Yew Tree Gardens (7 page)

‘I’ll bring you up some water to wash in, shall I, sir?’

‘That would be lovely.’

‘We’ve got warm water still in the tank, though it’s not hot now. It won’t take me long.’

While she was gone, Walter unpacked Gil’s things.

‘It’s a strange welcome,’ Gil said.

‘It’s a nice house, though, and I like the looks of that lass.’

It was a relief when his two helpers stopped fussing and left him alone. Gil undressed slowly, enjoyed a leisurely washdown with the lace-trimmed facecloth, and got into bed, sighing with relief.

Although his bad leg was aching furiously, he wasn’t going to take a sleeping powder, because they always left him dopey in the mornings.

He felt quite sure he’d need all his wits about him for a while.

Why were people so angry about Chapman not inheriting? Why had Miss Bennerden not left the money to the fellow if he’d been helping her?

Well, whatever Chapman had or had not done, Gil wasn’t going to give up his inheritance. He needed it.

Besides, Miss Bennerden didn’t sound like an unfair sort of person. She must have had a very good reason to cut Chapman out of the will.

I’m home, he thought as he snuggled down. I have my own home now.

Gil woke with a start, his heart pounding as he realised what had disturbed him: the sound of breaking glass.

He got out of bed and went to look out of the window, but could see no sign of anyone near the house.

There was a knock on his bedroom door. ‘Gil?’

‘Come in, Walter.’

‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes. Did you hear it too?’

‘I did, sir, and cursed myself to think we don’t have anything to defend ourselves with. I wonder if there are any guns in the house.’

‘I shouldn’t think so. An elderly spinster would hardly collect guns, and she wouldn’t be the hunting type anyway, not if she was a friend of my grandmother’s.’

‘I’ll go and take a look downstairs, see if anyone’s broken in. There’s enough moonlight to find my way. I don’t want to show them where I am by carrying a lighted candle.’

‘I’ll come with you. No, don’t argue. This is a case of two being safer than one.’ 

When they went out on to the landing, they saw something white at the end of it, then it moved towards them, to reveal Lizzie, in a floor-length nightdress with a darker shawl clutched tightly round her shoulders.

‘We’re going to look round. Do you want to come with us?’ Gil whispered.

She answered very quietly too. ‘Yes, please, sir. I don’t like being on my own up there in the attics. I’ve never slep’ on my own in my whole life before.’

They heard no sounds from below as they crept down the stairs. The broken window was in the front sitting room, as they’d thought. The floor near it was covered by shards of glass which gleamed in the moonlight, but the hole wasn’t big enough for anyone to climb through.

‘Good thing we locked up,’ Walter said in a low voice.

On the floor near the window was a brick with some paper tied round it.

‘Looks like a message to me.’ Walter glanced down. ‘I’ve got my shoes on, you two are wearing slippers, so I’ll get that brick, then we can see what they want.’

‘We could light a candle in the hall to read it,’ Lizzie volunteered. ‘We always leave matches and candles there. No one will be able to see what we’re doing.’

‘Good idea. You light some candles for us, lass. You know where things are kept.’

The message was short but to the point, printed in big black letters in pencil.

‘We’ll keep this to show to the police. Is there a village policeman, Lizzie?’

‘Yes, sir, but …’ she hesitated, then finished in a rush, ‘he’s Mary’s cousin, and I don’t think he’ll do anything to upset her or the others in the village.’

‘He’ll have to take action if a crime has been committed. It’s his job.’

She didn’t contradict him, but she looked unconvinced.

‘We’ll do our best to keep you out of it, lass,’ Walter said soothingly.

She sighed and looked at him. ‘How will you do that if I’m working here?’

‘Do you want to leave?’ Gil asked. ‘If you do, I’ll give you enough money to tide you over till you find another job.’

She looked from one man to the other. ‘You’re that kind!’ She seemed surprised by it. ‘I don’t want to leave. I never did, but
they
said I had to. I like working here, with good food and clean clothes and all. Mam was desperate when they told her I had to leave. All of a tozz-wozz, she was, for days.’

‘Well, we’re very happy to have you stay.’ Gil looked at the time on the big grandfather clock with a gleaming brass trim around the dial that stood in the hall. It was just after midnight.

‘Do you think they’ll come back, sir?’ Lizzie looked round nervously.

‘I doubt it. They didn’t try to break in this time. I think they just wanted to upset us.’

‘We might as well go to bed, then,’ Walter said. ‘I agree with you, lad. They’ve sent their message and that’s probably it for tonight.’

Gil picked up the piece of paper and put it in his pocket.

