An Independent Woman

by Anna Jacobs

  The owner came across to serve her himself.

  “Could you let me have my ration book, please?”

  “Is there some problem with our service, Miss Fleming?”

  “No. I’m going away for a few weeks, so will need to take my ration book. I don’t think the rationing will stop for a while yet, do you, even though the war is over?”

  “Sadly, no.”

  He handed over the book but looked at her strangely as she walked out of the shop, and she knew that was because she’d never gone away before.

  Arriving at her father’s rooms just before ten, she waited round the corner in a spot where she couldn’t be seen from his window, glancing anxiously up and down the street. Where was Mr Redway? What if he didn’t come? Feeling faint she pressed her hand to her mouth. She couldn’t face this on her own, just—couldn’t!

  Then Justin turned the corner, striding out briskly, the ends of his scarf flying in the wind behind him, his long narrow face rosy with good health and cheerfulness.

  “Are you feeling all right, Miss Fleming?”

  “Very nervous, I’m afraid.”

  “I won’t let him eat you. Come on. Let’s get it over with.”

  He led the way inside. After a moment’s hesitation she followed, her knees feeling stiff with fear, her stomach queasy.

  The elderly clerk stared in puzzlement at her companion, whom he clearly recognised. “If you’d come this way, Miss Fleming? Your father and Mr Pearson are waiting for you. I’ll be with you in a moment, sir.”

  Serena set down the basket and took a deep breath. “Mr Redway is with me.”

  The clerk gave her a startled look but said nothing, simply opening the door into the large, comfortable office and announcing, “Your daughter is here, sir.” He stood back to let them go in.

  Ernest was standing at one side of a blazing fire and Mr Pearson, their family lawyer was at the other, chatting and smiling. They broke off to stare in shock at the man who followed her in.

  Her father ignored her. “What are you doing here, Redway?”

  Serena summoned up the last few shreds of her courage. “Mr Redway is here as my lawyer, Father?”

  “What do you mean by that?” Ernest demanded at once. “Have you run mad, Serena? Pearson is our family lawyer and you need no other.”

  “I felt it better to—to have my own representation today.” She was annoyed that her voice had wobbled and betrayed her nervousness, and that annoyance at herself stiffened her spine a little.

  “You don’t need representation. I am here to take care of your interests.” He scowled at the man behind her. “I’m afraid your services are not needed, sir. I’ll bid you good-day. I regret that my daughter has wasted your time.”

  “As I’m acting for Miss Fleming, only she can dismiss me,” Justin turned sideways to see if the poor woman would pass the first test, if her determination would hold firm.

  “I wish you to stay, Mr Redway,” she said, her voice hardly more than a whisper. “Please.”

  He nodded and turned to face the two older men. “It seems my client prefers me to remain with her.”

  Ernest’s voice cut harshly across the room. “Serena, think what you’re doing! You’ve been behaving very foolishly lately. Don’t make matters worse.”

  “I prefer my lawyer to stay.”

  His face turned first red then white, his lips opening then snapping shut, pressed into a thin line as if he was forcing back angry words. The familiar sick feeling settled in her stomach and her hand went up involuntarily to her cheek. She knew that there was still a slight redness there and guessed by Mr Redway’s expression that he understood why.

  Mr Pearson said hastily, “Let us all be seated, then, and attend to the business at hand.” Since Ernest didn’t move, he went to pull forward a chair for Serena and after a moment’s hesitation gestured to another, some distance away, for the other visitor.

  Justin smiled and picked up that chair. “I think it best if my client and I sit together in case we need to confer about something.” He placed it close to hers and sat down, seeing how tightly clasped her hands were, the fine leather of her gloves creasing and straining under the pressure.

  He felt a sudden urge to lay his hand across hers in a gesture of comfort. You couldn’t help feeling sorry for her.

