Mistress of Greyladies (4 page)

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.

He was fond of his ma, even if she was another naïve idiot. She was a good cook and he liked going to the farm for the occasional Sunday lunch. It was a run-down place. He was doing so much better than them. Strangely enough, though, he now needed the farm he’d despised for his business.

When the war started, he reckoned all sorts of things were going to be in short supply, especially luxury goods, cigarettes and booze. He had been making preparations for a while now, buying bits and pieces when he saw an opportunity, using up his savings. He’d sell them for a lot more than he’d paid one day.

Very useful having parents with a spare barn. He’d told them his employer needed somewhere to store things and would pay them for the use of the barn. They mustn’t touch anything, though, or he’d get in trouble and lose his job.

That same ‘employer’ was paying them a pound a month for the storage, and they were delighted with that extra income for doing nothing, especially as Frank had repaired the roof of the barn for them and put on new doors with good locks. He had conveniently ‘forgotten’ to give them a key.

He was going to get rich, and he didn’t care how he did it, but he wasn’t going to volunteer for the army once the war started. He didn’t intend to get himself shot.

If they started conscripting men, he’d have to work out how to avoid that. He didn’t want to do anything drastic to prevent passing his medical, like damaging his trigger finger, but he wasn’t giving his life for his country. He was keeping it for himself.

He’d find a way. He always did when he wanted something.

A couple of weeks after Phoebe’s encounter with Frank, another shop in Swindon owned by Germans had its windows broken. She decided, very reluctantly, that she’d better be prepared to move. Just in case.

She didn’t say anything to the Steins, but packed her spare clothes and a few bits and pieces in an old Gladstone bag, in case she had to get out quickly. She couldn’t afford to lose everything she owned.

She also memorised Frank’s address and found out where the house was. Not in a part of the town where she felt comfortable. Why did he live there? He could surely afford to move somewhere decent. He looked so well fed and his clothes were good sturdy garments, not worn … Unless his business was more suited to that sort of run-down area. That wouldn’t surprise her.

As the days passed, she didn’t say anything to her employers, either about Frank or about her precautions. But she didn’t unpack the bag of clothes, either.

Just in case, she told herself. Trouble might never happen, but you had to think ahead.

Two weeks after his father’s funeral, the post brought Joseph a black-edged envelope addressed in his mother’s handwriting. He picked it up and stared at it in shock. ‘Who’s dead now?’

‘You won’t find out till you open it,’ Harriet said.

He read it and gasped. ‘It’s Richard’s wife … and the child. Both died in childbirth.’ He covered his eyes with one hand for a moment and confessed, ‘I was so afraid each time you were expecting a child. I’d have been lost without you and your quiet strength, my darling.’

‘I’d be lost without you, too.’ She slipped her hand into his for a moment and they stood looking at one another fondly.

Love was wonderful, he thought, and she really did love him. Then he looked back at the black-bordered letter. ‘What can I say to my brother? Richard and Diana might not have married for love, but they seemed to grow very fond of one another. I’m not close to him and yet … I want to offer him my sympathy, of course I do.’

‘There is no comfort when a loved one dies suddenly,
especially when they’re so young, but you must write to him.’

He understood instantly what she was thinking. ‘Like when your father died.’

She nodded.

‘I’ll write immediately, to Richard and Mother.’

It wasn’t till he was signing the letter to his brother that he said thoughtfully, ‘Unless Richard remarries, that leaves Selwyn or Thomas to provide an heir. I hope it’s Thomas who does that. Selwyn’s rotten to the core. He might have got married, but he didn’t father a child, did he?’

Another letter arrived from his mother a few days later saying the same thing and complaining that Selwyn refused to listen to sense and reunite with his wife, for the sake of the family. Richard had, it seemed, vanished into the maws of the army immediately after the funeral, leaving his mother to close down his house.

‘You never know what’s going to happen to you, do you?’ Harriet said that night in bed. ‘Look at your family, torn apart in so many ways. Look at us, with the house we love full of strangers and most of it out of our control. You just never know.’

The late summer seemed to pass slowly at Greyladies. They received the occasional letter from Joseph’s mother, telling them about her ‘bijou apartment’ and her new social life in London, which was far less restricted than it would normally have been for a widow.

‘She sounds almost cheerful,’ Harriet said thoughtfully.

‘Mother will be all right,’ Joseph told her. ‘She’s tougher than she looks. It’s Selwyn I worry about. I had another letter from Thomas telling me our damned brother’s contracted
some new gambling debts. He’ll throw our old home away before he’s through.’

‘There’s nothing you can do about that. I’m glad you pay such close attention to the Latimer Trust. There are going to be a lot of widows needing help if war really does break out with Germany.’

