The Honeyfield Bequest

by Anna Jacobs

  But you couldn’t put old heads on young shoulders. Well, not so young. Nathan was twenty-seven now and seemed to have no intention of finding a wife, for all his mother’s efforts to introduce him to suitable women during the past few years. She said there were no other suitable unmarried women of the right age living nearby. But they’d have to find him a wife somehow.

  Felix frowned at the nearby woodwork. The house was in desperate need of repainting, but the absentee owner was an officer in a regiment stationed out in India and he didn’t seem to care about the place. Major Marshall had said at first that he would keep his mother’s house for his own family’s use when he left the regiment and they returned to England. He’d therefore been happy to pay for any maintenance necessary to keep the house weatherproof, because a leaking roof or broken window pane might damage the fabric of the building, but beyond that he wasn’t prepared to go.

  After the first year Felix had suggested hiring a gardener now and then to tidy up the grounds, but since there was no one to look at the gardens the major considered that a waste of money, too. He’d bring things up to scratch when he could see with his own eyes what was needed.

  To make matters worse, the fellow had now decided to settle in India after he left the regiment because he preferred living in a warm climate, so he’d instructed Felix to sell the house as quickly as he could. And look at the garden, like a damned meadow it was! How was he supposed to sell it as a gentleman’s residence looking like that?

  Two buyers had been interested and one had nearly bought it then changed his mind when he worked out how much there was to do to bring it up to scratch.

  Ah, that was a car coming down the drive. It must be his client. Thank goodness! He was definitely going to hand over all the house sales to Nathan. It was a waste of time for him to hang around like this.

  When the vehicle stopped, the driver went round to open the door for the lady passenger. She was sitting in the front seat, which was unusual, but then this lady had sounded rather strange on the telephone. She’d demanded secrecy in their dealings, warning him that she’d not buy the house if word got out that she was involved.

  Now why would she want that? You’d think she was doing something against the law, but he’d sent Nathan to check up on her, because his son was good at finding things out, and he’d reported that she was very highly respected in charitable circles.

  Perhaps she was just shy? No, it couldn’t be that. She was so independent in her ways, Felix had thought at first she must be a widow, and a capable one at that. But it turned out she was married with two sons. Why hadn’t she brought her husband with her, then? After all, buying a big house like this would take a very large amount of money, more than a woman should deal with, if you asked him.

  When he’d suggested she should bring her husband, she’d spoken very sharply, saying she was looking for a house on behalf of a charity trust she was in charge of, not him so why should her husband get involved? Which wasn’t the point, but something about her tone made Felix drop the matter.

  He didn’t believe in wasting money pampering the poor, but if she bought the house, his client would be delighted and he’d get a substantial commission. So let her do whatever she wanted.

  The lady had stopped a few paces away and was studying the house, so Felix moved forward. ‘Mrs Latimer? I hope you had a pleasant journey here?’

  ‘I did, thank you.’ Harriet hadn’t liked his patronising tone on the telephone and he was still speaking to her like that. Even his appearance was unattractive, as he had mean little eyes and a large nose which gave a predatory look to his face.

  She had to choke back a laugh and turn it into a cough when she realised that he bore a distinct resemblance to a vulture – an overweight one which had just stuffed itself with a dead animal.

  ‘Shall we go inside, Mrs Latimer?’

  ‘I’d rather walk round the outside first and get an idea of the surroundings, if you don’t mind.’ That was important because privacy was a very key consideration in whether she purchased or not. However strong her intuition about this being the right place to buy, she would make sure it was suitable in every way before she paid out good money. She always did.

  His tone was weary. ‘As you please, ma’am.’

  She set off walking at a brisk pace, amused to see that her companion was soon panting slightly. Taking pity on his plumpness, she slowed down a little, glad that he wasn’t a chatterer, at least.

  Honeyfield had once been a gentleman’s residence, she thought, not a farmhouse and it hadn’t been a rich person’s home, either. Just a plain, comfortable dwelling, which sat on a couple of acres of land bordered by high brick walls.

