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- Herausgeber: Allison & Busby
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Serie: Greyladies
- Sprache: Englisch
During WWI, Greyladies - an ancient manor house in rural Wiltshire - is requisitioned for a hospital. Its mistress, Harriet, Joseph and their sons are allowed to stay in the rear part of the house, but when tragedy strikes Joseph's brothers, his future at Greyladies is at risk. Latimer family legend says a new mistress will be found to look after the house, yet how does this happen? In Swindon, Phoebe Sinclair is unaware of her connection to Greyladies and the Latimers. When her German employers are interned because of the war, she loses her job. Even worse, her brutish step-cousin Frank tries to force her to marry him. Phoebe flees to London.
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Seitenzahl: 427
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2014
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Mistress of Greyladies
ANNA JACOBS
With thanks to Roy Baker, Curator, Leece Museum, for his help with information about the internees sent to the Isle of Man during World War I
Contents
Chapter One
Wiltshire
When she heard the sound of a car, Harriet peeped out of the sitting room window and saw two middle-aged men get out of what looked like an official vehicle. They stood staring at the house, muttering to one another.
‘They’re here, Joseph.’
Her husband joined her. ‘They don’t look very happy.’
‘I’m not happy, either. I wish I didn’t have to see them. I told the maids I’d let them in myself.’ She waited for the knocker to sound, then walked across the hall and opened the front door.
‘Good morning. I’m Mrs Latimer.’
‘Good morning, ma’am. We’re here to see your husband.’
That annoyed her for a start. ‘You’ve come about the house and I’m the owner, so it’s me you need to speak to, not my husband. And perhaps your driver would like to go round to the kitchen for a cup of tea while we have our tour and discussion?’
They stared at her in surprise, then exchanged puzzled glances before one waved to the driver and pointed to the rear.
The other man frowned at Harriet. ‘But your husband isn’t dead, so the house must be his?’
‘It isn’t. Greyladies is a trust, which passes down the female line only, and the husbands of its owners change their names to Latimer. Please come in.’
She ignored their surprised expressions and walked back briskly into the sitting room, leaving them to close the front door and follow her. ‘This is my husband.’
‘Joseph Latimer?’
As they offered him a handshake, they seemed to relax a little.
Ignoring Harriet again, one said, ‘I’m Mr Dorrance and my companion is Mr Pashley.’ They pressed two cards into his hand. ‘We’re here about the house.’
Joseph immediately passed the cards to Harriet. ‘Greyladies belongs to my wife, as she just told you, so you’ll need to discuss the requisition with her.’
Again, a moment of silence, as if they’d been spoken to in a foreign language and weren’t sure whether they understood it correctly.
Harriet would have smiled if she hadn’t been irritated by the way they’d tried to ignore her. She gestured to some armchairs. ‘We’ll all be more comfortable sitting down, I’m sure. Can we offer you some refreshments, gentlemen?’
‘No, thank you. Um, do you know why we’re here, Mrs Latimer?’
She couldn’t help answering sharply. ‘Of course I do!’
Joseph gave her a warning glance and shook his head slightly, so she tried to speak more calmly. ‘The letter explained it quite clearly. You’re from the Special Requisitions Section of the War Office. You’re here to see if this house will be suitable for your needs.’
And the letter had informed her that she had no choice about whether they requisitioned her home or not. They had the power to turn her and her family out – though she might be entitled to compensation for any damage at some unspecified stage after the war.
‘Perhaps I should show you round first, gentlemen? As you will have noticed, my husband walks with a limp and he finds the stairs a bit of a trial.’
‘Er, yes. If you don’t mind.’
She did mind. Very much.
‘I’d better explain that the house is in two parts. The older part at the rear is the original building. We don’t use that any longer. The front part is the newer section.’
She led them round the new part of the house, which was just under two hundred years old, then took them into the original house at the rear, which dated from the sixteenth century.
To her surprise, the old house looked run down and felt distinctly damp and chilly. It felt different today and she couldn’t understand why until she walked to the other end of the main room, which had been the old Elizabethan hall. Where she was standing felt normal. Where the two men were standing looked even darker and more menacing – as if the house resented their presence as much as she did.
One of the men shivered. ‘Such dampness wouldn’t be good for convalescent men. Is that why you moved to the front part?’
‘Er … yes.’ She didn’t contradict this impression, even though she knew the old house wasn’t at all damp. Well, it wasn’t normally.
Once back in the new house, the two men relaxed.
‘I wonder if we could be left alone somewhere for half an hour or so to discuss what we call “matters pertaining”,’ Mr Dorrance said.
‘You can stay here,’ Harriet said curtly.
‘Are you ready for a cup of tea now?’ Joseph asked in a politer tone.
‘Thank you. That would be much appreciated.’
‘I’ll have some sent in. My wife and I will wait for you in the library, just across the hall.’
Harriet couldn’t settle, so paced up and down. ‘They’re going to take Greyladies from us, I know they are, Joseph.’
‘There’s nothing we can do about that, my darling. And if there is a war between Britain and Germany, then we must all do what we can for our country.’