Like a lot of other people in Britain, the Latimers were disturbed over their morning cup of tea on 5th August by their paperboy banging on the door and yelling at the top of his voice, ‘
We’re at war, Mr Latimer. Britain’s at war
.’

Joseph hurried to the back door, now their main entrance, and found Jim from the village brandishing their
Guardian
newspaper.

‘We’re at war,’ he repeated, jigging about in excitement. ‘Britain’s at war, Mr Latimer.’

Joseph took the newspaper from him and shook it open, reading it aloud. ‘Great Britain declared war on Germany at eleven o’clock last night.’

He paused to look at Harriet, who had followed him, seeing tears well up in her eyes. ‘It’s terrible, isn’t it?’

‘Terrible!’ Jim exclaimed. ‘It’s exciting, that’s what it is, Mr Latimer. I hope it doesn’t end before I’m old enough to join up. I want to see a bit of the world before I settle down on the farm and going to war is the only way Da will let me do it.’ Whistling cheerfully, he cycled off to deliver the other newspapers.

Joseph put an arm round his wife.

‘I pray the war ends before Jim’s old enough to join the army,’ she said quietly. ‘It would destroy his mother to lose her only son.’

‘He’s not eighteen for another year or so, is he?’

‘He looks eighteen now. Still, everyone says the war will be over in a few months.’

‘But will it? We’ve discussed that a few times and Thomas has written to me about it. He doesn’t think the Germans will be as easy to defeat as people believe. There are a lot of them and they’ve already invaded Belgium.’

She shivered. ‘Where will they go next, do you think?’

‘France, I suppose, but they won’t capture Britain. I’m certain of that.’

‘How can you be certain, Joseph?’

‘Because there isn’t a man, woman or child in our village, and every other village and town, who wouldn’t fight against an invader. Even I would find a way to do something. Only it won’t come to that. Thank heavens this is an island. You can’t march an invading army across the English Channel, and enemies would be vulnerable when they tried to disembark and unload their ships. No, being an island has saved us before and it’ll save us again.’

‘But people from the village will die. Young people like Jim will have to fight.’ She sighed. ‘Let’s call the others, then you can read the rest of the article to us.’

So they waited till their two maids and the children had joined them, then Joseph read out the grim announcement from the
Guardian
newspaper.

‘So,’ Joseph ended, ‘I’m afraid we’re at war now.’

The maids said very little but both looked upset. Harriet knew that Phyllis’s sweetheart was of an age to fight, and that their new cook, a spinster called Mary Cox, had a nephew of twenty, on whom she doted.

The two Latimer children stared from one parent to the other, wide-eyed.

‘War’s bad, isn’t it?’ Jody asked as the silence continued.

‘Yes, son. It’s a terrible thing,’ his father told him.

‘Miss Bowers has been telling us about it. People kill one another in wars. I don’t want to kill anyone. I don’t like watching Tim’s father kill hens, even.’

‘You could fight someone if he was attacking you,’ Joseph pointed out. ‘Or if he was going to kill Mal or your mother. Only wicked people
want
to kill anyone, but we all defend those we love.’

‘I suppose.’

Heaven help her, Harriet thought, she was glad Joseph wouldn’t have to fight, and just as glad that her own sons were too young to go to war. You couldn’t help being selfish when danger threatened those you loved.

Two hours later, they heard voices arguing in the new house, just outside the connecting door and tiptoed across to listen.

‘I can’t do it, miss. It wouldn’t be right.’

‘That’s Martin’s voice,’ Harriet whispered.

Matron’s voice came to them loud and clear, so shrill they could imagine her furious expression. ‘You’ve been given a job and you
must
do it. This is for the War Office.’

‘Well, I still can’t do it, whoever it’s for. Mr and Mrs Latimer would throw a fit if you had that old door destroyed, and I wouldn’t blame them, neither. Bin there for hundreds of years, that door has, and it’ll serve for another few hundred, too. Good wood, that were made from, even if it is a bit rough-looking.’

‘We’re at war and I
order
you to remove this door and replace it with a wooden barrier.’

‘I ent doing it. It won’t help the war none to pull that door out.’

Joseph opened the door in question. ‘What’s going on here?’

‘There!’ Matron exclaimed dramatically, taking a prudent step backwards and pointing at him. ‘This is exactly why we need the door removing, to stop people walking into the convalescent home uninvited.’

As Harriet moved forward, Joseph raised his voice. ‘I thought we’d discussed that little matter already, Matron. No one from the old house has come through this door since we last closed it in your presence, not even the children.’

‘That was before war was declared. The matter is now urgent. I
will not
have you able to wander in and out of here when the patients start arriving. They’ll need peace and quiet and I am not—’

‘Sorry about all this, Mr Latimer.’ Martin threw Matron a disgusted look. ‘I dint know what her wanted when her asked me to do a job, or I’d never have said yes. Everyone
in the village knows you have a paper from the War Office saying the house ent to be damaged. Miss Bowers told us ‘bout that.’

