Legacy of Greyladies (14 page)

‘Will it?’

‘Oh yes. Because women like you and me are going to help our poorer sisters to get things going and oh, you know, play a bigger part in public life.’

‘I’ve never heard you sound so serious, Babs.’

‘I’m very serious about this. But you catch more flies with honey, so it doesn’t do to appear too earnest and annoy the local lady of the manor or the vicar’s wife. Or the important men from each area, come to that. Softly, softly, catchee monkey.’

‘I’ve never heard that expression before.’

‘Haven’t you? It’s one of Baden-Powell’s. I like to imagine him chasing a monkey round the room, wearing that strange Boy Scouts costume of his.’ She chuckled. ‘But let’s get back to our plotting about getting the men on side for our Women’s Institutes.’

Men like Alex, Olivia thought, then felt her cheeks go warm.

‘Now, why did you blush suddenly?’ Babs asked.

‘Just thinking of something. Go on. Tell me how I can help.’

‘Well, I thought you and I could go and talk to the organisers of the first English WIs and get some hints from them. They’re in West Sussex and Dorset, so we’ll go to West Sussex first and we can go on to see a friend of mine in Wiltshire after we’ve been to Dorset.’

‘How will we get around? The train services sometimes get disrupted by troop movements, but isn’t it a bit far for you to drive?’

‘Not at all. I love driving. And I’ll teach you to drive while we’re at it. You’ll need to be able to if you’re going to go round giving talks.’

Olivia blinked in shock. ‘Me? Go round giving talks? Why would I do that?’

‘I told you: to help people get started.’

‘I’ve never given a public talk in my life. I’d be terrified.’

‘Then it will be good for you to work with me at first. It’ll build your confidence. What about driving? Does that frighten you too?’

‘Not as much. I have Charles’s car sitting doing nothing, though I thought I’d change it for one with a self-starter motor. Even my husband found it hard to get the car started manually sometimes.’

‘Good idea. I know a chap who can help you with that.’ Babs became very earnest again as she continued, ‘We can’t wait for the war to end before we do anything, you know. I’ve heard men talking. They expect to push women back
into the kitchen again afterwards. In fact, to hear some of them talk, we can hardly find our way up a flight of stairs.’

‘Donald has that attitude.’

‘I could tell. Well, I intend to think ahead about how to prepare women for new times. It’s their world too, so why shouldn’t they have a say in how it’s run?’

Olivia thought about Cecily, always in the shadow of her dominating husband. So many women were subservient like that, whatever their social class. Charles had never expected her to echo his opinions and run round after him like a substitute mother. ‘I agree with you.’

‘I knew you would the moment I started talking to you. I’ll introduce you to a woman called Madge Watt. She’s a bit eccentric and dresses peculiarly, but she’s been involved in a similar organisation in Canada and she knows a lot about running women’s groups. And there’s a man called John Nugent Harris you have to meet, too. The poor chap’s lost the use of his legs, but he isn’t letting that stop him, drives round in a pony trap. He has an excellent brain. He’s trying to get people to found WIs too.’

‘Do the women themselves want it?’

Babs grinned. ‘Some do. The others will once they see the benefits. I’ve spoken to John about it a few times. He understands more about women than most men I’ve met, I can tell you.’ She chuckled. ‘He says the people we’ll be dealing with will be suspicious of us at first, and I think he’s right there. You can’t pull together a group of uneducated women who’ve been managing their egg money for years and growing their own food, and expect them to be good at running meetings or to have well-thought-out ideas about the future of womankind. They’re used to markets and
selling their produce but ask them about their daughter’s future life and all they can think of is a husband who’s a “good provider”.’

She was flushed with enthusiasm, continuing without waiting for Olivia to comment. ‘I’ve discussed it with energetic women of all classes. Women have already been getting together to do war work, or to help hungry children, or to learn new crafts and ways of preserving food. They can go on doing similar sorts of things as an official group. And they’ll enjoy the social side of the meetings, too.’

She looked ruefully at Olivia. ‘I feel guilty sometimes at throwing expensive parties, when poor children are starving, but I know the officers on leave from the front will be heartened by a party … just as I know half of them will be dead by this time next year. So cheering them up is one of my personal contributions to the war. But once we’ve won it – as I have no doubt we will – I can work to help women.’

