Mistress of Greyladies (9 page)

She went back to her sewing after tea. She was shortening all her skirts. That would give her greater freedom when she was out walking, make her look more modern.

She wouldn’t touch the Steins’ money, of course, but she still felt a need to guard her own money, just in case she ever needed to get away, so hadn’t bought any new clothes.

Oh, face it, you fool! she told herself. You’re still afraid Frank will find you again. He knew a lot of people and she’d met some of them over the years, especially a couple of his closest friends, who’d visited the farm. If one of them came up to London and saw her, recognised her, she might be in trouble.

No, that would be stretching coincidence too far, and why should mere acquaintances recognise her now? She’d change her appearance and though you couldn’t change your face, Frank didn’t have a photo of her to show anyone to remind them.

Then she remembered that Cousin Janet did have a recent
photo of her. She loved collecting photos. But surely Frank wouldn’t go to the length of getting hold of one from his mother and showing it around?

She tried to banish Frank from her mind, but even in the safety of the hostel, his shadow still lingered.

It only seemed to go away completely when she was with Corin.

The next day Beaty took her protégée to meet the lady in charge of the selection of VADs for the Red Cross in this part of London. Phoebe had the satisfaction of looking like a modern young woman now in her first shortened skirt, a woman capable of becoming a nursing aide or driving a car – or scrubbing a floor, if that was what they needed most.

Beaty touched the hat as they got out of their taxi. ‘Ruth said she’d given that to you. I hope you’ve thrown that old felt pudding basin away. I don’t think I’ve seen a more unflattering hat.’

‘It was my mother’s. I was saving money.’

Her hostess shuddered. ‘Ugh. A young woman has a duty to make the best of herself.’

As they went into the building, she said, ‘You’ll have to wear a uniform if you’re accepted. It’s rather dull, all the young women dressing alike. Still, the white pinafores and caps brighten the blue dresses up, and look quite smart and professional, considering.’

Phoebe wondered what white pinafores would look like when they were worn to help nurse men with bad wounds. They didn’t sound very practical.

The secretary stood up to greet them. ‘Good morning,
Lady Potherington. How nice to see you again! Miss Rufford is expecting you. I’ll show you in.’

‘I do wish you’d at least call me Lady P,’ Beaty grumbled. ‘You know how I hate that name.’

‘It wouldn’t be right. This way.’

Phoebe hid a smile.

Rosemary Rufford was almost as beautiful as Beaty, and just as elegantly dressed. But she spoke far more crisply and her gaze was shrewd.

After introducing them, Beaty left Phoebe to speak for herself.

After only ten minutes of searching questions, Miss Rufford leant back and smiled at her. ‘You’re clearly a very suitable candidate, and we’ll be happy to give you a trial, Miss Sinclair.’

‘Thank you so much. I’ll try not to let you down.’

‘Of course we’ll pay you wages. No one can manage without money and you won’t have a rich family to subsidise you, as some girls do.’

‘Oh. I didn’t realise. Thank you.’ Phoebe hadn’t thought of this, had just assumed she would receive a wage. Would she be working alongside daughters of the gentry, then? They might manage without being paid wages, but how would they cope with menial chores?

‘Don’t buy the uniform until we’re all sure you’re suited to this job. We spend a few days training our VADs before we let them loose on the men. You’ll probably know by next week how you’re fitting in.’

‘Yes, Miss Rufford.’

‘And please remember at all times that you will be working for the Red Cross. You’ll have to perform unpleasant tasks
and menial, sometimes disgusting duties. You’ll deal with men out of their minds with pain, men whose physical injuries are not nice to deal with. You’ll need to be patient and courteous at all times. However unpleasant the duties you’re asked to undertake, you must do them to the best of your ability and obey instructions at all times, especially from the doctors and nurses.’

She paused as if to make sure her words had sunk in, so Phoebe nodded and took the piece of paper Miss Rufford was holding out.

‘Very well. Report to this address on Friday. Perhaps you could wait outside for Beaty now? There’s something else I need to talk to her about.’

When Phoebe had left, Rosemary raised one eyebrow. ‘Not like your usual protégées, Beaty, my love. Where did you find this one?’

‘Corin found her in Swindon. She’d just lost her job and a man was attacking her. Naturally my dear nephew stepped in to rescue her.’

‘Well, she looks and talks as if she already knows how to work hard, which is what we need most of all from a VAD.’

‘She does. And … Corin’s very taken with her.’

‘Is he now?’

‘Yes. He hasn’t looked at a woman since Norah and the baby died. I was beginning to despair about him, he was in low spirits for so long.’

‘He’s always been a sensitive fellow. I remember him as a lad crying over that puppy of his that died suddenly.’ She gave her old friend a very direct look. ‘Would you welcome a young woman like Phoebe into the family?’

