And then she left, without telling anyone
Her first stop in West Challow, Oxfordshire, was at the local church. She was an experienced, diligent girl, looking for employment, willing to do anything . . . could they help? Did they know of anyone? Her English was good and she could cook.
The Revd Johns thought she might try the Hall – he knew the housekeeper, Mrs Dunnan. He would be happy to put in a good word. Also, he thought there might be some work to be had at Ivy House. It was part of the estate . . . they were a young couple and needed an extra hand.
Of course, Eva already knew the Hall and, more importantly, Ivy House – the red-brick Queen Anne house, set back on the grounds, behind a high garden wall covered in ivy and moss. She’d walked past it a dozen times since her arrival, hoping against hope for a glimpse of her little girl.
The interview at Ivy House had been terrifying; exhilarating. Catherine Maudley had fallen upon her like a starving man at a banquet. ‘At last! I can really work!’ she declared, barely glancing at the references in front of her. ‘When can you start?’
Now, as Eva pressed her head to her pillow at night, with her cheek against the cool linen, she listened, waiting until the house fell quiet. Then she got out of bed, crept soundlessly down the steps from her room in the attic and stole, undetected, into the nursery.
Crouching down by the side of her bed, she watched as Grace’s chest rose and fell in an even, sighing rhythm.
Sometimes she stayed there half the night.
Leaning over, she inhaled the fragrance of Grace’s matted hair; an intoxicating blend of warm sweat and tender, young skin. It was a smell that went to her very core; feeding a hunger that could never be satisfied.
Reaching out, Eva ran her fingers gently along the curve of Grace’s round little cheek.
Whatever her sins were, God must have forgiven them.
Here was heaven; here was redemption.
Here was her place on earth.
Folding the morning paper, Catherine Maudley took another sip of her tea, then held out her cup for Eva to refill. ‘Take Mr Maudley something to eat, Lena, will you?’ She stirred some milk into her cup. ‘He’s been up half the night and has locked himself away in that office of his again.’
Eva hesitated. The greenhouse was normally off limits. ‘What shall I take him, ma’am?’
‘Tea and toast,’ Catherine decided, opening one of her many notebooks and slipping on her reading glasses. ‘Or whatever. I shouldn’t think it matters. I don’t suppose he’ll actually eat it, but one tries, doesn’t one?’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Eva nodded, heading back down into the kitchen. She wasn’t keen to go on her own.
Grace was sitting at the table, making a drawing with some colouring pencils, swinging her feet to and fro.
‘Darling,’ Eva turned to her, ‘would you like to give your father some of those black biscuits?’
Grace slid off her chair. ‘Yes, please!’
Eva arranged a tray with a pot of tea, a jug of milk, and some sliced apple and cheese, along with the charcoal biscuits on a pretty little plate. (No one wanted to eat cold toast.) She gave the plate to Grace to carry and together they walked over to the greenhouse and knocked on the door.
After a while, Jonathan Maudley unlocked the door, dressed in a laboratory coat. He looked from one to the other. ‘What’s this?’
‘We brought you something to eat.’ Grace held up the plate eagerly. ‘These will help your tummy! We made them, only Lena made them mostly . . .’ she corrected herself.
‘They have charcoal in them, sir. But only a small amount. They aid the digestion,’ Eva explained quietly.
‘Do they?’ He gave an uncertain smile, then took a step back. ‘Well, then, you’d better come in.’
They followed him through the main body of the greenhouse, past the laboratory and into his office at the back. Plants were lined and labelled in meticulous rows; the air was humid, thick with the damp ripe scent of greenery mixed with rich, black soil. There were pots and troughs, and neatly arranged species in various stages of growth; the laboratory was lined with small glass Petri dishes and vials, a large microscope, charts and notebooks. The office itself was small, housing mostly a large writing desk and an old settee, pushed up against one wall. It was clear from the way the pillows were arranged at one end that it often served as a bed.
Eva placed the tray down on the desk.
Grace stood tightly clutching the plate of biscuits. The thrill of being a guest of her father’s was almost too overwhelming.
Eva was about to go when Jonathan Maudley crouched down in front of Grace. ‘May I?’ he asked, taking one of the biscuits.