A Stranger in Honeyfield

by Anna Jacobs

Olivia linked her arm in his for a moment, love shining on both of their faces. Georgie envied them that closeness, but it showed she’d been right to give Francis his ring back. She wanted love like this or nothing.

  ‘This is my husband Alex. We all eat in the kitchen when we don’t have visitors. It’s so much easier for our maids, who’ve been here so long they’re more like friends anyway.’

  One of the maids got up. ‘Not too much of a friend to prevent me getting you some breakfast, Mrs Latimer.’

  She brought them food and everyone chatted about the previous evening, when there had been a concert in the village hall by the children of the local school. No one tried to get Georgie talking, though they did address stray comments to her or offer her more food. They seemed to sense how weary she was and left her mainly in peace.

  She’d thought she wasn’t hungry, but once the food was in front of her, she found herself making a good breakfast and feeling better for it.

  When the meal was over, everyone picked up their own dishes and took them into the scullery, so she did the same. Then Olivia suggested Georgie join her in the sitting room and tell her what had brought her here.

  She’d thought it would be hard to talk to a complete stranger about her personal situation, but she was wrong about that too.

  When she’d finished her tale, her hostess said quietly, ‘Perhaps you’d like to stay here for a few days, then we’ll find a place for you in one of our houses. You’ll be safe there until your troubles with your brother are resolved.’ She frowned and added, ‘There’s just one thing I don’t quite understand … Isn’t your father Gerald Cotterell?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ve worked with him once or twice in London. He’s a little stiff and formal in his manner, but he doesn’t seem like the sort of man to bully his daughter into an unwelcome marriage, or let others do it, either. Does he know what’s going on at your home? Can’t he help you?’

  ‘Mother told me he approved of my marrying Francis, though he hasn’t talked to me about it because he lives in London. He’s never shown any interest in me or my twin, and he and my mother have led separate lives for as long as I can remember. My brother was killed in France recently and my father didn’t even come to Philip’s memorial service.’

  ‘Oh. I see.’

  To Georgie’s relief, Olivia didn’t say anything else about her father, let alone suggest that Georgie should contact him for help, something she had no intention of doing. She couldn’t imagine him intervening in her troubles, not in her wildest dreams. Well, he never had before and she and Philip had written to him a few times when they were younger and their mother was being particularly unfair.

  When he hadn’t replied to their juvenile pleas, they’d stopped trying to ask for his help and kept out of their mother’s sight as best they could. They’d not even eaten their meals with her and Spencer till they were nearly grown up and able – as she’d told them sharply – to hold their tongues unless they were spoken to.

  How Philip could have grown up so cheerful and sunny-natured, Georgie had never understood. She had grown quite despondent at times about her life, which was one reason she’d considered marrying Francis. At least it would have got her away from her mother, because her life had been even more unhappy after Philip volunteered for the army.

  Olivia showed her to a lovely bedroom and said, ‘You look exhausted. Don’t worry if you need a nap. We’re very informal at Greyladies.’

  Georgie was deep-down weary, but she didn’t think she’d be able to sleep.

  Somehow, however, the peaceful atmosphere of the old house soothed her jangled nerves and when she felt herself growing sleepy, she welcomed the peace she seemed to slide into.

  After she’d left her guest, Olivia went for a walk round the gardens with her husband. He was going up to London the following day to visit his antique shop and she might have gone with him if she hadn’t had a visitor who was obviously in great need of help.

  Alex had a good manager in place at the London shop, but he liked to call in every week or two to see any new stock and check that all was well.

  This time there was also a sale of paintings in London that he wanted to see, in aid of some wartime charity or other. There were so many groups, women mostly, trying to do their bit for their country by holding sales of donated items. He’d bought one or two good paintings from such events, things he’d be able to sell at a profit after the war, and in the meantime the money he paid for them would be put to good use.

  ‘If you run into Gerald Cotterell anywhere, you might sound him out about his daughter’s predicament.’

  ‘I can call on him if you like.’

  ‘He might not even be in London. Tread carefully if you do talk to him. We don’t want him to think his daughter is here.’

  As they strolled further, Olivia passed on another piece of information. ‘Our guest could see a light at the top of the stairs.’

  ‘She saw the lady? That’s unusual.’

  ‘I don’t think she saw our family ghost clearly, but occasionally some people outside the family are aware of Anne Latimer’s presence, as you were. They might not see a figure, but they see a light where there shouldn’t be one and sense a presence.’

  ‘Your new guest looks sad when she doesn’t think anyone is watching her. I don’t like to see young women that downhearted. She’s exactly the sort of person Anne set up the family trust to help, isn’t she?’

  ‘Yes. And I’m determined to find a way to cheer her up, either here or somewhere peaceful in the country. We have plenty of room at Honeyfield House, for instance. That might be a good place for her.’

  ‘You’ll work out where to send her. She couldn’t be in more capable hands, I’m sure. You work miracles with some of the women you rescue, my love.’

  ‘And at the same time you’re working miracles with our finances and helping run the Greyladies Trust. The money seems to go further since you took over.’