‘I don’t know yet. Oh, not because of her background. You know I’m not a snob, for heaven’s sake. It’s whether she’d make Corin happy. Norah didn’t, not really. I’d hate him to make another bad choice.’

‘Well, this lass seems very nice.’

‘Yes. I’m getting to know her better and waiting to see how things play out. Corin took her out to lunch yesterday and Ruth said he looked happier than he had done for a while when he brought her back, was laughing and chatting, just like in the old days. Anyway, if this goes as far as marriage, he’s only following my example, isn’t he? I married way out of my class.’

‘Yes, and you managed brilliantly. I don’t know how you put up with some of the snobbery you encountered.’

‘I had Podge. He used to mimic the old dowagers and make me laugh about them. You’re never as afraid of people you’ve laughed at. He’d have made a good actor, my Podge would. And he was all that really mattered to me. I didn’t need their approval.’

Rosemary’s voice softened. ‘Not many people find even a shadow of such a great love.’

Beaty blinked her eyes furiously. ‘We were talking about Phoebe, not me. She gets on well with the other girls, and has an eye for someone in trouble. I offered her a job as my secretary, but she said she preferred to do something more active. Then she suggested a girl who might be able to help me, someone who was struggling with hard physical work. I should have noticed that myself, but I didn’t.’

‘It’ll be interesting to see how Phoebe fits into the VADs, how she mingles with our eager debs. There are more positions to fill than bodies to fill them, so we have to
rush them through training. I must say, some of the VADs have coped remarkably well with the menial work they’re expected to do. Others have crumbled at the first serious problem or mangled body, and have found a reason to leave the organisation.’

‘Are they allowed to do that?’

‘We don’t want shirkers and sulkers dealing with men who’ve lost limbs or been badly hurt.’

‘I predict that our Phoebe will fit in well.’

‘Good. We need some stalwarts. Send her along on Friday and be prepared to take her shopping for a uniform later next week.’

The front part of the house seemed to slumber quietly in the autumn sunshine, as if waiting for something, or someone, to wake it. Harriet looked at it with a sigh. She hadn’t so much as been invited inside since her confrontation with Matron over the old door.

She continued on through the side gardens and out of the gate leading to the crypt, pausing there, as she always did, to admire the intricate metal grille that kept strangers out. The grille had been put there to prevent strangers from damaging the beautiful stonework inside. The crypt was all that was left intact of the original chapel used by the nuns. Not a big chapel, but if it had been as beautiful as the crypt, she wished she could have seen it.

Pulling out another of the large old keys which had served Greyladies for so many centuries, she slipped it into the lock of the grille door. Even the lock was surrounded by a pretty semicircle of smaller metal pieces in a sunburst pattern, which was completed by a matching semicircle on the grille next to the door. There were three sunbursts across the metal barrier in all. The blacksmith who had fashioned
this ironwork had been as much an artist as any famous painter, she always thought.

‘You do like to keep your secrets locked away, don’t you?’

She swung round to see Matron Dawkins standing a few paces away, looking as if her whole body was as starched as her apron.

‘I like to keep my family’s inheritance safe, if that’s what you mean.’

‘One has to wonder what you’re hiding in there, Mrs Latimer.’

On a sudden impulse, Harriet flung open the wrought iron door. ‘Come and see for yourself. I’m hiding nothing, simply protecting an ancient building.’

Matron stiffened still further. ‘You’re inviting me to come inside?’

‘Yes. We often show visitors round, because we’re proud of the crypt. There’s nothing secret in here.’ She led the way inside, but it was a moment before the other woman followed her into the shadowy interior.

Opening the lantern which stood on a stone shelf near the door, Harriet pulled out her vesta case, lighting and adjusting the flame. She really must buy some of the new electric torches, which were so much less messy than oil lamps.

Holding the lantern high to illuminate the front part of the crypt, she started her usual talk. ‘There are only two graves here, each marked by a woman’s name, age and the words
Sister in God
. The church was knocked down and much of the stone used elsewhere only a few years after its founding, but for some reason they stopped short of demolishing the crypt. No one knows why. We’re just grateful something was saved during the destruction of the religious houses in England.’

‘Mmm.’

‘Look at the arches and carvings, how beautifully executed they are. We’ve had archaeologists and architects visiting our ruins, and some have come back with their students.’ But even that got no more than another grunt out of the woman.

Harriet shortened her talk, walking across to shine the lantern on the delicate rows of small figures carved into a little shrine about a yard and a half wide, set back a couple of feet into one wall. ‘Apparently the nuns prayed here for the souls of those who’d died, or came to ask special help for those in trouble. I have the journal kept by the first abbess, Anne Latimer.’

‘Latimer. The same family as yourself?’

