‘Do you know where I might find him?’
‘Well, with the flood he might be back at the office checking that all is safe there. Or he might be out on business. I couldn’t rightly say.’
‘He asked me a week ago to return today.’ Sarah felt a rising sense of desperation. Was there never to be a way of discovering whether Lane End Cottage could be rented? The clerk was looking blankly at her, clearly disinclined to continue the conversation but she stood her ground.
‘It’s about Lane End Cottage. Mr Smallwood’s property.’
He smiled politely and shook his head. ‘I’m sorry. I’m afraid I can’t help you.’
Unsure of what to do next she was about to turn away when one of the other clerks spoke up. ‘Wait, Mr Smallwood, you say?’
‘Yes,’ Sarah said, turning eagerly towards him.
‘I believe we have had some correspondence from the gentleman in question.’ The clerk was thinking, tapping his pen on the desk. ‘I’m not sure, though, whether it has been brought over here or left in the office.’
Sarah felt her hopes, briefly raised, about to be dashed again. ‘Do you know what it might have said?’
‘I’m not at liberty to divulge that,’ the clerk said, sternly.
It looked as though she would have to give up on Lane End Cottage. They must look further afield, away from the area altogether. It was all too much: Sarah burst into tears, turning her face away in shame at behaving this way in front of a roomful of strangers. Her vision blurred, she stumbled back towards the door and held one hand over her face to disguise her anguish while she felt along the wall with her other hand to guide her exit.
‘Now then, what have we here?’
The voice was cultured, a little gruff but not unfriendly. Through her tears Sarah could just make out that she had all but collided with a gentleman who was entering the room as she was trying to leave.
‘Excuse me, sir,’ she muttered, trying to brush past him.
‘Ah, but I must detain you a little longer.’ The gentleman was taking up the doorway and she would have to push him out of the way to make her exit, which was unthinkable. Sarah cast her eyes to the floor and waited.
‘What have my clerks been doing to upset you so? Hmmm?’
Despite her distress, Sarah could see that this wasn’t the solicitor she had seen previously. This was a much older man, of average height and portly build with white hair and whiskers to match. What she could see with downcast eyes of his suit and the gold chain of his pocket watch spoke of prosperity; he was also in possession of a gold-topped walking-stick on which he appeared to be resting his weight.
‘Come now, we require a chair for the lady. And a reviving glass of something. A little light ale, perhaps? No, I think brandy-and-water should do the trick. What point is there in being housed in an inn if we do not make use of it, hmmm?’
The last remark seemed to be addressed very much to himself, since the clerk he had buttonholed had sped off to do his bidding and the others were bent to their work, pens busily scratching.
With a chair procured for her and a glass of brandy-and-water, which she sipped out of politeness, Sarah was persuaded to tell the gentleman, who had introduced himself as Mr Sutcliffe Senior, of her plight.
‘Well, it is most fortunate that I decided to call in here today,’ the solicitor said. ‘My son is caught up at the office, with some of the other clerks, trying to make sure that all the files are stored well away from possible water ingress while we remain under threat from the flood waters. Meanwhile, as you can see, business must go on. The courts can’t wait and so here we are.’
Mr Sutcliffe Senior gazed around the room. ‘It reminds me of the early days of the business, when I first started out, all of us in just one room. Although not in an inn, of course.’ He chuckled and Sarah tried hard to raise a smile. She wished he would get on and attend to the matter in hand, but she must indulge his reminiscences out of politeness.
‘Well, but my ramblings don’t answer your purpose in coming here today, do they now?’
Sarah feared that her feelings must have been apparent on her face, despite her efforts to disguise them.
‘Since Mr Sutcliffe Junior isn’t here for my appointment I really must return home.’ Sarah’s words came out in a rush. She just wanted to get away from the room and her pointless quest now and return home to where Alice was no doubt in need of her.
‘Ah, but I do have some news for you,’ Mr Sutcliffe Senior said. Sarah gazed at him, eyes wide. ‘Partly good news, partly bad.’