Walter patted Lizzie’s shoulder. ‘Thank you for staying, lass. Your mother’s not the only one who needs your help. Two men on their own would have trouble finding anything in a strange house. We’ll get some other help for you as soon as we can.’

‘Mrs Turvey would come back, sir. She does the scrubbing and she didn’t want to stop working here, neither.’

‘Can you let her know she’s still wanted? And perhaps she can come in every day.’

‘Yes, sir. She lives near Mam.’

‘Then you can see her after you take your mother her money.’ Gil had a sudden idea. ‘Tell Mrs Turvey I’ll pay her an extra shilling a day. Just as I’ll continue to pay you higher wages. Walter and I value your loyalty.’

She drew in a breath of surprise. ‘That’ll mean a lot to Mrs Turvey, more work and more money for it.’

A shilling, Gil thought as he lay on his bed. One shilling a day would mean a lot. He hadn’t realised. Why had he not realised? Because he’d been spoilt rotten and selfish, that’s why.

He couldn’t get back to sleep, his thoughts were in such a confused tangle, but one thing had become clear: the independence which money gave meant a lot to him – not just the comfort but the purpose in life, the ability to help others.

Why hadn’t Miss Bennerden left the money to this Chapman fellow if he was a relative? Did the lawyer know?

There wouldn’t just be trouble in the village, Gil thought with a wry smile. He’d have trouble with his father, who would try to tell him what to do with his inheritance. But fortunately his father had no power over him now.

And no one else was going to tell him what to do, either. He might limp, he might have a stupid, useless arm, but he could still stand firm against blackmail and bullying, couldn’t he?

‘I won’t let you down, Alice Bennerden,’ he whispered into the darkness and sighed with relief as he felt himself slipping gently towards sleep.

In spite of his disturbed night, Gil woke up early. Outside, birds were making occasional soft noises in the dimness of the false dawn.

He was in his own home!

Yawning hugely, he snuggled down for a few minutes, but the lighter it became, the more he wanted to be up and doing.

He heard footsteps coming down the attic stairs. If that was Lizzie starting work without anyone telling her what to do, she was a good, honest lass.

Someone stirred in the bedroom next to his. Walter. So they were all three awake.

Gil swung his legs out of bed and looked for his dressing gown, then realised he’d not brought it with him. He must send for his clothes from home – no, his family’s house wasn’t his home any longer.

But if he sent for his clothes, he’d have to tell them where he was. He wanted to settle in a little before he faced his father.

Someone knocked on the door. ‘Come in, Walter.’

‘You’re awake, then?’

‘Yes. Too excited to sleep.’

‘I’ll get dressed, then go down and get you a cup of tea.
Once there’s some hot water, I can bring it up for you to shave.’

Gil couldn’t bear to wait around for others to fetch and carry. ‘I could get a cup of tea myself. If I come down, that’ll save some running about.’

Walter nodded. ‘I’ve been thinking. We can’t expect that girl to run the whole house, even with a daily cleaner. We need a cook, a garden lad, all sorts of help – and quickly.’

‘Lizzie’s a good lass.’

‘Yes. You did right to raise her wages. I remember going hungry as a child.’

‘Did you really?’

‘Oh yes.’ Walter’s eyes grew blind with memories for a few seconds, then he smiled and went to get dressed.

Gil did the same, feeling excited and happy.

In the kitchen Lizzie had just got the black lead out and was about to clean the cooking range.

‘It won’t hurt to leave the black leading for a day or two,’ Walter said. ‘Just get the stove lit and some tea brewed. We won’t wait for the water in the cistern to heat up. If you boil a kettleful, we can shave before breakfast.’

Walter was studying the kitchen and its amenities. ‘We could do with gas here, couldn’t we?’

‘It goes past the village, sir, but no one here can afford to have it connected,’ she volunteered.

‘Well, we’ll look into that,’ Gil said. ‘It’d make all our lives easier.’

She looked doubtful. ‘I’ve heard tell it’s dangerous.’

‘Not if you treat it properly,’ Walter said. ‘We had it in London. I know what to do and I’ll show you.’

She smiled in relief. ‘That’d be good.’

All the time she was talking, her hands were busy, first lighting the fire, then filling the kettle, Gil noticed. He’d never have been aware of that sort of thing before the accident. He’d only paid attention to his own needs in those days. ‘As soon as we’ve eaten, you can nip over to your mother’s with the money and ask Mrs Turvey to come back.’

She beamed at him. ‘Thank you, sir.’

‘Any other people in the village looking for work?’ Walter asked. ‘We need someone to do the cooking. We shan’t mind if they can’t do fancy stuff.’

