Fairfield Hall

by Margaret Dickinson

  Dorothea gave a curt nod and turned away. Annabel watched her go with a sigh. It was the nearest she was going to get to a truce, she supposed. But she was glad about one thing; she wanted to get to know her nephew a lot better and now it appeared that she might be given the chance.

  Thirty-Five

  The following morning, Annabel went first to the vicarage. She sat at the kitchen table with Richard and Phoebe for a while, drinking tea and chatting whilst she recounted all that had happened the previous day at the market.

  ‘So,’ she said happily, ‘there’ll soon be livestock in the fields once again. And we bought horses too, so the ploughing can start. A little later than normal perhaps, but not too late, I hope.’

  The vicar shook his head in disbelief. ‘Cows, horses and sheep,’ he murmured, ‘after all this time.’

  Annabel smiled but then, in a businesslike tone, she went on, ‘And now, we need to move on to the next stage. First, Mr Webster, about the school . . .’

  ‘The master left at Easter and the school hasn’t been open since.’

  ‘So, the children haven’t been learning anything during that time?’

  ‘Richard took classes for a while, but it got too much for him,’ Phoebe said, putting her hand on her husband’s arm. ‘I took the girls for needlework and sewing and a little bit of cooking, but soon there was no food to cook and no money to buy materials of any sort. Though the children still had slates, we had no chalk left for them to write with.’

  ‘How do we go about engaging a new teacher? Is there a board of managers – or whatever they’re called – for the school?’

  Richard Webster grimaced. ‘There used to be. It’s a Board School and as the name implies, it’s managed by an elected school board. I was an ex officio member because of my position in the community. Lord Fairfield – whoever held the title – was always the chairman, but Albert never attended and recently, of course, your husband just hasn’t been here.’

  ‘Who else was on it?’

  ‘Anyone of standing in the community. The shopkeepers, the farmers – that sort of person made up the numbers. Mr Broughton was very active. He used to do a lot for the school. Mr Chadwick, too and, of course’ – he smiled – ‘Jabez Fletcher.’

  Annabel laughed aloud. ‘Why am I not surprised by that?’

  ‘And we co-opted Ben Jackson to the board. That’s all we had latterly, though maybe we should have more. I’ll write some letters to see what I can find out and seek advice.’

  ‘So, what do we do? Call a meeting of the board members?’

  ‘It’d be for the best, but I doubt Mr Broughton will come.’

  ‘It might be just the thing to prise him out of his depression. We’ll try anyway. And may I attend?’

  ‘I expect we could probably co-opt you to stand in for your husband,’ Richard said.

  ‘The sooner the better. We must get these children back to school – by after Christmas, if we can. Now,’ she added, as she rose from the table. ‘I must seek out the butcher, the baker and the candlestick maker.’

  Richard looked up at her and blinked. Annabel chuckled. ‘Not really, I just meant I want to see if we can get the village shops open again.’

  Richard, too, rose. ‘Would you like me to come with you? You might meet with some bitterness.’

  ‘I’d be very glad to have your company, Mr Webster. This isn’t quite Mr Jackson’s territory.’

  They called first on Ozzy Greenwood, who lived in a cottage near the church with his elderly mother. A middle-aged man with thinning ginger hair and a freckled complexion opened the door tentatively. When he saw who was standing there, his eyes widened.

  ‘Oh my lady, please come in. And you too, Vicar. Do you mind coming into the kitchen? There’s no fire in the front room and Mother likes to sit near the range.’

  As they moved into the room and Annabel took a seat on the opposite side of the range to where the old lady was sitting, she smiled and greeted her. The seventynine-year-old woman was hunched towards the fire, a warm shawl around her shoulders and a blanket over her knees.

  ‘Mother feels the cold,’ Ozzy explained. ‘Mother,’ he raised his voice, ‘Her ladyship and Mr Webster have come to see us.’ He turned back to them. ‘She’s a little deaf.’

  Annabel leaned forward. ‘How are you, Mrs Greenwood?’

  The woman raised watery, faded blue eyes to look at her. ‘Nicely, thank you,’ she quavered and then went back to staring into the fire.

  Annabel turned to Ozzy. ‘Have you plenty of fuel and food?’