  Mr Pearson took charge. “As you already know, Miss Fleming, the trust that controls your godmother’s legacy ended on your thirtieth birthday and in accordance with your father’s instructions, I’ve drawn up some papers which will allow him to continue managing the money and properties for you and—”

  Justin was pleased when she interrupted of her own accord, though her voice still sounded scratchy and hesitant.

  “I’m afraid you’ve been misinformed, Mr Pearson. I don’t—don’t wish my—um, father to continue managing my money. I prefer to handle things myself from now on.”

  Justin smiled at Mr Pearson and pulled some documents from his inside pocket. “Handing things over is quite a simple matter, so I’ve already drawn up the necessary papers for your client to sign.”

  Fleming’s voice cracked out as sharply as a whip. “Serena, have you run mad? I forbid this!”

  For the first time since she’d sat down, Serena looked at him directly. “You can’t forbid it. I’m thirty years old, not thirteen.”

  His tone was scathing. “You no more know how to handle money than the kitchen cat does.”

  Colour flared in her cheeks. “I’ve been managing the housekeeping for years, ever since Mother fell ill, and have never overspent or made mistakes in my accounts.”

  “Housekeeping! What has that got to do with business affairs?” His eyes narrowed and he looked from her to Justin. “Who’s been filling your head with these strange ideas? First you vote against my wishes then you come here and say you intend to manage your own finances.” He glared at her lawyer. “Have you been taking advantage of her ignorance, sir?”

  Again Serena answered for herself. “No one’s been putting ideas into my head. I only met Mr Redway for the first time yesterday but I decided quite a while ago that I wished to handle my own money, only I knew I could do nothing about that until I turned thirty.”

  When she forgot to be nervous, Justin decided, her voice was quite pleasant, low for a woman but with a musical tone to it. Fleming leaned forward, ignoring the two men and speaking to his daughter as if she were a half-wit, which annoyed Justin.

  “You should think very carefully about what you’re doing, Serena. If you persist in disobeying me, I shall carry out my threat to disown you and cast you out of my life and home. And how will you manage then?”

  She took a deep breath. “I’ve already moved out of home.”

  Justin expected Fleming to explode with rage, but he didn’t. His hands quivered once on his chair arms then stilled. His face went dull red before losing every last vestige of colour so that he looked like a marble statue, and a very forbidding statue, too. It must have been hard for a child to grow up in the charge of this man. No wonder she seemed so cowed.

  “I’ll give you one last chance to come to your senses.” Ernest stood up and pulled out his gold pocket watch, flicking the lid open. “In fact, I shall give you precisely two minutes to change your mind, Serena.”

  He had made such threats when she was a child and somehow she had never dared challenge him. Now, the scornful tone, the way he was treating her, only reinforced her determination to escape and she sat very straight-backed as she told him in a voice which didn’t quaver, “I shan’t change my mind. I’m definitely not coming back to live with you and I wish to control my own money from now on.”

  “Then you are no longer my daughter and I wash my hands of you.” With a sense of drama which would have done credit to any actor, Fleming strode out of the room, not slamming the door behind him, but closing it gently, with a sharp little snicking sound. His footsteps thudded heavily down the corridor and the front door of the building closed with
a bang.

  Then there was silence.

  Mr Pearson stared at the door, mouth half open, then glanced at Serena. “Is it wise to burn your bridges like this, Miss Fleming?”

  “I don’t know whether it’s wise or not, Mr Pearson, but it’s what I want. He isn’t an easy man to live with and if it weren’t for my mother, I’d have home left years ago. He made her life a misery.” After a short pause, she added, “Mine too.”

  “He can be a very—difficult man to cross.”

  “I shan’t be staying in Tinsley for long, not once I’ve got my money.”

  She looked as if one puff of wind would blow her away, she only came up to his shoulder and her face had betrayed how afraid she was, but it seemed to Justin that this act of defiance was one of the bravest things he’d ever seen in his life. “My client and I had better discuss the inheritance in more detail with you, then, Pearson,” he said. “And if you can’t supply the answers we need, presumably you can find out from your client. If not, we’ll apply to a magistrate for an order to hand over all documentation. We gather that there is an annual income of five hundred pounds. Is that all?”

