Legacy of Greyladies (4 page)

As Mrs Simmons came across to join them, Babs added pointedly, ‘After I’ve got my present Women’s Institute off the ground, I mean to try to set one up here in Nether Bassett.’

‘Not yet,’ the vicar’s wife said. ‘We have to move carefully on things like that or we’ll upset the local dignitaries. I’m preparing the ground, but it’ll be better to work towards it gradually and get the support of certain gentlemen.’

‘Hang the local dignitaries!’ Babs said.

‘Unfortunately my husband can’t afford to get on the wrong side of them. I mean it, Babs. We need to go slowly, but I
will
work on it.’

‘Oh, very well. As long as you’re preparing the ground.’ She turned back to Olivia. ‘Why don’t you come to tea at the hall on Saturday and I’ll tell you more about the WI movement? We need women like you to help set groups up.’

‘I’d love to.’ She would be glad to find a new interest now she was on her own in the world.

‘I’ve got to visit someone on the other side of the village, so I’ll pick you up on the way back and drive you to my house. It’s a bit far out in the country for comfort, but now isn’t the time to try to sell it, let alone move. I’m not staying
there after the war without Humfy, though.’ She looked sad for a moment as she explained. ‘My husband. Lovely man, if a bit bossy. He was killed last year. I believe you lost your husband recently too.’

‘Yes.’

‘It takes time,’ she said in a gentler tone.

When Olivia was more in control of her emotions, Babs went on, ‘There are going to be a lot of us widows after the war and we have to stick together. I for one don’t intend to sit quietly in a corner waiting to die. Do you?’

‘Certainly not.’

It was like meeting a whirlwind, Olivia thought as she walked home. A delightful, friendly whirlwind of a woman who made her feel alive again.

It was like having cold water thrown into her face to be met by Donald’s scornful remarks, especially when she mentioned the chocolates.

‘I think that’s disgusting!’ he said. ‘You are not to go again. Those women are only pretending to mourn loved ones. They just go there to gossip and indulge themselves in unnecessary luxuries.’

‘Don’t be silly. And anyway, you can’t stop me.’

He goggled at her.

‘If you feel it necessary to turn me out of your house, I’m perfectly happy to go home,’ she added.

‘I shall speak to you again in the morning when you’re not so tired.’ But he was unused to being defied and in his anger managed the crutches badly and stumbled. He yelled in pain as he hit his leg on the wall, and when Olivia would have helped him right himself, Cecily pushed her
aside, shaking her head and gesturing to her to leave them alone.

So Olivia went upstairs and leant on the window sill, staring out at the village, not really ready to go to bed yet. Well, it was only seven o’clock.

She had enjoyed the small gathering, but most of all, she had enjoyed meeting Babs. What a wonderful woman she was, so full of life. She must be quite wealthy if she owned a big country house and a place in London. Why had Cecily never mentioned her?

The Women’s Institutes sounded interesting. Perhaps this meeting might lead to a rewarding friendship and something worthwhile to do. It was worth trying, anyway. She really liked Babs.

On the Sunday before Christmas, Phoebe went to church with one of the nurses from Greyladies. As they walked into the old building, heads turned and she saw to her surprise that someone was sitting in her family’s pew.

The stranger turned as she stopped at the end of the pew and gave her an insolent smirk.

‘This pew is reserved for people from Greyladies,’ she said quietly. The Latimers had contributed to the building of the church and this pew had been theirs ever since it had opened. Anyway, she didn’t like the looks of this man and didn’t want to share her pew with him.

‘If you can spend your life with Germans, you can share a pew with a man injured in the service of his country.’

There was a rumble of anger, and two of the farmers who occupied pews near the front on the other side stood up and came to stand by her.

‘We have our ways in this village,’ one told him. ‘And
you
need to fit in with the rest of us if you’re going to be living here. Hattersons sit in the fourth pew from the back, on the left as you go out.’

Hatterson glared at them and didn’t move until two burly young men moved along the side of the church to stand at the other end of the pew he was occupying.

The verger came hurrying to the front. ‘This way, if you please, Mr Hatterson. I’ll show you to your own family’s pew.’