She waited a minute or two for it to sink in. ‘Sorry to beat your ears when you’ve only just arrived.’

‘I found it interesting. I’m amazed at your energy and the scope of your ideas.’

Babs shrugged. ‘There are a lot of hours to fill without my Humfy.’

They were both silent for a moment or two, remembering their dead husbands.

‘Anyway, are you in, Olivia? Will you join me in this important work?’

‘Yes, I will.’ She hadn’t realised that beneath Babs’s frivolous exterior was a woman who cared so deeply for others. ‘Like you, I’ll be glad to have something useful to
do with my life. But Charles would tell me to have fun too.’

Babs clasped her hand for a moment. ‘So would Humfy. So we’ll enjoy our party. Who said war work ought to be solemn and worthy?’

They both laughed, then Olivia bent over her sewing again, while Babs chatted about the people who’d be coming to the party.

Phoebe stood at the rear door of the old house, waving goodbye to Corin. She kept a bright smile on her face, difficult as that was, but as soon as he was out of sight she felt the smile slip. She would miss him dreadfully, worry about him … and also worry about herself and that horrible man in the village.

On that thought she went to put away the small handgun she and Corin had been practising with this morning in the old stables, the one her husband usually carried. He said he could buy another gun in London and would feel better if she had a way to protect herself.

She knew how to load and use the weapon now, but hoped she’d never have to fire it at anyone. Corin had assured her that simply having a gun to aim at them would deter most of the people who might try to attack her or her home.

Although she’d concentrated hard while practising, she hadn’t hit the target as often as she’d hoped. But she had hit it a few times and Corin said that her score was as good as the average new recruit, so she didn’t feel completely useless.

When she’d worried about the noise of gunfire, her
husband had laughed. ‘The people from the village will think it’s the soldiers practising. I asked our servants not to tell anyone it’s you who’s learning and Captain Turner will ask the soldiers to say nothing, either. If I had time, I’d teach the servants how to fire a gun, too.’

When it was time to leave, he’d taken Phoebe in his arms and said quietly, ‘Always remember that your life and the baby’s life are worth far more than this house. And if it’s between your baby’s life and a villain’s life, you must shoot him.’

As she went inside, she felt a warmth enfold her and knew it was Anne Latimer trying to offer comfort. She wondered sometimes how much a ghost could understand about the modern world and the bitter fighting that was taking place far away from Greyladies.

The warmth faded slowly and she looked across the room to see Ethel staring at her in shock.

‘Did you just see our family ghost? You don’t have to worry. Anne Latimer is very friendly, especially towards women.’

Ethel let out a deep shuddering breath. ‘I saw a light all round you. Would that be her?’

‘Yes. Please don’t be afraid of her.’ She gave Ethel a quick summary of how the first chatelaine of Greyladies had created this house and set up a trust for helping women in trouble.

The maid listened, fascinated. ‘No one ever told me history like that, ma’am, as if the people were real. At school we just had to learn things like dates and a list of the kings and queens of England.’

‘Well, history was made by real people of all sorts, not just kings and queens. If you’re going to continue working here, you might like to learn more about Tudor history, because
that’s when the old part of the house was built. And you may be interested in what I do to help other women. Would you like me to tell you more about the history of Greyladies and the legacy that has been left?’

Ethel nodded vigorously.

‘Good. We’ll start tonight after tea.’

‘I wonder …’ Ethel broke off. ‘No, that’s cheeky.’

‘Tell me.’

‘Well, there’s a group of women in the village who’re trying to improve themselves. Some have never had the chance to learn to read and write properly, even, because when they were girls they had to stay home from school to help their mothers with the housework and children.’

She flushed. ‘I’ve been helping them a bit, especially with their reading and writing. I was always good at reading, well, at all the three Rs. The teacher wanted me to stay on and become a teacher, but my family needed my wages.’

‘How kind of you to help others now! If you’d like to borrow any of our books to read in your spare time, you’re welcome. Just write down what book you’ve taken in that little notebook in the top drawer of that desk. Miss Bowers does that when she borrows them, too.’

‘Really? I can really borrow your books?’

‘Didn’t I just say so?’

‘I … was surprised. Thanks ever so much, Mrs Latimer. I’d love something to read.’

‘And if you need any time off to help the village women, just ask. I’m glad some of them are trying to improve themselves.’

