by Anna Jacobs
The vision shimmered into a drift of sparks, then nothing, and Phoebe was left standing alone, feeling bereft. She caught her breath. It hadn’t been her imagination; she’d been speaking to a ghost. And she hadn’t been in the least afraid, nor had she doubted that this was real.
As she turned, dizziness swept through her, but she felt an arm go round her shoulders and someone led her across to an old wooden settle on the landing. The person helped her to sit down and after a few seconds her head began to steady.
But the wonder stayed with her, and the sense of welcome.
She had come home.
Harriet caught her breath as she watched the young woman walk slowly across the hall. People turned to watch, then turned away again, as if nothing of interest was happening. Some moved out of the way, but no one tried to stop the stranger, thank goodness.
A man came through the front door and looked round, searching for someone. When he saw the newcomer, he stood watching her, with a worried expression.
Harriet went up to him. ‘It’s all right. Let your friend do this. It’s important.’
He frowned and opened his mouth, but she held up one hand. ‘I know exactly what’s happening. It happened to me once. Please leave me to deal with it. She’ll be quite all right, I promise you.’
She crossed the hall in her turn, to stand at the foot of the stairs, watching Anne Latimer curtsey to the newcomer. She didn’t know the young woman’s name, but she knew her, oh, she did.
Sensing that now was the time to join them, she too began to walk up towards the landing.
She arrived in time to see the vision start to fade and as Anne Latimer left them, Harriet moved quickly forward to support the stranger, who was swaying dizzily. ‘Come and sit down for a moment. You’ll be feeling a trifle disoriented.’
She’d worried how to find the right person to look after the house, because she’d understood since the beginning of the war that her time here was nearly over. It was all so obvious. And here was her successor, the next chatelaine of Greyladies, come to join them.
The stranger had richly auburn hair and a face that bore a distinct resemblance to Harriet’s own. To Anne Latimer’s as well. She was undoubtedly a family member.
‘Welcome to Greyladies,’ Harriet said, once she was sure the newcomer had recovered.
‘That’s what she said.’
‘Of course she did. We’ve been waiting for you.’
‘How could you be? I only found out today that I was coming here.’
‘You realise that you were seeing a ghost?’
‘Yes.’
‘She’s called Anne Latimer and she built the original house, the one behind this new part. You and I are her descendants.’
‘But you don’t even know who I am.’
‘I can tell that you’re one of the family.’
‘I’m Phoebe Sinclair. My mother’s maiden name was Latimer, though.’ She looked round with an expression of wonder. ‘This house is beautiful.’
‘Yes. Anne founded it and still seems to guard it. I’m Harriet Latimer, by the way.’
‘You look a bit like my mother. She had the same colour of hair. Mine’s darker.’
There were footsteps on the stairs and they looked round to see Corin hesitating near the top.
‘Are you all right, Phoebe?’
She smiled at him radiantly. ‘Oh, yes. I don’t think I’ve felt as right as this for years. Did you see her?’
‘Who?’
‘The ghost.’
He pursed his lips for a moment, then admitted, ‘I saw a light that didn’t seem to come from anywhere specific, if that’s what you mean. Then it faded.’
The two women exchanged glances, already drawn together by what they’d seen.
‘Not many even see a light,’ Harriet murmured. ‘Your friend must be a good man.’
She stood up and held out her hand to pull Phoebe to her feet. ‘Welcome to Greyladies, both of you. Why don’t you both come down and have a cup of tea with me and my husband.’
She laughed, breaking the tension. ‘We always seem to offer tea when someone needs bracing, don’t we?’
‘It’s very comforting.’
A strident voice interrupted them. ‘What are you doing up here, Mrs Latimer? You should return to your own quarters and not get in the way of people who have important work to do. I don’t think the new occupants will want you wandering about at will, getting under their feet.’
An older woman dressed in a matron’s uniform came towards them. She was wearing a tall, winged headdress, which exaggerated the jerky movements of her head. Her face bore a sour, pinched expression.
