Legacy of Greyladies (16 page)

A lad slipped into the hall the back way and edged across to Miss Bowers, who listened to him and frowned, then beckoned to Phoebe and Ethel.

‘There’s a man keeping watch on this hall. Joe here saw him follow you here.’

‘How on earth would anyone know we’d gone out?’ Phoebe exclaimed.

‘They must have someone passing on information from the big house.’

‘But we didn’t see anyone following us and I doubt Captain Turner would let the people under him wander in and out as they please.’

After a short silence, Joe said thoughtfully, ‘They could have signalled from the house, Mrs Latimer. A light in an upstairs window or something. I’ll watch out for that next time.’

‘Why were you watching the house, Joe?’

‘Practising.’

Phoebe looked at him in puzzlement. ‘For what?’

‘For when I go in the army next year. Soldiers keep watch, don’t they? I don’t want any enemy creeping up on me and killing me.’

‘How are we to get you home safely, Phoebe?’ Miss Bowers thought for a moment or two. ‘I know what we can do,’ she said triumphantly.

She clapped her hands and everyone turned to her. ‘A man followed Mrs Latimer here and has been watching the hall. You all know there have been incidents at the big house. I don’t think she and Ethel should walk back to the big house on their own. How about some of you go with them? Make a lot of noise, keep them in the middle, and take them right round to the back door.’

Immediately everyone volunteered, which made Phoebe feel touched. ‘I can’t thank you enough.’

The speaker was watching them in surprise, so Miss Bowers quickly chose five women to go with Phoebe, then went back to her guest.

Joe slipped out of the kitchen door and it was carefully locked behind him this time.

When he’d had time to find a vantage point to watch from, he grinned as the group of seven women fairly erupted out of the front door, talking at the top of their voices.

Five minutes later they were at the kitchen door of the big house, standing in a semicircle round it as Phoebe and Ethel went inside.

‘How kind of them!’ Phoebe said.

‘It’s a nice place to live, this village,’ Ethel said. ‘I’ll just go and put the gun away.’

Standing in the shadows behind a big tree, Joe watched the mystery man follow the group to the gates of Greyladies.

This fellow limped very slightly, but not nearly as much as Hatterson did, so it couldn’t be him … could it?

The man stopped near the gates and watched the women go round to the back of the house, then hurled a stone at the nearest tree and cursed under his breath as he walked away.

Joe again followed him and saw him go into Hatterson’s house.

Was it Hatterson or not? Whoever it was, what had he intended to do with the stone?

On that thought, Joe decided to come back in daylight and see if he could retrieve the stone. Perhaps he might be able to tell where it came from. That’s what Sherlock Holmes would have done. He’d read those books again and again. Such a clever man, Mr Holmes.

In the meantime, Joe watched the group of chattering, excited women walk back to the village hall, where the meeting continued instead of breaking up. When he went to eavesdrop, they were talking about the danger to Mrs Latimer.

Joe’s older cousin was one of them. Like him, she wanted to better herself, but it was harder for her because she was married and had to stay here. He was going to use the army to better himself – or the air force if they’d take him. That was a new sort of thing, warfare in the sky. He loved watching it on the newsreels at the cinema in Swindon, and he’d seen single planes flying past in the distance, sounding like huge angry wasps.

Perhaps he could get into the air force sooner than his call-up date if he volunteered and lied about his age. He didn’t want to fly the planes, though. He wanted to work on their engines. He loved machinery of all sorts. His dad said he was a fair marvel at mending things.

The light went off in the church hall. Miss Bowers and her guest were the last two to leave, and they talked quietly as they walked back to her house.

He waited where he was till they were inside her house, just in case Hatterson – if it was him – came after them, but he didn’t.

Joe checked all the way round Hatterson’s cottage. There were no lights inside, no sounds of people talking and the door remained firmly closed.

In fact, no clues to be found.

He continued to patrol the village until the sky began to brighten then sought his own bed, yawning, but pleased with his night’s work.