‘But the house could be damaged, ruined even.’
‘I don’t think they’ll allow that. And Harriet – please try to be a bit more friendly. It’ll do no good to put these men’s backs up.’
After what seemed like hours, but was only forty minutes, according to the clock, there was a tap on the door. Mr Dorrance looked in. ‘Could we speak to you now, please?’
They followed him across to the sitting room and sat together on the sofa facing the visitors. She resisted the temptation to clutch Joseph’s hand.
‘We feel that the front part of the house is suitable for our needs, Mr – er, Mrs Latimer. Not perfect, with so many stairs, but it’ll do.’
Harriet’s heart sank. ‘Oh.’
‘If there’s war, we shall need the house for the duration of the hostilities. We’re suggesting it be used as an officers’ convalescent home, because it’s not large enough for an auxiliary hospital. If peace prevails and there is no war, as we all pray, then the house will be given back to you within a few months.’
She didn’t know what to say, felt very close to tears, and now she did reach out for the comfort of her husband’s hand.
‘We shall not require the older part of the house, however, because of the damp. Also, the rooms there are rather dark and unpleasant.’ Mr Dorrance paused, then added, ‘Therefore, if you feel you and your family can tolerate those conditions, we would have no objection to you living in the older part of the building.’
Harriet looked at Joseph and he nodded in answer to her unspoken question. ‘We would definitely like to live there. And … if we can help in any way, we will.’
‘That will be up to the commandant and matron, but I’m sure they’ll be happy for you to volunteer your services, if only in tasks like reading to the men or writing letters for them.’ He looked round. ‘In a place of this size, which is not a hospital, the medical officer will probably act as commandant.’
She nodded, feeling relieved that they could stay in the old house, at least. They had nowhere else to go, really. She’d been a maid at Dalton House before marrying Joseph, so relations were always a little awkward. His oldest brother, Selwyn, would inherit the family estate and, of course, Dalton House might be requisitioned too.
Joseph took over from her, gesturing round the room. ‘We shall, of course, remove and store any items of value, like the paintings and books, but I wonder whether your department would agree to a requirement that those using the house look after the historical features of the building itself? The doors, windows, panelling and stained glass are all original. I always feel such places are part of our national heritage, rather than the possessions of one family.’
The shorter of the two men nodded vigorously. ‘I agree with you entirely. I would definitely be prepared to support that requirement being stated, Mr Latimer. I too believe our country’s history is important. It’s good to hear you say that. Too many landowners take their possessions for granted.’
Dorrance obviously didn’t share his colleague’s love of history, and merely shrugged. ‘As long as it doesn’t interfere with the patients’ welfare, I have no objection to such a requirement.’
Mr Pashley smiled at Joseph. ‘This panelling is superb.’ He gazed up at the ceiling. ‘As for the plasterwork, it’s magnificent, even though it’s later than the period it tries to imitate. I shall make a note of this on the Greyladies file. If you have any trouble about the house, this is my card.’
Harriet watched in annoyance as Joseph easily got his way. She was quite sure she’d not have succeeded. The men had continued to talk to her in a patronising manner, and Pashley had even explained the obvious features of her own home to her. They no doubt considered all women inferior in understanding.
But she’d had many years of biting her tongue and hiding her emotions when younger and working as a housemaid, before she unexpectedly inherited this house, so though she couldn’t manage a friendly smile, she did manage to say nothing.
Once the car had driven away, Joseph gave her a quick hug. ‘Well done. I know it nearly killed you to keep quiet, but I got more concessions out of them than you could have done.’ He frowned. ‘I wonder why they thought the older part of the house so unpleasant.’
‘It did feel damp and dark today, even to me. I couldn’t understand it. Not the whole place, but the part where they were standing.’
‘Yes. I noticed. It’s as if the house itself had taken a dislike to them. I half expected to see our ghost.’
‘Me too. The diaries say Anne Latimer still keeps watch on her house and the legacy she’s left behind. And we’ve both seen her many times.’
‘Well, whatever caused the feeling of dampness and unhappiness today, I’m glad of it. It means we won’t have to leave Greyladies.’
‘But we won’t be in charge of the main part. They might do anything in here.’
‘If we help out, we can keep an eye on things part of the time. And as some of the people from the village will no doubt be employed here, I’m sure they’ll let us know if they see anything happening that seems harmful.’
She sighed. ‘I suppose so. Joseph, do you think there really will be a war?’
‘Yes, my darling, I do. It’s as if people have learnt nothing from the Boer Wars.’
She knew he’d lost an uncle during the second Boer War and that he felt very strongly about the shameful tactics used by the British against the enemy women and children, many of whom had died because of their poor treatment as prisoners.
If Britain entered into a war with Germany now, how many others would die? Her heart ached for what the young men of England would have to face.
She turned to the post with a sigh, then a smile. A letter had arrived to say that Joseph’s sister had had another daughter, and that Richard’s wife was due to give birth.
She wished all news was as pleasant as this.
