Mistress of Greyladies (2 page)

But whatever she and Joseph did, there would be further uncomfortable changes for everyone in the village of Challerton if and when war broke out, she was sure. She could only hope any conflict would be over within a few months, as people were predicting.

Intercepting another frown from her companion, Harriet realised she’d been lost in thought. ‘Sorry. I was just thinking about something I need to do.’

She wondered yet again why Matron Dawkins had been so hostile towards her from the very first day. Though, actually, the feeling was mutual now that she’d spent time with the woman. It was so rare for her to dislike someone on sight that this worried her. Was it because Matron would be in charge of her beloved home from now on, or was it because the Dragon, as Joseph referred to her, was
simply nasty by nature? She suspected the latter.

As they reached the door between the two parts of the building, Harriet glanced back, feeling sad to see how shabby the bare, panelled walls of the huge hall looked now without the paintings which used to hang there. The library had been stripped of books and the floors of rugs, and now echoing spaces waited for the beds and other equipment to arrive.

‘I’ll leave you to get on with your work.’ Harriet was itching to get away from this woman now.

‘Just a moment.’ Matron held out her hand. ‘You need to give me the key to this door. We can’t have outsiders wandering around a convalescent home, can we?’

As Harriet studied the other woman’s sour face, something told her the key wouldn’t be safe in her hands. There was only one, a huge iron piece several hundred years old, dating from the time when the door between the two parts of the building had been the front door of the small manor house. It would be a tragedy if that key got lost.

She hated lying but did so now. ‘I’m afraid we don’t have a key. We’ve never considered it necessary to lock the door.’

‘Hmm. I see. Well, in that case, I shall have the door replaced. It’s good for nothing but firewood anyway, it’s so old-fashioned.’

It was an effort to speak mildly. ‘You aren’t allowed to do that.’

Matron glared at her. ‘I’m allowed to do whatever is necessary for the safety of my patients.’

‘Not when it concerns the fabric of the house. You would need permission. It was written into the agreement with the War Ministry that the historic parts of the building would be protected. Mr Pashley, who is in charge of requisitions in
Wiltshire, is very keen to protect our national heritage. That door has been there since the sixteenth century.’

Spots of red burnt suddenly in Matron’s cheeks. ‘I can and will do anything necessary for the welfare of my patients. I will
not
have strangers wandering through the convalescent home, upsetting the inmates. I shall have some strong bolts put on to the door, then.’

‘You aren’t allowed to make any changes to the fabric of the building without permission. But I can assure you we won’t be wandering around the convalescent home without an invitation.’

‘It’s not just you, but your servants and visitors.’

Harriet abandoned any attempt at diplomacy. ‘If you try to damage the house in any way, I shall summon the local magistrate to deal with you for breach of contract, as well as reporting you to Mr Pashley.’

At that moment war was declared between them and both women knew it.

Harriet didn’t intend to back down. She didn’t consider herself the owner of the house, but rather its custodian or chatelaine – and for as long as she was mistress here, she would protect her beloved home. Some Latimer ladies stayed here all their lives; others served for a few years, then moved on. No one could tell who would be leaving or when. It just seemed to happen, according to the family diaries.

She might not know how long she’d be here, but she knew that she would understand the correct path to follow if the time ever came to change her role. As her predecessors had done.

And just like them, she would find a successor when one was needed.

Once inside the old house, Harriet turned to close the heavy door behind her, but for all her care, it slipped from her fingers and slammed shut, almost as if it had a will of its own. That sort of thing happened at Greyladies sometimes.

She strode towards her husband, muttering, ‘It’ll be a miracle if I don’t strangle that stupid woman!’

Joseph smiled at her as he looked up from his desk. The long room had a minstrel’s gallery at the far end and its ceiling was two storeys high. It didn’t feel at all damp or chilly today, and hadn’t since they moved in.

They’d decided to spend most of their time in this room, so the dining table was at the end where she was standing, near the new house, while their sofas and chairs were arranged near the fireplace and leadlight windows at the other end. They’d hung their favourite paintings in the hall, prominent among them the portrait of Anne Latimer, the founder of Greyladies.