  ‘Yes, m’lady, we have now, thanks to you.’

  ‘We were wondering how you would feel about opening up your shop again?’

  If eyes could truly be said to light up, then Ozzy Greenwood’s certainly did. ‘Oh, m’lady, do you think I could?’

  ‘Of course. We’re restocking the farms and soon there’ll be milk, butter and cheese available locally. Where did you used to get your other supplies from before you had to close?’

  ‘From the same people who supply the town shops, but my account with them will have lapsed by now and I don’t know if they’d . . .’ His voice trailed away and he avoided meeting her steady gaze.

  Gently, Annabel asked, ‘Do you still owe any of them money?’

  Ozzy sighed heavily. ‘One or two, I’m afraid, yes.’

  ‘Then we’ll have their accounts settled and I’ve no doubt they’ll be happy to supply you again. If you give me a list, I’ll see they are paid.’

  ‘Oh, but my lady, I couldn’t let you do that.’

  ‘It’d be a loan, Mr Greenwood. We’ll keep a careful note of what you owe me and once your business is thriving again, you can repay me.’

  ‘What – what about the interest rate, m’lady?’

  Here was a true businessman, Annabel thought with amusement. ‘It’ll be an interest-free loan, Mr Greenwood. Please allow me to do that at least.’

  ‘I’d be very grateful and I’d repay every penny as soon as I could.’

  ‘No rush for that.’ She stood up. ‘But let me have the list of debtors as soon as you can and we’ll get things moving.’

  ‘By tonight and – and will it be all right to start cleaning the shop out? I wasn’t sure how things stood now. I mean, I haven’t been paying any rent for the premises since it closed nor for this cottage.’

  ‘All rents are suspended until the village is back on its feet, so don’t worry about that. But what about your mother? Is there someone who can help look after her?’

  ‘My sister and her family live further down the street. She’ll look in on her.’

  ‘What does her husband do?’

  ‘He used to work on the land, m’lady. He was employed up at Sparrow Farm, but after the tenants there left . . .’ Ozzy’s voice dropped away.

  ‘Adam Cartwright is taking over that tenancy. Tell your brother-in-law to go and have a talk with him. He’ll be needing some help, I’m sure.’

  ‘Thank you, m’lady. And –’ He hesitated and Annabel prompted gently, ‘Go on.’

  ‘Is it true that Grace Parrish is home? I’ve seen two young girls going in and out of the cottage next door where she used to live. I just wondered . . .?’

  Annabel smiled. ‘Yes, she’s home and the two girls were Annie from the Hall and my maid, Jane. They’ve been cleaning the cottage ready for Mrs Parrish to move back in.’

  ‘That’s wonderful news. And she’ll be company for Mother. They were great friends before she – when she lived here.’

  Again, there was the light of hope in the man’s eyes and as Annabel and Richard Webster left, Ozzy was effusive in this thanks. When they were out of earshot, Richard chuckled. ‘I don’t think you’ll get that sort of gratitude from Mr Merriman. You’ve won over Jabez Fletcher, but Eli Merriman might be an even harder nut to crack.’

  Annabel laughed with him. ‘I almost prefer it. Their gratitude is embarrassing.’

  ‘Don’t snub them, m’lady. L
et them show their appreciation. You’re saving lives and livelihoods here. And they know it.’

  ‘We’ll see Mr Hammond next,’ Annabel said, changing the subject. ‘And leave Mr Merriman until last. And I’ll have to catch Mr Fletcher when he comes home from work tonight.’

  ‘I think we’ll have to go round the back,’ Richard suggested. ‘Mr Hammond might not hear us knocking on the shop door.’

  ‘Is that the slaughterhouse?’ Annabel asked, nodding towards some buildings across the yard from the back door of Percy Hammond’s premises.

  Richard nodded and might have said more but at that moment the door opened and Percy Hammond – a small, thickset man in his fifties, Annabel guessed – invited them to step inside.

  ‘We’ll go upstairs,’ he said. ‘’Tis cold in the shop.’

  ‘Actually, I wouldn’t mind seeing the shop,’ Annabel said on a sudden impulse.