Olivia listened carefully to Babs’s instructions, then had a go at starting the car. She looked at her mentor in delight as the motor came to life. ‘How much easier it is with a starter motor instead of having to swing a crank handle round. Even Charles had trouble starting our motor car sometimes, and I haven’t dared try to get it going since he died. So it’s just sitting there in our –
my
– garage, useless.’

‘You should definitely sell it and use the money to buy another car that’s easier to drive. Being able to get around would make a big difference to your life. No, wait. You’ll probably have trouble finding another car to buy, though, because everything’s geared to the war effort now and not many companies are producing new vehicles.’ Her face brightened. ‘I know! You can ask Alex’s help.’

Olivia was well aware that it was no use being tactful with Babs, so asked straight out, ‘Are you by any chance matchmaking?’

‘Actually, no. I just think if anyone could find you another car, it’d be him. He’s very quiet, but he’s well thought of and knows everyone. He
likes
to help people.’

‘Oh. Well. That’s all right, then. I’ll think about it.’

‘Up to you. Now, let’s see how you go at driving …’

The lesson reduced Babs to fits of the giggles because Olivia made every mistake possible and the car jerked along like a drunken kangaroo, as her friend didn’t hesitate to tell her. Not that either of them had ever seen a kangaroo, except in books and on the newsreels at the cinema.

When they drew near the next small town, Olivia stopped the car and looked at her friend anxiously. ‘I’m terrible at driving, aren’t I? Perhaps I shouldn’t bother trying to learn.’

‘Oh, is that what’s making you look so unhappy? No, no. Truly you aren’t doing at all badly. It isn’t easy to
double-declutch
. Took me ages to get the hang of that.’ She saw Olivia’s doubtful expression and gave her friend’s arm a little shake. ‘I’m telling you the simple truth. If you persevere and keep practising, you’ll improve gradually.’

‘Well, if you’re sure. As long as I’m not a danger to other people. I’d hate to cause an accident. But I daren’t drive into a town yet.’ She got out of the car and changed places with Babs, relieved to have done with the strain of trying to drive for the time being.

They were made very welcome by the landlady of The Fox in Singleton, who was the main force behind the local Women’s Institute. She insisted they stay at her pub for the night, rather than drive on in the dark after they’d finished chatting.

They talked to her for a long time, ate a late tea and daringly sat in the tiny ladies’ room at the pub to sip a glass of port wine each. Some men gave them dirty looks but no one approached them or said anything out of place.

The next day, they stayed for longer than they’d expected because a special meeting had been arranged in the morning
for those who could make it, so that the women members could also meet the visitors.

‘We pride ourselves on being trailblazers,’ the landlady told them proudly as she got a room in the pub ready.

The meeting was lively and, unusually, women of all backgrounds – labourers’ wives, farmers’ wives, the local clergyman’s daughter and the widow of a baronet – sat together and spoke as equals.

Minutes of the meeting were kept by one lady, who turned out to be the schoolmistress. And afterwards, everyone had a cup of excellent tea and scones from the plates that had been brought by some women.

Mrs Fox whispered, ‘We keep it to scones, because some of them can’t afford to buy the materials for fancy cakes, but most women know how to whip up a batch of scones. We take it in turns to bring something.’

Afterwards they chatted to her for a few minutes then left.

As Babs drove away, Olivia mulled over what she had seen at Singleton. ‘I think it’s wonderful,’ she said suddenly.

Babs didn’t need to ask what she was referring to. ‘So do I. You don’t usually see women from all sorts of backgrounds coming together like that, do you?’

‘No. I could never be a suffragette, but since the war began I’ve seen what women can do. They cope with men’s jobs, lift heavy objects, drive buses, work in munitions factories, and drive ambulances at the front – in fact, they do whatever is needed and just as well as a man would. Those who don’t go out to work get together to roll bandages or make comfort packs for the soldiers.’

Babs nodded agreement, ‘They usually organise the
part-time
working groups themselves, too, and do it well. So I
feel more strongly than ever that we women
ought
to have the vote.’

‘I agree. And we shouldn’t make such a fuss about class differences or differences between men and women. My cousin Donald
expects
women to defer to him, and I hate to say it of a relative of mine, but he’s rather stupid, so why would anyone follow his advice?’

