Taking a deep breath, she sliced the knife blade along the envelope bearing her name. The embossed gold letters printed along the top of the page shone in the light from the window. Proctor and Armitage, Solicitors and Barristers, Main Street, Skipton, West Riding of Yorkshire, it read. She knew it must be important.
Dear Mrs Oldfield
It is our sad duty to inform you of the death of our client, Mr Edward Carrington of Tunbridge Wells. As executors of his estate we advise that under the terms of his last will and testament you are one of the beneficiaries.
As Representatives of this estate, Proctor and Armitage are under strict obligation to distribute the funds to the correct beneficiaries and require satisfactory evidence of the identity of the persons involved.
As there are certain conditional clauses to address, we feel it would be in your best interests to visit our offices to discuss the matter further.
We look forward to hearing from you in the near future.
Yours sincerely
J. Cranford Proctor
For Proctor and Armitage
In James’s absence, Lucy opened the letter addressed to him. As she expected, apart from the addressee’s name, the content was identical.
Lucy had listened carefully to the information as it was presented to her in legal jargon, but she was still confused. ‘What does it all mean?’ she asked the two rather elderly gentlemen sitting at the opposite side of the heavy walnut desk.
‘What it means,’ said Mr Armitage said slowly, ‘is that under the terms of Mr Carrington’s will, two of the cottages, commonly known as Honeysuckle Cottages, have been left to you. The third cottage, the one which our client occupied until he took up residence in the south, has been left to your son, Mr James Oldfield.’
It took a moment for Lucy to catch her breath. ‘Can you explain what you mean by conditional clauses you mentioned?’
Mr Proctor answered. ‘When the title to the two cottages is transferred into your name, the lease agreement, held over the property currently occupied by Mrs Pansy Pugh, will come to an end. However, when we last spoke to Mr Carrington, which was some two years prior to his death, he made certain requests which he asked us, as his representatives, to outline to you.’
Mr Proctor took off his spectacles and laid them on the desk. ‘I may say that Mr Carrington held you in very high regard.’
Lucy acknowledged the compliment with a nervous smile.
‘He also had faith in your judgement and felt you would handle the lease of the tenanted cottage in a fair and proper manner. He did, however, express the hope that you would honour the current lease arrangement with Mrs Pugh. But, naturally, as the new owner, you are at liberty to demand a reasonable rent for the cottage and by this means you could provide yourself with a weekly income.’ The solicitor paused, allowing Lucy the opportunity to absorb the information.
‘Please continue,’ she said.
‘The other matter our client asked us to convey to you was his wish that you and your son continue living in the cottages rather than selling them. I must again point out that this is not a stipulation, merely a request. Mr Carrington also requested that in the event of your death, the title to your two cottages is passed to your son, James. Again this at your discretion. Once the titles are transferred, you are at liberty to dispose of the two cottages bequeathed to you as you see fit.’ He leaned forward and rested on his forearms. ‘Mr Carrington was aware that you are, if I may say, an eligible woman who may wish to marry. It was our duty to advise him of this at the time he made his will.’
Lucy pondered on what the lawyer was saying ‘Perhaps I should make a will right now, Mr Proctor?’
‘It may be a little premature as the deeds are not yet in your name.’
‘Then if I tell you what I wish, can you have one drawn up for me when everything has been settled?’
‘It will be our pleasure.’
‘There is just one other matter,’ Mr Armitage added. ‘The residue of Mr Carrington’s estate has not yet been determined, but it is likely both you and your son will be beneficiaries to the terms of several thousand pounds.’
‘Goodness,’ said Lucy. ‘I never knew Edward was such a wealthy man.’
‘And an astute man, I would say. We will be in touch when the matter is finalized.’
Once the remainder of the business was concluded, Lucy shook hands with the two solicitors. ‘Thank you. Good afternoon.’
Outside on Main Street the air was fresh. Market day was in full swing and it was two hours before the train was due to depart. With memories of Arthur Mellor and his father rekindled in her mind, Lucy had no intention of visiting the stalls. Instead she chose a small teashop where she tried to relax as she considered her situation. It was hard to feel excited about her prospects and she wished James had been home to support her. But above all, she deeply regretted that her new-found fortune was at the expense of Edward’s life.
Pansy looked distraught. ‘I know you’ll say I am stupid, Lucy, but I have told Stan that he can live here.’
‘You must be daft in the head, girl! Weren’t you listening when we were in the police station? Wasn’t it you who said Crowther tricked the army medical board?’
‘Yes, but I got it wrong, and now I feel guilty because I said what I did.’
Lucy shook her head in disbelief.
‘Stan told me he does have trouble with his eyes but it comes and goes. It was his flat feet which made him fail the medical. And he said the constable had got him mixed up with some other man called Stan, and that it wasn’t the first time people had got the two of them mixed up.’
‘But what about the money he wanted from you? Can’t you see he's taking advantage of you?’
‘He said he was a bit short at the time and it was wrong of him to ask. He told me he was really sorry. He meant it, Lucy, I could tell he did.’
‘So what happens now? And what happens the next time he’s short?’
