A Stranger in Honeyfield

by Anna Jacobs

  He knew better than to miss that appointment because when it came down to it, his father was the one who held the purse strings in the family. At least, the strings of the purse from which his mother siphoned money into Spencer’s pocket.

  He wandered round the elegant rooms, stopping now and then to chat, but grew bored and angry because people didn’t spend long chatting to him and quickly found excuses to move on. He left early.

  He didn’t feel like going back to the hotel yet but he was finding it embarrassing here, so had no choice. His mother kept going on about him finding a wife and setting up home in one wing of Westcott, but he didn’t want to encumber himself with a woman, let alone try to father children. He was looking forward to inheriting Westcott and living there alone in utter comfort.

  His father had never urged him to marry. Why not? Oh, who cared? Not him. He didn’t care about anything much these days except his own comfort.

  Spencer made sure he was on time for the breakfast meeting and was shown into the dining room at his father’s club by the same elderly steward.

  His father looked up from some papers. ‘Sit down and order whatever you fancy. I’ll just finish reading this report.’

  Spencer ordered a full cooked breakfast with all the trimmings, which would save him buying lunch. He hated to scrimp and save, but had to watch every penny carefully. That frugality had given him a reserve of more money than his mother realised. As the elder son, the heir to Westcott, he shouldn’t have had to do that, though.

  He realised his father was shuffling the papers together and putting them in his briefcase, so prepared to pay careful attention. You had to stay on your toes with such a clever man.

  ‘I’m not pleased that you and your mother saw fit to treat Miss Jones so rudely. And to do it publicly was particularly stupid.’

  ‘She’s nothing but a gold-digger.’

  His father looked down his nose. ‘Kindly refrain from using the latest slang expressions when you’re with me. You were educated to use the King’s English.’

  Spencer shut his mouth and waited.

  ‘I wish to make one thing clear today: I shall be obliged if you’ll refrain from blackening Miss Jones’s reputation in future and tell your mother also to refrain.’

  ‘All right. And I can tell Mother, but I doubt she’ll stop at my say-so. You know what she’s like when she takes against someone.’

  ‘Only too well.’

  Their food arrived just then and both men consumed a few mouthfuls before continuing their conversation.

  ‘Do you know where Georgie is now, Spencer? I intend to make sure she’s all right. Your mother can be … spiteful.’

  ‘Georgina went off with Harry Lewison, so I assume he’s found her somewhere to stay. I believe he’s back in France now, though.’

  ‘Hmm. I’d better ask around. If you see her, tell her she can come to me for help. If you see Harry when he comes on leave, ask him to pass that message on. And do not do anything else to upset her.’

  Spencer couldn’t hide his surprise. ‘You don’t usually get involved.’ But he didn’t say anything about Georgie being with Harry’s sister.

  ‘I didn’t realise until last night that she’d been pushed into getting engaged to Filmore. I don’t like the fellow, but I thought if they cared for one another, she’d be looked after all right. I shall make my feelings about that plain to your mother. I don’t feel that man is a suitable friend for you, either. He’s not a nice person.’

  Spencer shrugged. ‘Most of the nice men are in the forces. I have to make do with the company of those who aren’t.’

  ‘Pity you couldn’t go into the army. It’d have been the making of you. Who’d have thought that a Cotterell would have a heart weakness? That comes from your mother’s side. How are you feeling these days? Do you need to see a doctor regularly for check-ups? If so, I’ll pay.’

  Spencer was surprised at that. ‘They said I should see someone if it got worse, and it hasn’t. Doesn’t affect me much at all, actually. What they mainly advised was that I shouldn’t exert myself too much physically.’

  His father studied him. ‘You don’t look any different from last time I saw you.’ He paused to eat another couple of mouthfuls, then said, ‘The main reason I wanted to see you today was to tell you that I’m going to pay your allowance directly into your bank account from now on instead of sending it via your mother. I shall double it and pay quarterly in advance, starting this month.’