People said Harriet resembled her much-loved ancestor in many ways. The Latimer ladies always had red hair, of any shade from the foxy tone of her own to the deepest auburn. She tried to follow her forebear’s example and lead a useful life helping others. She might have inherited a trust containing a considerable amount of money, but she would never fritter it away in extravagant living.

Some of their paintings had had to be stored in the attics, for lack of wall space, but the Latimers had been ‘required’ to leave some of the furniture in the new house for the expected occupants, and anyway, there wasn’t room to store everything in the old house. She and Joseph were both praying that the furniture wouldn’t get damaged. They treasured these possessions, because she’d grown up poor and he loved beautiful things.

The books from the library were piled along one wall, waiting for Martin from the village to make some temporary shelves for them. Most of their books were too precious to leave in the new house, because they included centuries of the diaries and account books kept by nearly all the previous owners.

Even Harriet, who had never kept a diary in her life, was making a big effort to keep up this tradition. She pitied anyone who read her diary, though, because she didn’t have a gift for bringing scenes to life with words.

As she stood there, trying in vain to calm down, Joseph got up and limped across to put an arm round her shoulders. ‘Next time you have to talk to the Dragon, I’ll come with you. What’s she been saying this time?’

Harriet gave him a quick hug. ‘She wants a key to the old front door. Only, I pretended we don’t have one. I must hide our key somewhere and tell the boys not to mention it. I can’t understand why, but I wouldn’t trust that woman with it.’

‘Not like you to tell lies, my love. Most of the time, you’re rather too blunt.’

‘You haven’t heard the worst. She said if there was no key, she would have the old door removed and burnt for firewood, and a new door and lock put in.’

‘
What?
But she isn’t allowed to do that.’

‘I know. And so I told her. Thank goodness Mr Pashley had it written into the contract that nothing was to be changed without official permission. But she could have the door removed and destroyed before they know anything about it in London. How would we stop her if we don’t know what she’s doing? I hope the commandant will arrive soon and that he’ll be a lot friendlier.’

‘He can’t be less friendly, can he? I wonder what Anne Latimer thinks about all this.’

‘Do you think a ghost can understand such things, Joseph? I always think of Anne as a shadow cast by the past. She won’t be able to intervene, I’m sure.’

‘I’d not put anything past our beloved founder. Look at the way Pashley and Dorrance thought the old house was too damp to use.’

‘We’d better get on. I see the post has come.’ Harriet went to sit at her desk and open this morning’s letters and Joseph returned to his accounts.

War or no war, she still had her charity work to do. Like all the previous owners of Greyladies, she helped people whenever she could, especially women, who often had less ability to help themselves. This gave her great satisfaction and made her feel more worthy of her inheritance.

That afternoon, a telegram arrived for Joseph. The delivery lad waited in the kitchen in case there was a reply to send.

Joseph tore the telegram open. ‘Oh, no! My father’s had a seizure and isn’t expected to live. Mother wants me to join them at Dalton House. You too, of course.’

‘One of us has to stay here. Heaven knows what the Dragon will do if left in charge, and there’s been no sign of the new commandant so far.’

‘I don’t like to leave you to face that woman alone.’

‘I’ll manage. You must go, if only to say a final goodbye to him. That matters, believe me. And anyway, Selwyn won’t be much use to your mother in a crisis, will he?’

‘No. But I do have two other brothers.’

‘Darling, stop finding excuses. I’ll be fine. Now, let’s
be practical. You’ll need help with your wheelchair while travelling. And there’s the luggage to deal with as well.’

He nodded, accepting the inevitable. ‘I’ll ask young Jack Peddy from the village to come with me. He might be only sixteen but he’s a strapping young fellow and very sensible. I’m sure his father will spare him. They have other people to help them on the farm.’

Joseph arrived at Dalton House too late to say farewell to his father. There was a black crêpe bow on the front door and the curtains were drawn, a sign that this was a house of mourning.

His brother Selwyn came to the library door to watch him limp into the house.