  ‘Are there farms all the way round the house?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes. Three farms border your land.’

  ‘That’s good.’ From an elevated part of the garden she could see that the nearest farm was far enough away not to overlook the place. Even better.

  The rear of the house reminded her of a pretty woman who’d grown older and not taken care of herself. Harriet pointed out the many things in need of maintenance as they moved on, amused to see her companion becoming increasingly tight-lipped.

  The house had a secretive feel to it, as if it was hiding from the world. Which was exactly what she needed. Sadly most of the women who came here would need to hide for a while, not only to recover their health but to build up their confidence, or simply to stay safe.

  She had met and talked to other ladies doing this sort of work over the past few years, discussing the best ways of keeping the people they were helping safe. She’d learnt a lot from them about what to expect, also what sort of people to hire to run the place. Her predecessor at Greyladies hadn’t opened a new house for a while, and had closed one down when its purpose became too well known.

  One lady she’d spoken to had suggested that when the house opened, she make sure one employee was very strong physically in case a violent person tried to get in and harm a resident. The diaries of previous chatelaines of Greyladies said the same thing. Those diaries were so helpful. Every lady who acted as chatelaine was encouraged to keep one. Some were more interesting than others.

  As a collection, the diaries painted a fascinating picture of several hundred years of charity work. Sadly, however, they also showed there had been a need for shelters for women right from the middle of the sixteenth century, when the Dissolution of the Monasteries had thrown many poor nuns out into the world penniless and bewildered.

  But the supply of shelters had always lagged behind the need for them.

  When they reached the front door of the house, Mr Perry gestured towards it. ‘Shall we go inside now, Mrs Latimer?’

  She followed him, stopping to stare round a small hall with a dark wooden floor and far too many pieces of old-fashioned furniture standing sentry round the walls. ‘Has no one ever dusted the interior or cleared away the cobwebs?’

  ‘I’m afraid the owner wouldn’t pay for that.’

  ‘Hmm. And what about all this furniture? Is he taking it away?’

  ‘It goes with the house. We checked the place years ago for him and he selected the pieces he wanted to keep. There is nothing valuable left here now but some items may be of use, especially if it’s for a charity. That’s up to the purchaser.’

  ‘Hmm. I’ll think about it.’ That would be an advantage and save the trust buying furniture, but she wasn’t going to say so in case he put up the price. She’d make sure the contract specified that everything left behind belonged to the trust.

  ‘Shall we go into the parlour first, Mrs Latimer? I think—’

  ‘Just a moment.’ Something was drawing her towards the rear of the hall.

  Chapter Eighteen

  When she went into the kitchen and servants’ area, Harriet noticed that the back door was slightly ajar and dried muddy footprints led across the floor towards the back stairs.

  ‘Goodness me! Someone must have broken in!’ Mr P
erry went to examine the door. ‘The lock isn’t damaged so how did they manage to get the door open? The house is always kept locked.’

  There was a sound upstairs.

  ‘He’s still here. Quick, let’s go outside again. Your driver and mine are stout fellows and will be able to protect us, if necessary.’

  But she didn’t get a sense of danger, not at all. She got a sense that someone was in pain, so she hurried up the stairs, leaving her companion squeaking out a protest.

  ‘No, really! You mustn’t risk—Come back, Mrs Latimer.’

  She ignored him.

  The sounds were coming from one of the bedrooms at the rear and when she opened the door, they continued unabated. There was definitely no danger here because the woman lying on the bed was in what appeared to be the final throes of childbirth.

  Harriet flung her handbag on to the dusty dressing table and stripped off her gloves, tossing them after the bag, then unpinned her neat straw hat and cast that aside, too.

  Mr Perry stopped dead in the doorway and turned pale, gulping audibly. A quick glance told her he wasn’t going to be any use.

  ‘Shall I fetch the village policeman?’ he whispered.

  ‘No, of course not. This poor woman needs help, not locking up. Fetch my driver.’

