Cherry Tree Lane (7 page)

He frowned at her, clearly still puzzled.

‘That’s where you come in. I want to appoint you my rent agent for the big house as well as for the remaining cottages. There’s no one else suitable in the village and the lawyer in Swindon is too far away to keep an eye on things, though he’ll supervise renting the property. You could deal with small maintenance matters there, I’m sure. I’ll be watching my pennies carefully and I think you’ll do the same for me. It’d be best for me to have someone on the spot to look after things.’ She waited for him to comment.

He was staring at her in amazement.

‘Well?’ she prompted.

‘I don’t know what to say, Miss Newington.’

‘Say yes. After all, you’ve done repair work before.’

‘Only on my own house.’

‘I’ve seen what you’ve done and you’ve done it well.’

‘That’s not the same as dealing with the sort of folk who’d live at the big house, or repairing such a big place.’

‘It’s close enough for my needs. To be frank, I only wish the house to be in a fit state to be sold at the end of the ten years. It need not be perfect.’ She was surprised Kemble hadn’t accepted at once, and a little annoyed at having to persuade him. ‘It’d mean more money, regular money even in winter. I’d pay you a set amount per week plus extra if there were repairs to be done or workmen brought in to oversee.’

He nodded a few times, very slowly, then took a deep breath. ‘I’ll do it.’

‘Good. But I have one condition. You must find yourself a wife. You’ll need to be better dressed if you’re dealing with the tenants at the big house. You’re better spoken than most. I gather your mother was a schoolteacher before her marriage?’

He nodded, taken aback by this condition.

‘I know others have said it, but you really do need a woman to look after such things, Kemble, so I must insist you find yourself a wife. But unlike other people, I’m not making any suggestions as to who that should be.’ She didn’t say anything, just let the suggestion sink in. He’d see the need to smarten himself up, she was sure, and anyway, men as young as him were not meant to live celibately. ‘Now, I’m quite thirsty and would like the cup of tea you promised me, after which Sarah and I will give this poor woman a sponge bath before I leave.’

‘You’d do that?’

‘She needs our help.’

Later he saw his visitor out and walked with her to the lane. Emily had noticed before that he was a courteous man and she liked that in him. She stopped for a moment. ‘Do you think you can find yourself a wife, Mr Kemble?’

‘I’ll promise to give it serious thought, Miss Newington, nothing more.’

She smiled. ‘Well, if you have trouble finding one, let me know. I’ll be happy to help.’

Jacob watched her go, not sure how he felt about her or what she’d offered. She was a strange lady, prone to barking out orders to her tenants – though usually sensible orders. And yet she’d not been too high and mighty to give the stranger a sponge bath. What’s more, he’d listened to her chatting away to Sarah as they worked, and the child clearly felt at ease with her.

To his relief, Miss Newington had promised to return the following day to perform the same intimate services for the stranger.

The villagers marvelled that she managed that big house with so few servants when it had taken three times as many to run it before. But she’d shut up a lot of the rooms, the maid said. In fact, now Jacob came to think of it, that Agnes had been a right old gossip. You shouldn’t gossip about your employers. He wouldn’t.

He stopped on that thought. The wages she was offering would be a step up in the world for him. But why the hell had she taken it into her head that he needed to marry to do the job properly? She knew who lived in the village, must realise no man of sense would fancy any of the unattached women there, and more to the point, none of them would make the sort of efficient wife a rising man needed. Because if he did take the job, he’d definitely rise in the world. It would be just the impetus he needed to bring his ambitions back to life again. Didn’t every man want to make a better life for his children?

His mother would have liked that. She’d been well educated for a woman, had come to the village as schoolteacher and stayed on to marry his father. She had given her son her own love of reading, but his father had never touched a book that Jacob had seen. Plants, now, his father had had a gift for growing things. Jacob would never be as good at that as him, even though he did quite well.

As the day passed, Jacob couldn’t get the thought of what this job would mean out of his mind. He wanted to accept it for the children’s sake, but where was he supposed to find a suitable wife? You couldn’t just go out and ask some stranger to marry you.