  Percy turned slowly to look at her, his eyes anxious. ‘Are you thinking of taking it on, m’lady? Turning me out? I couldn’t blame you if you did, ’cos I haven’t paid rent for several months.’

  ‘Far from it, Mr Hammond,’ Annabel said, as she followed him into the front of the shop. The counter and the once white slabs were thick with dust, the windows smeared and grimy. There was a lot of work to be done before this shop would be clean enough to sell meat. ‘I’m hoping you would like to open up your shop again.’ She went on to tell him all that had happened in the last few days, how the farms would soon be up and running. ‘But until they can supply you with meat once again, I’m sure we could buy supplies from town for you. You might not be able to make much profit at first, but it would be a start.’

  ‘Do you mean it?’ The man was flabbergasted; there was no other word to describe the incredulous look on his face.

  ‘Of course I do, Mr Hammond.’

  ‘Oh, my lady,’ and now there were tears in his eyes, ‘how can I ever thank you?’

  ‘By running the best butcher’s shop this side of Lincoln,’ she teased him.

  What was now becoming the usual conversation about loans and repayments followed, but Annabel and Richard emerged smiling from the butcher’s shop.

  ‘What a nice man,’ she murmured.

  ‘I don’t think you’ll be able to say that about the next one,’ Richard said, and he grimaced as, once again, they went round to the back door. When it was opened and they faced Eli Merriman, even Annabel’s resolve wavered. But she plastered a smile on her face and held out her hand. ‘Good morning, Mr Merriman.’

  He looked down at her hand with distaste and did not take it. ‘What d’you want?’ he said gruffly. There was no invitation to step inside. Instead, he just glared belligerently at her.

  Annabel took a deep breath. ‘We’ve come to see if you would like to reopen your shop.’

  For a moment, the man looked startled as if this was the last thing he had been expecting. Then a suspicious look settled on his face. ‘And how am I supposed to do that?’

  ‘With a little help in the first place.’ And pre-empting his next question, she added, ‘And an interest-free loan to buy stock to be repaid when the shop is making a profit once more.’

  ‘And how long do you reckon that’s going to take? Folks round here have no money.’

  ‘Not at the moment, but they soon will have.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘All the farms on the estate will be operating very soon. The villagers will be re-employed and earning a wage again.’

  He narrowed his eyes and regarded her with his head on one side. Annabel found she was holding her breath. Then with a sudden movement that made her jump, he pulled the door open wider. ‘Come in, take a look, and if you’ve any clever suggestions on how I should start again, I’ll be interested to hear them.’

  They walked through the back room, which was used as a storeroom. Various objects and boxes cluttered the space. Then Eli led them through into the front of the shop. Like the other shops, the shelves were thick with dust and months of neglect. More boxes lay higgledypiggledy on the floor. There was no order and it irritated Annabel’s tidy nature. She liked a place for everything and everything in its place. But here, she doubted he even knew what stock he had left.

  ‘First of all, you need an inventory of all the stock you have with its cost price and approximate selling price. You still have the invoices from when you bought the goods, I presume?’

  Eli shrugged.

  ‘My wife used to see to all the paperwork. I’m no good at that side of things. I can sell owt – coal to Newcastle, as they say, but paperwork – I don’t understand it.’

  ‘So, your wife would handle that again, would she?’

  His face was stormy as he growled, ‘My wife left me months ago when things started to go downhill.’

  ‘I’m very sorry to hear that,’ Annabel said quietly. ‘Is there any chance—?’

  ‘No,’ he interrupted harshly. ‘Even if she came crawling on her hands and knees, I wouldn’t have her back. She took my lad with her and I can’t forgive her for that. He’ll be thirteen now but I ain’t seen him for over a year.’

  Annabel was shocked; she loved children and longed to have a child of her own. She couldn’t imagine how heartbreaking it would be to be separated from one’s own child. She drew in a deep breath. ‘Then maybe I can help you with that to start with and then – if you agree – you could employ someone from the village to do the paperwork for you.’

  He gave a humourless bark of laughter. ‘And who do you think in this village can read and write and do bookkeeping? My wife was an educated woman.’ He paused and then muttered. ‘More’s the pity. Mebbe if . . .’ But there he stopped, lost for a moment in his own thoughts.