  ‘Good. I think there will be a lot for the trust to do by the time this war ends, because so many women will have lost the happy married life they’d expected to lead, or they’ll find their husbands return distressed by what they’ve had to see and do.’

  ‘I agree, Alex. Life is going to change greatly and there are always people who have trouble coping with new ways, always people to help.’

  Chapter Ten

  Spencer Cotterell was tired of dancing attendance on his mother and his anger seemed to burn higher by the day. He had poor health compared to others of his age and no regular income of his own, as his brother and sister did. He had never understood why they had been left annuities and he’d been left nothing.

  He’d hated the twins ever since his mother vanished for a few months when he was nine. He’d cried for her night after night, but she hadn’t even sent him a message.

  ‘I’ll be bringing you back a brother or sister,’ she’d said brightly as she left. ‘Do as Miss Palmer tells you.’

  He didn’t want a brother or sister or his governess; he wanted his mother.

  When she did return to Westcott from wherever she’d disappeared to, she’d brought back both a brother and a sister, together with a wet nurse, a starched and fiercely protective nanny and a nursery maid. One of these women always seemed to be keeping watch over the precious little brats.

  He’d never forgotten his outrage at their invasion of his territory. The twins had taken over his nursery, his old toys and books from when he was small, everything, and he’d been told to keep out. They’d been fussed over and spoilt – and they’d always had each other. Nothing he’d ever tried had set them against one another.

  He’d been glad to go away to boarding school, equally glad when they went away to another boarding school later on, soon after he finished school.

  He pushed the memories aside. What on earth had made him think of those stupid childhood grievances? What did they matter now?

  When he joined his mother at the breakfast
table, he said casually, ‘I think I’ll go up to London and see if I can sniff out any sign of where Georgina might be.’

  ‘She won’t be stupid enough to go there or to appear in public.’

  ‘No, of course not, but someone might have seen her. She went off with Harry Lewison the first time. I wonder if …’

  ‘What do you wonder?’ she prompted.

  ‘I don’t know. Just thinking aloud.’ He refused to tell her that he kept wondering how Georgie had managed to disappear again the other night, when he and Francis had almost caught her. This time, he’d found, Harry had been overseas, so he couldn’t have been involved.

  Spencer paid someone to check on Penny, who had gone to Portsmouth to be with her husband, but there was no sign of Georgina there that his man could find.

  Spencer hadn’t told his mother that he and Francis had attempted to capture his sister. Pity they’d failed. Francis had been looking forward to getting his hands on her money and was now in a foul mood. As Spencer often spent a night or two with his friend, his mother hadn’t seen anything unusual in him being away.

  ‘I’ll come with you to London, Spencer,’ she said suddenly. ‘I’m tired of Westcott and though your father doesn’t want me living in London, he doesn’t complain if I only spend a day or two there shopping. There’s hardly any social life round here these days, anyway.’

  That was because his mother had quarrelled with or alienated in some other way half the neighbours. She really was a spiteful old woman and was getting nastier as the years passed, but he still got on with her. He had always been her favourite and she showed him her best side.

  It’d be good to have somewhere else where he could live independently. But for that you needed money and he’d never found a job that suited him. And his health wouldn’t allow him to do anything too strenuous. He was supposed to be managing the Westcott estate at the moment, but it was his mother who did most of that and she was surprisingly good at the money side of things.

  ‘I think you’d better stay here and finish negotiating the purchase of the house in Malmesbury, Mother. You said it was important to you.’

  She heaved a loud sigh. ‘I suppose so. It is important. But I don’t want to pay the full price for it. It really is too bad of Mr Marley to take that whore’s side in the sale.’

  He didn’t think Bella Jones’s morals were as bad as his mother always claimed, but you had to admit that the woman had been clever enough to capture the affections of his soft-hearted younger brother and had even got him to propose marriage. Then, after Philip was killed, she’d inherited everything he owned: money and family property that ought to have gone back into the estate, or at least to Georgie.

  ‘You’ll have to pay her something like the real value of the house in the end, Mother, so why not give in now and stop wasting your time fiddling around with negotiations?’

  She tossed back at him, ‘Are you giving up on finding Philip’s car?’

  ‘It’s not nearly as important as the house, so it can wait. Why did Father buy Philip the car, anyway? You had to buy mine for me.’

  ‘How should I know why he does things? I’ve never understood your father. And your car is bigger, so I don’t know why you even want his.’

  Because it was his, because he was here and Philip wasn’t, Spencer thought, but didn’t say that.

  He studied his mother. She had that shifty look on her face, so he knew there was more to this house thing than that and it was to do with his father. The one thing he couldn’t get her to talk about was her relationship, or lack of it, with his father. And strangely, she didn’t let anger take over when Spencer tried to find out about various puzzling aspects of his parents’ arrangements; she simply said firmly that some things were never going to be discussed.

  Last time he’d decided to find out, he’d pressed her hard and got a tiny bit more information out of her. For all the good that did! He was still puzzling over what she’d said.

  ‘Do not ask about your father or try to interfere in his affairs if you want to live comfortably here, Spencer. Believe me, he is not a man to trifle with. You get your determination from him, but you’re not nearly as ruthless as he is, or as clever – few people are – and you’d come off worse if you butted heads with him, I can guarantee. Everyone does.’