  Spencer hoped he hadn’t let his shock show. ‘Thank you. I’d appreciate that.’

  ‘I’m satisfied that you manage your money carefully these days or I’d not do it. You were stupidly spendthrift when you were first let loose on the world, but I’m pleased that you’ve grown out of that.’

  He’d had to without money or credit, Spencer thought.

  A few mouthfuls later, his father added, ‘If you go after Miss Jones or upset her in any way, Spencer, the allowance will stop completely and permanently.’

  Was that the purpose of all this? Spencer wondered. Why was he so concerned about the Jones woman?

  But his father changed the subject, and for the rest of the meal they discussed the progress of the current war. What else did anyone ever talk about but the damned war? At least his father seemed to think Britain was making progress.

  Spencer paid close attention. If the old man wanted to talk about the war he could do so all day, as long as he kept paying the money straight into Spencer’s bank account. And actually, his father knew his stuff and turned out to be quite interesting, which surprised Spencer.

  As he walked out of the club, he smiled. He was over thirty. It was more than time he had his own income.

  He had to stay away from Miss Jones or the money would be stopped. He didn’t like to think of her with all Philip’s money and the car, but was she worth losing his allowance for? Probably not. Pity.

  Tez attended the hospital for his check-up, arriving on time, annoyed when they kept him waiting for ages without an explanation. He couldn’t help thinking about the previous evening as he sat there on a hard wooden bench. You didn’t often see Spencer Cotterell at society functions, even those of his relatives.

  Well, people didn’t often invite him. Tez had heard a whisper that his hostess had looked surprised when Spencer turned up. He could well believe that the fellow wouldn’t hesitate to gatecrash a relative’s party.

  Gerald Cotterell, on the other hand, was a welcome guest everywhere. He was interesting to chat to when he made the effort to appear socially, which he didn’t often do, and courteous even to the most boring people. He was well respected even though no one was quite sure what he did at the War Office, only that it was to do with information gathering. Sometimes he wasn’t seen for a week or two but that happened to quite a few fellows at the War Office, so it wasn’t remarkable.

  Philip’s brother wasn’t looking at all well, but then Spencer never did.

  ‘Captain Tesworth?’

  He turned round to see a smiling nurse. He didn’t correct the title, though he was Mr Tesworth now. Which felt strange.

  ‘Doctor is ready to see you. This way, please.’

  The doctor unwrapped Tez’s hand and studied it carefully, asking him to do a series of small movements.

  He did as he was told, forcing himself to look at the damaged hand as he moved it around. Now that the worst of the swelling had gone down and the line of stitches had neatened the outer edge of his hand, he found it – well, not as repulsive as he’d expected. Or maybe he was just getting used to the sight of it.

  ‘First indications are that you’ve been lucky, Captain Tesworth.’

  ‘Oh?’ It didn’t feel lucky to lose two fingers. The lucky part was in not being killed or losing a whole limb.

  ‘Yes. The associated damage to nerves and the various small bones in the hand and fingers could have been far worse. It’s my guess that you’ll recover a fair amount of use if you’re careful not to push
the hand too hard. My advice is to give it time to heal before you try to do much with it. If doing something is painful, stop doing it at once.’

  Tez couldn’t speak because if he had tried to say anything he might have shamed himself by getting over-emotional. They’d warned him of the possible bad results of the injury but no one had said anything about the possibility of it becoming a usable hand again. He nodded and swallowed hard.

  ‘Hard to take good news after so much bad, isn’t it?’ the doctor asked, grasping his shoulder gently. ‘It cheers me up to give chaps good news for a change, I can tell you, and Nurse here feels the same as well.’

  The middle-aged woman nodded vigorously.

  ‘Now, we’ll wrap up the wound again and Nurse will give you a list of gentle exercises. I repeat: go gently. I can’t stress that enough. It could make all the difference to how much function the hand recovers.’

  ‘Thank you. I will be careful.’