Lizzie stood thinking, head on one side. ‘There’s Madge Hilton. She lost her husband two weeks ago and she’s got to move out of the tied cottage. She’s a good cook, everyone says. Only she’s got her daughter to think of.’

‘When you go and see your mother, ask Mrs Hilton to come and see us,’ Gil said. ‘I told you yesterday – we’re desperate for help. If the daughter’s old enough, she can live here too and help around the place.’

‘Will it upset Mrs Hilton to go against the village?’ Walter asked.

Lizzie smiled. ‘Madge would go against the King himself if she thought she was in the right. She’s very plain-speaking. But the daughter’s …’ She hesitated. ‘Amy’s grown-up but she’s slow-thinking. Madge won’t put her in the workhouse, though, whatever anyone says.’

‘Is the daughter violent?’

‘Bless you, no. Amy wouldn’t hurt a fly. She’s terrified of anyone she doesn’t know, and of some she does know, too. There are village lads as torment her if they get the chance. It’s not right, but Mr Chapman just laughs about it.’

‘What’s it got to do with him?’

‘He’s sort of taken over in the village, acting like he’s squire.’

‘Has he, now.’ The more Gil heard, the less he liked the sound of Chapman. Fancy laughing when people tormented someone.

By ten o’clock Lizzie was back from her mother’s with a very thin woman whose eyes were red and swollen, as if she’d been crying. She was holding the hand of a young woman taller than she was, a shambling, shapeless creature, who was half hiding behind her mother.

As Gil sought for the right way to conduct an interview for a cook, a task his mother and the housekeeper had always undertaken, Madge took over. ‘Lizzie says you’re looking for a cook, sir.’

‘Yes. You must know that the others have left, and why.’

‘Everyone knows. He wants to tell us how to think, that Mr Chapman does, but I make up my own mind about people. I might as well say at the start that I can’t do fancy cooking, sir, though if you bought me a cookery book, I dare say I could learn some new dishes, yes and enjoy doing it, too. And I don’t mind helping out anywhere to start off with. You’ll be at sixes and sevens for a while.’

‘What about your daughter?’

‘Amy can do simple jobs, like filling the wood boxes and bringing up your hot water. She’s very strong and I don’t let her sit around idle. It just takes her longer to learn new things.’

‘Then she could work for her keep.’

‘Oh, sir!’ Her lips wobbled for a minute, then she nodded. ‘I’ve got my own furniture. Can I use that in my room?
Farmer says he’ll store it for me in his barn, but I don’t want insects getting into my mattresses and bed linen.’

‘Of course you can. And put the rest in our attics here.’

She had to breathe deeply and was clearly near tears. ‘You’re kind, sir. Like Miss Bennerden was.’ Madge nodded as if that settled something. ‘If you still want me, I’ll be happy to work for you.’

He beamed at her. ‘I do want you … Cook.’

She smiled back, relaxing visibly. ‘Is that my new title?’

‘It is indeed.’

So they had a cook and a general helper now, Gil thought, feeling pleased with himself.

He went upstairs after the interview, and as he looked out of his bedroom window, he saw Madge stop just beyond the vegetable garden at the side, thinking herself out of sight. She indulged in a short, sharp bout of weeping against her daughter’s shoulder and the girl wasn’t too stupid to offer her comfort, patting her mother and holding her close.

Gil felt a lump in his throat at the sight of that.

After a few moments, Madge scrubbed her face, kissed her daughter’s cheek and took hold of her hand, then hurried off through the woods to pack up her home.

How quickly poor people could lose everything. How little it took to help them. He was getting a series of rapid lessons about this.

After he’d shaved and washed, Gil decided to go through his new home room by room. He wanted to fix the layout in his mind and learn what each room had been used for. He was relieved that Walter left him to do that on his own, while he helped Lizzie.

Oh, the peace of the place! No sounds of traffic, just birdsong and the sound of the wind.

And yet, even in this peaceful village, someone had thrown a brick through his window last night. Would they do it again tonight? Or something worse?

Lizzie had cleared up the broken glass this morning and Walter had nailed a plank across the broken window. But the message carried by the brick was burnt into Gil’s brain.

Who didn’t want him here?

There was one obvious answer.

Mr Mortlake arrived at Oakdene at two-thirty in the afternoon, by which time Gil knew every curling line and flower on the patterned carpet in the sitting room. He wasn’t sure why he felt so apprehensive, but he did. He couldn’t settle to anything and was reduced to pacing slowly up and down the room, trying to avoid treading on certain parts of the pattern in the carpet to distract himself.

Walter showed the lawyer in, and after Gil had shaken Mr Mortlake’s hand, he said, ‘Stay with us, Walter.’

Mr Mortlake looked at him in surprise.