by Anna Jacobs
She continued on through the side gardens and out of the gate leading to the crypt, pausing there, as she always did, to admire the intricate metal grille that kept strangers out. The grille had been put there to prevent strangers from damaging the beautiful stonework inside. The crypt was all that was left intact of the original chapel used by the nuns. Not a big chapel, but if it had been as beautiful as the crypt, she wished she could have seen it.
Pulling out another of the large old keys which had served Greyladies for so many centuries, she slipped it into the lock of the grille door. Even the lock was surrounded by a pretty semicircle of smaller metal pieces in a sunburst pattern, which was completed by a matching semicircle on the grille next to the door. There were three sunbursts across the metal barrier in all. The blacksmith who had fashioned this ironwork had been as much an artist as any famous painter, she always thought.
‘You do like to keep your secrets locked away, don’t you?’
She swung round to see Matron Dawkins standing a few paces away, looking as if her whole body was as starched as her apron.
‘I like to keep my family’s inheritance safe, if that’s what you mean.’
‘One has to wonder what you’re hiding in there, Mrs Latimer.’
On a sudden impulse, Harriet flung open the wrought iron door. ‘Come and see for yourself. I’m hiding nothing, simply protecting an ancient building.’
Matron stiffened still further. ‘You’re inviting me to come inside?’
‘Yes. We often show visitors round, because we’re proud of the crypt. There’s nothing secret in here.’ She led the way inside, but it was a moment before the other woman followed her into the shadowy interior.
Opening the lantern which stood on a stone shelf near the door, Harriet pulled out her vesta case, lighting and adjusting the flame. She really must buy some of the new electric torches, which were so much less messy than oil lamps.
Holding the lantern high to illuminate the front part of the crypt, she started her usual talk. ‘There are only two graves here, each marked by a woman’s name, age and the words Sister in God. The church was knocked down and much of the stone used elsewhere only a few years after its founding, but for some reason they stopped short of demolishing the crypt. No one knows why. We’re just grateful something was saved during the destruction of the religious houses in England.’
‘Mmm.’
‘Look at the arches and carvings, how beautifully executed they are. We’ve had archaeologists and architects visiting our ruins, and some have come back with their students.’ But even that got no more than another grunt out of the woman.
Harriet shortened her talk, walking across to shine the lantern on the delicate rows of small figures carved into a little shrine about a yard and a half wide, set back a couple of feet into one wall. ‘Apparently the nuns prayed here for the souls of those who’d died, or came to ask special help for those in trouble. I have the journal kept by the first abbess, Anne Latimer.’
‘Latimer. The same family as yourself?’
‘Yes. The house passes down the female line and it’s our tradition that the men change their names.’
‘Unusual.’
‘It was a small community and the nuns wore grey habits, hence the name of the house. As abbess, Anne Latimer wore a silver cross on a chain, and the others wore wooden crosses. They lived modestly, because they weren’t a rich order, but also so that they could use what money they had to help the poor. Sadly, that didn’t protect them from the King’s desire to destroy the power of the Pope by closing down all the religious foundations.’
‘I think Henry VIII was right to do that. Even modern papism is full of idolatry. But I suppose if you’re a descendant of these,’ she flicked a scornful hand towards the graves, ‘you’re a papist too.’
Harriet bit back a sharp response. It seemed impossible to reach out a hand of friendship to such a sour woman, whatever she said or did, so she wasn’t going to try any more. ‘You’ve seen me attending the parish church every Sunday, so I don’t know why you would think I’m a Roman Catholic.’
She waited, but there was no apology. She moved on, letting the lantern show stone shelves, at present loaded with items they’d removed from the new part of the house.
‘What are the shelves for?’
‘I think the builders intended them for future burials, but we’re using them for storage now that our home is serving as a convalescent hospital.’
‘Hmm. This space would be better used by us. The soldiers’ welfare is far more important than your bric-a-brac.’ Matron turned round to study the crypt walls nearest to the house. ‘Why wasn’t I told about this place? Presumably there’s a corridor connecting it to the cellars in the main house? I don’t want people coming into the house that way.’
Harriet breathed deeply and took a moment to calm herself.
Matron walked to and fro. ‘I can’t see a door.’
‘Unfortunately there isn’t a connecting corridor, which is why the officials from the War Office decided not to use the crypt.’
‘Are you sure about the lack of a passage? That seems very strange.’
‘I’ve never seen one.’ There was a rumour in the family about a secret passage, only no one knew where it was, or even if it really existed.
As they turned to leave, a light seemed to glow in one corner. Harriet paused, knowing what this meant, but saying nothing.
‘What’s causing that light?’ Matron asked sharply.
‘What light?’
‘The one over there.’ She pointed, then gasped and took a step backwards. A moment later she let out a cry. As she backed away, the glowing figure drifted forward towards her. ‘No, no! Keep it away from me.’
The ghost of Anne Latimer pointed towards the exit and edged forward again, as if urging the intruder to leave.
Matron shrieked and ran out of the crypt.
Harriet followed her. ‘Are you all right? Did you see something?’