‘He’s promised me faithfully it won’t happen again, and when he moves in, he says he’ll get a regular job, so I won’t have to go out cleaning.’
‘And you believe him?’
‘Lucy, you don’t know him like I do. Stan’s good at heart, and he gets on well with Timmy, and I enjoy his company.’ She heaved a sigh. ‘And he said that although you and he have never really hit it off, he’d like to get better acquainted with you, especially as the property now belongs to you.’
‘Huh!’ exclaimed Lucy. ‘Is that so? Well, all I can say is, I think you’re crazy for listening to him. You don’t know what you are letting yourself in for!’
Pansy turned away.
‘Imagine what Edward would have said. He’d have had Stan locked up by now.’
‘Lucy, don’t say that. It’s all lies. Stan said so. You’ll see!’
‘Yes I will, won’t I?’
Lucy could hear Crowther yelling, but it was the tinkle of falling glass that brought her running into the front room. Through the broken window she saw him standing in the lane. He was facing her cottage.
‘I ain’t signing no bloody lease!’ he screamed. ‘And I ain’t paying you no two quid a week. You’re a thieving greedy bitch, Lucy Oldfield, that’s what you are. Got your hands on a bit of property and now you want to squeeze a few lousy bob out of every other poor sod. Well, you won’t get a penny out of me. You can stick your lease and your cottage!’
Lucy could hear Pansy’s plaintive cry coming from her garden and watched as he turned back to her.
‘And you know what you can do, Pansy bloody Pugh! Expect me to work for you so I can pay your bloody rent! Bloody women! You’re all the bloody same! Waste of bloody time the lot of you!’
‘Don’t say that Stan!’ Pansy begged. ‘I’ll work something out with Lucy. I promise.’
‘Bloody promises! That’s all I get, bloody promises!’
‘Stan!’ she cried. ‘Don’t be like that.’
‘I got better things to do with me
time than get tangled up with your sort. What you got to offer anyway? You think if you feed me a bit of stew occasionally I’m going work my balls off for you. Well you’re bloody well wrong!’
Lucy jumped back as the second rock came hurtling through her window showering shards of glass across the carpet. By the time she dared peer out again, Stanley Crowther had gone.
Chapter 13
Night
That night Lucy couldn’t sleep. She felt ill at ease. It was pitch black outside. There was no moon and the wind blowing across from the moors was strengthening. The board, nailed across the broken window, rattled as if someone was trying to get in, while the tree branches, rubbing on Pansy’s cottage roof, sent an eerie scraping sound along the length of the eaves. For no apparent reason, the hens squawked – their haunting cries answered by the anxious bleating of the sheep. It was obvious the animals could not sleep either.
Pulling the blanket to her ear, Lucy turned over. She couldn’t get Stanley Crowther out of her mind. She hoped and prayed that after tonight’s incident she would not see him again. In a way, she felt sorry for Pansy but at the same time she was angry with her for allowing the situation to get out of hand. If James had been home none of this would have happened.
In the morning she would speak with Pansy, tell her what she had done and why. Explain that her threat to increase the rent had merely been a ploy to get rid of Crowther and that the peppercorn lease would remain unchanged once the man had gone. The ruse had certainly achieved its desired effect and had worked far quicker than Lucy had expected.
As she drifted to sleep she questioned what Pansy had told her. Had Stan really failed the medical because of his flat feet? Could there possibly be two men with the same name taking advantage of women in the village? In the morning she would speak with the constable, report what had happened and ask if anything had been done about the man from the moors.
The constable read his notes. ‘What you are telling me, is that last night one of your sheep went missing and the night before four chickens disappeared?’
‘That’s right,’ said Lucy.
‘And you think Stanley Crowther’s the culprit?’
Lucy nodded. ‘The first night we thought the wind had pushed the hen house door open. That’s why I didn’t mention it yesterday. But now one of the best ewes has gone, I think someone took it and I’d bet all I have it was that man.’
‘And you don’t think the sheep could have strayed.’
‘She’s was a pet. We raised her on a bottle. She wouldn’t have strayed.’
The policeman shook his head. ‘Not a lot we can do, I’m afraid. It’s hard to prove someone’s taken something unless you can catch them with it. Best advice I can give you is to keep a good eye out and make sure you lock everything up, especially your front door.’
‘Don’t worry I will.’ Lucy paused at the gate. ‘By the way, Constable, did the army do anything about Crowther’s medical?’
‘Not to my knowledge. The information was passed on but I reckon they might be too busy with enlistments.’
‘What will they do if they catch up with him?’
‘If he’s lied, they’d probably have him sworn in then send him straight to prison. A military prison. Not a civilian one. Once he’s served his time – maybe six months, then they’d ship him off to the front-line. That’s what I think.’
‘Thank you, constable.’
The following morning Lucy noticed Goldie grazing alone in the meadow. Edward’s horse had gone.
The constable sounded sympathetic but said there was little hope of getting the animal back. He said he would contact the local knacker’s yard with a description. The only chance they had was if the old mare had been sold to a farmer in another district. He said with the war on there was a shortage of horses, especially ones trained to work in the shafts.