  The doctor left the nurse to bandage his hand, this time with much less padding.

  ‘There you are, Captain. Be careful not to stress it too much yet.’

  ‘The doctor said that too. I have taken it on board, I promise you.’

  She smiled. ‘Yes, but I know how impatient you young fellows can get to recover once you see the first signs of real progress. You need to think long term for this first year.’ She tied the sling round his neck again then patted his other arm. ‘There. Keep the hand in a sling as you go out and about for a few days more, then gradually start doing things without the sling. And the watchword is?’ she prompted as he stood up.

  ‘Go gently.’ He would definitely take that instruction to heart.

  What would Isabella say if she saw his mangled hand? he wondered as he strolled away from the hospital. Would she find it repulsive? Would she not want him to touch her with it? He prayed not.

  What would she say if he showed his feelings for her? He smiled at the thought. He wasn’t stupid enough to say anything about his love while she was still grieving. He planned to wait until after the baby was born before he started courting her.

  In the meantime he’d protect her in any way he could, most especially from Spencer Cotterell. And if that meant spending every weekend in Honeyfield and lying awake in the next bedroom knowing how close she was and aching with the desire to take her in his arms, so be it.

  He didn’t have much else to do and anyway, couldn’t use the hand much yet. However, he had enough money saved not to have to worry about earning more for a year or two, so he was going to spend a lot of time at Honeyfield, if she’d have him.

  He might even do what Isabella had suggested and see if he could paint again. It had once been his favourite pastime, after all.

  Chapter Eleven

  Georgie loved the old house where she was taking refuge. Her own home was about a hundred years old and considered a fine example of Regency architecture. Greyladies was late medieval and yet so warmly welcoming it felt more like a real home than hers had ever done.

  On the day after her arrival Olivia offered to show her round the old part and she accepted with alacrity. Her hostess started by taking her up to the gallery to see the portrait of the founder of the house.

  ‘This is Anne Latimer.’ She gestured with one hand.

  Georgie studied the portrait. ‘It must be hundreds of years old but it looks as fresh as the day it was painted. You’ve found some excellent restorers.’

  ‘No one has ever needed to restore it.’

  ‘Really?’ She studied the painting and the lovely grey gown and headdress the lady was wearing. ‘She looks a bit like you.’

  ‘Other way round. I look a bit like her.’

  ‘I’d love to have met her. She has such a wise and loving expression.’

  ‘She was wise. When Henry VIII shut down monasteries and nunneries, she had to stop being an abbess, but she decided to get married and carry on with good works. She and her husband converted this house from the abbey’s guest house, and continued to help people.’

  ‘I hope they were happy together.’

  ‘Latimer women are usually happy in their marriages. They seem to have the knack of knowing when they’ve met the right man. I was extremely happy with my first husband, who was killed early in the war and his loss was hard to bear. But I’m also happy with Alex, though in a different way of course, so I consider myself a very fortunate woman.’

  ‘I like to hear such stories. It restores my faith in love. My mother and father aren’t happy and don’t even pretend to live together. But go on with your story, please.’

  ‘By the time she died, Anne was wealthy enough to found a trust that would carry on helping women in trouble. She set stringent conditions to inheriting the house, as well. It could only be inherited by female Latimers – and if they married, their husbands had to take their surname.’

  ‘Alex changed his name for you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Didn’t he mind? What about his own family?’

  ‘Like yours, it wasn’t a happy one so he didn’t mind at all. He finds it very satisfying to work for the trust and help people, though he still runs his antique shop in London – as well as one can do during a war.’

  ‘What happens if there isn’t a direct female heir?’

  ‘The house doesn’t go to the firstborn. The one inheriting it must be able to see Anne Latimer, and that must be witnessed beyond question. No faking is possible. Who knows how to fake a ghost anyway? And the heir can see Anne very clearly.’ She laughed gently. ‘Don’t look so surprised. Yes, we have a resident ghost here – Anne Latimer, of course – and yes, I saw her when I first came here.’