Things happened quickly after that. Only a month later, on a sunny day towards the end of May, Harriet walked through the central hall of Greyladies with the newly appointed matron, officially handing over her home to the government. The commandant would not be able to start for a few days, apparently.
Harriet felt sad. She and her family had now moved into the old house and it was still in chaos as they tried to squeeze so many precious things into a much smaller space.
She turned to her companion. ‘If you need to know anything about the house, don’t hesitate to ask me.’ She gritted her teeth as Matron Dawkins gave her another of those patronising smiles and deliberately kept her waiting for a reply.
‘Oh, I think I can manage to run a convalescent home, Mrs Latimer. I have, after all, been a matron for over twenty years. Various people will be arriving during the coming week to help me: my deputy matron, the quartermaster, a clerk and some orderlies. We’ll then be able to reorganise this place and set out the beds and equipment as efficiently as we can, in the circumstances.’ She turned a scornful look on the house.
Harriet told herself that it was her country that mattered, not this uppity woman. ‘Nonetheless, I’m always happy to do my bit to help Britain.’
‘Some of the patients will probably enjoy a bit of company and others will need help with letters home, those with arms or hands that are injured.’
‘I’ll be happy to do that, of course I will. But you will need to prepare for your patients and I could—’
‘My dear lady, you already have a crippled husband, not to mention two small sons to care for, so you must have plenty to occupy your time. You should concentrate on settling into your new home, and leave us to deal with organising the convalescent home.’
In other words, Harriet thought, keep away from Matron’s territory. She felt furious at hearing Joseph spoken about like that. He might limp markedly, because of the bad hip he’d been born with, but he was in better health these days than he’d ever been, and seemed to have outgrown his childhood weaknesses. He wasn’t crippled in any way that mattered, and since their marriage, he had become skilful at managing the finances of Greyladies.
As for their children, she had plenty of help with Jody and Mal. The head housemaid and the cook acted like aunties to them and let them ‘help’ in the house and kitchen. No, that might not be possible now, because Livvy and Flora had volunteered to work in the convalescent home, and she couldn’t see this woman allowing any children into her territory.
Still, a newly promoted housemaid and their usual washing woman from the village would be helping her family, so no doubt the boys would charm them. They were such happy, lively youngsters. And though the children’s governess, Miss Bowers, had moved back to her home in the village, she would be coming in every day to teach them. She might be in her seventies, but she was still hale and hearty, a capable woman who had been headmistress of the village school in her time.
Both children were making such good progress that Harriet and Joseph hadn’t sent them to the village school. They were an intelligent pair, too far ahead of the work being done there to settle happily. She and Joseph did, however, encourage their sons to play with the village children outside school hours.
Tim Peacock, the grandson of the owner of the village store, was eight-year-old Jody’s best friend. It was Tim who’d shortened young Joseph’s name to Jody, to avoid confusing him with his father, and the name had stuck. Malcolm had always been Mal from the time he’d struggled to say his own name in full.
But whatever she and Joseph did, there would be further uncomfortable changes for everyone in the village of Challerton if and when war broke out, she was sure. She could only hope any conflict would be over within a few months, as people were predicting.
Intercepting another frown from her companion, Harriet realised she’d been lost in thought. ‘Sorry. I was just thinking about something I need to do.’
She wondered yet again why Matron Dawkins had been so hostile towards her from the very first day. Though, actually, the feeling was mutual now that she’d spent time with the woman. It was so rare for her to dislike someone on sight that this worried her. Was it because Matron would be in charge of her beloved home from now on, or was it because the Dragon, as Joseph referred to her, was simply nasty by nature? She suspected the latter.
As they reached the door between the two parts of the building, Harriet glanced back, feeling sad to see how shabby the bare, panelled walls of the huge hall looked now without the paintings which used to hang there. The library had been stripped of books and the floors of rugs, and now echoing spaces waited for the beds and other equipment to arrive.
‘I’ll leave you to get on with your work.’ Harriet was itching to get away from this woman now.
‘Just a moment.’ Matron held out her hand. ‘You need to give me the key to this door. We can’t have outsiders wandering around a convalescent home, can we?’
As Harriet studied the other woman’s sour face, something told her the key wouldn’t be safe in her hands. There was only one, a huge iron piece several hundred years old, dating from the time when the door between the two parts of the building had been the front door of the small manor house. It would be a tragedy if that key got lost.
She hated lying but did so now. ‘I’m afraid we don’t have a key. We’ve never considered it necessary to lock the door.’
‘Hmm. I see. Well, in that case, I shall have the door replaced. It’s good for nothing but firewood anyway, it’s so old-fashioned.’
It was an effort to speak mildly. ‘You aren’t allowed to do that.’
Matron glared at her. ‘I’m allowed to do whatever is necessary for the safety of my patients.’
‘Not when it concerns the fabric of the house. You would need permission. It was written into the agreement with the War Ministry that the historic parts of the building would be protected. Mr Pashley, who is in charge of requisitions in Wiltshire, is very keen to protect our national heritage. That door has been there since the sixteenth century.’