‘I didn’t think you’d make it, given your difficulties moving about.’

Joseph ignored this comment, which was mild compared to some of the things Selwyn had said to him over the years.

‘Darling, thank you for coming!’ His mother came across from the drawing room to plant one of her soft kisses on his cheek and link her arm in Joseph’s.

As they walked to the drawing room, she turned back to her oldest son. ‘Do you think we ought to contact your wife, Selwyn? She may wish to come to the funeral. She always got on well with your father.’

He scowled at her. ‘No. It’s about time you accept how she and I feel about one another. And don’t start nagging about children again. There aren’t going to be any from me. I’m getting a divorce. I’m providing her with the evidence next week.’

She was so shocked by this, she seemed unable to speak
for a moment or two, then took a deep, calming breath and turned back to Joseph. ‘Richard can’t be here, because he’s volunteered for the army, your uncle’s old regiment, and he’s in the middle of officer training. He’s sure we’ll be at war before too long and wants to play his part. I think he was finding the law rather boring. You know how physically active he always was.’

‘I’m sure he’ll enjoy the army. He enjoyed the cadet corps at school, didn’t he? What about Helen and Thomas?’

‘Thomas is going to try to get here tomorrow, but if not, he’ll be here for the funeral and then stay on to help me sort the paperwork out. His wife can’t come at all, because she’s due to have the baby soon. They’re praying it’ll be a son. The poor thing hasn’t been well the whole time she’s been carrying.’

She glanced at the clock. ‘We really ought to go in for dinner now. We have it early these days, for the servants’ convenience. It’s
so
hard to get staff these days.’

Selwyn peered into the room, interrupting her flow of conversation to ask loudly, ‘Does my idiot brother need his wheelchair? His lad’s brought it round.’

She glared at him. ‘Don’t speak about your brother like that! You only do it to annoy people.’

‘I’ll speak how I like in my own house. And I’ll drink to that any day.’ He raised his glass to them in a mocking toast and drained it. ‘I’ll just get a little refill.’ He left the room.

Joseph looked inquiringly at his mother, knowing his parents had been considering breaking with tradition and not leaving the house to the eldest son.

She sagged for a moment, then whispered, ‘Your father couldn’t bring himself to disinherit Selwyn, no matter what I said.’

‘Oh dear. Richard would have made a much better owner. What will
you
do now?’

‘I’ve got some money, though not as much as I’d have liked, thanks to your father paying Selwyn’s debts. I’m going to live in a serviced flat in London with just Mrs Stuart as my housekeeper and one maid. Thomas and his wife are going to help me find somewhere in London. I can’t bear to live with Selwyn, so after the funeral I’m only staying till I’ve cleared out my dearest William’s things and packed my own.’

‘When exactly is the funeral?’

‘In two days. I shall be relieved to get it over with.’ She looked at him sadly. ‘William never recovered consciousness after his seizure and I was glad of that, for his sake. He’d have hated to be helpless and confined to bed. I’d like to have said goodbye properly, though.’

To Joseph, her generation seemed overly fond of deathbed scenes, describing them with relish and wanting to be at the bedside of anyone dying.

‘We’d better go and have our meal.’ She patted his cheek and became practical again. ‘You can stay for the funeral?’

‘Of course.’

‘Do we need to find you a temporary manservant?’

‘I don’t need as much help as I used to, but I’ve brought a young fellow from the village with me. Jack helped with the luggage on the journey. I only use the wheelchair for long distances now or if I need a rest. I know it looks ugly when I walk but I’m much stronger these days. Harriet packed suitable clothes for the funeral, just in case.’

‘How is Harriet? And the boys?’

‘They’re all well. She sends her apologies for not
coming, but we have a problem with the matron in the convalescent home and daren’t leave her unobserved. The woman only wanted to pull out and burn the old oak door, a sixteenth-century piece! We’re praying the commandant will be friendlier than her, but he’s not arrived yet.’

‘She sounds dreadful. I don’t know what the government is thinking of, taking over people’s houses like that when everyone says the war won’t last long.’