Anna Jacobs (3 page)

Vic shook his head sadly as they studied the mess. “I’d heard things were bad here, but hadn’t realised it had gone so far downhill. What a waste! And there’s me without a garden at all, just a poky little bedroom in Granny Diggle’s cottage.”

When Marcus knocked on the back door of the Hall, the entrance he’d always used, no one answered. He knocked again, waited, then pushed the door open and called, “Hello!” The place was tidy, but it didn’t smell like Cook’s kitchen. There was nothing simmering on the stove, no trays of cakes and bread cooling, a memory which he’d summoned up sometimes in the trenches to cheer himself up. “Perhaps you’d better wait for me here, Vic? I’ll go and see if there’s anyone around.”

“Right you are, sir.”

Marcus went through into the front part of the house, still using the walking stick, hearing its tapping noise echoing up the stairwell. He heard a faint sound of voices from somewhere above and called, “Is anyone there?”

There was silence, then footsteps and his aunt’s elderly maid appeared at the top of the stairs looking anxious. “It’s me, Marcus,” he called.

She clapped one hand to her meagre breast. “Oh, sir, you did give me a shock. I didn’t recognise you with that beard. But I’m that glad to see you.”

As he limped slowly up the stairs, she hesitated, looking over her shoulder, then saying in a low voice as he reached the top, “I’m at my wits’ end how to manage here and that’s the truth.”

He paused to rest the leg and it was only then she seemed to notice his walking stick.

“You’re injured, sir.”

“Yes. I’ve been invalided out. How’s my aunt?”

“Didn’t you get my letter?”

He looked at her in surprise.
“Your
letter, Ada?”

“Yes, sir. Madam wasn’t in a fit state to write, so I did.”

“I’ve not received any letters for weeks. Yours will have been chasing after me. And I only heard about Lawrence this afternoon. I’m so sorry. My aunt must be very upset.”

“She’s taking it badly.”

“I’d better go in and see her.”

She hesitated, still barring his way. “You’ll not—take offence at what she says?”

“Of course not.” Grief took people in many different ways and he reckoned he’d seen them all after four years of war.

The big front bedroom was hot and stuffy, smelling of some sickly perfume, with other less pleasant smells concealed beneath that. The woman in the bed was so shrunken and old-looking that he stopped in shock.

“It’s Mr Marcus, come back from the wars,” Ada said.

“Why was
he
spared and not my boys.” Pamela Lonnerden began to sob.

Marcus moved closer to the bed, concerned at his aunt’s sallowness and the wild look in her eyes.

She flapped her hands at him. “Get away from me! I don’t want you in here, gloating.”

As he looked questioningly at the maid, his aunt shrieked,
“Get out!”
and began to sob wildly.

“Better leave, sir. Give her time to get used to you being back.”

When they were outside the bedroom, with the noise muted into a thin, despairing sobbing by the closed door, Ada said, “I’m sorry, Mr Marcus. She’s not in her right mind at the moment, and that’s a fact. She won’t see the doctor, won’t eat or drink properly, won’t even wash herself. I’ve my hands full trying to look after her, I can tell you.”

“That’s obvious. I can’t leave things like this. Why hasn’t the new owner come to take charge?”

“No one knows who that is. I think you’d better go and see the family lawyer about it, sir. Madam won’t speak to him. Mr Redway will know what to do, if anyone will, and he’s a distant cousin so he’s family.”

Marcus made his way slowly down the stairs, finding Vic in the kitchen talking to an older woman. He thought she’d been a housemaid before the war. Now she seemed to be in charge of preparing the meals because she was chopping up a single onion and had a very small pile of chopped meat on a plate beside her. They both looked at him expectantly and he could only say, “My aunt doesn’t want to see me.”

“She’s not seen anyone but Ada and the doctor since the funeral,” the woman volunteered. “Won’t even see the doctor now, says he can’t help what ails her. Won’t see the lawyer, either.”

“I’ll go into Tinsley to see Mr Redway tomorrow. For now I wonder—Gladys, isn’t it?—if you could let me have something for my tea and breakfast? I’ve only just arrived and there’s nothing to eat at the Lodge.”

