Legacy of Greyladies (7 page)

‘Don’t tempt me. My cousin is driving me mad.’

Babs laughed. ‘I met him a couple of times when Humfy was alive. He’s an absolute blockhead. He wouldn’t have been made a captain if the casualty rates among officers weren’t so great.’

She scrubbed her eyes with the back of her forearm and sniffed. ‘Sorry. That reminded me that the son of a close friend was killed two days ago. Pilot. Shot down over the Channel. Only twenty-three. Such a charming young man.’

‘I’m sorry.’

Babs thumped the steering wheel with one clenched fist, causing the car to swerve slightly. ‘How many lives are going to be lost before these stupid men learn to get on with one another? If we women ruled the world, we wouldn’t go to war like this.’

‘Wouldn’t we? Who knows? I’ve met some quarrelsome and bigoted women in my time.’

Babs glanced quickly sideways. ‘You sound and look a bit downhearted.’

‘I am. It’s living with Donald that does it. I can cope with him for a day or two, but weeks of him … I shall flee for my life once Christmas is over.’

‘Change your mind about Christmas and join me in London.’

‘I can’t, Babs. Not this year. Cecily is hopeless without good help in the house and we can’t seem to find her a full-time maid.’

‘Offer more money.’

‘Donald refuses to pay any maid more than he did before the war.’

‘You’ll soon be able to go back to your own home.’

‘The trouble is, my house is full of Belgians. I’m not sure it’ll be much better there, because at least here I have my job in the shop, where I meet a lot of people.’

‘You need another job, then. Which is where the Women’s Institutes come in. Leave it with me. Ah, here we are.’ She slowed down and swung left into a drive.

Her house was large, four windows wide at the front. But it was just a square lump of a building without any charm. Whoever had designed it had done a poor job.

‘Dull-looking place, isn’t it?’ Babs stopped the car in front of the house. ‘I’ll leave the car here and drive you back later. Yes, I will! It’s going to rain and I’m not having you walking two miles and getting soaked.’

‘I did bring an umbrella, but thank you.’

‘Come on in. We’ll have a glass of wine and a few chocolates.’

‘Wine?’

‘The only thing that’s good about this house is the wine cellar. When I sell it, I’m also going to sell the flat in London and buy a house there. I’ll take all the wine with me. Then I’m going to drink it, bottle by luscious bottle.’

She gestured to a portrait on the wall of a gentleman with ruddy cheeks and a rather full figure. ‘Humfy’s father. Only interested in hunting and fishing, but he did enjoy a drink, so I have him to thank for the wine. Humfy followed his example and drank more than he should sometimes. I’m glad of that now. At least he enjoyed what life he did have before the bullet found him.’

A maid stuck her head into the room without knocking. ‘Oh, there you are, Mrs J. Do you want some tea bringing in?’

‘Yes, please, Annie. Just a few sandwiches and some cake. But we’ll drink wine with it, so no pot of tea. This is my friend Mrs Harbury, by the way.’

‘Nice to meet you, Mrs Harbury.’ She left the room.

‘She’s a treasure,’ Babs said. ‘I’d be lost without her.’

‘I wish she had a sister to work for Cecily and Donald.’

‘I’ll ask her if she knows someone looking for work. But your cousins will have to pay higher than pre-war wages.’

‘I’ll see if I can convince Donald. Perhaps when he accepts the fact that I really am leaving, he’ll reconsider it.’

After they were settled with a platter of food in front of them, Babs said briskly, ‘Right. Let’s talk about the Women’s Institute movement.’

‘I’m looking forward to hearing more about it. It must be something new.’

‘Very new, just starting up and hasn’t really got off the ground in England. It’s thriving in Canada, though, and it’s getting started in Ireland. You know how long it can take to accept something new in England. And one problem is, everyone knows their place in society. You’d think we’d asked them to commit murder by suggesting they form an
association where all the women in each village are on equal terms at meetings.’

Olivia smiled. ‘That
is
outrageous. I can’t imagine Donald allowing his wife to join such a group. Why, she might have to sit next to her own maid! A lot of other people would be very much against such egalitarianism, though, women as well as men. And where would each group meet?’

‘There! I knew you were a practical sort. How should I know where they’d meet? Each village is different. Church hall, maybe.’

‘Only if the clergyman agreed. They’re not all like our Mr Cummins, who has a very modern attitude towards the world.’

‘He and his wife are dears. You’ll find this hard to believe, but I heard that the vicar of one village instituted a curfew for women when they tried to set up a Women’s Institute and forbade them to go out after dark.’

‘
What?
You’re joking.’