‘And workmen are not allowed to come in by the front entrance,’ she said sharply to Corin. ‘Who let you into the house?’
He stiffened and said in his impeccable upper-class accent, ‘Actually, madam, I’m not a workman. I’m Major McMinty, come to take over here.’
The woman had opened her mouth to say something else, no doubt equally disagreeable, but this remark stopped her dead. Mouth still open, she gaped at him. ‘You’re Major McMinty?’
‘Yes. And this is Miss Sinclair, who will also be working here.’
She turned to stare doubtfully at Phoebe. ‘Are you a nurse?’
Corin answered for her. ‘Her position is nothing that need concern you.’ He turned to Harriet. ‘We’d be delighted to accept your offer of a cup of tea, Mrs Latimer. We don’t want to get in the way of Matron’s preparations for departure, do we?’
‘I’m not leaving till tomorrow morning, Major.’
A voice called, ‘Corin, old fellow, what on earth are you doing in those clothes?’ Dr Somers joined them on the landing, looking from one to the other, assessing the situation. ‘I’ll deal with this, Matron. You have your own packing to finish.’
‘But I—’
His voice grew chill. ‘Matron, your responsibilities here have ended. It’s for others to manage what happens from now on.’
She glared at them, swung on her heels and walked away.
Once she’d gone, he smiled at them. ‘I apologise for letting her get to you before I did. What a poor welcome! She’s a dreadful woman. They call her the Dragon, for obvious reasons. But she’ll be gone tomorrow morning early. Don’t let her order you around in the meantime. Her jurisdiction here ends when the last patient leaves, which will be within the hour.’
‘I’ve been offering our new friends a cup of tea,’ Harriet said. ‘Will you join us, Dr Somers?’
‘Delighted to.’
Phoebe still felt as if she could only move slowly. She stared down into the hall as she started down the stairs.
‘Are you all right?’ Corin asked.
‘I feel strange, and yet happy.’
‘I only saw a light. What did you see?’
‘A woman in Tudor costume. Harriet said she was Anne Latimer, the founder of Greyladies. Isn’t it strange? My mother was a Latimer and I seem to have come to my family’s original home quite by accident.’
She was frowning as she went across the hall and stopped by the door to the old part, muttering, ‘Or was it by accident? Perhaps I was meant to come here. Oh, sorry, Corin. I’m holding you up, aren’t I?’
But she had to stop to stroke the ancient wooden door between the two halves of the building. It was such a wonderful old thing. She felt someone’s eyes on her and looked up to the landing, seeing Matron glaring down at them. Poor woman. So full of hatred even a stranger could sense it.
‘Oh, my goodness! This is wonderful!’ Phoebe stopped again just inside the old part of the building to marvel at the former medieval hall.
Two children ran across to join them, hugging their mother, and a man followed them, a man with a striking, intelligent face who limped very badly. By the way Harriet’s face lit up at the sight of him and the children, these people were her family. Phoebe envied her that. She stole a quick glance at Corin. Perhaps one day …
They sat do
wn to tea and small cakes brought by a smiling maid, who took the children away with her to help bake some more cakes. Phoebe heard Harriet murmur to Joseph, ‘This is my successor.’
He looked startled, then took hold of her hand, as if to comfort her, while he studied Phoebe more closely. ‘She could be your sister.’
As they continued to chat, Phoebe noticed that Dr Somers seemed quite at home here. He seemed a very pleasant man, and she was sorry that he was leaving the following day.
‘When are your people coming, McMinty?’ Joseph Latimer asked.
‘My new adjutant arrives tomorrow. I’ve not met him yet. Apparently, he’s very capable. The convalescent patients won’t come until he thinks everything is ready for them.’
‘All we’ve been told is that they’ll be people considered to be enemy aliens, who are not in fact enemies of our country,’ Joseph said.
