Legacy of Greyladies (5 page)

‘The Lady won’t let anything happen to this house, I’m certain.’

‘I wish I were as sure as you are, Miss Bowers. Can a ghost really stop a mob if it decides to burn the place down?’ That was Phoebe’s biggest worry. The old part of the house was built using a lot more wood than the new part. A fire could rage through it very quickly.

‘Anne Latimer’s legacy has lasted nearly four hundred years.
I’m sure Greyladies will last well beyond our time
.’

Phoebe stared at her in surprise. ‘Your voice echoed on those last words, Miss Bowers.’ Sometimes, when a person spoke of the future in the house, there was an echo behind the words and what they’d said then always came true.

‘Yes, I heard the echo, too. That’s a good sign, my dear girl.’

‘I’m sure you’re right.’ She pulled herself together. ‘No, you
must
be right. The Lady will continue to watch over us.’

‘Have you seen her lately?’

‘Yes.’

‘That’s good.’

But was a ghost omniscient? Phoebe wondered later as she got ready for bed. Dare she trust in Anne Latimer’s very occasional appearances and warnings?

In this modern world, people trusted in machinery, not prophecies and guardian spirits. Perhaps that sapped the ghosts’ power.

Oh, she was being silly. She was down in the dumps because Corin wasn’t likely to be home for Christmas. She missed him dreadfully and had been so looking forward to seeing him again. She must pull herself together and get on with things.

Alexander Seaton got off the London train in Swindon. He hadn’t been back here since the war started, but his cousin Mildred had written to say his mother was dying, so he felt it his duty to make one last attempt to reconcile the differences between them.

He remembered that last quarrel all too clearly. He’d gone home for the first time in years for his father’s funeral and afterwards, his mother had insisted he come back to Swindon to look after her and run the family business.

‘You are, after all, my only living son. It’s your duty.’

‘I know nothing about carting goods, Mother. It’s better that you sell the business and invest the money wisely. I can advise you about that and—’

‘
You
advise me?
You
who sell second-hand furniture, who shamed the family by running a market stall! What do you know about handling large sums of money? I shall take advice from those who know.’

It was no use protesting that he sold fine antiques, and had only run a market stall when first starting up his business. She burst into tears and refused to listen.

‘I shall leave everything to the church. I have no one else to leave it to. I have nourished a viper in my bosom.’

This reference to Aesop’s fable made him want to smile, in spite of the seriousness of the situation. But the urge to smile soon faded as she continued to rant at him. He didn’t expect her to leave him anything. He didn’t want or need his father’s dirty money, earned by ill-treating his workmen.

She continued at the top of her voice, ‘If your poor brother had lived, he’d not have deserted me. Ernest was a good boy, obedient.
He
would have taken over the family business and made it even more successful.’

Alex doubted that. Ernest had been three years older than him, a bad child not a good one. He’d stolen his little brother’s pocket money, filched coins from his mother’s purse and, as he got older, regularly came home drunk, boasting about the women he’d had.

In the end Alex had left home at twenty – or rather, been thrown out – because he’d refused to continue working in the family business. He knew the men despised him for his puny body and his frequent illnesses. Worst of all, he was overcome by severe fits of sneezing if he got too close to the horses, fits so bad that sometimes he could hardly breathe.

The way his father treated the men working for him had also upset Alex. His body might be weak, but he hoped he was an honest man who wouldn’t dock employees’ pay for no reason when they already had trouble making ends meet on the low wages paid.

In fact,
Seaton and Sons, Carters
disgusted him and he wanted nothing more to do with it.

Luckily he’d inherited a little money of his own from his grandmother, only two hundred pounds but he’d saved
another hundred from his wages. He moved away from Swindon and started up a market stall in London, selling any second-hand object or piece of furniture he could see a profit in. Not second-hand clothes, though. The smell of them turned his stomach.

He’d been lucky, made friends with an elderly man who could no longer lift heavy pieces, but who knew and loved old furniture. Horry had taught Alex all he knew, including how to chat to people passing by and entice them to look at the goods.

When Horry died three years later, Alex mourned him greatly. It was as if he’d lost a beloved grandfather. To his surprise, Horry had left him everything. Not a fortune, but enough money to make a difference.

Alex had already proved to be able to spot something valuable beneath an item’s grime. He now made a name for himself clearing out the houses of middle-class people who’d died. He paid higher rates than usual for the valuable items he unearthed, too, because he didn’t want to cheat people.