‘Yes. The house passes down the female line and it’s our tradition that the men change their names.’

‘Unusual.’

‘It was a small community and the nuns wore grey habits, hence the name of the house. As abbess, Anne Latimer wore a silver cross on a chain, and the others wore wooden crosses. They lived modestly, because they weren’t a rich order, but also so that they could use what money they had to help the poor. Sadly, that didn’t protect them from the King’s desire to destroy the power of the Pope by closing down all the religious foundations.’

‘I think Henry VIII was right to do that. Even modern papism is full of idolatry. But I suppose if you’re a descendant of these,’ she flicked a scornful hand towards the graves, ‘you’re a papist too.’

Harriet bit back a sharp response. It seemed impossible to reach out a hand of friendship to such a sour woman, whatever she said or did, so she wasn’t going to try any more.
‘You’ve seen me attending the parish church every Sunday, so I don’t know why you would think I’m a Roman Catholic.’

She waited, but there was no apology. She moved on, letting the lantern show stone shelves, at present loaded with items they’d removed from the new part of the house.

‘What are the shelves for?’

‘I think the builders intended them for future burials, but we’re using them for storage now that our home is serving as a convalescent hospital.’

‘Hmm. This space would be better used by
us
. The soldiers’ welfare is far more important than your bric-a-brac.’ Matron turned round to study the crypt walls nearest to the house. ‘Why wasn’t I told about this place? Presumably there’s a corridor connecting it to the cellars in the main house? I don’t want people coming into the house that way.’

Harriet breathed deeply and took a moment to calm herself.

Matron walked to and fro. ‘I can’t see a door.’

‘Unfortunately there isn’t a connecting corridor, which is why the officials from the War Office decided not to use the crypt.’

‘Are you sure about the lack of a passage? That seems very strange.’

‘I’ve never seen one.’ There was a rumour in the family about a secret passage, only no one knew where it was, or even if it really existed.

As they turned to leave, a light seemed to glow in one corner. Harriet paused, knowing what this meant, but saying nothing.

‘What’s causing that light?’ Matron asked sharply.

‘What light?’

‘The one over there.’ She pointed, then gasped and took a step backwards. A moment later she let out a cry. As she
backed away, the glowing figure drifted forward towards her. ‘No, no! Keep it away from me.’

The ghost of Anne Latimer pointed towards the exit and edged forward again, as if urging the intruder to leave.

Matron shrieked and ran out of the crypt.

Harriet followed her. ‘Are you all right? Did you see something?’

‘You arranged for someone to pretend to be a ghost. You only invited me into the crypt to frighten me.’

‘I’d never do anything like that. Why would I want to frighten anyone?’

Matron eyed her searchingly and Harriet looked steadily back. She’d seen the ghost of the founder of Greyladies many times, but was surprised that such an unpleasant woman had seen it. So few people could.

‘Swear you didn’t do anything to frighten me.’

‘I swear that I didn’t do anything whatsoever to frighten you. And I’m quite sure that no one else did, either. Since I have the only key and keep it in a safe place, I can be certain no one has gone inside the crypt since well before your arrival. There are sightings of the ghost of the founding abbess, though.’

Matron frowned at her, then glanced uneasily towards the shadowed entrance behind them, muttering something under her breath.

‘I check the crypt every now and then,’ Harriet went on. ‘But I’m far too busy to spend much time here, let alone play tricks. However, as there is no way to get to the crypt from the house, its use is rather limited for us all.’

‘I don’t believe in ghosts, so it must have been a trick of the light. I’m rather tired today and reacted hastily. Such a
nasty, damp place, that crypt of yours. And if there is no passage leading to the house, you’re right about one thing: this place wouldn’t be any use to us for storage.’

She edged back a few steps, still watching the entrance. ‘And then there are the graves. The patients wouldn’t like those. Anyway, we can manage with the attics and cellars for our storage.’

She swung round and walked off towards the gardens without a further word, back ramrod straight, feet thumping down hard on the path.

Harriet wondered why Anne Latimer’s ghost had appeared to such an unpleasant woman. To frighten her away? She couldn’t imagine the first owner of Greyladies wanting to frighten anyone. Her journal showed her to be a kindly woman.

But then, who knew what lengths a family member would go to, in order to protect this place? Some of the former ladies of the house had had to tread carefully at times.

She locked the door carefully. Light was still glowing faintly from inside the crypt as she turned back towards the house, but when she looked back again from the gate into the garden, she saw that everything was dark again behind the grille.

She looked up at her former home. Strange items of hospital furniture showed at the windows of it now, while outside two flower beds had been cleared away completely and gravel laid down to allow more access for ambulances. The garden paths near the house had been widened to accommodate wheelchairs.