  He stood looking at her in puzzlement so she gave him a push.

  ‘Hurry up! Unless I’m very mistaken the baby is about to be born.’

  ‘But she’s broken into the house.’

  ‘And as I’m likely to buy it, I can tell you that she’s very welcome to seek shelter here. Now fetch – my – driver!’

  She went across to the bed and the woman looked at her in mute misery, as if expecting to be shouted at.

  ‘I think you’re nearly ready to have the baby, dear. Am I right?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. And I’m sorry for breaking into your house, but I didn’t have nowhere to go and it was raining and I knew the baby was coming.’

  ‘You’re welcome to have it here.’

  ‘I am?’

  ‘Yes. Now, let me help with the birth.’ She looked round but could see no sign of luggage of any sort. ‘Have you any clothes for the baby?’

  ‘No, ma’am. They took them off me.’

  ‘I’ll just go and find some clean linen to wrap the baby in, then you can tell me all about it.’

  The woman began sobbing helplessly, as if the kindness was too much for her. Then another pain struck and she stopped weeping to grunt and strain.

  Harriet ran along the landing and yanked the dust covers off the bed in the next room, relieved to find clean sheets still on it. She dragged them and the pillowcases off and ran back to the next room with them just as Barty came pounding up the stairs. Mr Perry puffed his way up more slowly behind him with a sour expression on his face.

  ‘My driver’s waiting just outside, in case he has to go for the police.’

  ‘There’s no need for that.’ She turned away from the accountant to explain the situation to Barty. ‘Can you light a fire and boil some water, then find me something to tie off the birth cord, do you think?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘I got some string,’ the woman panted. ‘There.’ She jerked her head in the direction of the bedside table. ‘But I ain’t got no clothes for the poor little thing. Them officials from the workhouse took everything what I owned, but I wasn’t going to let them lock me in there, so I run off. I can’t stand to be shut in, missus. I can’t breathe if I’m shut in.’

  ‘Some people are like that, I know.’

  ‘An’ I’d been saving my money, too, for the baby. Even though I hadn’t much, I wasn’t a pauper. I could’ve managed, but them officials took my money as well.’

  Harriet didn’t bother asking for more details because another contraction took away the woman’s ability to speak coherently. When it was over, she said soothingly, ‘We’ll find some clothes for the baby later. Let’s get it born now.’

  She threw off her jacket and rolled up her sleeves, tucking a pillowcase into her waistband in lieu of an apron. The baby was crowning already. It wouldn’t be long.

  Barty pounded back up the stairs with a ewer of water and nudged Mr Perry. ‘You’re in the way … sir.’

  ‘Oh. Sorry. Um … what do you want me to do, Mrs Latimer?’

  She hid a smile at the way the accountant had remained as close to the door as was possible without actually being outside the room.

  ‘Please go away till the baby’s born, Mr Perry. Then I’ll join you and we’ll discuss the price I’m willing to pay for this house. If you want to help, you can get a fire going in the kitchen.’

  He glanced incautiously towards the bed, flushed bright crimson and hurried out on to the landing without another word.

  Barty handed Harriet a big apron and a ewer of cold water. ‘I can’t get you no hot water till I get a fire going, so I brung you some cold to be going on with and I shook most of the dust off this old apron.’

  ‘Well done. If you see to the hot water, I can manage here. Oh, and don’t hesitate to ask Mr Perry for help.’

  He grinned at her. ‘I doubt that one would be willing to get his hands dirty. You sure you can manage here, Mrs Latimer?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve assisted in births quite a few times.’ She turned back to the bed. ‘What’s your name, dear?’

  ‘Sal.’

  ‘Well, Sal, here comes your baby.’

  But the woman was too busy to answer, bellowing with pain as she pushed out her child. The infant began wailing even before it was fully delivered.

  ‘A girl,’ Harriet said. ‘She looks nice and healthy, too. Well done.’

  Sal lay back, panting, eyes closed.