Why hadn’t the verger intervened before? Phoebe wondered. For a moment she thought Hatterson wasn’t going to move, then he got up and edged very slowly along the pew, as if it was hard for him to move. As he reached the end, he pretended to stumble and forced her to move quickly back out of the way.

With a smile on his face he continued to limp down the aisle.

‘Sorry you were troubled, Mrs Latimer,’ one of the farmers said. ‘We’ll keep an eye on that pew for you on Christmas Day.’

‘Thank you for your help. Apart from anything else, I didn’t want to share our pew with someone so angry.’

‘He’s trouble, that one is.’

She agreed. Hatterson had a thin, mean face, with an aggrieved expression on it, as if he hated the world.

She had a feeling he was going to cause more trouble. After she sat down, it took her a moment or two to calm herself. She’d thought Hatterson was going to send her flying when he stumbled. He’d wanted her to think that, had enjoyed frightening her.

She prayed very fervently that he wouldn’t cause trouble in Challerton, that he’d not find others with his views about the internees. Wasn’t the war causing enough trouble for people without him stirring up more?

What good would it do anyone to hurt the rather elderly people interned at Greyladies?

She wished more than ever that Corin was coming home; she wasn’t even sure he’d get back for Christmas now. And of course he had to stay till his father was out of danger, or the worst happened. But still, she would feel better if she could share her worries with her husband.

And share her joy, too. Again her hand went to her stomach.

That next morning Phoebe was on her own, and as it was raining she decided to walk round the ancient part of Greyladies and check that there were no leaks or signs of mice. Most of the old building was empty, except for the furniture and other objects from the new part which were stored there.

She enjoyed the feeling of peace in a world dominated by war and related activities. There was a lot she could be doing today but after yesterday’s nasty little scene in church, she craved an hour of peace.

Even when Corin was home, she enjoyed being on her own in the old house occasionally. It was like spending time with a dear friend.

She wondered what her husband was doing at the moment, wished desperately that she could talk to him, hear his voice. She hadn’t slept at all well last night.

When a light appeared in the shadows at one end of the
attic, she stopped, not afraid, never afraid in this house. Was it …? Yes, it was … Anne Latimer’s ghost shimmered into sight, transparent with that wise, kindly expression.

When the figure was completely formed, the Lady looked solemnly across at her descendant, then gave a half-smile, which felt comforting.

‘Thank you for visiting me,’ Phoebe said softly, though she wasn’t at all sure her words got through to the spirit.

Raising one hand, the Lady gestured down the narrow attic stairs, as if to tell Phoebe to go down. As the gesture was repeated, she moved to do that, wondering why she was being directed downstairs. She didn’t question that there must be some good reason.

On the gallery landing, she had a feeling that she was meant to continue to the hall, so did that. As she drew near the turn at the bottom of the stairs, the telephone rang, so she ran down the last few treads to answer it.

If she’d been still upstairs she wouldn’t have been able to get to the phone in time.

Corin’s voice came down the line, tinny with a faint hissing sound in the background. ‘Hello, Phoebe darling. I’m so glad I caught you at home. I’m missing you.’

‘Have your parents got a telephone now? Give me their number, then we can keep in touch.’

‘They don’t have one. I’ve had to use a public telephone to make this call.’ He chuckled. ‘I’m not used to these kiosk types and I didn’t have a penny to put in the door slot to get inside to use the phone. There’s a shop nearby, but it had a sign saying “No change given without a purchase”. I had to buy some boiled sweets to get the necessary penny, then I had to pay extra for making a
long-distance call. I bet that shopkeeper makes a fortune from people using the kiosk.’

His amused tone vanished when he spoke about his father. ‘He’s a little better than he was, but progress is slow, and my mother’s desperately worried about him. He hasn’t been well all year. I wish they’d told me. I’d have made an opportunity to visit.’

‘I’m sorry he’s ill, Corin.’

‘The doctor told Mother frankly that Father’s health is failing and there’s not much anyone can do about it. He may last a year or two, if he’s careful, if we’re lucky. He’s only sixty-two, Phoebe. It doesn’t seem fair. Are you still there?’