There were no officers convalescing here as yet, but a great deal of equipment had been delivered, not just beds
and a miscellany of comfortable armchairs, but medical equipment and supplies.

She’d read in the newspaper about the first casualties returning to England. It was only a matter of time before this place would come into use. She hoped the peace and beauty she’d always found in both house and gardens would help the men regain their health.

The following week, Joseph and Harriet were strolling round the side garden when the first patients arrived at Greyladies. A motor ambulance drew up and four officers were helped out. One was on crutches, two had their arms in slings, and the last one to get out looked chalky pale and walked as if it hurt him to move.

Matron surged out to meet them, giving orders in her loud voice even before she had ushered the men inside.

‘Being under her control wouldn’t help me get better more quickly,’ Joseph murmured into his wife’s ear.

‘No. She’ll keep them away from us, I’m sure.’

‘If she tries to do that, they’ll only be more eager to meet us. They’re young men – well, youngish – not used to being incapacitated. They must be fretting at their enforced inactivity.’

She gave his hand a quick squeeze. She knew how he fretted at his own physical limitations.

He frowned. ‘Actually, I think I recognised one of them. If I’m right, he’s a friend of Selwyn’s. I must find out whether it is Lucian Averill. If it is, he’s changed and looks a lot older.’

He sighed as he began to walk awkwardly back to their part of the house, stopping for a moment to mutter, ‘Men like that won’t think a cripple like me is of much use, will they?’

‘They’ll know perfectly well that you can’t join up and no
one will think the worse of you for something you can’t help.’

‘I suppose not. Well, at least these men are alive. Lists of those killed are being published already.’

The following afternoon, the postman brought a letter from Joseph’s mother, giving them all the latest news.

He opened it at once. ‘Goodness! My brother Thomas has volunteered and gone into the army.’

Harriet had met Thomas and found him very stiff and patronising towards her, but hadn’t said anything about that to Joseph.

Joseph’s mother was a lot more pleasant to Harriet these days. She’d changed since her husband’s death, shortened her skirts, had her hair cut to shoulder length and grown more modern in all sorts of minor ways. And she really did care about her youngest son’s welfare, as well as doting on Joseph’s sons, the only living grandsons in the family so far.

He finished perusing the letter and handed it to his wife. ‘Here. Read it yourself.’

She took the piece of fine, cream-laid paper from him and skimmed through it quickly.

‘I’m sorry Mrs Stuart hasn’t been well.’

‘Yes. So am I. Mother would be lost without her.’

‘She’d cope. She’s a strong woman.’ Harriet handed him back the letter. ‘I don’t mind helping your mother find another housekeeper, but she’s not coming to live here, whatever happens. It wouldn’t work. She and I would soon be at odds.’

‘No. I suppose she’d try to undermine your authority.’

‘Not only that, but she’d try to change Greyladies. We live at peace with the people in the village. Can you imagine her treating them as equals? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to
insult your mother, but better I make myself plain now.’

‘I’m not upset. You’re telling the simple truth. Mother is used to ruling the roost and she’d expect to be waited on in a grander style than we do. Let’s hope Mrs Stuart gets better more quickly than the doctors predict.’

They exchanged warm, loving glances, but Joseph fell silent, lost in thought for a few moments.

She waited until he looked up again and said, ‘Let’s stroll round the garden again while we can. Autumn is upon us already.’

In more ways than one, she thought. She’d been having some puzzling dreams since they moved to the old house and needed to share them with him. ‘Joseph … do you think we can ever go back to how things were at Greyladies? Once the war’s over, that is.’

He looked at her in surprise. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I have the strangest feeling, as if I’m starting to say goodbye to the house. Some owners do move away after a while, you know.’

‘I can’t imagine you ever doing that willingly.’

She couldn’t, either. But one thing still worried her. ‘We don’t have a daughter. Who will I pass the house to? I’m supposed to know that instinctively, only how?’

‘This house seems to have ways of guiding its owners. It’s the strangest place. I love it, but I never quite know what to expect. Things just … happen.’

‘We haven’t seen Anne Latimer around the house for a while, have we, though it was definitely her in the Crypt?’

‘Perhaps our resident ghost doesn’t like the Dragon and is sulking.’

Harriet gave him a half smile, as if her attention was only
partly on what he had been saying. ‘If anything happens to me, what will become of you and the boys? Your home will be taken away by a new lady owner. I’m not allowed to leave it to you or to them.’

Joseph put an arm round her. ‘Don’t borrow trouble, my love. You seem in fine health to me and we’ll have worked out the succession by the time we grow old. We’ll make sure the boys are in good professions, able to earn their own living. They already understand that only female Latimers can inherit. Besides, I’ve done quite well with my investments. Who’d have expected that? So we wouldn’t be penniless, even if we walked away from here with nothing belonging to the Latimer Trust.’