Babs slowed down to a stop and set the handbrake but didn’t switch off the motor. ‘Come on. Change places and have another go. There’s a long stretch of country road coming up, just right for you to practise on.’

‘How do you know your way around the country?’ Olivia asked as she settled into the driving seat and tried to calm herself.

‘One of Humfy’s old relatives used to live near here. That husband of mine had relatives and friends all over England and Scotland, so we used to drive around a lot.’

‘Can I … ask you something?’ At her companion’s nod, she said, ‘Do you miss him still? It’s been nearly a year now since you lost him, hasn’t it?’

‘Yes, of course I miss him. Dreadfully. But you can’t change what’s happened, can you, so you have to make the best of it. I’m a bit ahead of you on the widowhood stakes, so I can assure you that it does gradually get a bit easier.’ She clapped Olivia on the shoulder. ‘Now, we’ll forget about unhappy things and practise some more, shall we?’

By the time they changed places again, Olivia was feeling a little more comfortable behind the wheel, at least in the quiet of the countryside.

‘I’ve arranged somewhere nice to stay tonight,’ Babs said as she took over.

Her idea of somewhere nice turned out to be a friend’s
country residence. Not another widow this time but a woman whose husband was serving in France.

Since Charles’s death Olivia felt her life was mainly lived in a world of women. Wonderful women, some of them. But she missed having a man to talk to.

She realised suddenly that she was missing Alex on this journey. She’d enjoyed her trips with him very much.

Of course, she didn’t mention that to Babs, but hugged the thought to herself that Alex was her friend now and perhaps could become more.

Was that wrong of her?

The other Women’s Institute they were to visit was in Wallisdown in Dorset. Lady Wimborne and her daughter Lady Chelmsford had started it, with the help of Madge Watt, using the latter’s experience with Women’s Institutes in Canada. Indeed, Mrs Watt was helping to raise interest in the idea all over England.

The two local ladies were enthusiastic about what they were doing and had a lively conversation with their guests about the best way to set about the task.

‘Find someone who is respected locally,’ Lady Wimborne said firmly. ‘But not someone who wants to rule the roost. In a Women’s Institute the meetings are run democratically.’

They all talked about equality and democracy, Olivia thought, whoever they were. But what did ladies like these do in practice? Still, she approved wholeheartedly of any progress.

Her Ladyship said thoughtfully, ‘You know, after you’ve seen our group tomorrow, I think you should go and visit my friend Miss Cowley.’

Babs smiled. ‘We’ve already arranged to do that. She’s a friend of my aunt.’

‘Oh, good. She runs a self-help group in her own village and she was telling me about another village nearby – I think it’s called Challerton, yes, that’s it – where they also have a self-help group. Those might be good places for you to make a start. Can you spend several days in the area?’

Babs frowned. ‘I can spend a few, but I have to allow time to drive back to London, where I have appointments.’

Olivia said, ‘I can stay longer, if necessary, and come back by train. I don’t have any engagements.’

‘Jolly good,’ said their hostess. ‘The lady at the big house in Challerton is a Mrs Latimer, who is particularly interested in helping women. And Miss Cowley’s friend there is a retired schoolteacher, a Miss Bowers?’

Lady Wimborne looked questioningly at Olivia. ‘I’ll telephone Vivian Cowley, then, and see whether she’ll be at home the day after tomorrow. If so, you must stay another night here.’

One thing seemed to be leading to another, Olivia thought as she got ready for bed that evening in a very comfortable bedroom with a small fire burning in the grate.

It was good to be out in the world again doing things – useful things, she hoped. She had felt stifled at Donald’s house.

Perhaps if Alex could help her find a car that was easier to start, she would continue learning to drive, so that she could go anywhere she wanted. Well, she could if she could get the petrol. The war had made that more difficult.

Always the war. She’d almost forgotten what it felt like
to live in peacetime. How long would it be before they could live normally again? She didn’t doubt that Britain would defeat Germany, of course she didn’t, but it wasn’t going to be easy – or quick.