Gladys looked dubiously at the food on the table. “I’m sorry, sir, but we haven’t got much to spare, what with the rationing and all. I can let you have some bread and cheese, though, and an egg. Oh, and there are some apples in the attic, if someone will go up and get them.” She looked at Vic.

He smiled cheerfully. “I’ll go.”

“Take this bag. You might as well fill it right up and have some yourself. They’re only going to waste. The orchard did well this year and we managed to pick quite a lot, but there’s no one to eat them, so we could have saved ourselves the trouble, because madam doesn’t eat more than a bird. Just follow the back stairs up to the very top, you can’t miss the smell of apples.”

When Vic had left, she looked apologetically at Marcus. “I’m sorry it’s such poor pickings, sir, but what with the bills not being paid and all, we’re lucky they’re still letting us have any groceries.”

He looked at her in shock.
“Bills not being paid?”

She nodded. “Not for months now. You uncle hadn’t a head for business, if you’ll excuse me saying so, only us servants couldn’t help knowing that things were going downhill because they sold off some of the land. Mr John kept things going for a while, but when he and Mr Lawrence were called up there was no one to keep an eye on things so they went from bad to worse.

After Mr Lawrence was gassed and invalided out, he kept to his bedroom mostly, except to sit with madam in the evenings sometimes or go out to that club in town that the gentlemen use. There’s only me and Ada left indoors now and Hill outside. It’s hard to keep the place going, though we do our best, I promise you.”

“I’m sure you do, Gladys. No one can work miracles.”

The two men walked back to the Lodge in silence, with Vic carrying the apples and some food. Marcus couldn’t hide the fact that he was exhausted and allowed himself to be persuaded to rest in front of the sitting room fire while Vic bustled round upstairs, making up a bed and unpacking the suitcase. The larder was completely empty and all the furniture covered in dust, but there was wood in the outhouse still, so he could light fires to chase away the feeling of damp and neglect. There was even enough oil to fill a couple of lamps and a packet of candles.

As it grew fully dark Marcus paid Vic, who had more than earned his modest fee. “I’m grateful for your help. If you can come here tomorrow, take me into Tinsley then stay with me for the whole day, I’ll pay you whatever you think right. It’ll be easier than taking the train, because I can leave parcels in your cab as I buy things. I’m not in a fit state to manage on my own yet, I’m afraid. And if you know of anyone who wants a job as cook and general maid . .. ”

“I may do, sir. I’ll ask her.”

Marcus was sorry to see the other man go because the darkness was so quiet and still around the house that he felt as if it was pressing in on him. He boiled the egg and ate a solitary supper, after which, though it was only eight o’clock, he made his way painfully up the stairs to the front bedroom, where two earthenware hot water bottles had made a cosy nest of the creaking old bed and taken the dampness out of the bedding.

He’d expected to lie awake, but exhaustion quickly claimed him and he only had time to wonder what the hell had brought the senior branch of the family so low before he fell into a deep sleep.

Chapter 2

On the tenth of December Serena turned thirty. She made no attempt to celebrate the day or even to remind Ernest that it was her birthday, because she was still pretending to be unwell. Since her mother’s death, he’d spent every evening at his club, virtually ignoring her. Today he’d once again left word that he’d be dining at his club that evening and there was no sign of the envelope with five guineas in it which he normally gave her in lieu of a present. She could only presume he’d forgotten what day it was. She hoped he had. It would make things easier.

When informed that her master would be out that evening, Cook said disapprovingly, “You should have reminded him that it’s your birthday, Miss Serena. You shouldn’t be on your own today.”

“It wasn’t worth troubling him. Please don’t say anything or it’ll put him in a bad mood.”

Cook shuddered and nodded. All the servants dreaded rousing their master’s temper, because although he remained icily calm at all times, he could make the most cutting remarks Serena had ever heard, unerringly pin-pointing a person’s weakness and playing on their fears. In his bad moods, he’d been known to dismiss maids on the spot for behaving in a manner of which he disapproved. The trouble was, no one knew why he got these sour moods, which seemed to happen out of the blue, so they were hard to prevent.

Serena ate a solitary meal that evening, too nervous to feel hungry even though Cook had made a special effort to please her. She pushed the plate aside then, rather than upset Cook, she cut a large piece of the elaborate birthday cake and dropped it into the hottest part of the fire, using the poker to make sure it was totally consumed. It was a pity to waste food when it was in short supply in the whole country, but she wouldn’t like to hurt Cook’s feelings.