‘Yes. People with skills and knowledge useful to the War Office and government. It’ll be my job to settle them in, then someone else will take over at Greyladies.’ He looked across at Harriet and Joseph. ‘We’re hoping you’ll help the people in the village to understand that these people aren’t enemies, so that they can go for walks and generally live as normal a life as possible, though of course they must stay in the district.’
‘We’ll do our best. Miss Bowers will be a great help in that, if we’re allowed to tell her the true situation. She used to be the headmistress of the village school and now she’s our sons’ governess. She’s a very capable woman and is greatly respected in the district.’
‘My department will be happy to accept help from anyone who has skills to share. It’s not as hidebound as the army proper.’
‘Could we ask what your department is?’
‘Oh, it’s just a side shoot of the main operation. It tidies things up and does little jobs that don’t fit elsewhere, like setting up this not-so-convalescent home.’
Joseph didn’t press the point. Clearly there was to be no clearer explanation offered.
After they’d finished their meal, Corin asked Harriet and Benedict to show him round both the old and the new parts of the house, and invited Phoebe to join them.
She was looking forward to seeing the rest of the house, but she felt sorry for Joseph. She looked round from the door and saw him sigh. It must be galling to face life with such limitations on your movements when there was nothing whatsoever wrong with your brain.
Then she forgot everything as she enjoyed her tour. They started at the attics, because people were still carrying things out from the ground floor, though the piles of boxes and bundles in the hall had decreased considerably.
As Benedict walked round with the others, commenting on changes made to accommodate the hospital, he felt sad at the thought of leaving this lovely house. He hadn’t been here for long, but there was something special about Greyladies. He’d felt immediately at home here, which wasn’t something that normally happened to him. He was sorry it wasn’t suitable for his purpose.
He led the way down from the attics and saw Matron moving rapidly away from the foot of the narrow stairs. The woman had clearly been eavesdropping again.
‘Wait there while I deal with this,’ he told the others and ran down the last few stairs, calling, ‘Matron!’
She gave him one of her frosty looks. ‘Yes, Dr Somers?’
‘I know what you’re doing. Please mind your own business from now on and confine your activities to the ground floor and your office while Mrs Latimer is showing the major round upstairs.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
He abandoned the attempt to be tactful. ‘I don’t appreciate the way you’re trying to eavesdrop on the rest of us.’
‘How dare you accuse me of such a thing! I was going about my normal business.’
‘No, you weren’t.’ He held up one hand. ‘Don’t argue. Just go down to the ground floor, if you please, and don’t come back up here till we’ve finished our tour.’
Her face went so dark red, he wondered if she was going to have a seizure, but she tossed her head and stormed off. Drat the woman! She had been the thorn in his flesh all the time he’d been here. He hoped he’d never have to work with her again.
He was glad the arrangements for moving his patients had gone through so quickly and smoothly. It was partly a result, he suspected, of McMinty’s department intervening.
Then his sense of fairness compelled him to admit that it was also thanks to Matron’s excellent administrative skills. He smiled at that thought. Wouldn’t she be surprised to know what he thought?
As the tour continued, Corin said quietly to Phoebe, ‘You bear a close resemblance to Mrs Latimer.’
She beamed at him. ‘My mother was a Latimer, so we’re some sort of distant cousins. Isn’t that a happy coincidence?’
‘Wonderful for you.’
Benedict overheard and wondered about that. This was such a strange house, you could almost believe it wasn’t just a coincidence.
When the tour was over, he excused himself and went to tackle his bedroom, not wanting an orderly fiddling with his clothes and personal possessions. He had the way he packed his things down to a system now, because he’d moved several times since the beginning of the war.
Since all the patients had left, he worked solidly through the rest of the afternoon and soon had the things in the bedroom packed, after which, he went to tackle his office.
But it took him most of the evening to deal with that. He really must find himself an adjutant for the next hospital. He’d thought he could manage without, but as he gained more responsibilities, he couldn’t, even with clerical help.