Once more, Sarah’s heart sank. Was there to be no end to the disappointment?
Mr Sutcliffe Senior continued. ‘Mr Smallwood has let it be known that he would be prepared to consider a lease on Lane End Cottage.’ Sarah’s heart was beating so hard that she felt sure that all the occupants of the room must hear it. ‘However, he needs to be sure of the tenants’ abilities to meet their commitments. We thought it prudent to undertake enquiries on his behalf and have discovered that the leaseholder of your current residence, Mrs Ada Randall, is, ah …’ the solicitor paused and coughed ‘… a little advanced in years. This would not suit our client. He requires a gentleman with an assured income as tenant, as is usual.’
Mr Sutcliffe Senior’s gaze, while still benevolent, was tinged with a hint of sternness.
Sarah was astonished that enquiries had been made based on the very limited information she had supplied on her last visit. It came to her that this was likely to be her last chance to obtain the cottage, and so she steeled herself to speak up.
‘I would propose, sir, that as a married woman and not being advanced in years I might take on the property. If this should not be to Mr Smallwood’s satisfaction then my husband, Mr Bancroft, will of course be happy to have his name on the lease. He is away on business at present, though, and it may be in excess of a month before he would be able to sign anything.’
Sarah kept her gaze level; if her hands hadn’t been so visible her fingers would have been crossed. She was hoping against hope that their investigations hadn’t stretched to Joe; if they had they would have discovered, as she now had, the precarious nature of his income. As the solicitor’s expression remained unchanged by her representations, she pressed on.
‘My grandmother and I would be happy to take on the cottage in its current condition and restore it to a habitable home. The garden would also benefit; my grandmother is a herbalist and our current garden bears testament to the work she has put into it. You would be most welcome to visit it, and inspect the cottage, to see what nature of tenants you could expect us to be. And, of course, my grandmother’s practice has maintained us since her husband died.’
She added the last, knowing that in recent weeks the income from the practice would not bear examination but feeling that she had little to lose. If they were to get the cottage they would have to make it work.
Mr Sutcliffe Senior appeared to be considering her words. Finally he spoke, ‘In my view, the best course would be to inspect Lane End Cottage and then make our decision based on this.’
It was Sarah’s turn to consider. If the cottage turned out to be in a worse state than she hoped, would he refuse to lease it? And if not, would she and her grandmother be in a position to cope with putting it to rights? Her course established, however, there was nothing to do but continue.
‘I am sorry for pressing you on this, sir, but when might we expect a decision to be made? We have but three weeks until we must leave our home.’
Mr Sutcliffe senior smiled. ‘I would that the young men that we employ had half your determination and tenacity. Not to mention such a forthright manner of speech.’ He held up a hand as Sarah began to stammer out an apology. ‘I find myself without an office to call my own at present, so I will visit the property in question tomorrow and after that I will ride on to visit you, if I may, with my decision.’
‘Thank you sir,’ Sarah said, faintly. ‘Hill Farm Cottage. You will be expected
, and most welcome.’
Leaving her brandy-and-water on the table, virtually untouched, she backed out of the room, then left the inn as quickly as possible, nearly knocking down a weary-looking Mr Sutcliffe Junior, who was mounting the steps. She hurried away, hopeful that she had not been recognised. Now that Mr Sutcliffe Senior had taken on their case she judged it better that it remained so. And she must hasten home, to tend to Alice and to warn Ada of the forthcoming visit, which would require a deal of cleaning, tidying and baking, she felt sure.
Chapter 31
Sarah and her grandmother passed the following morning in a fever of preparation. Having quite forgotten about their need for milk on the journey home the previous day, Sarah found herself despatched to the farm with a jug the minute that breakfast was over. Stung by the farmer giving them notice, she had managed to avoid Hill Farm until now, but there was no time for the walk into Northwaite; Ada was making scones which she felt would be most suited to serve to Mr Sutcliffe Senior, whatever time of day he arrived, and for scones she needed milk.