No, he’d have to find a way to change Miss Newington’s mind about that. She’d realise it was impossible once she really thought about it, he was sure she would. He’d discuss it with her next time, pointing out the lack of suitable candidates round here.

For the moment, he had a market garden to plant and stock, two children to look after, an invalid to care for – and not enough hours in the day.

A wife would change that, a little voice said in his head, but he didn’t let himself dwell on the thought. But he couldn’t help remembering the restless nights where his body reminded him of its needs. And looking after the stranger had made that worse.

That night someone tried to break into Newington House. Cook and the young girl who helped out were the only servants left, apart from a scrubbing woman who came in three times a week from the village, and Horace who looked after the horse and trap, and also did a bit of gardening. The old man slept above the stables, the female servants in the attics and Emily had a bedroom on the second floor which had excellent views of the nearby countryside. She preferred it to the old master’s bedroom.

She was lying wakeful, something which often afflicted her, worrying about her future, when she heard the sound of glass smashing. It sounded to come from the rear of the house. She slid out of bed at once, because that sort of noise couldn’t happen by mistake. Heart pounding, she crept onto the landing which overlooked the stairwell and looked down.

In the moonlight she saw two figures emerge from the kitchen area and start creeping up the stairs. They seemed to know their way and on the first-floor landing made straight for what had been the master bedroom previously.

Not an ordinary burglary, then, she thought. She picked up her bedroom poker before creeping up the stairs to the attics to rouse Cook and the girl. She put a hand over Cook’s mouth as the woman tried to scream and whispered a quick explanation. ‘Get something to hit them with.’

‘They’ll murder us, miss,’ Cook said at once.

‘No, they won’t. There are three of us to two of them and we’ll arm ourselves. Hurry up.’ She went and roused the maid, who slept next door.

‘I’ll help you, miss.’ Lyddie shrugged on her dressing gown and snatched up her water ewer, hefting it in her hand.

‘Good girl.’

Cook joined them on the landing brandishing a poker and wearing a voluminous dressing gown, with her hair hanging down her back in its customary straggly plait.

Emily stepped forward. ‘I shall go first. Don’t let me down, now.’

‘No, miss.’

They crept down from the attic and pressed themselves out of sight against the landing wall while Emily peeped over the second-floor banisters. She was in time to see the men start creeping up the second flight of stairs towards them.

She stood behind a chest of drawers, waiting till the men had almost reached the top of the stairs before rushing out at them, screaming at the top of her voice and waving the poker.

One yelled out in shock and stumbled, falling a few steps before he could grab the wooden rails and save himself.

The other moved towards her, but jerked to a stop as the young maid sprang out of hiding and struck out at him with the metal ewer, screeching even more loudly than her mistress.

Cook was yelling, ‘Help! Police! Murder!’ over and over again and waving her poker wildly.

The man who’d fallen down a few stairs turned and fled.

Cursing loudly, the man next to Emily tried to punch her but missed. She managed to hit his shoulder a glancing blow with the poker and raised it for another. But with a yell of pain, he turned and ran after his companion.

Emily didn’t make the mistake of pursuing him. ‘Well done!’ she told her two helpers and had to lean against the chest of drawers for a few moments till her heart stopped fluttering unevenly in her chest.

Cook plumped down on the top step, patting her massive bosom. ‘Oh, my. Oh, my! I never thought to see the day.’

‘Let’s go and make sure they’ve left the house.’ Emily led the way down the stairs, followed closely by the young maid, with Cook trailing reluctantly behind them.

They found a broken window in the scullery but no sign of the intruders. Then a man’s shadow wavered across the backyard area, coming towards them.

Emily tensed.

‘Miss Newington?’ a voice quavered. ‘Be you all right?’

She took a deep breath and refused to give in to a slight dizziness. ‘Come in, Horace. We’ve had burglars, but we chased them away.’

She had to make the cups of tea herself, because Cook decided to ‘throw a spasm’ and sat weeping loudly into a tea towel. Lyddie was still so excited she broke a cup and looked like breaking another until Emily took them out of her hands. ‘Sit down and pull yourself together this minute!’