‘They didn’t have much choice about the schooling, but
they want better for their daughters these days. I understand how they feel because I was one of the missing scholars till I was nine. Then my dad died and my mum married again. My stepdad insisted on us children going to school every single day. He earned a bit more than my dad had, so we could afford to. They made a big difference to our family, those few extra shillings a week he brought home, and he wasn’t a boozer, either, like Dad. Eh, he wasn’t a bad old stick, my stepdad. I still miss him. Sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean to go on about it.’

‘I found it interesting. You were lucky to have him.’ Phoebe hesitated. ‘There’s one other thing you might like to learn. You know my husband has given me a handgun?’

‘Yes, ma’am. Me and Cook couldn’t help hearing the shooting.’

‘I’d like to show you how to use it too. Just in case someone attacks the house and I’m not here. I’ll put the gun somewhere safe, but if I’m out I want you to be able to protect yourselves in any way necessary. Mobs on the rampage seem to lose any sense of reason or decency.’

Ethel gaped at her. ‘I’ve never heard of a mistress like you.’ She clapped one hand to her mouth. ‘Ooh, sorry.’

‘Don’t be. We’re both women and I think the gap between mistress and maid has narrowed a lot during the war.’

‘Well, I thank you for thinking of our safety too. I do indeed.’ She drew a deep breath. ‘But this won’t get the cleaning done, will it?’

Phoebe laughed. ‘No. We’ll have that lesson tonight about the history of Greyladies and I’ll ask Cook when it would be convenient for you two to learn to use the gun.’

‘She won’t do it. She hates guns. But I’d like to learn how
to fire it. You never know what will come in useful these days. If those Huns invade England, I could shoot them with it.’

The next day, Phoebe heard that Sidney Hatterson had returned to the village and her heart sank.

He stared at her with such a hostile expression as she walked past him near the village shop that she was sure he still meant to do her harm.

The next night, which was New Year’s Eve, someone threw another big stone at the old house. Fortunately this one missed the window.

Even more fortunately, the soldier on guard had stopped to smoke a cigarette, so was nearby and didn’t have to be summoned to the rear of the big house.

He came running out of the bushes, yelling at the top of his voice to whoever it was to halt or he’d fire.

The intruder fled and the soldier fired his gun after him. A yelp suggested he’d hit the man, but he still managed to escape.

By that time the commandant had come to the front entrance in his dressing gown, standing pressed against the wall just inside the slightly open door, his revolver at the ready.

When the soldier came running round the corner of the house, Captain Turner yelled, ‘What the hell is going on, Baker?’

‘Intruder, sir. He threw a stone at the back of the house.’

‘Well, get after him.’

But by that time it was too late to catch him.

Captain Turner went to check that Phoebe was all right and found her in the kitchen with her own gun at the ready.

‘He got away.’ The captain gestured to her weapon. ‘You’d better keep that handy at all times. I’m beginning to
fear it’s you they’re after, as well as my charges.’

Which worried her so much she got little sleep that night.

Why? What had she ever done to Hatterson?

A lad from the village who’d been paid by Corin to spend the nights keeping watch on the village and old house was in the stables eating the sandwiches his mum had packed for him when the incident happened. When he heard a noise, he dropped the food and stood up in time to see the intruder throw his stone and the soldier come after him shouting.

Since it was a cloudy night, Joe was able to slip out of the building without being seen and follow the intruder. He grinned at how useless the soldier clumping along was at tracking anyone. A proper townie, that chap, and soon left behind by the stone thrower.

He kept to his strict instructions to watch for intruders and check where they went. He was to keep out of sight and make no attempt to stop anyone.

It wasn’t Sidney Hatterson, because this man didn’t have a limp, but the fellow went into the Hattersons’ house without knocking, so Sidney must be involved.

Joe had been unable to distinguish any details of the intruder’s appearance because the moon was still behind the clouds. The fellow had a dark cap pulled down over his hair and a scarf wound round his lower face, so all the lad could tell was that he wasn’t all that tall and was thin.

He found a nearby garden to hide in and keep watch on the house, delighted to have something to report, but regretting that he’d dropped his sandwich.

No lights came on in the house to greet the visitor, but Joe had excellent hearing and heard doors open and close
inside. He thought the sounds must come from the room at the front or he’d not be hearing them, so risked creeping into Hatterson’s front garden and getting close to the window.