‘I’ll make half the batch savoury, then if it’s a morning visit he can have them with a piece of cheese,’ she said, half to herself. ‘And if it’s the afternoon we have a jar or two of preserves unopened – gooseberry perhaps. It has a tarter flavour that appeals to men; it’s a recipe I’m particularly proud of.’
Sarah made haste, as she was bid, with the largest jug they had and a request for butter and cheese shouted after her. The farmer’s wife greeted her cheerily, with a comment on the weather, a hope that her grandmother was well and an enquiry after Alice, then sent her off with the dairy maid in search of what she required. Neither of them mentioned the fact that Sarah’s custom would soon cease; Sarah wasn’t sure whether the farmer had discussed the matter of the cottage with his wife. She was a jolly lady; Sarah had no bone to pick with her.
It was perhaps as well that there was no sign of the farmer before Sarah made her way back home, for if she had seen him she would have found it hard to restrain herself from offering her opinion on his treatment of her grandmother. Although the errand had taken barely three-quarters of an hour, Ada was in a flap on her return, worried that the scones would still be in the oven and the kitchen not tidied before the solicitor made his appearance.
‘I think he’s likely to be a while yet, Gran,’ Sarah said soothingly. ‘He didn’t look like the sort of man who would be up and out at first light. I’m sure he will have breakfasted well, read the newspapers and his post, before he even thinks about calling for his horse. We are more than likely to see him this afternoon.’
Although she gave every appearance of being calm, underneath Sarah was as anxious as Ada. Alice was sensitive to their moods, and became as fretful as they had ever seen her. She wailed and refused to be put down for her nap and Sarah and Ada had to take it in turns to walk around the garden in an effort to soothe her. Quite worn out, Alice eventually fell asleep at midday, leaving her mother and great-grandmother to fly into a frenzy of last-minute preparations, dusting and polishing until the place sparkled. Sarah picked whatever flowers she could find in the garden – violets, primroses and a few stems of heartsease – and put them in small jugs on the windowsills.
After a lunchtime repast of bread and cheese, eaten in a rush in case their visitor arrived meanwhile, Sarah decided to light the fire in the parlour. Ada was unconvinced, fearing it might give the wrong impression and show they were profligate when they needed to convince of their economy and thrift, but Sarah overruled her.
‘We wouldn’t entertain the doctor, the minister or any such guests in the kitchen, so why should a solicitor be any different?’
As Sarah went to fetch the kindling she heard faint murmurings and cries from upstairs as Alice began to stir. Barely five minutes later, with the fire not yet lit and Alice’s complaints beginning to grow in volume, she heard a horse’s hooves on the road outside. She rose from her position in front of the hearth and went towards the window, feeling sure they must pass, but there was Mr Sutcliffe Senior, already down from his mount and tying the reins loosely to the gate so that his horse could crop the grass on the verge.
‘Gran, he’s here.’ Sarah flew through to the kitchen, wondering whether to leave Alice to cry but finding Ada already halfway up the stairs.
‘You let him in,’ Ada said. ‘I’ll see to Alice.’ She looked panic-stricken, so Sarah did as she was told, remembering to remove her apron and smooth back her hair just in time as she opened the door to the solicitor.
‘I thought to come to the back door,’ he said. ‘No need to stand on ceremony.’ He paused on the step and turned to look back at the garden. ‘You spoke the truth yesterday,’ he said. ‘I’ve rarely seen a garden better cared for, and with so much in leaf and flower already. I think I must send my own gardener round to learn from you.’
Sarah hurried to relieve him of his hat and coat as he entered, whereupon he took a good look around the kitchen. ‘Quite charming,’ he said. ‘Again, I cannot fault yesterday’s boast. You clearly have more than a touch of the homemaker about you. Or should the credit go to your grandmother?’
He looked around the room, as if expecting Ada to pop out from behind a door or from within the pantry.
‘Is she here today?’ he asked, taking a seat at the table and indicating to Sarah that she should sit.