‘You arranged for someone to pretend to be a ghost. You only invited me into the crypt to frighten me.’
‘I’d never do anything like that. Why would I want to frighten anyone?’
Matron eyed her searchingly and Harriet looked steadily back. She’d seen the ghost of the founder of Greyladies many times, but was surprised that such an unpleasant woman had seen it. So few people could.
‘Swear you didn’t do anything to frighten me.’
‘I swear that I didn’t do anything whatsoever to frighten you. And I’m quite sure that no one else did, either. Since I have the only key and keep it in a safe place, I can be certain no one has gone inside the crypt since well before your arrival. There are sightings of the ghost of the founding abbess, though.’
Matron frowned at her, then glanced uneasily towards the shadowed entrance behind them, muttering something under her breath.
‘I check the crypt every now and then,’ Harriet went on. ‘But I’m far too busy to spend much time here, let alone play tricks. However, as there is no way to get to the crypt from the house, its use is rather limited for us all.’
‘I don’t believe in ghosts, so it must have been a trick of the light. I’m rather tired today and reacted hastily. Such a nasty, damp place, that crypt of yours. And if there is no passage leading to the house, you’re right about one thing: this place wouldn’t be any use to us for storage.’
She edged back a few steps, still watching the entrance. ‘And then there are the graves. The patients wouldn’t like those. Anyway, we can manage with the attics and cellars for our storage.’
She swung round and walked off towards the gardens without a further word, back ramrod straight, feet thumping down hard on the path.
Harriet wondered why Anne Latimer’s ghost had appeared to such an unpleasant woman. To frighten her away? She couldn’t imagine the first owner of Greyladies wanting to frighten anyone. Her journal showed her to be a kindly woman.
But then, who knew what len
gths a family member would go to, in order to protect this place? Some of the former ladies of the house had had to tread carefully at times.
She locked the door carefully. Light was still glowing faintly from inside the crypt as she turned back towards the house, but when she looked back again from the gate into the garden, she saw that everything was dark again behind the grille.
She looked up at her former home. Strange items of hospital furniture showed at the windows of it now, while outside two flower beds had been cleared away completely and gravel laid down to allow more access for ambulances. The garden paths near the house had been widened to accommodate wheelchairs.
There were no officers convalescing here as yet, but a great deal of equipment had been delivered, not just beds and a miscellany of comfortable armchairs, but medical equipment and supplies.
She’d read in the newspaper about the first casualties returning to England. It was only a matter of time before this place would come into use. She hoped the peace and beauty she’d always found in both house and gardens would help the men regain their health.
The following week, Joseph and Harriet were strolling round the side garden when the first patients arrived at Greyladies. A motor ambulance drew up and four officers were helped out. One was on crutches, two had their arms in slings, and the last one to get out looked chalky pale and walked as if it hurt him to move.
Matron surged out to meet them, giving orders in her loud voice even before she had ushered the men inside.
‘Being under her control wouldn’t help me get better more quickly,’ Joseph murmured into his wife’s ear.
‘No. She’ll keep them away from us, I’m sure.’
‘If she tries to do that, they’ll only be more eager to meet us. They’re young men – well, youngish – not used to being incapacitated. They must be fretting at their enforced inactivity.’
She gave his hand a quick squeeze. She knew how he fretted at his own physical limitations.
He frowned. ‘Actually, I think I recognised one of them. If I’m right, he’s a friend of Selwyn’s. I must find out whether it is Lucian Averill. If it is, he’s changed and looks a lot older.’
He sighed as he began to walk awkwardly back to their part of the house, stopping for a moment to mutter, ‘Men like that won’t think a cripple like me is of much use, will they?’
‘They’ll know perfectly well that you can’t join up and no one will think the worse of you for something you can’t help.’
‘I suppose not. Well, at least these men are alive. Lists of those killed are being published already.’
The following afternoon, the postman brought a letter from Joseph’s mother, giving them all the latest news.
He opened it at once. ‘Goodness! My brother Thomas has volunteered and gone into the army.’
Harriet had met Thomas and found him very stiff and patronising towards her, but hadn’t said anything about that to Joseph.
Joseph’s mother was a lot more pleasant to Harriet these days. She’d changed since her husband’s death, shortened her skirts, had her hair cut to shoulder length and grown more modern in all sorts of minor ways. And she really did care about her youngest son’s welfare, as well as doting on Joseph’s sons, the only living grandsons in the family so far.
He finished perusing the letter and handed it to his wife. ‘Here. Read it yourself.’
She took the piece of fine, cream-laid paper from him and skimmed through it quickly.
‘I’m sorry Mrs Stuart hasn’t been well.’
‘Yes. So am I. Mother would be lost without her.’
‘She’d cope. She’s a strong woman.’ Harriet handed him back the letter. ‘I don’t mind helping your mother find another housekeeper, but she’s not coming to live here, whatever happens. It wouldn’t work. She and I would soon be at odds.’
‘No. I suppose she’d try to undermine your authority.’
‘Not only that, but she’d try to change Greyladies. We live at peace with the people in the village. Can you imagine her treating them as equals? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult your mother, but better I make myself plain now.’