Spots of red burnt suddenly in Matron’s cheeks. ‘I can and will do anything necessary for the welfare of my patients. I will not have strangers wandering through the convalescent home, upsetting the inmates. I shall have some strong bolts put on to the door, then.’
‘You aren’t allowed to make any changes to the fabric of the building without permission. But I can assure you we won’t be wandering around the convalescent home without an invitation.’
‘It’s not just you, but your servants and visitors.’
Harriet abandoned any attempt at diplomacy. ‘If you try to damage the house in any way, I shall summon the local magistrate to deal with you for breach of contract, as well as reporting you to Mr Pashley.’
At that moment war was declared between them and both women knew it.
Harriet didn’t intend to back down. She didn’t consider herself the owner of the house, but rather its custodian or chatelaine – and for as long as she was mistress here, she would protect her beloved home. Some Latimer ladies stayed here all their lives; others served for a few years, then moved on. No one could tell who would be leaving or when. It just seemed to happen, according to the family diaries.
She might not know how long she’d be here, but she knew that she would understand the correct path to follow if the time ever came to change her role. As her predecessors had done.
And just like them, she would find a successor when one was needed.
Once inside the old house, Harriet turned to close the heavy door behind her, but for all her care, it slipped from her fingers and slammed shut, almost as if it had a will of its own. That sort of thing happened at Greyladies sometimes.
She strode towards her husband, muttering, ‘It’ll be a miracle if I don’t strangle that stupid woman!’
Joseph smiled at her as he looked up from his desk. The long room had a minstrel’s gallery at the far end and its ceiling was two storeys high. It didn’t feel at all damp or chilly today, and hadn’t since they moved in.
They’d decided to spend most of their time in this room, so the dining table was at the end where she was standing, near the new house, while their sofas and chairs were arranged near the fireplace and leadlight windows at the other end. They’d hung their favourite paintings in the hall, prominent among them the portrait of Anne Latimer, the founder of Greyladies.
People said Harriet resembled her much-loved ancestor in many ways. The Latimer ladies always had red hair, of any shade from the foxy tone of her own to the deepest auburn. She tried to follow her forebear’s example and lead a useful life helping others. She might have inherited a trust containing a considerable amount of money, but she would never fritter it away in extravagant living.
Some of their paintings had had to be stored in the attics, for lack of wall space, but the Latimers had been ‘required’ to leave some of the furniture in the new house for the expected occupants, and anyway, there wasn’t room to store everything in the old house. She and Joseph were both praying that the furniture wouldn’t get damaged. They treasured these possessions, because she’d grown up poor and he loved beautiful things.
The books from the library were piled along one wall, waiting for Martin from the village to make some temporary shelves for them. Most of their books were too precious to leave in the new house, because they included centuries of the diaries and account books kept by nearly all the previous owners.
Even Harriet, who had never kept a diary in her life, was making a big effort to keep up this tradition. She pitied anyone who read her diary, though, because she didn’t have a gift for bringing scenes to life with words.
As she stood there, trying in vain to calm down, Joseph got up and limped across to put an arm round her shoulders. ‘Next time you have to talk to the Dragon, I’ll come with you. What’s she been saying this time?’
Harriet gave him a quick hug. ‘She wants a key to the old front door. Only, I pretended we don’t have one. I must hide our key somewhere and tell the boys not to mention it. I can’t understand why, but I wouldn’t trust that woman with it.’
‘Not like you to tell lies, my love. Most of the time, you’re rather too blunt.’
‘You haven’t heard the worst. She said if there was no key, she would have the old door removed and burnt for firewood, and a new door and lock put in.’
‘What? But she isn’t allowed to do that.’
‘I know. And so I told her. Thank goodness Mr Pashley had it written into the contract that nothing was to be changed without official permission. But she could have the door removed and destroyed before they know anything about it in London. How would we stop her if we don’t know what she’s doing? I hope the commandant will arrive soon and that he’ll be a lot friendlier.’
‘He can’t be less friendly, can he? I wonder what Anne Latimer thinks about all this.’
‘Do you think a ghost can understand such things, Joseph? I always think of Anne as a shadow cast by the past. She won’t be able to intervene, I’m sure.’
‘I’d not put anything past our beloved founder. Look at the way Pashley and Dorrance thought the old house was too damp to use.’
‘We’d better get on. I see the post has come.’ Harriet went to sit at her desk and open this morning’s letters and Joseph returned to his accounts.
War or no war, she still had her charity work to do. Like all the previous owners of Greyladies, she helped people whenever she could, especially women, who often had less ability to help themselves. This gave her great satisfaction and made her feel more worthy of her inheritance.
That afternoon, a telegram arrived for Joseph. The delivery lad waited in the kitchen in case there was a reply to send.
Joseph tore the telegram open. ‘Oh, no! My father’s had a seizure and isn’t expected to live. Mother wants me to join them at Dalton House. You too, of course.’
‘One of us has to stay here. Heaven knows what the Dragon will do if left in charge, and there’s been no sign of the new commandant so far.’