‘Yes. I don’t know what to say, darling. Is there anything I can do to help?’

‘Not that I can think of. I’m afraid I’ll have to stay here for a while longer, just to be sure he recovers, so I’m not sure about Christmas.’

They both sighed at the same time, then Corin said, ‘Why don’t you cheer me up by talking about what you’ve been doing. Is everything all right at Greyladies?’

She decided not to tell him about Mr Hatterson and the possible threat against their home, so talked about Mr Stein and his language classes.

But of course Corin realised from her hesitation and tone of voice that something was wrong. ‘Darling, you promised you wouldn’t keep anything from me.’

So she explained what was going on in the village.

‘Damn the fellow! Who does he think he is to incite violence? The British government knows perfectly well how to deal with aliens who are our enemies, and they don’t need mobs creating havoc … or worse. It would be especially
bad if something happened to those internees at Greyladies, because their skills and knowledge are contributing to the British war effort. Have you met this Hatterson? Can’t you talk to him, make him understand?’

She had to tell Corin about the scene in church and how Hatterson made her feel nervous.

‘In that case, you’d better stay away from him. Sometimes men who’ve lost limbs can behave unreasonably. When I come back, I’ll go and see the fellow and warn him not to cause trouble. We should—’

There were some fizzling sounds and Corin’s voice became faint, the sound cutting in an out. ‘I think … something wrong … Take care, my d—’

The line went dead. She looked at the phone, willing it to start working again, but it didn’t. After a moment or two, she hung up the earpiece on its stand. It looked, she always thought, like a big metal daffodil. She stayed nearby for a while, just in case. But it didn’t ring again, so eventually she went to work on her accounts.

Thank you, Anne Latimer! she thought. I’d not have reached the phone in time without you
.

It had been a comfort to speak to him. She’d needed that. She felt very alone in the world sometimes, even at Greyladies.

An hour or so later, Ethel Kiddall, their new middle-aged maid, came to find her mistress in the old hall, which had once been the hall of a medieval manor but was now their living, dining and library space all in one.

Phoebe looked up from the trust fund accounts, which she tried hard to keep in order, but which still puzzled her
from time to time, because the money came in from so many different sources. She wished sometimes that her predecessor had had longer to show her how things were done.

‘Miss Bowers is here, ma’am. Are you at home?’

‘Yes, I’m always at home to her. I’ll come across and sit with her by the window.’

The former village schoolmistress, who was in her late seventies, was looking as spry and neat as ever.

‘Do sit down. How nice to see you.’

Miss Bowers stared at Phoebe. ‘Is everything all right, dear? You look a little tense.’

Trust her to notice. ‘Oh, well, Corin has just told me that his father’s health is failing. And—’

‘That’s not it. I should think you’re worrying about this fool who’s come to live in the village. Indeed, Hatterson is the reason I came to see you today, to make sure you were on your guard. We all saw how rude he was to you in church.’

‘Have you spoken to him, Miss Bowers? Someone said you live near him.’

‘Two doors away. He turns off the street to avoid me if he can. He says he’s too busy to gossip. I noticed the other day he was carrying a copy of that dreadful rag that calls itself a newspaper.
John Bull
, indeed! The man who owns it is always calling for a vendetta “against every German in Britain”. Shocking stuff. As if every member of a race can be bad.’

She let out a very unladylike snort and went on, ‘I don’t like the looks of Hatterson, I must admit. He has a sour twist to his mouth. And he limps badly. Surely they can find him a better artificial leg than that?’

‘Commander Turner has an artificial leg and he doesn’t limp at all.’

‘It looks to me as if Hatterson is exaggerating the limp to gain sympathy – and to get out of doing anything around the house. I live two doors away from him and I’ve never seen him do any gardening, front or back.’

‘Some men never do anything in the house. Let’s sit down and share a cup of tea.’

‘What a good idea!’ The old lady patted her hand. ‘You’ll be all right, Phoebe dear. We only have a few malcontents in the village. People round here are mostly decent. And you have soldiers on guard at Greyladies.’

‘Only four of them. There’s no real need to guard the people interned here. They don’t want to go out and face more violence and they’re happy to help the government.’