  ‘How fascinating!’

  ‘You saw a light up here when you arrived, Georgie.’

  ‘Yes, but not a ghost.’

  ‘There was no light up there. What you were seeing was a … a sort of reflection of Anne Latimer. My husband saw it too when he first came here. She’s touched your spirit and I’m sure she’ll watch over you from now on.’

  Georgie realised she was gaping like an idiot at a fair, as her mother would have said scornfully. What Olivia was saying ought to have sounded impossible, fanciful in the extreme, but somehow she believed it absolutely.

  ‘I’d be grateful for any help I can get because I seem to have got myself into a real mess. I let my mother persuade me to marry the man she chose, and when I gave him back his ring I knew she’d try to force me so I ran away. She can be very cunning, she frightens me sometimes.’

  ‘We won’t let them hurt you again. Or rather, we’ll help you to stop them yourself. I think you still have a lot to find out about your own strengths and there will be a few surprises to come. Life always brings surprises, whoever you are.’

  She didn’t wait for an answer but took her guest downstairs again for a walk round the gardens, introducing her to one or two of the internees they met. These seemed amiable gentlemen, mostly quite old.

  After that Olivia took her to see the crypt, which was all that remained of the original abbey, then left her sitting in a sheltered spot with a book.

  But Georgie couldn’t concentrate on anything, let alone read coherently. All she wanted to do was relax and feel the sunshine on her face. She needed a break from being scolded and carped at, as well as from being afraid of Spencer and her mother.

  Adeline Cotterell scowled at Mr Marley. ‘I didn’t think you’d let our family down like this. Your firm has been representing the Cotterells for years, and now you’re insisting on me paying an unfair price for what is, after all, a piece of our family property.’

  ‘Your husband sold it years ago. Anyway, I was your son’s lawyer, Mrs Cotterell, not yours. I’m therefore doing as he wished, that is helping Miss Jones to deal with his legacy. You’ve, um, been so insistent that she’s agreed to sell the house to you and the price I’ve helped her set for it is a fair one. I really couldn’t advise my client to let you have it for any less.’

  ‘Yo
u had no need to do that. What does a female like her know about such things? Or need that much money for? She’s a cleaner in the VADs, for goodness’ sake, scrubs floors for a living. A hundred pounds will seem like a fortune to her.’

  ‘She’s an ambulance driver, actually, but even if she were a cleaner, where is the shame in doing what’s necessary to look after men injured in the service of our country?’

  ‘No shame in itself, but not a suitable occupation for someone aspiring to marry a Cotterell.’

  He was tired of her going over and over the same ground. ‘If you cannot meet our price, just say so and I’ll put the house into the hands of Mr Perry who will sell it to someone who can afford it. That, madam, is my final word.’

  She looked at his calm face, seeing no sign of yielding. It was only her need to get her hands on that house and its secrets that made her give in and say sharply, ‘Very well. I shall pay your price, but since your partner is going to retire from ill health, I shall find a new lawyer to represent me from now on. He will contact you about the sale.’

  ‘Very well, Mrs Cotterell. That’s your prerogative.’

  She stood up and rang the bell, tapping her foot impatiently as she waited for the maid to answer it. ‘Show Mr Marley out.’

  He left, inclining his head slightly as he passed her but saying nothing else.

  When he’d gone she vented her anger by throwing the nearest ornament into the fireplace, where it smashed to smithereens. After that she proceeded to find fault with anything and everything her servants did for the rest of the day.

  The only person immune to these diatribes was her personal maid, because the last time she’d shouted at her, Gladys had shouted right back, threatening to leave if she was treated with anything but courtesy from then onwards.

  Since Adeline’s body was growing older and stiffer, so that she couldn’t manage her clothes and personal needs without help, and Gladys knew just how to look after her and help her to get going on the bad days, she had managed not to shout at her maid after that. But that need for restraint didn’t help her temper and the rest of the household, including her son, suffered.