‘I don’t like to leave you to face that woman alone.’
‘I’ll manage. You must go, if only to say a final goodbye to him. That matters, believe me. And anyway, Selwyn won’t be much use to your mother in a crisis, will he?’
‘No. But I do have two other brothers.’
‘Darling, stop finding excuses. I’ll be fine. Now, let’s be practical. You’ll need help with your wheelchair while travelling. And there’s the luggage to deal with as well.’
He nodded, accepting the inevitable. ‘I’ll ask young Jack Peddy from the village to come with me. He might be only sixteen but he’s a strapping young fellow and very sensible. I’m sure his father will spare him. They have other people to help them on the farm.’
Joseph arrived at Dalton House too late to say farewell to his father. There was a black crêpe bow on the front door and the curtains were drawn, a sign that this was a house of mourning.
His brother Selwyn came to the library door to watch him limp into the house.
‘I didn’t think you’d make it, given your difficulties moving about.’
Joseph ignored this comment, which was mild compared to some of the things Selwyn had said to him over the years.
‘Darling, thank you for coming!’ His mother came across from the drawing room to plant one of her soft kisses on his cheek and link her arm in Joseph’s.
As they walked to the drawing room, she turned back to her oldest son. ‘Do you think we ought to contact your wife, Selwyn? She may wish to come to the funeral. She always got on well with your father.’
He scowled at her. ‘No. It’s about time you accept how she and I feel about one another. And don’t start nagging about children again. There aren’t going to be any from me. I’m getting a divorce. I’m providing her with the evidence next week.’
She was so shocked by this, she seemed unable to speak for a moment or two, then took a deep, calming breath and turned back to Joseph. ‘Richard can’t be here, because he’s volunteered for the army, your uncle’s old regiment, and he’s in the middle of officer training. He’s sure we’ll be at war before too long and wants to play his part. I think he was finding the law rather boring. You know how physically active he always was.’
‘I’m sure he’ll enjoy the army. He enjoyed the cadet corps at school, didn’t he? What about Helen and Thomas?’
‘Thomas is going to try to get here tomorrow, but if not, he’ll be here for the funeral and then stay on to help me sort the paperwork out. His wife can’t come at all, because she’s due to have the baby soon. They’re praying it’ll be a son. The poor thing hasn’t been well the whole time she’s been carrying.’
She glanced at the clock. ‘We really ought to go in for dinner now. We have it early these days, for the servants’ convenience. It’s so hard to get staff these days.’
Selwyn peered into the room, interrupting her flow of conversation to ask loudly, ‘Does my idiot brother need his wheelchair? His lad’s brought it round.’
She glared at him. ‘Don’t speak about your brother like that! You only do it to annoy people.’
‘I’ll speak how I like in my own house. And I’ll drink to that any day.’ He raised his glass to them in a mocking toast and drained it. ‘I’ll just get a little refill.’ He left the room.
Joseph looked inquiringly at his mother, knowing his parents had been considering breaking with tradition and not leaving the house to the eldest son.
She sagged for a moment, then whispered, ‘Your father couldn’t bring himself to disinherit Selwyn, no matter what I said.’
‘Oh dear. Richard would have made a much better owner. What will you do now?’
‘I’ve got some money, though not as much as I’d have liked, thanks to your father paying Selwyn’s debts. I’m going to live in a serviced flat in London with just Mrs Stuart as my housekeeper and one maid. Thomas and his wife are going to help me find somewhere in London. I can’t bear to live with Selwyn, so after the funeral I’m only staying till I’ve cleared out my dearest William’s things and packed my own.’
‘When exactly is the funeral?’
‘In two days. I shall be relieved to get it over with.’ She looked at him sadly. ‘William never recovered consciousness after his seizure and I was glad of that, for his sake. He’d have hated to be helpless and confined to bed. I’d like to have said goodbye properly, though.’
To Joseph, her generation seemed overly fond of deathbed scenes, describing them with relish and wanting to be at the bedside of anyone dying.
‘We’d better go and have our meal.’ She patted his cheek and became practical again. ‘You can stay for the funeral?’
‘Of course.’
‘Do we need to find you a temporary manservant?’
‘I don’t need as much help as I used to, but I’ve brought a young fellow from the village with me. Jack helped with the luggage on the journey. I only use the wheelchair for long distances now or if I need a rest. I know it looks ugly when I walk but I’m much stronger these days. Harriet packed suitable clothes for the funeral, just in case.’
‘How is Harriet? And the boys?’
‘They’re all well. She sends her apologies for not coming, but we have a problem with the matron in the convalescent home and daren’t leave her unobserved. The woman only wanted to pull out and burn the old oak door, a sixteenth-century piece! We’re praying the commandant will be friendlier than her, but he’s not arrived yet.’
‘She sounds dreadful. I don’t know what the government is thinking of, taking over people’s houses like that when everyone says the war won’t last long.’
He didn’t respond to that. His mother didn’t seem to realise that modern warfare and weapons would cause a far greater number of casualties and there would have to be places where they could recover. ‘Selwyn must have started drinking early. His speech was slurred.’