‘No. It’s the absolute truth. If I’d lived there I’d have gone out every night and danced on the vicar’s doorstep. But he’s not the only one to try to stop us: some husbands don’t like their wives going out in the evening, especially if that means leaving them to look after the children. Whose children are they, I ask? It takes two people to make a child.’

She let out a defiant snort. ‘Hah! We’ll find a way to get the institutes started. You’ll see. We need to give women somewhere to speak out, train them to speak out for their own future. One woman’s voice isn’t enough. We need a big, loud chorus.’

‘A lot of women won’t dare speak out, even so. They’ve been brought up to keep quiet and let men do the talking about the wider world.’

‘That’s the beauty of it. They’ll learn to speak out by running their own group.’ Babs drained her glass of wine and poured herself another one. ‘Can’t you say something nice about the idea?’

‘Sorry. I love the idea of Women’s Institutes. I just think it’ll be hard to get them going. The best way might be to get an important person in each village on our side.’

‘But that would go against what we’re trying to do. We want ordinary women to speak to such people as equals!’

‘They’ll learn to do that gradually.’

Babs leant back, scowling. ‘Gradually isn’t good enough. I never was very patient when a thing needed doing.’

‘Sometimes you have to be patient.’ Olivia took a deep breath and said it. ‘But if I can help in any way, then I will, because I really do like the idea. I can start after I go back to live in my old home in Swindon and— Hey! What are you doing?’

For Babs had pulled her up and was waltzing her round the room. ‘I knew you’d help. I just knew it! You have that independent look to you.’

So Olivia danced with her friend and at that moment something tight and painful inside her loosened just a little.

On Thursday 23rd December, Phoebe sat down to a solitary dinner in the great hall at Greyladies. When her husband was away, she used the smaller table near the window and in the daytime had a lovely view over the gardens. She sometimes wished she could eat in the kitchen with Ethel and Cook, for company. But that would make them feel uncomfortable.

The meal was excellent, as usual, but Phoebe didn’t feel hungry. She pushed her food round her plate then piled it to one side, hoping it looked as if she’d eaten more than she had.

She paused, fork in the air. Was that the sound of footsteps outside the back of the house? If so, they were too slow and faint to be caused by one of the soldiers who made regular patrols round the building. Anyway, tonight’s guard had clumped round the house and passed her window only a few minutes ago.

The footsteps were coming closer. Surely it couldn’t be a trespasser trying to spy on what was going on inside the house? Her heart began to thud and a sudden urge to hide from view made her slip from her seat and move out of sight of whoever might be outside the window.

As she flattened her back against a bookcase, she wondered if she was being foolish. Was there really someone prowling outside, or was she just imagining it?

She was debating whether to return to her meal when she heard more faint sounds, closer this time. Someone was walking across the gravel outside and trying to keep quiet. The sounds were regular, definitely footsteps, definitely not a product of her imagination.

She remained perfectly still, listening intently, feeling rather ridiculous to be hiding like this in her own house. She would draw the curtains at night from now on. She didn’t usually bother doing that, as the moonlit gardens could look so pretty and there was no one who overlooked these private gardens.

This was all Hatterson’s fault for making her feel nervous. How dare he urge people to burn down Greyladies? What had she ever done to him that he wished her ill? In church, it had felt as though he was threatening her. He wouldn’t have dared try to occupy their pew if Corin had been with her.

She’d have to face Hatterson again in two days’ time, because it was unthinkable that she should miss the Christmas Day service. Perhaps the men who’d come to her aid last week would keep an eye on her pew and stop any trouble before it began.

And perhaps she was worrying about nothing.

She jumped in shock as a harsh man’s voice suddenly yelled, ‘Kill the Huns!’ and the glass in one of the nearby windows smashed as something was hurled through it. She let out an involuntary cry as the missile landed close to where she had been sitting.

She stared at a chunk of rock with a pointed end, lying on the floor, surrounded by shards of broken glass. There were pieces of glass glinting on the tablecloth too in the light of the oil lamp.

The rock might have injured her if she hadn’t had the sudden urge to move.

Wind whistled in through the hole and outside someone laughed and yelled, ‘Kill the Huns and all the traitors who give them shelter!’

Then other voices cried out, the door to the kitchen was flung open and someone else hammered on the big door that connected the great hall in the old house to the new house.

For a moment Phoebe sagged against the bookcase. Before she could pull herself together, Ethel was there with an arm round her.

‘Are you all right, Mrs Latimer?’

‘Yes. Thank you.’

‘Don’t move to where they can see you,’ the maid said. ‘They might still be out there. We locked the kitchen door as soon as we heard the window smash and Cook’s got her meat mallet handy in case she needs to defend herself.’