  Harriet laid the baby on the mother’s belly and waited for the afterbirth. She’d never been in sole charge of a birth before but the actions seemed to come quite naturally, and she soon had the umbilical cord tied off.

  Footsteps thumped up the stairs again. ‘Thought you might need these.’ Barty dumped some scissors and a sharp knife on the bed. ‘I washed ’em as well as I could.’

  ‘You’re a treasure.’

  He flushed with pleasure and gave her a nod.

  Harriet cut the cord, then wrapped the baby in a pillowcase. She wasn’t risking washing it in cold water. ‘Here you are, Sal. Your new daughter.’

  The woman’s broad, heavy-featured face was suddenly transformed into near beauty as she gave the baby a glowing smile and a kiss, then cuddled it in her arms.

  Harriet had seen this before and never tired of the utter love most new mothers seemed to feel instinctively for their babies. ‘Is it your first child?’ she asked gently.

  ‘What? Oh, no, ma’am. I’ve already raised four, and lost two others. This one came as a surprise. I thought I was past having any more children.’

  ‘Where’s your husband?’

  ‘He died a year ago. This one comes from some men forcing me because my husband owed them money and I couldn’t pay it with my wage earner gone, could I? I could have fought one man off, two maybe, but not four of them at once. I hope they rot in hell for what they done to me.’

  She sniffed back a tear. ‘Afterwards they took everything I owned out of the house, except for my clothes. Said they were being generous leaving those, the devils.’

  ‘Did the police do anything to get your things back?’

  ‘Told me they couldn’t find the men. Probably they were relatives and not willing to shop them. I got a job in another village. I didn’t know I was expecting then. When I found out, the woman I was working for let me stay on after I explained, but she told them officials from Malmesbury workhouse where I was yesterday because she didn’t want me giving birth on her.’

  She paused to smack another kiss on the infant’s cheek. ‘I don’t care now who fathered her. She’s mine. I’ll find another job somehow and raise her myself. They’re not taking her away from me. I like children.’

  When no one spoke, she looke
d fiercely at Harriet. ‘I’m a hard worker and I’ll manage somehow. But if you could let me stay for a few days, ma’am, it’d be a big help. I’ll clean up the place in return once I’ve had a bit of a rest. I can do washing, do anything in a house. I promise I’ll work hard.’

  ‘Oh, we can do better for you than that,’ Harriet said. ‘I can offer you a job here. I’m about to buy this house and I need someone to look after it for me and act as caretaker. Later on, you can help the warden set the place in order and go on working here as a cleaner, if you and she get on all right.’

  Sal blinked at her in shock and seemed to need a few moments to take in Harriet’s offer. Then she burst into loud noisy sobs, rocking the baby to and fro. ‘Oh, ma’am, yes. Yes, please. You won’t regret it.’

  Harriet felt a sudden warmth as if someone had put an arm round her shoulders, though there was no one else in the room. She’d experienced a similar feeling at Greyladies where the family ghost kept watch over her Latimer descendants. Perhaps Anne Latimer had come with her, or maybe this house too had its invisible guardian. Who knew? If so, the resident ghost seemed to be in favour of what she’d just done.

  She washed her hands, helped Sal to wash herself, then gave her a clean sheet to wrap round herself in lieu of a nightgown.

  ‘I’m a bit shaky on me pins,’ Sal said. ‘Sorry. I’ll be all right tomorrow.’

  Since the new mother was a large, muscular woman, Harriet had to call for Barty to help get her and her baby into another bedroom.

  Then she did a quick inspection of the upstairs rooms and attics before going downstairs and checking the rooms there as well. All perfect for her purpose.

  Only then did she go in search of Mr Perry, who was sitting bolt upright at the kitchen table. He was in a distinctly tetchy mood at being kept waiting, barely managing to speak civilly to her.

  ‘The baby was a girl,’ she said cheerfully. ‘And I’ve offered Sal a job.’

  ‘Well, I hope you won’t regret it. Now, about the house.’