‘He’s been pouring whisky down non-stop since he arrived, and he’s been rude to everyone. I’ve seen very little of him in the past few years, but Thomas says he’s still gambling. I doubt the house will stay in the family for much longer. William was wrong to leave it to Selwyn. Even you would have made a better owner than him.’
She seemed quite unaware how insulting this was, but Joseph didn’t protest. He was quite accustomed to the way his family underestimated him. If he told his mother how much money he’d made from his small inheritance during the years since his marriage, or how well he’d managed the annual income from the Greyladies Trust, she’d find it hard to believe.
As he ate his meal, he endured the direct insults of his eldest brother without responding, then went to bed early, pleading tiredness.
He was glad when Thomas arrived the following day. Since his next brother was in banking and knew about Joseph’s improving financial situation, they usually had plenty to talk about. He got on best with Thomas, but it made him sad that he didn’t feel truly close to any of his brothers, and his sister was like a complete stranger. None of them had made any attempt to get to know him better, not to mention avoiding contact with Harriet because she’d once been a housemaid.
Joseph doubted he’d come back here again after the funeral, even though he was fond of his old home – well, more than fond, he loved the place and was the only one who knew its history. But the house belonged to Selwyn now, Joseph had a new home and life, and that was that.
He sighed and admitted to himself that sometimes he ached to be back at Dalton House. Perhaps you always had a special feeling for your childhood home. He hadn’t let Harriet know how he felt, though, and never would.
Chapter Two
Phoebe
When Phoebe Sinclair was sixteen, she had to grow up quickly because her mother became too ill to work. A failing heart, the doctor told them, and nothing could be done. From then on, Phoebe took charge of their little cottage in the village of Knightsford Bassett and cared for her mother as she grew weaker.
At first she did odd jobs to earn money, cleaning, laundry work or helping on nearby farms at busy times. They scraped together enough to live on, because they had free eggs from their own hens, and bits and pieces of farm produce from her mother’s cousin, who lived just outside the village with his second wife Janet.
Horace Reid had no children of his own, even though he’d married a second time soon after the death of his first wife, because a farmer needed a wife. Janet already had a son from her first marriage. Frank Hapton was a surly lad, who refused to take his stepfather’s name and made it clear that he hated living in the country and wanted nothing to do with dirty, smelly animals.
He’d moved away from the farm as soon as he turned fifteen, by which time he looked like a man grown. He hadn’t even told his mother he was going and just vanished one day, sending a postcard now and then to say he was all right, but not giving his address.
Phoebe was glad Janet’s son didn’t live at the farm any longer. She didn’t like Frank. He was a big fellow, but very lazy, and seemed to push his way through life, with no regard for others. She was sorry when he started coming back for visits, because now she was older, Frank had begun to look at her in what she thought of as ‘that way’. A couple of times, he’d kissed her, laughing when she tried to fight him off. She didn’t like to complain to Janet, so avoided going to the farm when she knew he was there.
As her mother’s health grew worse, life became difficult. Phoebe couldn’t leave her mother on her own all day, so jobs were limited. They’d used up all their savings and she had to start selling or pawning their possessions.
Thank goodness Horace and Janet continued to help them. Without the food from the farm and what she could grow in the garden, she’d have had to get her mother admitted to the workhouse, a place no one went into, except as the very last resort.
It was a relief as well as a deep sadness when her mother died.
The day after the funeral, which had been paid for by Horace, Phoebe begged a lift into Swindon from a nearby carter, determined to find herself a job. She walked round the streets, enjoying being among smiling, bustling people.
At one point, she tripped on the uneven pavement and stumbled against the window of a shop making curtains. A white card said: Help needed, general duties. It seemed meant to be and she walked inside to ask about the job. She didn’t know anything about making curtains, but she was a good needlewoman. They could only say no, after all.
The Steins, who owned the shop, were foreigners, Austrian, she found out. They asked her some questions, then offered her the job. They seemed so nice, she accepted it without hesitation. ‘I’ll have to find lodgings first, though, and sell my mother’s furniture. She died last week.’
Mrs Stein exchanged glances with her husband, and said in her heavily accented English, ‘We hev two little rooms in the attic here. You can live there rent-free, if you clean the shop each evening after it closes.’
Mr Stein nodded vigorously. ‘Show her, Trudi.’
Phoebe was shown two tiny bare rooms. She could use the smaller one with the sloping ceiling as her bedroom, and the other as her sitting room. It had enough room for her bookcase, armchair, a table and two upright chairs.
There was an outside lavatory in the yard downstairs and her employers would let her cook in the kitchen behind the shop, which had a modern gas cooker, used to warm up Mr Stein’s dinners at lunchtime. That would be wonderfully easy to use after the wood-burning stove Phoebe had in the cottage.
‘We won’t charge you for the gas,’ Mrs Stein said. She waved one hand dismissively. ‘One girl, not much cooking.’