Gradually he moved on to sell better quality second-hand furniture in a shop. His first shop was small, but in it he learnt how to display his goods to the best advantage. Once he could afford more spacious premises in a better area, he opened
Seaton Antiques
.

He also proved that you didn’t have to treat those who worked for you harshly. He found Tom Pascoe and trained him. Tom became his second in command, and by the time war broke out, he knew his antiques nearly as well as Alex did. Unfortunately he’d been called up and Alex worried about him, but Tom’s wife had taken over his job and was proving almost as good as her husband, lacking only experience to equal him.

Oops! Alex realised he’d been standing outside the railway station, lost in thought while the other passengers took all the cabs. After a few minutes a horse-drawn cab turned up and took him to his mother’s house.

He paid the driver, picked up his small suitcase and stood by the gate staring at
Cumberland Villa
. It hadn’t changed much, was still a solidly built house three storeys high, standing in the middle of a street of similar dwellings.

But unlike the others, his family house was now in great need of repairs and maintenance, which would never have happened while his father was alive.

Why was he standing here like a timid fool? Because he was dreading this meeting, absolutely dreading it. Indeed, his mother might have him shown straight out again, as she had done after his father’s death. But people usually said their goodbyes to the dying, so here he was. He had to live with his own conscience, after all.

Picking up his suitcase, he walked up the footpath. Before he could use the knocker, the door opened and his cousin Mildred stood there. She hadn’t changed, was still plump with a kindly expression. He hadn’t seen her for a year, because she hadn’t been able to get up to London. Today she looked exhausted. Had she been coping with his damned mother on her own? Surely not?

Mildred was a year younger than him. Her mother had kept an eye on him in his childhood, and he and his cousin had been more like brother and sister. The two of them had shown him the only love and kindness he’d ever known from his family.

She didn’t move for a moment, then held the door open. ‘Come in, do. I’m glad you came, Alex, but I’m afraid you’re
too late. Your mother passed away just after midnight.’

He was ashamed of the relief that surged through him and hoped it hadn’t shown on his face.

‘The undertakers have finished laying her out and have just brought her body back. Do you want to see her?’

‘Not really.’

‘You ought to, dear. It won’t look good if you don’t.’

‘Who’s to know?’

‘These things get out. Her maid will know, for a start, and she’s heard nothing good of you, so will think the worst of you. And the undertakers are still here. And since I shall still be living in Swindon, I’d rather not have people gossiping about our family.’

He shrugged and put down his suitcase. He’d do almost anything for his cousin. Besides, a corpse couldn’t say spiteful things to you. ‘Well, if
you
think I should …’

‘I do.’

Mildred took his hand, as she had when he was a child, and led him into the dining room. A highly polished brass and mahogany coffin with a cloth over one end sat on two trestles covered in black velvet. She lifted the cloth and there his mother lay, dressed in her usual black silk, with an old-fashioned lace cap on her white hair.

Well, at least this time she wasn’t glaring at him. In fact, she looked so peaceful he’d hardly have recognised her. He didn’t want to linger, so stepped back, averting his eyes. ‘Cover her up.’ His voice was harsh. He couldn’t help that.

‘We’ll wait in here for a minute or two before going into the sitting room,’ Mildred said.

‘You always were good at keeping up appearances.’

‘I prefer not to upset people and you should too.’

‘Why? I doubt I’ll ever be coming back to this house again, perhaps not even to Swindon. My mother always said she was going to leave everything to the church. She
should
have left it to you for taking care of her. You ought to have a halo to wear as well.’

‘I did my family duty, that’s all.’

‘I hope she was grateful.’

Her tone was brisk and matter-of-fact. ‘Of course she wasn’t.’

‘No, of course not. So … where are you going to live now if the church takes the house?’

‘I’m going to get married and live with my husband.’

Alex stared at her in shock. ‘You’ve been courting? You never said a thing about that.’

‘It was better to keep it secret. Your mother would have thrown a fit of hysterics if she’d had the slightest suspicion.’

‘What’s his name? How did you meet him?’

‘It’s Edwin Morton, your mother’s lawyer. She was always calling him in to change her will, so he came to the house quite often. She grew a little forgetful and would sometimes get up and leave us to walk round the garden, so he and I would chat as we waited for her to remember he was here. He’s a widower, a couple of years older than me.’

She blushed. ‘We’re not going to wait to get married, because I’ve waited long enough. Edwin is getting a special licence and it’ll just be a quiet wedding.’

