Lynda La Plante - The Legacy

Breath hissing, lungs heaving, Freedom faced him. His long hair was dripping, and his old, rough shirt was sodden with sweat. He laid his hands on the motor, and Ed quickly wrapped a towel around his shoulders and began rubbing him down. Freedom shrugged him away, flicked the towel out of his grasp, and stepped aside to wipe his own sweating body. ‘Months I been here, mun, every day, runnin’, sparrin’, liftin’ the weights, trainin’ … and for what, when do I fight, mun?’

Ed’s look told the young lad to move off. The boy was one of the sparring partners they had brought from London and he was standing staring at Freedom, hero-worship written all over his face.

Ed moved closer to Freedom. ‘You don’t talk ter me that way. You want a fight, I want a fight, but we do what ‘is Lordship tells us to do, we wait. tell you when we’re ready for a bout, not you, I’m the bloody trainer.’p>

His breathing eased, Freedom tossed the towel to the boy and shrugged. His voice was quiet, his fist clenched.

‘I’m ready, you know it. I been fighting years before I was brought here, I’m in the gym day in day out, an’ for what? To entertain ‘is Lordship’s toffs when they come ta visit? I hate him always watchin’ me, is that all I’m here fer? I want a fight.’

Ed knew all that Freedom was saying was right, but he could do nothing. He moved to Freedom and began to rub his shoulders, calming him as if he were an animal. ‘I know, I know, lad … maybe we’ll take it easy for a few days, huh? Maybe I pushed you too hard.’

Freedom laughed, rubbed Ed’s balding head. ‘I want a fight, Ed, that’s all.’

As they were about to climb into the car there was the sound of an owl hooting. Neither the young boy nor Ed paid any attention, but Freedom turned, suddenly alert. Then came a whistle, soft but shrill, and Freedom shaded his eyes to look up into the woods. He cupped his hands and whistled, and again came the high-pitched, single note, like a bird.

‘Gawd ‘elp us, get in the car, what yer doin’ now? Birdwatchin’? Come on, lad, let’s have breakfast, I’m starvin’ after all this exercise.’

Freedom jumped on to the running board of the car as Ed drove back to The Grange. He looked up to the woods and smiled, gave a small wave like a salute. Jesse and Rawnie knew he was aware that they were waiting, he had answered their call.

Evelyne had been up since six-thirty, eaten her breakfast in the kitchens and then begun her work in the library. Sir Charles had given her the job of repairing and cataloguing the vast collection of books. Since her arrival at The Grange, Evelyne had seen him only once, when he implied that he would employ her on condition that she have no contact with Freedom. Quietly and icily, he had told her he was prepared to make Freedom a champion, but if he discovered there was anything more in Freedom’s run from the train than the desire to thank her for her part in his acquittal, he would have no option but to destroy Freedom’s contract. He did not want any scandal, any repercussions or publicity in relation to the murder charges Freedom faced in Cardiff.

‘He ran once, let him try it again and I will wash my hands of him, is that clear?’

Evelyne understood the veiled threat and assured Sir Charles that she would work in the house as instructed, nothing more.

She was given a small room in the servants’ quarters at the top of the house. She spent her days in the musty library, ate her meals with the servants. The housekeeper, Miss Balfour, was loathed by all of them. She ran The Grange like a military camp and God help anyone who did not knuckle under her regime. Due to the nature of Evelyne’s work, she was immediately set apart.

‘I have always interviewed the staff in the past, Miss Jones … However, as Sir Charles has already instructed you in your duties, make sure you carry them out to the letter.’

The housemaids’ and parlourmaids’ gossip bored Evelyne, and the rules and regulations they all abided by frustrated her. The house revolved around the periods when Sir Charles was in residence, his weekend house parties. Evelyne had no chance to see any of his high-society guests. All servants, unless they were actually in attendance, were told to stay out of sight. Evelyne felt trapped. Even to enjoy the beauty of their surroundings was forbidden; they were not allowed to use the grounds or walk among the rose gardens. The gulf betweeen ‘them’ and ‘us’ was brought home to Evelyne daily.

Her frustration mounted until she felt she would explode. This was not what she wanted, to be a servant. At least in the valley she had felt free, but here she was bound by such strict rules that even to be in the main hall was a sin. But her secret meetings with Freedom would have been judged a greater sin, were they discovered.

Freedom had also had the lecture from Sir Charles, but with a difference. Sir Charles had implied that Evelyne would be dismissed if he should hear so much as a whisper of an association between them.

Freda, now Mrs Ed Meadows, had tried to talk to Ed, tried to tell him that keeping the couple apart was asking for trouble. In his heart Ed knew she was right, but it was not only the cottage and his job that were at stake, there was the future champion’s career. ‘You got ter do what ‘is Lordship wants, Freda love, there’s no way round it.’

‘Ed, this is our home, Sir Charles won’t even know if they come and have a little supper with us now and then, just once a week, on her afternoon off…’

Ed huffed and puffed, but the suppers had become a regular weekly occurrence, and it was during these evenings that Evelyne had begun to teach Freedom to read and write.

They had been at The Grange almost four months, and tension lay close to the surface. Freda could feel it and it worried her. She hoped the four of them would discuss it today, it was Evelyne’s half-day off. Freda always cooked a roast on these occasions, and she had already begun laying the table. Ed paced up and down, unable to relax enough to put his carpet slippers on.

‘You know he’s ready ter fight, and we ain’t had a word from Sir Charles. He’s gettin’ hard ter handle, Freda, he knows ‘e’s ready an’ all. I just don’t know what else I can do …’

Evelyne arrived and tossed her coat aside. She sighed, and slumped into the fireside chair.

‘I’ve had enough of that Miss Balfour. The library’s nearly finished and she snoops after me, checking that I’ve done this or that. Well, she’ll not get me lugging buckets of coal up and down them stairs like the maids. She caught me in the drawing room, I was just looking at the paintings and she tells me I have no right to be in there. “I’m just looking at the paintings, Miss Balfour,” I tell her. “You’ve no right to look,” she says. Can you believe it, Freda? I said to her, “You don’t mind if I look out of my window and see the woods, the countryside, he don’t own them, does he?”’

Ed sighed, looking very glum. ‘They do, love, they do, far as the eye can see — all his Lordship’s land, he owns the lot.’

Evelyne turned to Ed with a furious look. ‘Well, he doesn’t own me!’

‘As long as you are in his employ, he does.’

Evelyne paced the tiny cottage while Freda finished setting the table. Ed flicked the curtains aside, wondering where Freedom was and hoping no one would see him coming to the cottage.

‘He’s late, he’s in a terrible mood, an’ all, can’t you talk to ‘im, Evie? Settle ‘im down, you know he’s taken to sleeping outside, made hisself some kind of tent? The lads don’t know what to make of him … where the hell is he? You got the time, Freda?’

Freda pointed to the clock, then checked to see how the chicken was cooking. Unlike everyone else, Freda was happy as a lark. The cottage, with its new curtains and loose covers, delighted her. ‘Oh, he’ll be here, he won’t miss seeing his Evie.’