‘I’m not upset. You’re telling the simple truth. Mother is used to ruling the roost and she’d expect to be waited on in a grander style than we do. Let’s hope Mrs Stuart gets better more quickly than the doctors predict.’
They exchanged warm, loving glances, but Joseph fell silent, lost in thought for a few moments.
She waited until he looked up again and said, ‘Let’s stroll round the garden again while we can. Autumn is upon us already.’
In more ways than one, she thought. She’d been having some puzzling dreams since they moved to the old house and needed to share them with him. ‘Joseph … do you think we can ever go back to how things were at Greyladies? Once the war’s over, that is.’
He looked at her in surprise. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I have the strangest feeling, as if I’m starting to say goodbye to the house. Some owners do move away after a while, you know.’
‘I can’t imagine you ever doing that willingly.’
She couldn’t, either. But one thing still worried her. ‘We don’t have a daughter. Who will I pass the house to? I’m supposed to know that instinctively, only how?’
‘This house seems to have ways of guiding its owners. It’s the strangest place. I love it, but I never quite know what to expect. Things just … happen.’
‘We haven’t seen Anne Latimer around the house for a while, have we, though it was definitely her in the Crypt?’
‘Perhaps our resident ghost doesn’t like the Dragon and is sulking.’
Harriet gave him a half smile, as if her attention was only partly on what he had been saying. ‘If anything happens to me, what will become of you and the boys? Your home will be taken away by a new lady owner. I’m not allowed to leave it to you or to them.’
Joseph put an arm round her. ‘Don’t borrow trouble, my love. You seem in fine health to me and we’ll have worked out the succession by the time we grow old. We’ll make sure the boys are in good professions, able to earn their own living. They already understand that only female Latimers can inherit. Besides, I’ve done quite well with my investments. Who’d have expected that? So we wouldn’t be penniless, even if we walked away from here with nothing belonging to the Latimer Trust.’
‘Yes, of course. I don’t know what came over me to worry like that.’
But it wasn’t the first time she’d wondered about who would follow her at Greyladies. Or how she would know who ought to inherit. Oh, well, the house would no doubt continue to give up its secrets gradually and then she’d find out.
A few days later, it was sunny enough for the two officers with arms in slings to stroll round the gardens. Inevitably, they found their way to the rear of the old house.
Joseph was returning from visiting a former gardener in the village. Peter was too old and infirm to work, but had spent his life at Greyladies, so they supplemented the government’s old age pension with produce and extra money.
The pension of five shillings at age seventy had been introduced in 1909, and even this small amount made sons and daughters much more willing to house and look after their old folk, because they were no longer a burden. He could remember the excitement among the older people when they received their first payments. They still found it a matter of wonder that they kept receiving the money without working for it, because they could all remember the much harsher treatment of the old before the pension was introduced. The greatest fear of their parents had been to be sent to the workhouse.
Joseph had been enjoying the fresh air and the fact that no one who lived in the village stared at the way he walked. But the two officers walking round the garden did stop to stare, so he moved forward to introduce himself and offer them a belated welcome to Greyladies.
‘Are we intruding if we walk round this side of the house?’ one of the men asked. ‘The Dragon Lady told
us we’d not be welcome anywhere in your part of the house and grounds.’
‘We call her that, too,’ Joseph said with a smile. He tried not to show his annoyance as he added, ‘I don’t know why she’d tell you that, though. Men who’re serving our country will always be welcome in our house.’
The taller officer was still staring at him, but trying not to show it. ‘You’re the owner?’
‘Yes. Or rather, my wife is.’ He held out one hand. ‘Joseph Latimer.’
‘Charles Humphreys. And this is Lucian Averill.’
As they shook hands, Joseph said, ‘I thought I recognised you when you arrived.’
‘Ought I to know you? I don’t know any families of that name, I must admit.’
‘I was born Joseph Dalton, but changed my name when my wife inherited Greyladies.’
‘Ah. You’re Selwyn Dalton’s youngest brother?’
‘Yes.’
‘But I thought—’
‘That I couldn’t walk? That I was not only a cripple, but a halfwit?’ He was well aware what his oldest brother thought of him. At the other man’s shamefaced nod, he added, ‘My brother doesn’t like the fact that my limp is rather ugly. But my bad hip doesn’t stop me getting around, and it certainly doesn’t affect my brain. Fortunately, as I grew up my health improved greatly. Enough for me to marry and father two sons. Would you care for a cup of tea?’
‘I’d love one.’
A shrill voice called, ‘Major Humphreys? Captain Averill? Where have you got to?’
The two men winced.
‘Can you hide us?’ the major asked. ‘We need an hour’s peace and quiet. That young woman has a voice like a siren.’
Joseph grinned and gestured to the back door. ‘You’d better get out of sight quickly.’
By the time the nurse who’d been calling came round the corner, he was on his own, limping with deliberate slowness towards the door.
‘Excuse me, Mr Latimer.’
He turned.
‘I’m looking for two men with their arms in slings.’