As the weeks passed, Phoebe realised how lucky she’d been. She had an interesting job, with a lot to learn, good employers and somewhere of her own to live.
She didn’t have the time or energy to make many friends. The library had plenty of good books to entertain her in the evenings, and she occasionally went to see a moving picture at the Country Electric cinema with Edith, who also worked for the Steins. The two women marvelled at what they saw, enjoying the pianist who played suitable music while the film was shown.
After the years of nursing her mother, Phoebe wanted only to lead a quiet, restful life. One day she’d look for more, but not yet.
Two years later Phoebe was sent to buy a few groceries for her employers because their housemaid had left them abruptly a day or two ago. She was happy to do this instead of working in the shop, since the errand took her out into the fresh air.
As she walked along the narrow streets of Swindon’s Old Town, she lifted her face to the early morning sunshine of what promised to be a glorious summer’s day. She’d turned twenty-one a couple of weeks ago, and was now officially an adult, but hadn’t told anyone it was her birthday. She smiled wryly. It always felt as if she’d grown up when her mother fell ill.
The Steins were such good employers, she wondered as she walked why the maid who’d been with them for several years would just up and leave without giving proper notice. Perhaps the poor woman had family problems, but she could have explained, surely?
Phoebe enjoyed the bustle and didn’t mind queuing in the shops after the quiet of the countryside. She’d recently come back from her annual holiday week, which she’d spent quietly with Horace and Janet on the farm. She’d helped out, because there was always work to be done, and anyway, she’d enjoyed the change of scene and the different tasks.
Janet said Frank had a new job, buying and selling things at the markets, but she didn’t know any details, just that her son seemed to be making a better living from it. She wished he’d marry and settle down, was sad to have no grandchildren, and him twenty-five.
Phoebe passed Frank in the street in Swindon sometimes, but did no more than nod to him. He still made her feel uncomfortable because his eyes always lingered where they shouldn’t. She’d never seen him at the markets, though, and wondered why he’d told his mother he worked there.
As she went from the brilliance of the sunshine into the dimness of the shop, she sighed. By afternoon, the row of shops was in the shadow of some taller buildings and they had to light the big gasolier that hung from the centre of the ceiling.
Mr Stein was polishing the inside of the shop window. He was very fussy about that sort of thing, insisting everything must look sparkling clean and inviting. He stopped work to smile at her.
‘Guten Tag, Phoebe.’
‘Guten Tag, Herr Stein. Wie geht es Ihnen?’ She always tried to answer him in his own language, and he was teaching her a few words of German every day.
‘Sehr gut, danke.’
He always said he was well, but he was past sixty and not in the best of health, and she could see how tired he became by the end of the day. The Steins had fled from Austria to live in England a few years ago, she didn’t quite understand why. It must have been difficult for them to change languages as well as countries. They didn’t have children or close family, but some good friends had helped them settle into their new country.
Phoebe went through to the rear workroom, where they did the cutting and sewing, to tell Mrs Stein she’d finished the errands. She handed over their house key. ‘I’ve left the things in the kitchen and pantry, as you asked.’
‘Thank you, dear. You can make a start in the workroom now. Edith is very late today. I hope she’s not ill.’
Phoebe nipped up to the second floor and hung up her coat and beret, then hurried down to the shop. She was surprised not to see her co-worker yet. Edith had been there for years and was always at work long before this time. They had several orders for curtains waiting to be filled and customers didn’t like to be kept waiting.
Phoebe put on a clean overall, more to protect the curtains than herself, and continued hemming a set of drops she’d started work on the previous day. She could handle the sewing machine now and do the straight seams and simpler hand finishing, but some of the draping and curtain headings were complicated, and beyond her skill. Mrs Stein and Edith usually did those together.
The materials came in such a lovely range of colours that she often leafed through the sample book, rubbing her fingertips over the rich velvets and heavy silks, loving the feel of them.
Half an hour later, Edith came hurrying in, looking as if she’d been crying. Mr Stein followed her in from the shop, his face crumpled with concern, and Mrs Stein went to put an arm round her employee, which made Edith start sobbing loudly.
‘Vat is wrong, Edith, dear?’
‘Dad says I have to give notice.’
Everyone stared at her in shock.
‘I don’t want to, but he says he’s not having me working for Germans and if I don’t leave here, he’ll throw me out of home. I can’t give up my family, I just can’t.’
‘But ve aren’t Germans; ve’re Austrians,’ Mrs Stein protested.
‘Dad says it’s the same thing. He wanted me to finish today, but I persuaded him to let me stay on till the end of the week. I’m so sorry, Mrs Stein. I really hate letting you down. I’ve loved working here. I’ll work twice as hard to finish the orders before I leave.’
‘Thenk you.’ Mrs Stein’s accent had become more marked, as always when she was upset. ‘Ve vill give you an excellent reference, of course.’
Edith hesitated. ‘Could you sign it “Stone”, do you think? That’s what Stein means, isn’t it, so you won’t be telling a lie, exactly. Only, well, people won’t want a reference from someone with a German name, not the way things are looking.’