  “There is also some property involved.” Pearson went across to Ernest’s desk and shuffled through the folder of papers. “The details don’t seem to be here, but I can check them for you when I next speak to Mr Fleming.” He frowned at the door, clearly at a loss as to how to deal with the situation. “If I remember rightly, it was just a few workers’ cottages.”

  “I own some houses?”

  Mr Pearson looked at her in surprise. “You didn’t know that?”

  She shook her head. “My father would never discuss business matters with a woman. I signed some papers when I turned twenty-one, and have seen nothing since.”

  “We shall need a complete list of the property involved as soon as possible,” Justin made a note in a little black book he carried everywhere.

  Pearson shot him a dirty glance then turned back to the desk, picking up a piece of paper and reading it quickly. “When she inherited, there were seven cottages in the village of Horton. I can only presume that your father has been managing them for you, collecting rents and so on, though there are no records of those transactions here.” He frowned. “You’ll have to apply to him for current details and of course, I presume there will be money in the bank from the years of rent payments. It should be quite a substantial sum, since it’ll have been accruing interest for the past fifteen years ever since your godmother died.”

  Serena felt instantly better. It was easier to act independently when you had a comfortable sum of money behind you. She knew some women went out and earned a living, but she hadn’t been trained to do anything except manage a gentleman’s household.

  Mr Pearson was reading another piece of paper. “Yes, I remember now. The end cottage is slightly larger than the others and your godmother left her former maid the use of it rent-free for as long as she lived, in recognition of her services. Your father wasn’t happy about the woman occupying the house, which would have commanded a higher rent than the others, but I had to advise him that there was nothing he could do about it.” He looked at Serena again and shook his head. “This is so unnecessary, Miss Fleming . Your father is a respected businessman in this town.

  Who better to handle your affairs?”

  “I’m not acting rashly. I’ve been considering this for several years.”

  Justin cleared his throat to gain Pearson’s attention. “It’s very inconvenient that Mr Fleming walked out in the middle of our discussion. Can you find out how matters stand and get back to me later this morning? My client needs somewhere to live and if she owns some property, that might be ideal.”

  Pearson’s lips curled scornfully. “A worker’s cottage? My dear fellow, it would be most un suitable for a Fleming. But I will get back to you as soon as possible. You’re still in Bridge Lane? Very well, I’ll send word there by one o’clock.”

  They walked out, Justin picking up Serena’s basket, which she would have forgotten in her agitation.

  “We’ll go to my office, I think, Miss Fleming. You can wait there.”

  “I still need to find somewhere to sleep tonight.”

  He grinned. “My cousin Evadne won’t be able to resist offering you shelter when I explain what’s happened. Your father isn’t liked by many people and has been particularly rude to her and her friends more than once.”

  “He has?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “I can’t imagine him being rude to a stranger. He’s normally so quietly spoken. Why was he like that with her?”

  “It seems he disapproves very strongly of women voting. He not only threw things at Evadne when she was marching along the street to gain attention for the cause, but he encouraged others to do the same.”

  “Oh.”

  “My cousin considered her suffering worthwhile in the struggle for women to obtain the vote, but he made it more a vendetta, even had them thrown out of their former premises and tried to fine them for damage to the property. Fortunately, the men who moved their possessions were able to testify that all had been in order when they vacated the premises. He was clumsy with that, which surprised me, let his anger rule his common sense, I suppose. Ah, here we are.”

  Justin opened the door to his rooms and led her inside. “I’m afraid you’ll have to sit in the middle room, because I have another client coming to see me soon, but I’ll make sure my clerk provides you with refreshments and a copy of the Tinsley Telegraph to read. Oh, and the usual conveniences are out at the back.”

  “Thank you. You’re very kind.”

