairs to spare the time to entertain him. He spent more time with the servants than with anyone else in the house.
John sought out Ella whenever he could. She became used to the door of the kitchen creaking slowly open in the afternoon and John poking his head shyly around it. If he couldn’t see Ella, usually to be found sewing or folding laundry, he would ask Doris or Mrs Dawson where ‘Lella’ was. He seemed determined to use this baby name for her, no matter how many times he was corrected, so eventually everyone let him be. Nor did he pay much heed to his governess, who would appear in the kitchen within five minutes of his arrival, looking cross and requesting that ‘Master John should leave the women to their work and come back upstairs at once.’
Each time, Mrs Dawson would say comfortably, ‘He’s not bothering us, Miss. Why don’t you let him be, sit yourself down and have a cup of tea?’ Each time, Miss Gilbert would demur and haul John, protesting bitterly, up the stairs. Ella found it upsetting to watch and felt a sense of guilt, as if she had somehow encouraged his presence in the kitchen. Finally, when he appeared for the fourth time within a week, she had the wit to speak before the cook. She poured tea from the big brown pot into one of the fine china cups, pressing the cup and saucer into Miss Gilbert’s hands.
‘Why don’t you take this upstairs and enjoy some peace and quiet in your room?’ Ella suggested. ‘I can bring John up to you in half an hour or so. We’ll use the back stairs. It can be our little secret.’ She turned to John. ‘Does that sound all right?’
Miss Gilbert needed little further persuasion. The dignity of her position as governess, a cut above the serving staff, was maintained and she was happy enough to hand John over to the care of someone else for a while. Although she was an excellent governess, she was less successful in keeping a small boy, who longed for a playmate, entertained at this stage of the day.
So it became an established routine that John would be found in the kitchen, gravely folding sheets with Ella or, when the weather was fine, out in the garden collecting vegetables for dinner. Ella made a point of keeping him out of sight of the house windows as much as possible, unsure of whether Mr and Mrs Ward would approve of him fraternising with the servants. If Ella was called away to answer a call from the youngest daughter, Grace, or to deliver a tea tray, John would talk politely to Mrs Dawson, his eyes always on the door, waiting for Ella to return.
‘I don’t know what it is, Ella,’ Mrs Dawson marvelled. ‘You’re more like his mother than –’ ‘– his mother is.’ Rosa helpfully filled in, when the cook became stuck for words.
Ella blushed. ‘Don’t say that. I looked after children in my last employment. I expect I’m just used to being around them. Maybe John recognises this somehow.’
She couldn’t bring herself to mention her niece Beth, whom she missed so badly and who was growing up without her being there to see any of it. Every time she thought of her family back in Nortonstall it gave her a pang. She wondered how Beth was getting on, and how her mother was coping with a small and lively grandchild to care for. Reading between the lines of her last letter, which Mr Stevens had kindly read out to her, her mother wasn’t as well as she would have Ella believe. Although they were well into springtime now, spending winter in a cold, dank cottage was cruel when you were hale and hearty, and nothing but a feat of endurance if you were ailing. It would be a long while before she had earned enough leave to give her time to travel home to stay the night, and see the true state of things.
She loved spending time with John, but it was also bittersweet – or at least at first. After a month or two, she appreciated it for what it meant to him – a respite from the loneliness of being in a big house with siblings so much older – and for the pleasure it brought to her amidst the routine of her working day.
Miss Gilbert’s employment as governess only covered weekdays and Saturday mornings, and for the rest of the weekend a young girl, Betsy, from outside the city was engaged to come in and keep John company. However, it soon became apparent that he was devoting his energies to giving her the slip so that he could roam the house and grounds in search of his ‘Lella’. As he sat and watched the work going on around him in the kitchen, or trailed around after Ella as she returned laundry to bedrooms, he chattered constantly. They would hear plaintive cries of ‘John!’ echoing around the house and garden as Betsy, the poor child, as Ella thought of her, searched high and low for her missing charge.