He gave a pleased nod as he heard two men talking in low voices. His mum teased him about his big ears and how he could hear a pin drop, but it was very useful tonight to have good hearing.

‘… how you could miss hitting one of those big windows, I really can’t understand.’

That was Hatterson. He had such a whining voice, you couldn’t mistake it.

‘It isn’t as easy as it sounds, throwing stones in the dark.’

The other man was a stranger and spoke very differently from local folk.

‘I hit a window when
I
threw my stone,’ Hatterson said. ‘Smashed it good and proper, broken pieces of glass everywhere.
You
missed a ruddy great window completely.’

Outside Joe rubbed his arms briskly to warm himself up. Hatterson had a strange way of rolling his Rs. The lad mouthed the words ‘rrreally’ and ‘brroken’ to try it out, then went back to listening.

His mum was right: Hatterson was a real bad ’un.

‘It’s cold tonight. How about lighting the fire?’ the stranger asked.

‘Do you want to tell all my neighbours that someone’s awake here? Do you think they wouldn’t notice the smoke and the firelight? Anyway it doesn’t seem cold to me. You should have been in the trenches. Now, that really was cold. You were lucky getting turned down on medical reasons.’

‘I’m doing my bit in other ways, aren’t I?’

‘Not yet, you’re not. We have to do something to get
rid of the Huns in that house, not just play at smashing windows. What I’d really like to do is burn the whole damned place down.’

‘No! It’s been there for hundreds of years.’

‘So what? I’d burn all the Huns up with it, too.’

‘I don’t understand why you’re going after that woman in the back, then. The Huns live in the front part of the house’

‘I want to get rid of
her
as well. She’s given them shelter, hasn’t she? She deserves to be got rid of, the snooty bitch.’

‘You don’t mean you’d—’

‘Never you mind what I mean. You and your pals keep in touch and we’ll work our way up to a big offensive.’ Hatterson sniggered. ‘That’s what they call attacks in the army – offensives. The offensive thing here is the stink of Huns and Hun-lovers. Did you know they all had a singsong together at Christmas? Very cosy, they were. My friend up at the big house said it made him feel sick to see them acting like old friends. Well, we’ll make sure them sods aren’t here next Christmas, whatever it takes.’

‘I’m not prepared to kill anyone.’

‘Not even a Hun?’

‘Not even a Hun. But I would thump one if I got the chance. I’d enjoy doing that.’

The lad outside was shocked by what Hatterson had said.

‘You’ll do your bit if you have to,’ Hatterson snapped. ‘And
I
will tell you what to do. I’m the trained soldier here.’

Silence, then he went on, ‘You’d better get off home now while it’s dark. Be sure you wheel your bicycle on the grass as you go through the village. We don’t want anyone hearing you.’

‘I was going to grab an hour’s shut-eye on your sofa first.’

‘They get up early in the country. Someone would see
you going back. You get off to Swindon now, while it’s dark. Here. Have a nip of this first. It’ll warm you up.’

There was the sound of glasses clinking.

Joe decided he’d better hide again. As he was leaving, he saw something poking out from behind the house and tiptoed along to check it. It was the stranger’s bicycle. He was tempted to use his penknife to puncture one of the tyres, but realised that would give away the fact that someone had been watching them. Regretfully he moved across the road and hid in the other garden once again.

He waited to be sure the stranger really had left, then walked slowly back to check on the big house and see if his sandwich was still in the stable. He could brush the dirt off it as long as nothing had been nibbling it.

He was enjoying this little job. It was a nice way to earn some extra money during the slow season on his dad’s farm and he was getting practice at doing military stuff.

He had a think about what he’d overhead and decided Hatterson was wrong. Them lot at the big house weren’t enemies. They were nice old men and women, who were polite as anything when they went into the shop. He was sure they didn’t want to fight anyone.

Major Latimer would be pleased with what he’d found out tonight.

He’d write his daily letter to the major about it first thing in the morning, as instructed. Who’d have thought those boring lessons with Miss Bowers, writing his alphabet and then the same words over and over on his slate, would come in useful? Even his mum said he wrote a clear hand. You wouldn’t dare be sloppy with Miss Bowers.

The schoolmistress had always said you had to learn to
think
clearly too, because your brain was the main thing you had to deal with the world. He hadn’t cared about that at school, but now he was nearly a man, he could see that she was right.