‘Sorry, miss.’

‘We’ll send for the police first thing in the morning,’ Emily said. ‘In the meantime, I’d be grateful if you’d sleep in the house tonight, Horace. I’m going to load one of my uncle’s shotguns and if they dare to come back, I shall have no hesitation in shooting them.’

‘Better load one for me, too,’ he said. ‘I’m too old to fight anyone, but I can still pull a trigger, yes and hit a target.’

‘You know how to use a gun?’

He chuckled. ‘Oh, yes, miss. In fact, I’ll come and help you load them.’

Emily slept rather badly for the rest of the night, but she felt they’d all acquitted themselves very well, considering, and told her little band of helpers so in the morning.

Cook had provided a more substantial breakfast than usual, ‘to build up our strength’.

The woman wasn’t too upset to clear her plate, Emily noticed, hiding a smile, but she didn’t grudge them the ham and eggs. They’d stood by her at some risk to their own safety and that was what counted.

As soon as it was light she sent young Lyddie into Wootton Bassett on the bus that passed occasionally along the main road, with a note to let the police know what had happened. Then she waited for someone to come out to investigate. She had had a quick look round herself and found boot marks in the damp soil at the edges of the lane.

She was quite sure this was part of an attempt to drive her away and force her to sell the house to her cousin. Well, Arthur didn’t know her very well if he thought she’d give in to this sort of bullying.

She would go and see her new lawyer again as soon as she could get into Swindon. She intended to make a new will. He’d told her she was free to leave her property to someone other than her cousin, because the conditions of inheritance would be broken by her death if she died before the ten years were up. Her former lawyer had told her she was obliged to leave it to her cousin. Malpractice, that, but it was no use challenging a lawyer. The other lawyers and judges would only close ranks on her. And Parker had only ever said that to her, not put it in writing.

Anyone would do as a legatee for the will, just temporarily. She’d get it signed and leave it safely in her lawyer’s hands, then let her cousin know he’d not be inheriting. That should protect her from misadventure.

And she’d sleep with a gun beside her bed from now on, with the bedroom door locked.

Once she got away from here, she’d redo the will and leave her money to charity, or maybe some of her old friends. She sighed. It must make life very easy if you had children to leave everything to and relatives you could turn to. The only thing she was sure of was that she wasn’t letting this house fall into Arthur Newington’s hands, or those of his children. Bad blood on that side of the family.

They’d come here fussing around her when she first arrived, but she’d seen them eyeing the house, estimating values, and had soon sent them packing.

The police didn’t turn up until midday, then a plump young fellow puffed his way up the lane on an elderly bicycle. By that time Emily was very annoyed at being kept waiting.

He was so young, looking more like a boy than a man to her, and confessed that he’d only been in the area for a few months. He bounded around the house like an eager puppy that wasn’t quite sure what was expected of it. She answered his questions patiently and suggested he report everything to his sergeant.

She didn’t mention her suspicions that this incident had been caused by her cousin, because she didn’t intend to give Arthur cause to sue her for slander. But who else could it have been? There was little of value in the house to tempt burglars. Everyone in the neighbourhood knew how
rundown
it was.

When the young policeman had left, she walked down the lane to help care for the stranger, as she’d promised, taking with her a jar of chicken broth made by Cook.

‘I’m sorry I couldn’t get here sooner, Mr Kemble. We had burglars last night.’ She explained briefly what had happened.

He didn’t say anything, but she could see faint frown lines on his forehead as he thought about it.

‘You should take care, Miss Newington.’

‘I am. I now have a loaded shotgun by my bedside and anyone else breaking into my house will get well peppered. I don’t suppose they’ll come back, though, not now they’ve seen we’re prepared to fight.’

He smiled. ‘No, probably not. But the gun is a good idea.’

‘How did your visitor go last night?’

‘She slept a bit better, thank goodness. And I think she’s breathing easier today. I’ve managed to get a little water into her every now and then, but she didn’t really wake up, just drank a few mouthfuls as if she was thirsty.’