Mr and Mrs Ward seemed to have lost the inclination to involve themselves in John’s upbringing. It was as though their older children had exhausted all their parental feelings, leaving none for John at all. As Mr Ward’s business had grown, their weekends revolved around entertaining, attending dinners or leaving York to spend the weekends at house parties around the country. When they came across John as they drifted down for a late breakfast or returned after a weekend away, their luggage piled in the hall as they divested themselves of the coats, hats, scarves and gloves that their car journey demanded, and Mrs Ward’s perfume wafting around her with her every movement, Mr Ward would bend slightly to ruffle John’s hair, murmuring ‘All right, son?’ as if he had forgotten his name, before heading upstairs to his library and shutting the door. Mrs Ward would crouch down to John’s level and look him in the eyes, saying ‘Darling! Have you had a lovely weekend? What have you been up to?’ before standing up to adjust her hair in the mirror or look through the post, while making absent-minded, although encouraging, noises as though she were listening to his responses.
It upset Ella to see the hurt on his face as his efforts to engage with his parents were ignored, and she would hover as discreetly as possible in the background, waiting to bustle him down to the kitchen for cake, or out into the garden to see the hens that their gardener had introduced into a pen tucked away at the bottom of the kitchen garden, out of earshot of the house. The servants’ duties were lighter at the weekends when the Wards went away, so Ella was free to spend more time with John, by common consent. Eventually the older Ward girls, who generally remained at home during their parents’ absences, chaperoned by an aunt on the maternal side, remarked that the ‘little miss from Tadcaster’ was a rather pointless addition to the staff given that John preferred to spend his time with Ella – and so it was that Betsy was quietly let go. Ella took over her role, in addition to her other duties and at no extra pay. She didn’t mind though. John had become a substitute for her own family whom she missed so very much.
CHAPTER TWELVE
‘Ella, didn’t you mention that you were from a village somewhere near Halifax?’
Busy with her own thoughts, Ella was startled to realise that she was being addressed. She had carried the tea tray into the parlour and, as always, was admiring the delicacy of the cups as she poured. The porcelain was so fine, you could almost see your fingers through it. Boughs of painted cherry blossom wreathed each cup, with stripes as blue as a summer sky edging the saucers. Ella paused as she prepared to set the tea cups in front of the visitors.
‘Why, yes miss, thereabouts.’
‘I have forgotten the name of it. Where was it again?’ Grace persisted.
‘It was a town, miss, not a village. Nortonstall.’ Ella answered cautiously, economical with the truth, not sure that she had divulged these details to Grace previously. She had a sudden premonition of danger. Mr Stevens had told her that Grace had a visitor and that they would both require tea in the parlour, but she had had no inkling as to who the visitor might be. She stole a glance at Grace’s friend as she set her cup in front of her. A little older than both Ella and Grace, she was neatly dressed in a restrained, rather than fashionable, manner. She was unmarried, Ella gathered, as she wore no ring on her wedding finger, but Ella could glean nothing else from her appearance.
‘Esther, didn’t your family live somewhere around there?’ Grace turned to her friend, whom Ella was surprised to see looking a little uncomfortable, too, at the line the questioning was taking.
‘Very close, in fact. Northwaite.’ Esther’s tone discouraged further questions but Grace pressed on, as Ella offered milk and sugar, trying to prevent her hands from shaking.
‘What a coincidence! Perhaps your paths have crossed in the past? Esther’s family, the Weatheralls, owned one of the mills in the area. Where was it that you were working, Ella?’
‘At the Ottershaws’ in Nortonstall, miss. I think it is very unlikely we would have met.’ Ella had no intention of revealing her brief period of employment at Hobbs’ Mill in Northwaite, which belonged to the Weatheralls, let alone the fact that she was originally from Northwaite rather than Nortonstall. Her heart was thumping so loudly in her chest she was sure that the two young ladies would hear it, as she edged towards the door. She kept her head down, but even so she was aware of Grace looking at her curiously and it was all she could do not to turn and run. She prayed that Grace wouldn’t mention her full name to Esther – if she even knew it – for then Esther would be in no doubt that Ella was the sister of Alice Bancroft, dead nearly seven years and blamed for the fire that had destroyed the Weatherall’s mill and caused the death of their eldest son Richard, Esther’s brother.