  She’d sounded so bitter it was clear she’d come off worse in her interactions with his father.

  In the end she allowed her chauffeur to drive Spencer to the station and he set off for London, glad to be away from her and Westcott, surely the most gloomy house in the county.

  Spencer was feeling more cheerful as he got out of the taxi and walked into his hotel. Then yet another woman stepped in front of him and handed him a white feather. It had happened a few times and this one was the final straw, for some reason. He erupted in fury, grabbing her and shaking her hard, yelling at her to mind her own damned business.

  A couple of passing officers had the nerve to step in and hold him back so that she could get away. At least he had the satisfaction of seeing her run like a whipped dog.

  From the strange looks he was getting, he judged it wisest to try to mend the situation. ‘Thank you, gentlemen,’ he said once she’d disappeared from sight. ‘I shouldn’t have got so angry, I admit. But these women don’t stop to think that some of us didn’t pass the medical and would have much preferred to serve our country in uniform.’

  But the two officers were still looking at him askance and moved on with only the curtest of nods.

  He really should have controlled his temper better, but that woman had not only confronted him after a highly frustrating few weeks but had handed him the white feather in front of a group of people he was acquainted with.

  That evening Spencer went to a party at a distant relative’s house. He found out about it from a chap he knew slightly whom he’d bumped into in the hotel bar, so he pretended he’d been invited and they shared a taxi there. He didn’t usually attend the Gortons’ bland functions and had never been invited, but he’d gatecrashed once before and they hadn’t tossed him out.

  Tonight he needed company, any company, and he would surely find people to chat to at the soirée. It was going to be a big party, by the sounds of it. The Gortons never seemed short of money to pay for their pleasures, the lucky sods, even in wartime.

  When he went into the house, he could tell that his hostess was surprised to see him, but she quickly pasted a welcoming smile on her stupid fat face.

  ‘We don’t often see you in town, Cousin Spencer.’ She glanced round at the guests in the main room. ‘I think you know enough people to chat to.’

  With a wave of her hand she sent him inside and turned to greet the next arrivals.

  The chap he’d come with soon met a woman, turned out they’d arranged to meet here, and forgot everyone else. It was sickening the way some people displayed their feelings for the opposite sex. Spencer wasn’t fond of women in that way. Or of men, either. In fact he had no sexual feelings at all, thank goodness. It must be very inconvenient, he always thought, to be driven by this strange need.

  He accepted a glass of wine from a waiter and took a sip as he looked round. He didn’t see anyone he knew and was wondering which group to approach when he saw Tesworth over in one corner chatting quietly to another chap. He had his arm in a sling still. Pity the Huns had only blown two fingers off him. They should have aimed higher and blown off his interfering head.

  Still, Tesworth had driven that Jones bitch away from Westcott after the memorial service, so it might be worth chatting to him.

  When he got near, Tesworth saw him coming and scowled at him. What had that Jones woman been saying?

  ‘How do you do?’ Spencer raised his glass. ‘Jolly nice wine, eh? Wonder where they got it from.’

  ‘Delightful wine. Excuse me, but I’ve just seen someone I need to speak to urgently.’

  Left high and dry, Spencer stood and sipped his wine again, chagrined to see other people
turning away from him. Damnation! Had those two officers been talking about his behaviour earlier today?

  ‘What have you been doing to upset Tesworth?’ a deep voice said.

  He swung round. ‘Father! How unusual to see you at a function like this. You don’t usually have much to do with the Gorton branch of the family.’

  ‘Unusual to see you here too. You don’t often come up to town.’

  ‘I come up more often than you visit your ancestral home.’

  ‘I prefer to leave the place to your mother – by mutual consent. I believe I asked you a question. Kindly answer it. What have you been doing to upset Tesworth?’

  Spencer shrugged. ‘Who knows?’

  ‘Well, let’s try this for an explanation. From what I’ve heard, you and your mother behaved rather badly to Philip’s fiancée at his memorial service and it was Tesworth who took her there and drove her home again. Could you not be civil about Philip, even after his death?’

  ‘It was Georgina who caused the biggest upset. She gave Filmore his ring back rather publicly.’

  ‘Yes. That surprised me. Your mother always told me she was in love with him.’

  Spencer laughed and for once told the truth, instead of the careful lies his mother wanted him to spread about the ill-matched couple. ‘No, never in love. What she wanted was to get away from Mother. Who doesn’t?’

  His father ignored that last remark and frowned. ‘Well, she’s made the break now. What did Filmore do to make her dislike him that much and do it so publicly?’ He broke off as an older man came up to join them, greeting him with a smile, then saying to his son, ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, then, Spencer, at breakfast and we’ll discuss this further. I’m at my club, not the town house. Eight o’clock sharp.’

  He turned to the newcomer, not bothering to introduce his son. ‘James, old chap. Just the man I was hoping to see here tonight.’

  Now what the hell did his father want to talk to him about? Spencer wondered. He wasn’t often honoured with a breakfast invitation. The old man had seemed rather annoyed, unfortunately.