As she lay there, she realised suddenly that she didn’t want to settle down again in the house where she’d lived with Charles. A new start in every way seemed the best path to take.

And her late husband’s voice in her head sounded fainter than before as she seemed to hear the words, ‘You go for it, old girl.’

When Phoebe woke the morning following the meeting in the village, it was early and still dark, so she decided to stay in bed for a while longer.

Her first thought was of Corin and she mentally sent him her love and prayed for him to stay safe, as she did morning and evening. Then she mulled over yesterday’s meeting and what she could do to help the local women in their quest to improve themselves.

She wasn’t the sort to lie in bed, so decided to get up, even though it was too early for Ethel or Cook to be about.

The minute she thought of that, she began to feel uneasy, as if something was wrong. What had caused that feeling? She didn’t usually worry about nothing.

She lit her oil lamp with a Swan Vesta safety match and washed quickly in the icy cold water in her jug, not wanting to wait for Ethel to bring her some hot water. Something was definitely wrong in her house, because she couldn’t shake off that sense of foreboding, and she intended to find out what.

Everything was still and silent as she made her way down to the kitchen to get a cup of tea. She took the shortcut down the back stairs, but as she reached the first turn, a bar of light flashed into existence and barred her way. Something told her to stand still and as she could sense Anne Latimer’s familiar presence, she obeyed the impulse, sure the family ghost would have a good reason for barring her way.

She held up her lamp and looked round carefully. Her heart seemed to stutter in her chest as she saw the rope stretched across the stairs about a foot from the floor. It was tied to the banisters on either side, just where the stairs started to go straight down again after the turn.

If she’d continued, if Anne hadn’t barred her way, she’d have fallen and hurt herself badly, might even have lost her baby or set fire to the house if she’d dropped her oil lamp!

Dear heaven, who could have done this? And how? The house was locked up every night.

She heard footsteps clattering down behind her and called out, ‘Is that you, Ethel?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘Stop behind me. Don’t try to get past. Look. Someone’s set a trap.’

Ethel stared downwards and gasped. ‘I’m always the first to get up, so it must have been set for me.’ She clutched Phoebe’s arm. ‘Only it nearly got you. What stopped you? Did you see it?’

‘No. Our ghost warned me.’

‘Oh.’

‘Leave the rope where it is. We’ll go back and use the
main stairs. I want to show this to Captain Turner before we dismantle the trap.’ She had a thought. Why not show it to a few people from the village as well? Someone might recognise the type of rope, which was thin and rough, cheap stuff of a type she hadn’t seen around here before.

Cook came slowly down the attic stairs in her voluminous flannel nightgown and they called out to her to stay on the landing.

‘Someone’s set a trap,’ Ethel explained. ’They’ve tied a rope across the stairs.’

‘Oh, my giddy aunt! What a wicked thing to do! I’d not believe it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.’ Cook gasped. ‘That means someone was creeping round inside the house while we lay helpless in our beds. We could have had our throats cut! Or worse.’

Phoebe wondered what was worse than being killed. ‘We have to make sure it doesn’t happen again. We should all use the front stairs till Captain Turner has seen the trap.’

‘Show it to old Walter as well,’ Cook said. ‘I know he’s only acting as village policeman while Sam Telby is in the army, but he’s a knowing sort of man, worth listening to.’

‘We can show it to anyone from the village who wants to come here,’ Phoebe said rashly.

‘I don’t think we should do that, ma’am,’ Ethel said at once. ‘Just show it to the ones Walter approves of. Otherwise anyone can come into Greyladies and spy out the ground, even that Hatterson man.’

‘You’re right. I wasn’t thinking straight. Let’s go down and see how they got in.’

But there was no sign of a forced entry at any of the
outside doors or at the connecting door to the new house.

When they got back to the kitchen Phoebe thought through it aloud. ‘They either have a key or they picked a lock to get in. Then they found a way to lock up again after they went out. What is going on?’

‘We’ll have to make sure we use the bolts on all the outside doors,’ Ethel said. ‘You can’t get past good strong bolts.’