Legacy of Greyladies (9 page)

She began telling him about the embryonic Women’s Institutes she was helping set up and he listened with interest because he hadn’t heard about this new organisation.

‘I’ve found someone to help the cause, a new friend, but she’s going to be a good friend, I’m sure. The trouble is, she’s stuck in deepest Wiltshire. I was going to give her a lift up to town, stopping on the way to leave some of her luggage at her house in Swindon and let her pick up some party clothes. But my car’s broken down and I can’t get it repaired until after the new year, because they haven’t got the right part.’

‘Can’t your friend come to London by train?’

‘I suppose she could, but it’d be very awkward. There isn’t a branch line to the tiny village where she’s staying. And the thing is, I’m worried about her bossy cousin. I wouldn’t put it past him to try to stop her coming if I’m not there to support her. Ballam’s a dull brute and he’s nursing a war wound, enjoying playing the hero and making everyone run round after him.’

Alex had met a lot of men like that. Backbone of the army
in one sense but he doubted they’d be pleasant to live with.

‘Ballam wants Olivia to look after his wife when he goes back to his regiment. Mrs B is a limp sort of female who can’t manage on her own. Oh dear, why do cars always break down when you need them? I really need to rescue Olivia.’

‘Another lame duck you’re taking under your wing?’

‘Olivia? Well, she needs help at the moment but I would never call her a lame duck. She says she hasn’t been herself since her husband’s death, but I could tell she’s getting over her loss now. The two of them were like me and Humfy, very happy together.’

She sighed and fell silent again for a moment or two. ‘I’ve just about forced Olivia to come to my New Year’s Eve party and afterwards I’m going to nudge her into a wider social life. I’ll also get her involved in the Women’s Institute movement as an organiser. That’ll take her out and about.’

‘You don’t do things by halves, do you?’

Babs gave him a very direct look. ‘If I see something that needs doing, I try to do it. I don’t always succeed, but I always try.’

‘I admire that. Look, as it happens, I can help out. I have to nip down to Swindon after Christmas, because something’s come up. I could easily go and pick your friend up at the same time, if you like.’

‘Alex, would you?’

‘For you, Babs, only for you. But you’ll have to promise she won’t bore me to tears.’

She chuckled. ‘She definitely won’t. You’ll like Olivia, I’m sure. One can’t have too many friends as one dwindles into old age.’

‘You will never dwindle into anything, my dear. You’ll be nagging the undertakers to help one of the mourners as they screw down your coffin lid.’

She gave a shout of laughter, then laughed even more loudly as she saw their hostess nudge her husband again.

Alex hadn’t enjoyed himself so much for a long time.

It was strange, though. He had never been attracted to Babs as a woman, much as he enjoyed her company and friendship.

Who knew why you were attracted enough to some people to marry them and not at all attracted to others in that way, even though they’d be perfectly suitable spouses?

Perhaps he was so fussy he was destined to remain a bachelor.

But a small flicker of hope refused to die, which was why he’d come to tea today. He had promised Mildred to keep his options open, and he would keep that promise.

Christmas seemed even quieter than usual that year. Alex had heard about another friend losing a son in France and that reminded him of how little he was able to personally contribute to the war. He seemed to have spent his whole life trying to keep up with other, stronger men.

The highlight of his day was when Mildred rang to wish him a merry Christmas. She sounded extremely happy and that cheered him up.

He had insisted his cook–housekeeper and maid spend the afternoon and evening with their families, but when they’d gone the house was too quiet. He even missed the faint sound of the maid humming as she went about her work or the clatter of pots from the kitchen.

Worst of all, the silence emphasised how alone he was.

Snap out of it, you fool!
he told himself.
Self-pity will get you nowhere
.

He took out a recently published novel given to him by a friend, who’d assured him he’d enjoy reading something a bit different. He looked at it and shook his head.
Tarzan of the Apes
wasn’t his sort of book, he was sure, but he didn’t
feel like reading about eighteenth-century jewellery, which was his only other unread book, so he’d give the story a go, at least.

Once he started reading, he couldn’t stop, had to follow the ridiculous tale to see how it ended. It couldn’t really happen that a human child would be raised by apes and then turn out to be a lord, he was sure. But the imagination was a wonderful thing and it was sometimes intriguing to play the ‘What if?’ game.

The day passed quickly and he didn’t go to bed till he’d finished the whole book. He blessed his friend mentally.

When he got up the following morning, he decided that he’d drive down to Swindon tomorrow, a day earlier than originally planned. He enjoyed driving and the weather looked fairly settled. Mildred and Edwin had offered him a bed and wouldn’t mind him turning up unannounced, he was sure.

As they sat round the breakfast table, Olivia watched Cecily become paler by the minute. The poor thing hardly ate any breakfast these days, because she felt sick in the mornings, but she seemed to feel she should still get up with her husband.

Olivia had been obliged to cook Donald’s breakfast for the past three days and then watch him stuff his face with food. No wonder he was getting rather stout if he always ate so much.

Suddenly Cecily gulped, pressed her handkerchief to her mouth and rushed out, sending her chair tumbling backwards.