The connecting door opened and Captain Turner came striding across the hall towards her. ‘What happened? I heard the sound of breaking glass. Are you all right?’

‘Yes. Someone threw a big stone through the window. Luckily, I’d heard footsteps and moved out of sight.’

He walked across to examine the smashed window. ‘This could as easily have been a bullet, you know.’

‘Yes.’ She shuddered. No use telling a down-to-earth man like him about the sense of warning she’d felt. He wouldn’t believe in ghosts. She hadn’t been certain about
their existence herself till she’d come to live here.

‘From now on, you must never sit with the curtains open after dark, and it might be a good idea to move your table to another part of the room. It’s too close to the window.’

‘Shall I draw the curtains now, sir?’ Ethel asked.

‘Not yet. My men are going round the outside of the house, searching for signs of the intruder. The light from inside will help them and
I
want to make sure it’s them walking past, not an intruder.’

He turned back to Phoebe. ‘Have you any idea who it might be?’

‘The person who threw it yelled, “Kill the Huns”,’ Phoebe said. ‘He laughed, such a nasty laugh.’

‘It was a man?’

‘Yes.’

‘If what he’s after is the Germans, why didn’t he throw the stone through one of
our
windows at the front? There are no German internees in this part of the house.’

‘He did it because I own Greyladies, I suppose. He yelled, “Kill the Huns and all the traitors who give them shelter.” Though why he should think I can control what the War Office and army do about requisitioning my house, I can’t imagine.’

After a couple of steadying breaths, she added, ‘It must be that newcomer to the village, Hatterson. The one I told you about.’

‘I shall go and check up on him as soon as my men have made sure there’s no one lurking outside. I’ll leave two soldiers on patrol instead of one tonight.’

There was a knock on the connecting door and Turner yelled, ‘Come in!’

Sergeant Baxter joined them, saluting smartly. ‘All clear outside, sir.’

‘Then you and I will go into the village and seek out this Hatterson fellow.’

‘I heard he was causing trouble, sir.’

‘Yes. If he can’t prove where he was tonight, I’ll have him arrested for damaging army premises.’

He turned back to Phoebe and Ethel. ‘Please draw the curtains now. Every single curtain on the ground floor.’

Ethel moved forward. ‘It’ll be safer if I draw them, ma’am.’

‘What if you get hurt?’ Phoebe protested.

‘My men have checked the grounds,’ Captain Turner said. ‘And the missile was aimed at you, not at those in the kitchen.’

‘Will you come back and tell me what you find out about Hatterson, Captain?’

‘Yes, of course.’

The two men left and Ethel went round drawing all the curtains in the great hall, then in the rooms leading off it. She seemed more animated than usual. She was one of the women Corin’s aunt Beaty had rescued from a life of poverty after her husband had been killed. She had barely said a word to Phoebe until tonight.

When she’d finished drawing the curtains she stood with hands on hips. ‘I hope when they catch him, they give him a good thumping, Mrs Latimer, I do indeed. Men like my Stan have given their lives in the fight against the Germans and this man is causing trouble here at home. Has he no loyalty to our king and soldiers? No respect for the dead?’

‘I suppose he thinks he’s being loyal by attacking Germans.’

‘Well, he’s not. Early on in the war a German doctor saved my son’s life. The man was a prisoner of war, but he was working in a military hospital in England because they were short of doctors who knew how to operate on the worst wounds. I didn’t like the thought of him touching my Danny, but the other doctors told me they trusted him absolutely, because he cared more about saving lives than taking them.’

She gulped and for a moment couldn’t continue, then more words poured out. ‘After my Stan was killed, I couldn’t manage. I was short of money – they don’t give widows much, you see, and there’s the full rent still to find before you even buy your food. But also, I couldn’t seem to think straight, let alone hold down a job. When your country’s at war, you think you’re prepared to lose someone you love, but it still hurts. It hurts so much. My Stan was just an ordinary fellow, going bald and skinny, but we were happy together. He volunteered. I do wish he hadn’t.’

She took another deep breath and continued. ‘If Lady Potherington hadn’t found me and sent me to work here, I don’t know what would have become of me, I really don’t. I’m very grateful to you for taking me in, don’t think I’m not.’

‘You’re a good worker, Ethel.’

‘I always do my best. But what surprised me, Mrs Latimer, is that I found some other Germans here who are kind people and polite. Cook told me they’re working for our side like that doctor was. So this Hatterson doesn’t know what he’s talking about. The Germans aren’t all bad, are they?’

‘No, they’re not. I didn’t know you had a son serving in the army, Ethel.’