‘Thank you, Ella. Actually, would you mind seeing whether Mrs Dawson has any of her sponge cake left? It’s Esther’s favourite, isn’t it?’ said Grace, waving away her friend’s protests that the seed cake already served to them was perfect.
Ella was trembling as she pushed through the door into the kitchen. If her background was discovered, her job would be lost and with it the income that her mother and the family so relied upon. Her mind raced, trying to work out the connection between the Weatherall and Ward families. Mr Ward had mentioned some business in the area when she had first encountered him in Nortonstall, with his broken-down motorcar. Was it business on behalf of Mr Weatherall that had brought him to Nortonstall?
‘Whatever is the matter with you?’ Mrs Dawson asked, as Ella passed on the request for sponge cake. ‘You look as though you’ve seen a ghost. You’re as white as a sheet. Sponge cake, indeed: and what’s wrong with that nice seed cake, baked just this morning, I might ask? Here, take this up for them. It’s yesterday’s and not as fresh as what they already have, and I was putting it by for Master John.’
The cook, put in a bad humour by Grace’s request, didn’t question Ella further but it was with dread that she knocked again at the parlour door. To her great relief, when she entered Mrs Ward was in the room and the conversation had turned from the earlier topic, but Ella was aware of Grace watching her keenly as she set down the sponge cake, offered Mrs Dawson’s apologies for it, and asked Mrs Ward whether she, too, would take tea. She was saved from the possibility of further interaction with Grace and Esther by Mrs Ward’s refusal, and she was able to take refuge in sorting the returned laundry into piles for the rest of the afternoon, leaving Doris with the job of clearing away the tea things.
Later in the afternoon, Ella was putting neatly folded linen into the chest of drawers in Grace’s room, marvelling yet again at the large number of items it was deemed necessary for a young lady of wealth to have. Absorbed in her task, she didn’t hear Grace’s footsteps until she was almost upon her. The youngest daughter of the house was the only one to bear a resemblance to her mother: tall, with glossy brown hair that always behaved perfectly. She carried herself with a confident air borne out of having been, at least until John was born, the cosseted baby of the family.
Ella whirled round, startled, instantly feeling guilty as though she had been caught out in an act more suspicious than putting away the laundry. Grace was regarding her with an expression that Ella found hard to read; with hindsight, she would have said that it was akin to a cat stalking its prey.
‘I had an interesting conversation with Esther this afternoon.’ Grace paused and Ella turned back to her task with a sinking heart.
‘Yes, I couldn’t remember why they had left their mill to come and live in York. I knew it had something to do with the tragic death of Esther’s brother Richard. Esther reminded me that he had died in a fire that destroyed the mill. A fire started by one of their ex-employees.’ Grace paused for dramatic effect. ‘She was called Alice Bancroft. Isn’t that your name, Ella? Ella Bancroft? Are there many Bancrofts in the area that you come from? Was she a relative of yours?’
Ella felt as though iced water was being poured slowly through her veins. She started to shiver, before slowly pushing the full linen drawer closed and turning back to face Grace.
‘She was my sister…’ Ella spoke barely above a whisper.
There was a long pause. Ella raised her gaze to meet Grace’s. The room was very quiet; she was conscious of the crackle of the fire in the bedroom grate, the slow tick of the bedroom clock, the faint ‘clip-clop’ of a horse’s hooves passing along the road outside. Grace’s dark-brown eyes held Ella’s gaze; was there the faintest hint of triumph in her expression?
‘I see…’ Grace said slowly. She turned away from Ella and went to look out of the window. ‘You realise what this will mean if I tell Father?’
