Legacy of Greyladies (18 page)

The light began to fade and she felt impelled to call, ‘Goodbye. Thank you.’

What next? she wondered as she went downstairs. Had she been talking to thin air, imagining all this, or had a friendly ghost really helped her?

What a strange house this was. But she loved living here. The work kept her mind off what Danny was doing – well, most of the time.

When she woke up, Phoebe lay for a moment trying to remember the details of the vivid dream she’d just had. In it, the war was over and she’d been leaving Greyladies, one arm linked in Corin’s, the other waving goodbye to a misty woman’s figure standing in the doorway. She had been feeling sad and yet happy at the same time.

Did that mean she was one of the chatelaines who only stayed for a short time at Greyladies? If so, it also meant that Corin would survive the war. Well, she hoped it did.

But perhaps it had only been a dream and she was reading more into it than was meant.

She realised suddenly that someone was hammering loudly downstairs. She tidied herself up and as the noise was still going on, she followed it down the main stairs to the connecting door.

There she found an elderly man she’d seen occasionally in the village. He was hard at work attaching the old bolts. As she watched, he stopped to stroke the wood, then continued to drill out the holes for them. There were holes in the door already, which had been plugged with tiny round pieces of wood. She’d noticed them before and wondered why the bolts had been removed.

Ethel came across to her. ‘I hope you don’t mind, ma’am, but I found the old bolts in the attic and gave them to Mr Mullard. He said Walter had sent for him, and Cook knows him, so I thought it was all right to let him into the house.’

‘Yes, of course. How did you find the bolts?’

After a moment’s gaze down at her feet, Ethel explained about following the light up to the attic. ‘I don’t think I was imagining it.’

‘No, I don’t either. You’ve seen Anne Latimer before. She must approve of you.’

She looked across to Mr Mullard. ‘We’ll all feel safer tonight if we’re able to bolt this door.’

‘And the bedroom doors,’ Ethel said. ‘Mr Mullard says he can fit bolts on Cook’s bedroom door and check those on our doors, too.’

‘Good.’

‘Are you hungry now, ma’am?’

‘Ravenous.’

‘I was just the same with my first. Queasy of a morning, then it’d pass and I’d be hungry.’

Phoebe followed her to the kitchen, feeling that the day might not have started well, but what had come out of it was good. She felt even closer to the people she was living with now.

Olivia and Babs enjoyed meeting the Wallisdown WI members, and also enjoyed the company of their hostess for a further evening. After their two-night stay, they left Wallisdown and drove to meet Miss Cowley. She was a brusque woman of about seventy, and spoke in the loud tones of a slightly deaf person. She dressed appallingly badly, too, but Olivia and Babs soon realised that behind the thorny exterior was a woman who cared deeply about others. She had found ways to help the poorer women in her village, even though she didn’t have much money to spare – as she admitted quite frankly.

‘Stay and meet my village ladies,’ she boomed at her visitors. ‘If I send word round, some of them will come here tonight. We use my front parlour because West Fittonby is too small a village to have its own church hall. Indeed, we only have half a clergyman for our little church.’ She laughed heartily at her own joke. ‘Because we share a clergyman with another village,’ she added.

Forewarned by their previous hostess, they’d stopped to purchase some food on the way. When Miss Cowley asked
them what she should buy from the village store for their tea, and wondered whether the baker would have a spare loaf, Babs produced the bag of food from the car.

‘Oh, how kind. I don’t keep much food in, you see,’ the old lady explained. ‘Well, there’s only me and a daily help. But I
can
offer you a bed for the night.’

‘We wouldn’t dream of troubling you,’ Olivia protested. ‘I’m sure we can find somewhere nearby to stay.’

‘No trouble. The only things I have plenty of here are bedrooms and furniture. This was my family’s home for over a century, but there’s only me left now, last of the Wiltshire Cowleys, so there are seven bedrooms standing empty.’ She sighed, then jerked into action again to take the food to the kitchen.

That evening they made an excellent tea of ham, pickled vegetables and chutney, with fresh crusty bread, followed by apple pie and clotted cream.

Afterwards, they got ready for the visitors.

One by one, women arrived at the house, greeting the strangers shyly but seeming quite at home with Miss Cowley. They teased her as they set out home-made biscuits and one had brought a bunch of flowers from her garden which she’d dried herself at the end of autumn.

Miss Cowley blinked her eyes rapidly when they were given to her. ‘So kind. So very kind. And you do the drying so well, Mrs Wotton. I do miss my flowers in winter.’

‘I saw your last lot of dried flowers had fallen to pieces,’ her guest said complacently.

They held their usual reading session for an hour or so, and Olivia was touched at how hard they worked to improve their halting words. After that they chatted over tea and biscuits before going home.

As the door closed after the last one, Babs took Miss Cowley’s hand and shook it vigorously. ‘Congratulations. You’re doing an excellent job here.’