She took a deep breath and added, ‘You should change your name and put Stone on the shop front, too. Do it quickly. This week if you can.’
Phoebe stared at her in astonishment. She’d read about people acting nastily towards Germans living in England, but couldn’t see why anyone would attack the Steins. They were well known and liked in Old Town, and their curtains were beautifully made. All their neighbours knew they were Austrian and had had to leave their country to take refuge here.
Only … Edith’s father hadn’t accepted that Austrian was different from German, even though his daughter had been working for the Steins for several years. If he thought like that, others might not realise the difference, either.
Or they might not want to admit there was a difference.
People everywhere were talking about the prospect of Britain going to war with Germany and many were upset, especially those who’d lost family members in the Boer Wars at the turn of the century. Phoebe had heard talk of the possibility of war in the shop, at the market and on the streets.
Wars were terrible things. But what good would it do for people to take their anger out on innocent people like the Steins?
She shivered. She’d seen mobs in action when she was a child. Her family had lived in Northumberland, where her father had been born, and there had been unrest in the mines. She’d been terrified by the crowds of men with dirty, angry faces who’d shouted and broken windows.
Later, her father had been killed in a mine accident. The owner had paid her mother some money in compensation and they’d moved south to Wiltshire, to be near her mother’s family, especially Cousin Horace.
But money couldn’t compensate you for losing a much-loved husband and father. Phoebe still dreamt about her dad and her mother had turned down two offers of marriage, saying no one could replace her dearest Rick.
And the money hadn’t lasted, had it? Not after her mother fell ill.
After Edith left, business slowed down dramatically at the Steins’ shop, and Phoebe was terrified it would have to close down. What would she do then?
What would the Steins do?
She heard her employers discussing closing it once or twice, trying to calculate whether they would have enough money to manage on. She couldn’t help overhearing them because Mr Stein spoke rather loudly, which she’d noticed sometimes with other older people who were a bit deaf.
She didn’t know what to think, only that she didn’t want her life to change. If the shop closed, she would not only lose her job but her home, and it wasn’t easy to live on women’s wages, which were much lower than men’s, nor were clean jobs like this one easy to find.
To her surprise, Frank stopped her in the street the next time he saw her.
‘You should look for another job and get out of that place you’re living in, Phoebe.’
‘I like working there and I’ve still got a lot to learn about making curtains.’
He gave a scornful snort. ‘Curtains! There’s going to be a war, you fool. Who’s going to care about new curtains then? And it’ll be a war with Germany. This is not the time to be working for Germans.’
‘They aren’t Germans; they’re Austrians.’
‘What’s the difference? They speak the same language, don’t they?’
‘The Steins had to leave their country because they were being persecuted, so they’re on our side now.’
‘No, they’re not, and they never will be. They’re probably spies. And even if they’re not, everyone says people like them should go back to where they came from while they can, or else go and settle in America, out of the way. I’m warning you, Phoebe. You need to get out of that shop while you can, for your own safety.’
‘I’m not leaving them. They’re good employers. Anyway, I live over the shop. Where would I go?’
He grinned and put an arm round her. ‘I could always put you up. I have a nice double bed.’
She shoved him away. ‘I don’t think that’s funny!’
‘Oh well, suit yourself. Your loss. But don’t say I didn’t warn you: you are in danger there.’ He turned to walk away, then stopped and pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket, scribbling on it with a pencil stub and thrusting it into her hand.
She looked at it in puzzlement.
‘It’s my address. If you need help suddenly, you’d better come to me. And no, you don’t have to share my bed to get help. My mother would go mad if I let anything happen to you.’ He grinned. ‘What she’d really like, Horace too, would be for me to marry you.’
Phoebe gaped at him.
‘I’d like that too. But not yet. I’m too busy making money. I’ll definitely start courting you later. Who’d have thought you’d grow up to be so pretty?’
‘Will you stop going on like that? I don’t like such talk. I’m not interested in lads.’
He gave her a long scrutiny. ‘No. And I bet you’re still a virgin.’
She felt herself blushing and turned away.
He grabbed her arm, not hurting her, just keeping her beside him. ‘Look at that blush. Mind you, that’s not a bad thing. Save your assets till you can get a good price for them, I always say. And you can save them for me.’
He let go of her arm and stepped back. ‘Anyway, you get out of that shop. You know where I live if you need help moving your things.’
She walked slowly back to work, shivering at the way he’d looked at her. She’d felt as if she had no clothes on. As for marrying him, she’d never do that. She didn’t even like him to touch her.
He hadn’t meant it … had he? No, he was just teasing. But his teasing was usually … nasty. Not friendly.
Frank worried about Phoebe as he walked away. She’d got her head in the sand, like a lot of other folk. They’d wake up with a shock one day soon. He wasn’t surprised that she was still a virgin. She was that sort of person.
His mother said he’d be happy with someone like Phoebe. He grinned. He agreed with her. Phoebe was lovely, with that softly rounded body and that wavy, auburn hair which had gold glints sparkling in it when the sun shone.