Ella nodded, mutely. She had seized on the word ‘if’ rather than ‘when’, and a small flicker of hope was born. Did Grace mean that she would be prepared to protect her secret?
Grace pressed on, either unaware of Ella’s acquiescence, or unconcerned by it.
‘It is clear to everyone how fond John is of you. Mother is always commenting on it. I would be sad to see you go and I know John would be, too. But Father would be furious to know that we were harbouring the sister of a common criminal under our roof. Not just a –’ Grace searched for the right words, ‘– a run-of-the-mill crime, either. But murder, and the murder of the son of a family friend.’
She swung round suddenly to look at Ella. ‘What did you hope to gain by your employment here?’
‘It wasn’t like that, miss.’ Ella, stung by her words, could contain herself no longer. ‘And I would never have sought employment here if I had known of any connection with Northwaite.’
Ella subsided, defeated by the enormity of what was happening. She would have to return to Nortonstall and tell her mother that she had now failed twice in her employment and had left without references from either of them. Grace, however, hadn’t finished. She turned back to look out of the window.
‘Perhaps we can be of use to each other? If I keep your secret from Father, perhaps you might be of service to me in due course? I think I will ask whether I may have you as my lady’s maid. You will need to remember, of course, that I bear a risk in not revealing your history.’ A thought seemed to strike Grace and she turned sharply from the window. ‘Heavens, could it be possible that you might murder us all in our beds?’
Ella opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. She sensed Grace’s critical regard upon her.
‘No, I think we are quite safe. You do not seem to have a violent nature.’ Grace paused. ‘Let no more be said. It is as if Esther had never spoken. She has no inkling of the situation, and let it be so with everyone else. Only you and I know the truth. It will be our secret.’
As Grace spoke she gave Ella an encouraging pat on the shoulder. Ella shrank away from her touch, then hoped that Grace hadn’t noticed her reaction. She couldn’t afford to antagonise her. As Grace turned and left the room, Ella’s thoughts raced. Whatever assumptions Grace may have made, she didn’t know the truth. She only knew who had been blamed for the fire, which wasn’t the same thing at all. It was quite possible that the only people who were in possession of the truth were dead. In the midst of her distress Ella felt a flash of sympathy for Esther. She, too, was still living with the sadness of the death of a sibling. She, too, had been horribly reminded of it today, by Grace.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
‘So, you will do it for me?’ Grace’s voice was hushed and urgent.
Dressed in her high-necked white nightgown, she was gazing at Ella’s reflection in the mirror while she brushed out her hair before bed. Ella was bemused. Grace’s proposal had taken her by surprise.
Edith, Grace’s eldest sister, was engaged to be married, and as a result she’d moved up a notch in the world, her visits to fashion houses and jewellers having taken on an air of even greater importance now that she was preparing for her wedding and her future. Grace was envious of the status her sister had acquired and had taken it into her head that she had to be next. She considered Ailsa, her older sister, currently visiting relatives in Edinburgh, to be no great beauty and thought she was unlikely to captivate a suitor anytime soon. Grace, however, had her sights very firmly set on Edgar Broughton, the son of a baronet, handsome and debonair. Despite her best efforts, Grace had as yet failed to do more than engage him in light and polite conversation at the various social events of the season. To her chagrin, she had been unable to even elicit the promise of a dance from him at the recent ball at her aunt’s house in London’s Manchester Square.
However, Edgar Broughton and his father were due to visit the Ward household, staying overnight in York on the way to their family seat in Northumberland for Christmas. Grace had decided that this was her best chance of winning Edgar Broughton’s heart, and she wanted Ella’s help to do so.
Ella regretted that, early in her first year of employment at Grange House, before she had learnt the importance of keeping her distance, she had mentioned something of her background to Grace. Mistaking their similarity in age as a possible affinity, she had told Grace about her mother Sarah’s prowess as a herbalist, and how her custom had dwindled over recent years. She hadn’t chosen to elaborate on why, but she had let slip that the family were reliant on what little money Ella could send them to survive. Grace’s attention had been caught.
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