‘It’s a poor lookout her doing this to me every morning,’ Donald grumbled.

Olivia wasn’t letting him get away with such selfishness.
‘What do you mean by “poor lookout”? And what exactly is she doing to
you?
’

‘Well, it puts a man off his food to know his wife’s about to be sick. If she has to do it, she should control herself till the meal is over.’

‘It doesn’t seem to have put
you
off your food. You never leave a crumb. You should be kinder to her. She can’t help feeling sick in the mornings and she
can’t
control it. Many women are like that.’

‘She might be able to wait if she bends her mind to other things.’

‘Donald, it’s impossible to think of something else when you’re about to be sick. Do be reasonable. She’s carrying your child, possibly a son. You don’t want to upset her with your complaints.’ She saw the stubborn look settle on his face and added slyly, ‘Cecily might lose the baby if she gets too upset. Your job is to keep her calm, not scold her.’

He stared at her, mouth slightly open as if she’d told him something outrageous, then let out an aggrieved sigh. But for the rest of the day she noticed him studying his wife surreptitiously and he did stop nagging Cecily to snap out of it, at least in Olivia’s hearing.

The long, tedious day ended at last and she filled hot-water bottles for them all, then took hers up to bed before Donald could find her any more little jobs to do for him. Cecily helped Donald get ready for his makeshift bed, taking him in a glass of water and the chamber pot before coming upstairs.

Olivia let out a low groan of relief as she pulled the covers up to her chin, enjoying the luxury of silence.

Babs had phoned that evening to tell her that a Mr
Seaton would be coming in two days’ time to drive her up to London.

Not long now
, she thought as she felt sleep taking over. I shall definitely not miss running round after Donald.

What a poor husband he was. Selfish to the core. She had been so lucky in Charles.

The stone-throwing attack on Greyladies went unsolved and left Phoebe feeling as if her assailant had won that trick in the game.

It had to be Hatterson, or someone connected to him, but he didn’t seem to associate with anyone in the village, so who could be helping him?

The soldiers had asked around, but no one had seen any strangers in the neighbourhood. Or at least, no one admitted seeing any strangers. She knew there were still people who resented the internees living in luxury at Greyladies, so who knew whether they might be giving shelter to strangers.

She went to church on Christmas morning, but Captain Turner insisted on escorting her. It felt strange going out to worship on a Saturday.

He had told the internees they would be safer staying at Greyladies for the moment and most of them had agreed, because they’d already faced hostility and even violence before being brought here. They decided to say prayers together in honour of the day and one man would play hymns on the piano, which had remained in the front part of the house. Phoebe allowed them to use it because one or two of them were very musical.

As she and Captain Turner walked to church, she enjoyed
the crisp morning and the sunlight on her face. Of course, it wasn’t warm, but still, the brightness cheered you up. However, when they reached the church, she noticed some members of the congregation standing by the door, making no attempt to go inside. They were looking worried and murmuring to one another.

Something was definitely wrong. She let go of the captain’s arm and hurried forward to find out.

‘They’re fighting in there,’ a woman whispered to her. ‘Don’t go inside till it’s over, Mrs Latimer. It’s that Hatterson creature again.’

‘Oh, no!’ Could she not even have a peaceful Christmas Day?

Captain Turner pushed through the group and said, quite unnecessarily, ‘Stay there, please, everyone.’

But Phoebe followed him into the porch and watched from the doorway as he strode down the aisle.

At the front of the church the verger and one of the farmers were trying to drag Hatterson and a complete stranger from the Latimer pew but were hampered by the pew’s narrowness and high back.

Hatterson’s wife was cowering in one of the rear pews, looking distressed.

The two intruders were putting up a spirited fight, jabbing at those trying to remove them from the pew with walking stick handles.

‘Will you get out of that pew!’ the verger shouted. ‘This is a church and you’re causing a disturbance.’

Hatterson yelled, ‘No, I won’t get out. Us Englishmen have a right to worship where we choose and—’

He fell silent as the captain came to a halt next to the pew. ‘Kindly stop causing a disturbance and take your
place with the rest of the congregation! This is the Latimer pew and you have no right to use it.’

‘
She
lets those Huns sit in it!’ Hatterson yelled, stabbing his finger in Phoebe’s direction. ‘Look at her! Standing there as if she owns the place. If Huns can sit here, so can us Englishmen.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ the captain roared. ‘Get out of this pew and don’t try to sit here again or I’ll arrest you.’

‘The magistrate would just let us go again. There’s no law against sitting in a pew in church.’

‘There is a law against causing an affray.’

After standing staring at him defiantly for a few seconds, Hatterson shrugged and when his friend nudged him to move out of the pew, he did so, but very slowly indeed.

Phoebe stepped to one side as they walked back down the aisle but Hatterson paused when he was level with her. ‘It isn’t finished yet,’ he whispered. He didn’t even look at his wife, sitting there with her head bowed.

She watched the two men leave the church and wondered where they’d gone, what mischief they were plotting now, then she took her place at the front with the captain by her side.

‘What did that fellow say to you?’

She repeated it.