Matron turned on her heel and stalked off, words puncturing the air behind her. ‘Mark my words, I shall find a way to get rid of that door and secure these premises, if I have to chop the thing down myself.’

Martin blew out his breath. ‘Proper old tartar, ent she? I don’t think I’ll do any more jobs here while she’s in charge.’

‘Don’t lose the chance to earn extra money,’ Joseph advised. ‘You’ve a growing family to feed.’

He grinned. ‘I don’t think she’ll even ask me after this.’

‘Do you want a cup of tea, Martin?’ Harriet asked in a low voice.

‘Thanks anyway, Mrs Latimer, but I reckon it’ll be better if I go back out through the front, the way I come in.’

Joseph closed the door. ‘She’ll try again to get rid of this.’ He patted the dark wood panels affectionately. ‘I wouldn’t put an axe attack past her. The trouble is, we can’t keep an eye on it all the time. Perhaps we should remove it for the duration of the war and board up the opening?’

‘What? Give in at her first thrust? Certainly not. If she wins this time, she’ll expect to walk all over us afterwards.’

The incident left her on edge, wondering what would happen next, and whether she would be able to protect the old house.

Phoebe woke up on 5th August to hear voices shouting in the streets and a paper seller calling, ‘Read all about it. Britain declares war.’

‘
War!
’

‘
We’re at war!
’

‘
Come and read this
.’

The news was repeated, shouted, cried out by different voices and their words seemed to echo in her brain.

She got dressed quickly and nipped out to buy a newspaper. Passers-by were showing each other the front page, discussing the war. She took her paper into the building through the kitchen door, and grabbed a piece of bread and jam. She didn’t even stop to make a pot of tea, but gobbled the food down as she read.

Setting the newspaper aside, she rested her head on her hands, worrying about her possessions. She had to do something. Trouble was coming to this shop. What if people set it on fire?

Going upstairs, she crammed more of her clothes into the big carpet bag and then carried it downstairs. She hesitated for a moment, then decided to hide it in the coalhouse. No one would look for it there, surely.

One thing was certain: Mr and Mrs Stein mustn’t open up the shop today. It was still early, so she decided to go and tell them to stay at home.

When she got to their house, however, she was horrified to see a group of people milling about outside it, shouting and gesticulating. She didn’t dare push her way through them, so went round to the back alley, and since the gate was locked, climbed over the wall into their garden. She hitched up her skirts as she’d done when much younger, not caring how much leg she showed. To her relief no one seemed to have thought of this way of getting into the house yet and the alley remained empty.

When she heard the sound of breaking glass from the
front of the house, she ran to the kitchen door. It wasn’t even locked. They should have locked it. Flinging it open, she went inside, to hear Mrs Stein sobbing.

‘Hello!’

They swung round.

‘You shouldn’t be here,’ Mr Stein said at once. ‘You’re putting yourself in danger, child.’

‘I came to warn you not to open the shop today. There are crowds out in the streets.’

‘And here too,’ he said sadly.

Mrs Stein sobbed and pressed a handkerchief to her mouth as if trying to hold back her tears.

‘What are we going to do?’ he whispered. ‘I don’t know what to do. I’m not an enemy of this country, Phoebe.’

‘I know that, Mr Stein. I think you need to get away.’

But even as she spoke, someone knocked on the front door and a voice called, ‘Police! Open up.’

‘Go quickly, Phoebe,’ Mr Stein said. ‘Stay away from us. Wait.’ He looked at his wife. ‘Give it to her. It’ll be safer.’

She fumbled in her handbag and pulled out a wad of money. ‘Take this, dear girl. Keep it safe for us. Or if anything bad happens to us, keep it for yourself.’

Phoebe stared at them in horror at the implications of this.

Mrs Stein thrust the money into her hand. ‘Go on now. Run!’

‘Come and lock the back door after me.’

But someone was hammering on the front door again and they’d already turned towards it, so after a moment’s hesitation, Phoebe stuffed the money down the front of her dress and left the way she’d come.

Desperate to find out what was happening, she went round to the front again and asked a woman why the crowd had gathered. As if she didn’t know!

‘There are some Germans living there. The police are going to lock them up. Stein, they’re called.’

‘I’ve heard of them. They’re Austrians not Germans.’

‘Same thing, as far as I’m concerned.’ She swung round to stare at Phoebe. ‘You’re not one of ’em, are you? You don’t sound as if you come from round here.’

‘Me? Course I’m not a German. I’m English, born and bred. I grew up in Northumberland, in the north.’

‘You don’t sound like a foreigner, I must admit, but you do talk funny.’

‘Of course I’m not a foreigner. I’d better get to work now, though. Don’t want them docking my pay, do I?’