Alex gave her a big hug. ‘I’m really happy for you, Mildred, and I wish you well. If anyone ever deserved to be happy, it’s you. You’ve had years of caring for bad-tempered old women: first your mother, then mine.’

‘My mother was only bad-tempered when the pain was bad, and even your mother didn’t give me too much trouble
because I knew how to manage her. But that life is all in the past now. Alex dear, can you stay for a few days?’

‘I wasn’t going to but I can if you wish. Why?’

‘Two reasons. The main one is that Edwin and I want you to be one of our witnesses at the wedding. And secondly, there’s the reading of the will.’

‘I told you, Mildred, my mother won’t have left anything to me.’

‘She did mellow somewhat towards the end, and I’d guess she’s left you some keepsake or other.’

He frowned at her. ‘Do you know something about her will?’

‘No. Edwin would never betray a client’s trust. All he would say was that you had an interest and should stay for the reading of the will. I’ve had a bedroom prepared for you here.’

He looked round and shivered. ‘This house has such unhappy memories.’

‘Then let’s see if we can make some better ones tonight. We haven’t had a good chat for ages.’

‘I’ll stay if they take the coffin away. The thought of her lying down here … No, I couldn’t face that, wouldn’t be able to sleep. Do you think I’m being foolish?’

‘No. I was feeling the same but wasn’t brave enough to admit it. I’ll tell the undertakers to take her away again till the funeral, and blame it on myself.’ She reached up to lay one hand gently on his cheek. ‘I’m so very glad you came, Alex.’

He leant forward to plant a cousinly kiss on her forehead. ‘I am too. I’m always glad to see you, my dear.’

‘Why don’t you wait for me in the front parlour while I speak to the undertaker?’

He was tired, glad to sit down in front of a cheerful fire.
There was the sound of hushed voices from the hall, then Mildred came back to join him, sitting next to him on the sofa. ‘I’ve sent for a tea tray. While we wait, tell me how you’re keeping.’

‘I’m well enough. My health is much better than it was when I was a child.’

‘Your father should never have sent you out with the drays. You got soaked to the skin so many times and we nearly lost you to pneumonia twice.’

‘He had very fixed ideas about my working my way through the family business. Ah well, he’s long gone now and my health continues to improve. I didn’t even have a cold last winter. I feel like a fraud for failing the army medical.’

‘Your heart has a slight murmur and your lungs were weakened. It seemed obvious to me even before you volunteered that you couldn’t have coped with the training, let alone the dreadful conditions out there in France. Why did you volunteer, my dear?’

‘I just … thought it was my duty, wanted to do my bit. But I must say I was dreading it.’ He hated to be such a weakling. Other men of thirty-eight passed their medicals and went to serve their country.

Twice recently, women had stopped him in the street to hand him white feathers, which he thought a cruel thing to do to anyone. He had told them outright that he’d failed the medical and they should make sure who they were dealing with before doing something as unkind as accusing strangers of cowardice.

One woman had said he should be wearing a Silver War Badge to show he was ineligible, so he told her this was still a free country and men should be left to follow their own consciences, even pacifists. That had upset her.

He realised he’d been silent for longer than was polite. One of his cousin’s gifts was that she would give you time to think. ‘Sorry. I was remembering something. Tell me what you’ve been doing besides looking after my mother.’ He leant back and enjoyed the sight of her rosy face as they chatted.

She told him briefly about her war activities, rolling bandages and packing boxes of comforts for the troops. ‘Now, that’s quite enough about me. There’s nothing interesting about rolling bandages, however necessary they may be. Tell me how your shop is going. It looked so beautiful last time I visited London. You should have been an artist.’

‘Business is good. Because new furniture is in short supply, good quality second-hand furniture is even more in demand.’

‘Second-hand furniture indeed! You deal in valuable and rare antiques.’

‘I deal in many other things these days. If people are selling furniture and bric-a-brac because they’re in distress financially due to the war, I try to help them out, even if they aren’t offering something I would normally buy. I originally opened a second shop to sell these cheaper and yet still good items, not expecting to make much money from it. But it’s proved an excellent business venture.’

‘I’m sure you’ve helped a lot of people whose goods didn’t bring you a profit.’

‘But they do bring a profit. Oh, not as much as my more valuable pieces, but a profit nonetheless.’ He sighed. ‘Lucas Marsh manages the other shop for me, and although he’s in his late forties, he’s in good health and very capable. His assistant volunteered, so he’s another whose wife has started helping out. She’s doing very well, but … Oh, never mind that.’