It was the bleating of the sheep that awakened Lucy. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep but had dozed off in the armchair. Edward’s rifle was lying within arm’s reach on the table, the box of ammunition was next to it. Lucy slipped the gun under her arm, dropped the box in her pocket and roused Pansy from the sofa.
The pair agreed not to go out through the kitchen. Instead they slipped out of the front door, hurried quietly past Pansy’s cottage and stopped by the farm gate which led into the meadow.
They did not have to wait long before the black shadow of a man appeared leading a horse. Crowther’s swaggering gait was unmistakable.
‘Leave the horse!’ Lucy ordered.
The man kept walking towards them.
‘Let go of the horse!’ she yelled.
The horse whinnied and shook its mane.
‘Well, what do we have here? Owooo!’ he howled. ‘A pair of witches out on this fine dark night.’
‘If you go any further I will shoot.’
The man stopped. He could see the rifle levelled at him.
‘Let go of the horse!’
‘You’re not going to shoot me. You ain’t got it in you.’
Lucy pulled the bolt back, pointed the gun into the air and squeezed the trigger. The rifle cracked. The horse reared. Lucy quickly reloaded.
‘Bloody stupid bitch, what did you do that for?’
‘That was just a warning. Now let the horse go!’
‘I was just going to,’ he said, lifting the rope bridle. ‘I was only going to borrow it for a couple of hours. I’d have had it back by the morning.’
‘Step away from the horse!’
He didn’t move.
‘So what you going to do now?’ Crowther said. It was the same smarmy tone which Lucy hated. ‘You ain’t going to shoot me, are you?’
‘That’s far enough!’ she said.
He moved towards her.
‘That’s far enough!’ A voice boomed out from behind him.
Surprised, Stan Crowther turned.
Outlined against the meadow were two men. The police helmets were unmistakable.
‘Leave it to us now, miss. We don’t want you doing anything you’ll regret later.’
Lucy’s knees suddenly went weak. Her arm dropped and the barrel hit the ground. Her heart was thumping. Behind her she could hear Pansy sobbing. Her hands shook as she slowly released the bolt, turned the rifle over and let the live cartridge fall into the wet grass.
Would she have fired the second round? She did not know.
October 1918
My dear Mum
Thank you for all the news. You do not know how good it is to get your letters.
I am pleased to hear you are well and this season’s crop was good. Your description of the ricks of hay made me smile. ‘Like Indian tepees’ you wrote. I can imagine young Timmy dancing around them. I wonder if the lad will remember me when I get back. What a difference four years make.
I got a letter from Alice saying she had moved to Cookridge Hospital where all the burns victims were being taken. She said she was enjoying her nurse training though the hours were long and the night work made her very tired. She also said she has moved out of the cottage and was living at the nurses’ home. You and Pansy must miss her.
I didn’t want to worry you but I got injured and had to spend two weeks in the field hospital.
I was in a trench one night when a mortar bomb came over. It’s the size of a rum cask and it seems to roll through the air in slow motion. Everyone just stands and watches to see where it’s going to land. If it’s close, you cover your ears. The explosion is loud enough to shatter your eardrums.
Well, I saw this one floating in my direction. It was too close for comfort, but when you are stuck in a trench there’s nowhere to go. When it went off, I was knocked out. I found out later, I got a dent in my tin helmet. I also got a piece of shrapnel in my shoulder and one in my leg. I would have been all right but they couldn’t get one bit out and it turned bad. It laid me up for three weeks. Half the time I didn’t know where I was. I remember it was cold in the tent, and every noise seemed so loud, e
ven the flapping canvas sounded like thunder. Anyway I’m better now and apart from a couple of scars, there’s no damage. I was lucky.
Though the men in my regiment laugh and joke, we all miss England. Sometimes I wonder if we will ever go home.
It was ironical to learn I am now a wealthy man. Fancy, a cottage of my own and over four thousand pounds in the bank. But that doesn’t matter out here. How can I plan for the future when men around me are being killed every day?
On a more positive note, we have heard the fighting is drawing to a close and the war could be over before Christmas.
How I would love to be shovelling snow from the front door instead of shovelling muck from the bottom of this filthy rat hole.
I’m sorry to end on this note, but I can’t write it any other way.
All my love to you
Your loving son,
James
*
‘He’s coming!’ Alice yelled. ‘He’s coming up the lane! Come quick, Aunt Lucy!’
Lucy’s eyes filled with tears as she waited by the gate and watched her son striding up the road. Pansy and Alice stood beside her, their arms around each other’s waists.
‘Go on,’ said Pansy to Timmy, encouraging her son to run down the hill to greet him. But the boy was unsure of the slim man in the khaki uniform.
As James got closer, Alice left her mother and ran to meet him, flinging her arms around his neck.
The kit bag dropped from his shoulder as he hugged her. ‘My, look at you!’ he said. ‘I can hardly believe my eyes. And look at you,’ he said, ruffling Timothy’s hair before sitting the dented helmet on the lad’s head.
Alice led him by the hand to the gate and the two women who were anxiously waiting to greet him. James kissed Pansy on the cheek then took his mother in his arms and held her tightly.
Through Glass Eyes Page 11