When she rang to have the table cleared, she sent the cake back with her compliments and instructions that all the servants were to have a piece. How Cook had got the ingredients for it she had to wonder, but then they always ate better than most folk and she guessed that was because of her father’s black market contacts.

The evening passed pleasantly. She allowed herself one small glass of
his
brandy, on the principle of doing something to mark the occasion, and settled down to read the new novel she’d bought herself as a birthday present from the bookshop near the station. She kept an eye on the clock and went to bed before he was likely to return. Sometimes he didn’t come home till the small hours of the morning, but you could never be sure.

As she brushed her hair out in front of the dressing table mirror, she turned from side to side, thinking how much more flattering it looked loose. Her mother had always said she had beautiful hair, the dark brown showing auburn highlights. But she always pulled it back into a low, very tight knot which sometimes made her head ache, and she frizzed the short hair at the front into an unflattering fringe, using pipe cleaners. Tonight she wouldn’t do that, she decided, because very soon now, she hoped not to be here for him to notice the change.

Tucking the ends of her hair into her dressing gown, she tried to see what it would look like bobbed. One rather dashing member of their Comforts for the Troops ladies’ group had had a bob and it had been much admired. It must be so much easier to manage shorter hair.

So now, Serena thought as she climbed into bed, she had turned thirty and was legally mistress of her inheritance. But first she’d have to prise it out of
him
and that would be difficult, she was sure. He liked to control everything in the house, especially money.

And he was going to be furious when she left home, absolutely furious, not because he would miss her but because it would reflect badly on him if she left for any reason other than marriage.

He would soon realise as well that he’d lost a very efficient housekeeper, which she knew she was. She’d taken over that job from her mother years ago and had done it well, but she’d never received a word of thanks or praise from him, only blame or cold silences if something didn’t please him. She hoped he wouldn’t take his anger out on the servants after she’d left.

* * * *

The next day Vic arrived at the Lodge at nine o’clock prompt to pick up Marcus and take him into Tinsley to see his aunt’s lawyer.

“You look a bit better today, Captain,” he said cheerfully.

“Against all the odds I slept really well, thank you. I had a piece of dry bread and a couple of apples for breakfast.” He pulled a wry face. “We’ll go and see the lawyer first, I think, then do some shopping. He’s a distant relative but I only met him once, when my father died, so can’t really remember him: Justin Redway of Bridge Lane.”

“Whatever you say, sir. I’m at your service. Oh, and—” Vic hesitated, “—I may have found someone to help you out in the house. Well, it’s the girl I’m going to marry, actually. She’s been working in the munitions factory over the other side of Tinsley, but they’re laying off workers so she needs to find something else. She used to work as a maid at the Hall. We’re saving up to get married, but we can’t do that till I’m earning enough, and even then we have to find a house to rent. There’s a shortage of houses round here because no new ones were built during the war.”

“What’s your young lady called?”

“Pearl Diggle, sir. She lives just down the road from you with her parents in that row of seven cottages on the outskirts of the village. You’ll want to meet her first, of course, and her mother wants to meet you.” He grinned. “Bit of a tartar, Mrs Diggle, thinks a lot of her girl. She terrifies the life out of me. I’m lodging with Pearl’s grandmother and she’s just the same.”

“You don’t look the terrified sort.”

“Ah, well, I get on all right with most folk. But I have to watch my step with the Diggles, I can tell you.”

“When is your young woman free? Can we go round to see her on the way back?”

“She’ll not be home from work till after seven, sir. I’ll bring her round to the Lodge later, if that’s all right. Oh, and she’s a canary. Thought I’d better tell you in advance so you aren’t surprised at how she looks.”

“I honour the women who’ve put up with yellow skin for the sake of the war effort. Where would we soldiers have been without them making our shells?”

“It’s her hair that still surprises me, more than her face even,” Vic said with another of his grins. “Ginger it is at the front now, which isn’t flattering. Her hair’s dark brown usually, lovely colour. But the ginger will grow out, they say, once she’s not handling the TNT and her skin will go back to its normal colour too. She used to have lovely rosy cheeks.”