He closed the lid of the last box and sat down at the desk, feeling utterly weary after the frenetic activity of the past few days.
He woke with a start some time later to find that the lamp had gone out. It’d probably run out of oil. The hospital he was going to had brand-new electric lighting, which would be wonderful for operations.
There was enough moonlight coming in through the windows for him to find his electric hand torch and he was just about to switch it on before finding his way through the boxes when he heard a sound in the hall.
He went out of his office, moving as quietly as he could, not switching the torch on. Who was wandering round the house at this hour of the night? Could it be a burglar? Some people were taking advantage of the war to steal and sell small pieces of hospital equipment when they could, he knew. If that was so, he’d teach them a lesson they wouldn’t forget.
The white figure stood out clearly in the moonlit darkness. A woman. Not the family ghost. He smiled grimly as he recognised her. Matron was far too solidly built for a ghost. What the hell was she doing wandering around in the middle of the night?
Then he frowned, seeing something in her hand. It looked like some sort of small hand tool. She moved and the moonlight showed him a chisel. What on earth did she want with that?
She was standing by the door into the old house and he suddenly realised what she was about to do. To his horror, she raised the chisel to the ancient door, ready to gouge the wood. He’d seen her glare at that door many a time. Had she run mad? She must have.
And he wasn’t close enough to stop her damaging the dark old wood.
But someone else was. Before he could yell at Matron to stop, light flared suddenly around the door.
Matron uttered one shrill yelp of shock and froze. She still had the chisel raised, ready to cause damage. Why wasn’t she moving? Had a ghost really been able to stop her? He could see the figure of Anne Latimer clearly now. He’d seen her a couple of times before, though he’d not told anyone. Who’d believe him if he did?
The founder of Greyladies looked stern tonight, not at all like the usual smiling, kindly figure.
Matron began panting and whimpering in her throat, seeming unable to speak or move.
‘You will not – harm – my family’s house.’
Suddenly Matron moaned and said, �
�Let me go! You can’t exist. You’re a toy of the devil.’
He didn’t attempt to intervene. The house had its own guardian. He had never been quite sure whether ghosts could exist till he came here, still believed most tales about them were figments of people’s imaginations. But in this house, he believed that Anne Latimer was indeed still here, protecting it.
Well, it was more than a mere house; it was a legacy that had lasted through several centuries to help women in trouble. Even during his short stay, Harriet had quietly given help to the wife of one of his patients, doing things beyond his remit, using Latimer money.
He’d had a couple of chats with Miss Bowers about ghosts and even that practical woman had seen Anne Latimer, it seemed. She’d smiled at him and said confidently, ‘You’ve seen her, too.’
He hadn’t denied it.
He was startled by the chisel falling suddenly from Matron’s hand, to clatter on the wooden floor. She remained standing perfectly motionless, though, eyes staring, alive with hatred.
Then slowly, her face began to change. Something was calming her down. He’d seen that expression on patients’ faces many a time, at the moment when their pain medication started to take effect.
Slowly Matron’s raised hand fell. Her body relaxed visibly, then she began to sway.
At last he was able to move and crossed the last few paces between them in time to catch her before she hit the floor.
Kneeling down holding her unconscious body, he looked up at Anne Latimer, waiting for her to speak to him, quite sure she would have something to say.
‘We shall meet again, Benedict Somers.’
‘I shall look forward to it, ma’am.’
And just like that, he was alone, crouching awkwardly on the floor, with a plump woman he detested lying unconscious in his arms.
He got up. He couldn’t carry her on his own, so he used the rug to drag Matron across to a sofa and arrange her decorously on it. He put the rug back and hid the chisel.
What should he do about the incident? Ought he to report it? Did one moment of madness mean a person must be locked away, or sacked from their career?
He hoped not. He’d study Matron carefully when she regained consciousness. It might not be necessary to do anything. After all she was going to a job dealing with equipment not patients.