‘Yes. My Danny recovered from his wound, but they sent him back to the trenches. I pray every night he’ll come
through safely. Every single night. Down on my knees I go, to do it proper. I never miss.’

‘I’ll pray for your son too from now on.’

Ethel sniffed away incipient tears. ‘Thank you, ma’am. I’d appreciate that. I hope I haven’t spoken out of turn tonight, but that stone upset me. Throwing it was
wrong
. Now, I’ll go back to the kitchen and get Cook to serve you some more food. This plate will have bits of glass on it. Shame, that is. You’d hardly begun your meal. And I’ll bring a clean tablecloth, too. You can’t be too careful with broken glass.’

She was back soon, fussing over her mistress, and Cook herself brought a new plate of food. Phoebe was touched by their concern and forced most of it down so as not to offend them.

The thought of Ethel’s confidences stayed with her as she sat writing some overdue letters. People could be wonderful. There were all sorts of heroism. Just carrying on was brave when you were worried sick about your son.

An hour later Captain Turner came back to report on what he’d found.

‘Hatterson insists he was at home all evening, never left the house, and his wife bears that out.’

‘She would.’

‘Yes, that’s what we thought, so we asked the neighbours, and one of them said she’d seen Hatterson sitting reading near the window.’

‘
Seen
him?’

‘Just the top of his head. Inside the house he wears a little hat, don’t know what you’d call it, sort of a soft, knitted fez. It’s to cover his baldness and keep his head warm. It pokes up over the back of the chair when he sits in there, they said.’

‘Who said?’

‘Someone we all trust … Miss Bowers.’

‘Oh.’

He spread his arms in a gesture of helplessness. ‘She wouldn’t lie.’

‘No. But her eyesight isn’t good. She could be tricked.’

‘That’s what she said. But apparently Hatterson sits reading in that armchair most nights, with his back to the window, like tonight.’

‘Then who threw the rock?’

The captain shook his head. ‘I don’t know. But Hatterson had a triumphant look to him, as if he’d got the better of us. The sergeant and I both agreed about that. Miss Bowers emphasised that she didn’t actually see his face, or notice him getting up and down, just saw the hat. Though, of course, she wasn’t watching him every minute. Only, her house is just along the street from his and he sits in the bay window with the light on, so she’s well placed to notice what’s going on.’

‘I don’t know what to say, except that even if he didn’t throw the stone, I feel he was involved.’

‘I agree with you absolutely, Mrs Latimer. We’ll be watching him carefully from now on, I promise you.’

When he went back to the front part of the house, Phoebe was so upset, she paced up and down for quite a while.

There was something about Hatterson that made her shiver, something unclean … evil. What would he do next?

In Nether Bassett that same day, there was the sound of a car engine and Babs came breezing into the village shop. ‘Afternoon, Mrs Cummins. I wonder if I can have a private word?’

‘Certainly, Mrs Horner-Jevons. Please come through to the back.’

‘After you finish here, I’ll take you home,’ Babs called to Olivia, speaking as loudly as if she was fifty yards away. ‘I’ve got something to tell you before I go up to London.’

When Mrs Cummins returned, she was smiling and put something into a box near the till. No mistaking that large piece of thin white paper with black writing on it for anything but a five-pound note, though they didn’t often see those in the shop. Their customers mostly dealt in coins or occasionally one of the new ten-shilling notes, which had only been issued last year. Some of the older customers were still rather suspicious of the red and white banknotes, and preferred to stick to coins.

‘Don’t forget: I’ll be back for you in half an hour, Olivia,’ Babs called as she left.

Mrs Cummins was still smiling. ‘She’s a real lady, that one. And I don’t care if she does wear trousers, which someone as plump as her shouldn’t, because it isn’t flattering. But there you are, people can’t see their own behinds, can they? She looks better in a skirt, like she’s wearing today. But Mrs J could go around wearing tiger skins and I’d still think well of her.’

Olivia hid a smile. ‘Praise, indeed. Why do you say that?’

‘Because she comes in every Christmas, like she did today, and gives me five pounds to buy extra food for people who’re a bit short. It’s a godsend to some of them, I can tell you. And she trusts me to know who needs help, doesn’t even ask for an account of how the money was spent. Well, she knows I’ll not cheat her.’

She turned away as the door opened and a customer came in.

Olivia felt a warm glow at the thought of Babs’s generosity. If she ever had a lot of money to spare, she’d help poorer women more than she was able to at the moment. Men earned wages their families could live off, even if it was a struggle for the lower paid, but employers expected to hire women for half those wages, even widows with families to support. How were the women supposed to manage? Life could be so unfair.

Today she was glad when her time at the shop ended, because she was looking forward to seeing Babs, wondering what this was about.