Miss Cowley turned bright pink and lost herself in a jumble of broken phrases.

‘Now,’ Babs said. ‘We need to talk to you about founding a Women’s Institute in West Fittonby. You’re the perfect person to start things going.’

‘I’ve heard of them but I wouldn’t know enough to start one, I’m afraid.’

‘A lot of people say that. If we gather information and come back with it to help you, will you try?’

Their hostess took a deep breath and said, ‘Yes, I’d love to. I like to keep busy. Will it … um, be expensive?’

‘No. Definitely not. Your main contribution would be to let the women meet in your front parlour. But I believe each member pays the organisation about two shillings per year to cover the costs of postage and other expenses, so you would all have to pay that.’

The worried expression vanished from Miss Cowley’s face. ‘Oh, that’s all right, then. I’d be very happy to let them meet here.’

‘Now.’ Babs produced three small bars of chocolate and waved them at her companions. ‘I think we all deserve a little treat.’

‘Chocolate!’ whispered their hostess. ‘Oh, my. How wonderful!’

In the morning, Miss Cowley gave them instructions for getting to her friend Miss Bowers’ house in Challerton.

At the last moment she suggested they visit the abbey
ruins while they were there. ‘It was a small foundation, but must have been pretty once, judging by the stonework in the crypt. The abbey itself was destroyed at the orders of Henry VIII during the Dissolution of the Monasteries, but the former guest house wasn’t touched and it became the home of Anne Latimer, the former abbess. I’m not boring you, am I? Not everyone enjoys history.’

‘No, do go on.’

‘Well, the old house is still standing but a new house was built at the front and it’s that which has been requisitioned by the War Office. The family still lives at the rear, though I gather Mrs Latimer’s husband is in the army at present. She has a key to the crypt and takes people to see it from time to time. She allows Miss Bowers to show people round, too. That’s how I was able to see it.’

‘We must definitely ask about it, then,’ Olivia said.

As they drove away, Babs said feelingly. ‘Helping run a Women’s Institute is going to make Miss Cowley a very happy woman in her declining years.’

‘Poor thing. Reading between the lines, she’s short of money and has been very lonely.’

‘Well, she didn’t sit and weep after her mother died, did she? She started helping other women in the only way she could find. I admire that.’

Miss Bowers heard the sound of a motor car and looked out of the window of her small house. She smiled approvingly as she saw a lady driving the car, which had just pulled to a halt further along the street. Two ladies got out and started looking for house numbers – only there weren’t any, because everyone here knew who lived in which house.

Before she could go out to them, they asked a passer-by, who pointed to her house. These must definitely be the two ladies Lady Wimborne had phoned her about. Now, what were their names again? Oh yes. Mrs Horner-Jevons and Mrs Harbury.

If she’d been younger, Miss Bowers would have learnt to drive a car too. The era of motor cars had come too late for her, though, and these days she couldn’t have afforded to buy one, as she had to be a bit careful with her money. The old age pension helped a lot, but she was slowly using up her savings.

You were never too old to dream, though.

The knocker sounded and she went to open the front door. ‘Mrs Horner-Jevons and Mrs Harbury? I guessed who you were. Do come in.’ Then she looked along to where the car was parked. ‘No, wait. I think your car might be safer if you put it in front of my house.’

They looked at her in surprise.

‘We have a newcomer to the village who is causing trouble. If he knows you’re visiting me and then going on to Greyladies, I wouldn’t put it past him to damage your car if you leave it outside his house.’

‘Goodness me. How terrible!’

‘You must have noticed his untidy garden. He lost a leg in the war and does nothing to keep his home nice. Indeed, I don’t know what he does do with himself all day except complain and shout at his wife. You can hear him yelling at her from the street. I pity that poor woman.’

Babs went to move the car, after which Miss Bowers took them into a small parlour crowded with bookcases. ‘My besetting sin is books, and now that I’ve retired I spend a lot of time reading. But you didn’t come here to talk about me. Do sit down, please.’

They sat on the comfortable sofa indicated by their smiling hostess, feeling truly welcome.

‘Let me put the kettle on the hob, then you can tell me about these Women’s Institutes. They’re not something I’ve come across before.’ She bustled out again.

Olivia couldn’t resist reading the book titles in the nearest bookcase and smiled when she realised Babs was doing the same thing with some at the other side of the small room.

Then their hostess came back and soon they were telling her about the new Women’s Institute movement. With two short interruptions for her to finish making and serve the pot of tea, they went through some of the activities that were going on all over the country to found institutes.

‘That sounds to be a wonderful thing for rural women!’ Miss Bowers said.

‘Some urban women too,’ Babs amended.

When Miss Bowers had finished asking questions, she fell silent for a few moments, looking thoughtful. ‘I wonder … do you have time to come and tell Mrs Latimer about it? She lives at Greyladies, the big house for this village, and she manages a family trust fund set up to help women in need. I’m sure that if you helped us, she and I could set up an institute in Challerton.’