  But she couldn’t settle and time seemed to pass very slowly when she checked it on the little gold fob watch pinned to her lapel.

  It wasn’t until two o’clock in the afternoon that they heard from Mr Pearson, by which time Serena had decided to take a room in a hotel for the night, not wanting to inconvenience Miss Blair.

  Justin suddenly appeared in the doorway, waving a piece of paper. “This has come from Pearson. It doesn’t contain nearly as much information as I’d expected, but it appears your father sold six of the cottages some time ago and invested the money for you. There is only one left, the one in which the maid lived until her recent death. Apparently your father is negotiating to sell it at the moment and recommends that we let the sale go through. He says he hasn’t got the key, has given it to the person who’s buying it, but he’ll get one to us within a day or two if we need it.”

  “How can he have sold the houses without consulting me?”

  “You must have signed something.”

  “Indeed I didn’t! Believe me, I’d have remembered.”

  Justin frowned at her, then pulled out his notebook and scribbled a reminder. “I’ll look into that as well, then. What about this final cottage?”

  “I don’t want to sell it. If it’s at all suitable, I could go and live there until this is sorted out, couldn’t I?”

  He raised one eyebrow. “It’s only a cottage.”

  “And I’m only one person. How many rooms do I need?” She smiled. “I think I’d like to live on my own for a while, very quietly, with nothing but my own needs to think about—just a daily maid to help out, perhaps.”

  “Very well, then.” Justin gave her one of his mischievous looks, “Let’s go and have a look at it now. If the door is locked, there’s bound to be a key on the lintel or under the door mat. There always is.”

  Excitement began to curl through her. “I’d love to do that!”

  They went out and took a horse cab, whose driver agreed to stay with them for the rest of the afternoon.

  “It’s situated in the village of Horton, just outside town,” Justin said. “Number Seven, Lodge Lane. I’ve passed that row of cottages several times, but can’t remember one being bigger than the others.”

  Number Seven was at the end of the row of seven dwellings, a two-storey place, its windows dull and its garden untended. The garden
went round the side and rear as well as at the front.

  “Well built,” Justin said, “and has an extra room at the rear, I see. But like the others, it needs a coat of paint and some maintenance work.”

  As they walked down the path, a woman came out of the next cottage and hurried across to them. Justin raised his bowler hat, murmuring to Serena, “Always useful to get on good terms with the neighbours. Good day to you, ma’am.”

  “If you’ve come to see the old lady, she died two months ago.”

  “Yes, we know. This is Miss Fleming, the owner.”

  “I’m Mrs Diggle.” She frowned at Serena. “They said the house had been sold to Mr Hammerton.”

  “No. He may have wanted to buy it, but Miss Fleming doesn’t wish to sell.”

  Serena held out her hand. “How do you do. I’m very pleased to meet you, Mrs Diggle.”

  The woman looked down at her hand, which was covered in flour. “Better not shake hands, miss. I’ll only dirty your gloves.”

  “Do you happen to know where the spare key is kept?” Justin asked.

  She looked at him, suspicious again. “Don’t you have a door key?”

  “Mr Hammerton has taken it, apparently. I’m Miss Fleming’s lawyer and my client wished to see the property so I came with her.” He fished in his pocket and pulled out a card, handing it to Mrs Diggle with a flourish.

  She read it carefully before nodding, as if he’d passed a test. “Well, there’s a spare key on the lintel above the back door. The same one opens both the front and the back doors. I used to pop in and help the old lady out towards the end, but she didn’t like to leave the front door open when she was lying in bed upstairs, so I always went in the back way and so did the District Nurse.”

  “You sound to have been a good neighbour.”

  “It’s a poor sort of person who can’t help their fellow human beings.” She took a step backwards. “Well, I’ll leave you to look round, then. It’s strange though, I was sure they said it had already been sold and I don’t usually make mistakes. Anyway, if you need to know anything, just knock on my door.” She nodded and went back inside the house next door.