  Annabel stepped closer to him and looked up into his face. Softly, she said, ‘We’ll get your shop running again, Mr Merriman, I promise.’

  Slowly, he raised his head and stared into her eyes. ‘I’ll believe it when I see it.’ With a long, deliberate pause, he added at last, ‘My lady.’

  Annabel took luncheon with the Websters and stayed in the village making plans. But when the sun sank in the western sky in glorious red-gold streaks, she walked back along the street towards the smithy. She smiled to see that already Ozzy Greenwood and Percy Hammond were hard at work cleaning and scrubbing out their respective shops, but now she wanted to see Jabez Fletcher.

  She had been waiting outside the smithy for about ten minutes when she heard the rattle of a trap’s wheels and turned to see Ben driving up the street with Jabez and Josh beside him. She was glad that he was still taking them to and from their work in the town.

  ‘My lady,’ Jabez greeted her as he climbed stiffly down from the back of the trap. ‘Is owt wrong?’

  Josh jumped down nimbly and Annabel thought he looked a little fitter already even after only a few days of proper meals.

  ‘No, nothing, I just wanted a quick word before I go home. I’ll not keep you long. I just wondered how you felt about reopening your smithy? We have horses back in the village now and—’ She stopped. She had not expected this reaction from the bluff, no-nonsense man who had been so rude to her when she’d first arrived. He covered his mouth with a shaking hand and tears streamed down his face as he stared at her, disbelief in his eyes.

  ‘I know four horses and the one we have at the Hall at the moment won’t keep the smithy running full time,’ Annabel said, rushing on, ‘but we plan to get more very soon.’ She was gabbling; his emotional response had unnerved her. ‘And I’m sure there’ll be plenty of other work for you and Josh. The vicar was telling me this morning that you doubled as a wheelwright and carpenter, too.’

  Jabez nodded, still unable to speak. Suddenly, he stepped forward and clasped her hand, raising it to his lips and kissing her fingers.

  Annabel laughed nervously. ‘I’ll take that as a “yes”, then, shall I?’

  Still, he couldn’t speak so it was a grinning Josh, standing beside him with his hand on the older
man’s shoulder, who said, ‘It is, my lady. It’ll be a dream come true for him. And for me, an’ all. And there’s others in the village who might like to apply for our jobs in town when we give in our notice, so it’ll help more than just us.’

  Gently, Annabel gave Jabez’s hand a tiny squeeze and then released her hand from his grasp as she said, ‘And now I must go. I want to read a bedtime story to my nephew, and I mustn’t be late.’

  As she climbed into the trap beside Ben and they turned to go up the hill, she glanced down the street to the cottage at the very end of the road where another little boy to whom she would also very much like to read stories lived; a little boy who should, except for an accident of birth, be living in the big house at the top of the hill.

  Thirty-Six

  ‘Dorothea,’ Annabel asked as they sat down to dinner that evening, ‘do you read bedtime stories to Theo – Theodore?’ Tonight, the little boy was not with them.

  ‘When I’ve time. But I have to sit with Mama tonight. The nurse must have some time off duty.’

  ‘Of course. I’d be willing to do that, too, if it would help you, but I’d really like to get to know Theodore. Would you allow me to read a bedtime story to him, if you’re busy?’

  For a moment, Dorothea eyed her suspiciously. ‘Why would you want to do that?’

  ‘Because I’d like to get to know my nephew.’

  Dorothea blinked and then frowned. She was still trying to work out what possible ulterior motive Annabel might have. She couldn’t possibly believe that there wasn’t one.

  ‘Very well,’ she said at last, grudgingly, ‘but his light must go out at half past seven. Not a minute later.’

  When they’d finished dinner, Annabel ran lightly up the stairs and found her way to the nursery on the second floor. She knocked on Theo’s bedroom door and, when his boyish voice said an uncertain, ‘Come in,’ she entered the room. He was standing by his bed, leafing through a book of nursery rhymes. His eyes widened when he saw her.

  ‘I’ve come to read to you, if you’d like me to. Mama is busy looking after your grandmother tonight.’ She crossed the room towards him. ‘Will that be all right, Theo?’