‘We’d be happy to do that, but will she have time to see us today? She might be busy, and I have to get back to London tomorrow,’ Babs said.

‘Unfortunately, someone is threatening Mrs Latimer’s safety, because of the Germans interned in part of her house.’ Miss Bowers lowered her voice unnecessarily, ‘Possibly that dreadful man two doors along. As her husband is away serving in the war, she daren’t go out and about as she used
to until we find a way to catch the villain in the act.’

They made appropriate sounds of disapproval.

‘When you’ve finished your tea, we’ll walk across to Greyladies and see if she’s at home. It’s not far. No, no. What am I thinking of? We should go in your car to keep it safe.’

Miss Bowers asked Babs to stop the car just inside some large iron gates. The gravel drive had deep wheel ruts in it from some heavy vehicles. She indicated a large house at the far end. ‘I thought you’d like to look at Greyladies. This is the best view of the front part.’

They could hear the pride in her voice and obediently studied the house. It was built of grey stone with steep roofs tiled by large slabs of another sort of grey stone. Several gables lent it character.

Olivia’s breath caught in her throat. ‘It’s beautiful.’ There was something about it, something almost magic. How lucky the people were who lived here!

‘The front part has been requisitioned by the government as a convalescent home for German and Austrian internees. Fortunately, the family have been allowed to stay in the rear part, which was the original house.’

‘Miss Cowley mentioned something about that.’

‘We who have grown up in Challerton are very proud of Greyladies. I myself have written a small book about its history.’

A truck with two soldiers sitting in the open back tooted its horn and Babs pulled the car further to the side to let it pass.

‘Such a pity they have to be here.’ Miss Bowers shook her head in disapproval, then indicated the way to the rear of the house.

The old part was even more beautiful and picturesque
than the front and Olivia felt so moved by the sight of it she couldn’t speak. It was as if she’d come home.

Their guide got nimbly out of the car and knocked on a door at the rear. They got out to join her.

‘Miss Bowers, how lovely to see you!’ The lady who had opened it had reddish hair, and was possibly in the family way. She had a sweet expression and seemed fond of her visitor, giving her a hug rather than shaking hands.

‘Phoebe, my dear, I knew you’d be at home today, so I’ve taken the liberty of bringing some visitors to meet you.’ She made the introductions.

Phoebe smiled at them. ‘I’m so glad to meet you. I was feeling like a long walk and I know I mustn’t go out alone till this trouble is sorted out. So frustrating! You couldn’t have come at a better time to cheer me up.’

‘Could I ask what sort of trouble?’ Babs inquired.

Their hostess explained briefly about the various attacks and break-ins at Greyladies. ‘But you didn’t come here to talk about my troubles. Let me ring for Ethel and get her to bring us a tea tray.’

‘Perhaps we could do that later? We’ve just had some tea,’ Miss Bowers said tactfully.

Olivia hadn’t said a word since she’d come into the house, she felt struck dumb by its beauty. Something seemed to be tugging at her, urging her to explore and the words were out before she could stop them. ‘May I look round this room, Mrs Latimer? It’s such a beautiful old place. I take it this was the old hall.’

To their surprise, she stood up without waiting for permission and began to walk towards the narrow, old-fashioned staircase that led to the minstrel’s gallery.

Before anyone could speak, Phoebe gasped and whispered, ‘Oh! She’s the one! Miss Bowers, she’s going to be the next lady.’ She clapped her hand to her mouth and watched her guest, who was moving slowly, like someone in a dream.

‘My goodness!’ Miss Bowers looked from Phoebe to the guest, who was now at the other end of the large room. Like her hostess, like all the true Latimers, their visitor was a redhead, but Phoebe had foxy-coloured hair while Olivia’s was a rich red in shade. And when you looked closely, there was a resemblance, too, something about the eyes and cheekbones, the straight nose.

Babs opened her mouth to speak and Miss Bowers made a quick shushing sound, putting one finger to her lips.

They watched Olivia stop at the foot of the stairs and stare up them as if she could see something. Unfortunately the ornately carved woodwork of the banisters and landing rail hid whatever it was from the others’ view.

But then a light began to shine in the minstrel’s gallery itself, and they could see that. It gradually grew brighter till it lit up the whole of the gallery.

Miss Bowers reached out and took Phoebe’s hand, holding it, offering unspoken comfort as they watched the scene play out. She knew that this was a poignant moment for her young friend.

Olivia stared at the shaft of soft golden light pulsating gently in the gallery above her. It was only a couple of paces away from the top step. She knew she shouldn’t wander around someone else’s house but she was drawn to that light, so strongly attracted that she didn’t even try to resist its pull.

She couldn’t speak … couldn’t turn away … just had
to go up to it, knowing instinctively there was nothing to be afraid of.

She set one foot on the lowest step and walked steadily up them, moving ever closer to the beautiful radiance.