‘Don’t worry. We’ll keep you safe.’

But could they? It seemed to her that Hatterson was winning something with each incident, if it was only the planting of worries in her mind.

She had trouble concentrating on the service and not a word of the sermon sank in. It was a relief when it ended.

As they stood up to leave Captain Turner hesitated, then turned to the farmer now standing across the aisle with his
wife behind him, waiting to follow them out of the church. ‘Could you please escort Mrs Latimer home for me when she’s greeted her friends, Ruddle? I think I’d better hurry back to Greyladies immediately, in case those two try to cause any more trouble there.’

At the farmer’s nod, he left at once.

‘You don’t need to come home with me, Mr Ruddle,’ Phoebe told him as they walked out into the churchyard. ‘I’ll be quite safe walking through Challerton.’

‘You let him go with you,’ Mrs Ruddle said. ‘It doesn’t pay to take chances and I’ve got family to keep me safe.’

Her husband nodded agreement. ‘I’d rather see you back, if you don’t mind, Mrs Latimer. The captain’s right to be concerned about your safety. That Hatterson fellow seems to have it in for you and I’d not put anything past him. His poor old uncle would be turning in his grave if he knew what was going on. What a pity Bill’s other nephew was killed.’

‘Well, thank you. That’s very kind. I won’t stop to chat today, so that you can get back to your family.’ Phoebe took the arm he offered and they set off at a rapid pace.

Everything seemed peaceful enough until they reached the side gate to Greyladies and found signs of a struggle. The bare flower bed had been trampled, with earth scattered over the gravel path. Nearer the house one or two small rocks were lying on the path and the remains of a wooden sign on a pole were lying on the ground in two pieces. You could still tell that it had said, ‘Kill all Huns!’

From the rear of the house came shouts and grunts.

‘I’d better go in the front way,’ she said in a low voice.

Captain Turner opened the door before they even got there and called, ‘Come inside quickly, Mrs Latimer. Good thing I
saw you coming. We’re keeping the front door locked.’

‘Is everything all right?’

‘There were several men here yelling and shouting when I got back, all strangers except Hatterson, and some of them are still causing a nuisance round the back.’

Her heart sank as she turned to thank her protector.

‘I’ll just stay a while in case you or the good captain need help,’ Mr Ruddle said.

‘We can’t ask you to do that.’

‘You didn’t ask. Besides, it’s my village too and I don’t like people causing trouble here.’

The captain shot the bolts on the front door. ‘I’d better get back to my men. Mrs Latimer, please stay out of sight of the windows. This way, Mr Ruddle.’

The burly farmer followed him out of the big entrance hall towards the servants’ quarters, which had an exit at the side.

Phoebe went straight through the new house to the old part, and made her way to the kitchen, from where you could see more of the rear gardens. Since no one was in sight outside, she risked opening the back door just for a moment to see if she could hear anything.

Yes! There were people yelling over near the crypt, their voices echoing in the frosty air. Well, they’d not be able to get inside the crypt from the garden, if that had been their intention. There was a locked iron grille across its entrance, protecting the last remaining room of the original abbey where the grey nuns had once worshipped. The only other way into it was through the cellars of the old house, and even then you had to know the trick to opening the entrance to the secret passage.

As the sounds grew fainter, someone cleared their throat
to one side of her. She jumped in shock to find Ethel standing there. ‘Didn’t you go to church?’

‘Yes, but when I saw you leaving I came back quickly, in case you needed me.’

‘You came back on your own? I thought you and Cook were together.’

‘I ran all the way. I’ve always been a good runner. I checked it was safe before I went round the back. Cook’s following me with a friend to keep her safe. She’s too old to run, she says.’

‘It’s very kind of you to think of me, but please don’t take such a risk in future.’

Ethel gestured towards the churned up gravel outside the kitchen, where a tin of white paint had been upended, leaving a sticky mess. ‘Lucky they didn’t get to use that. I’ve seen people painting words on buildings in Swindon and it’s a devil to get off. Eh, what is the world coming to when this sort of thing happens in England?’

Phoebe couldn’t say anything because of a lump in her throat. She felt deeply upset at being helpless to stop this trouble, and horrified at the violence that was breaking out across the country, a lot of it aimed at people with German ancestry, some of whom had been born in England and had never even visited Germany.

‘We shall have to be on our guard, Mrs Latimer. We could do with some big dogs to give us warning.’

‘We’ll take care and we do have the soldiers helping guard Greyladies.’

‘Four of them, and they have to sleep and eat sometimes. They can’t always be patrolling the gardens. And this is a big house, with all sorts of nooks and crannies to hide in.’

‘I know. What worries me is Hatterson. If he can find others like him and bring them here, next time he may come back with a whole crowd of troublemakers. I saw a mob attack the Steins’s shop in Swindon once. It’s terrifying how mindless people seem to become when they go on the rampage like that.’

The two women waited a few moments, but nothing else happened, so Ethel said, ‘We both need a nice strong cup of tea.’ She moved back inside the kitchen and put the kettle on the hot part of the stove. ‘Did you lock the outside door of the kitchen again, ma’am?’