‘Yes indeed, she’s upstairs with my daughter.’ Sarah was suddenly unsure whether the addition of an infant would further their cause or not but, as Ada arrived bearing Alice at that very moment, she didn’t have to wait long to find out.
Luckily, Mr Sutcliffe Senior clearly had a great fondness for infants and, even more fortunately, they for him. He took possession of Alice on his knee while Ada and Sarah laid out scones, jam and cheese, having failed to decide whether two o’clock in the afternoon was a savoury or sweet time of the day. Alice seemed mesmerised by the solicitor’s white whiskers and gazed wide-eyed at him while he despatched a savoury scone with quite a hearty slice of cheese and a heavily buttered sweet scone piled with gooseberry jam, declaring that Ada’s baking far surpassed that of his cook.
To Sarah’s bemusement, the solicitor and Ada appeared to have a good deal in common, even to the extent of some mutual acquaintances, so she took herself off with Alice and attended to her feed before her daughter could become fractious. She returned to the kitchen to find the teapot exhausted, with no sign that Mr Sutcliffe Senior was ready to come to the point. However, with Sarah settled back at the table, he began.
‘It pains me to have to report that Lane End Cottage is a deal less suitable than your current home. I confess that my spirits quite sank on entry, the place filled with gloom and dust and a chill that strikes right through to the bones. But, from what I could tell, the roof at least is sound, and although only spiders and mice have made the place their home over the last few years, I daresay it could be made habitable again.’
He paused, put his fingertips together and took a good look around the room. ‘Whether it can ever be made as homely as here, I simply don’t know. There’s a darkness in there that oppresses the soul, although I have no doubt that while a gentleman can’t see how to overcome it, a lady might. And it is true that in its latter years of occupation it was lived in by a reclusive widower, so it must be a good ten years or more since it has seen any proper attention inside.’
He paused again and sighed. ‘The garden is much overgrown and the challenge of turning it into as pretty a patch as you have here is one that I think you will find requires help beyond the labour of your own hands.’
Sarah’s hopes were rising, as the solicitor seemed to be talking very much as though they might be future tenants but, aware that his expression was grave, she still feared that some cruel blow was about to be delivered.
‘All in all, I’m prepared to recommend your tenancy to Mr Smallwood. I would like him, though, to arrange to put the place into proper order before you take it on and for that reason I would s
uggest the lease commences six weeks from now.’
Sarah had to think quickly. While it was very good news that they were approved as tenants, they couldn’t afford to wait for the proposed length of time.
‘We must leave here at the end of the month,’ she said. ‘I do not think our landlord will be prepared to extend this lease as he wants the place for his family. Would you consider letting us take on the tenancy any earlier?’
Mr Sutcliffe Senior considered the matter. ‘I must say I half-expected your response.’ Sarah noticed the glimmer of a smile. ‘In that case, my recommendation to Mr Smallwood will be that you take the cottage rent-free for the first month, at half-rent for the second month, then at the normal monthly rent thereafter. The lease will not reflect this. It will be an informal arrangement for those first two months. And, of course, we will need your husband to sign as a joint tenant with you.’
The last remark, addressed to Sarah, dashed her hopes once more.
‘As you know he is away on business, sir, and I don’t rightly know when to expect him back. But within a couple of months, I’m sure,’ she added hastily.
The solicitor frowned, then brightened. ‘In that case, you will sign the lease now, he will sign it on his return and we will date the commencement of the lease from then. I feel quite sure that I can trust you to honour the terms of the lease until then. As, to the best of my knowledge, Mr Smallwood hasn’t left his estate in Ireland for nigh on five years, he need know nothing about it.’
Mr Sutcliffe Senior took his leave, with Sarah promising to come to the office the moment the floods had abated in order to sign the lease. They both thanked him fulsomely, aware that he had for some reason bent over backwards to help them. As soon as he had ridden away, Sarah seized Ada and whirled her around the room, laughing and crying in excitement and relief while Alice looked on at them, wide-eyed.
PART FOUR
Sarah's Story Page 14
