An Independent Woman

by Anna Jacobs

  Justin watched her go with a frown. “I’ll look into the question of whether or not it’s been sold, Miss Fleming. I doubt he can have legally sold it without your permission and signature.”

  “He sold the others cottages. And I never signed anything then.”

  “That’s on my list for investigation as well, believe me.”

  They walked round the back and found the key exactly where Mrs Diggle had said. Justin handed it to Serena with a flourish. “You should do the honours.”

  She turned the key in the lock and opened the door. The narrow passage revealed a coal store and a cupboard for household equipment then led into a large scullery, where a slopstone sat under a dripping tap and a boiler for washing clothes occupied one corner, with black marks from countless fires beneath it. From there they went into the kitchen.

  “It seems still to be furnished,” Justin remarked, as they stood looking round. “I wonder if the furniture belongs to you now?”

  “That would be very convenient.”

  A scrubbed wooden table took pride of place, and there were three pans hanging up, dull brasses on the wall beside the kitchen stove and dusty crockery on the dresser. It was cold inside and yet there was a cosy feel to it, as if someone had been happy here.

  Serena walked through into the next room, which had an air of having been long unused, though it was furnished as a dining-room. There was no corridor. It led directly into the front room, a parlour which had the main door in one corner, opening straight into a small porch. Old-fashioned furniture and ornaments filled the room so that there was only a narrow path through to the door.

  When Justin joined her, he said, “I was investigating the pantry. There are plenty of dry goods there, still in a usable state, I should think.”

  “I like this house.”

  He turned slowly round, examining the front room. “Yes, so do I. Let’s check upstairs.”

  Upstairs proved to have three bedrooms, the front one clearly having been used by the old lady. The bed was no longer made up but was covered by a very pretty patchwork quilt. The other two bedrooms were smaller, had ornaments sitting neatly on starched, crocheted mats on the dusty surfaces, and again, beds covered by patchwork quilts. But they felt long unused.

  When they went down to the kitchen, Serena looked at him. “I don’t need to stay in a hotel when I have a whole house of my own here.”

  He frowned. “I don’t think you should move in until I’ve sorted out the legal situation.”

  She shook her head, feeling stubborn for some reason. “There’s coal and wood, so I can light a fire. I’ll have to go back for my holdall and basket, and I can buy some food at the same time, then I’ll spend tonight here.”

  Justin tried to persuade her to wait until the next day, but she wouldn’t change her mind, so he helped her to retrieve her things from his rooms and buy food, then drove back with her to Horton, to make sure she settled in safely. He didn’t know why, but he felt uneasy about her doing this.

  Serena waved goodbye to him then turned to go back into the cottage only to find that Mrs Diggle had come out to see her.

  “Excuse my asking, miss, but will you be staying here now? Only we keep an eye on the place and we need to know.”

  “Yes. And thank you for keeping an eye on things. I’m grateful. Perhaps tomorrow I can come and ask your help about where to buy my food, and so on?”

  Mrs Diggle beamed at her. “I’d be honoured to help you, miss, and if you don’t think it forward of me, I’ll send our Charlie across with a piece of my apple pie for your tea. I’ve just been baking.”

  “That’d be wonderful.”

  While they were talking, a cab had driven along the lane and stopped beside them. Serena looked at it, half-expecting Justin to pop out again with further news. Instead, a much younger gentleman opened the door and came across to join them.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt, ladies, but I wondered if you’d be interested in some apples, Mrs Diggle? Only there are more than we need at the Hall and some are still hanging on the trees.”

  “I’d be delighted, sir. We don’t want good food going to waste. Don’t leave yet, miss!”

  Serena turned round.

  “This is your nearest neighbour up the lane, Mr Graye who lives at the Lodge just now, but is moving into the Hall. Mr Graye, this is Miss Fleming, who’s just moved into the cottage next to us, which she owns.”

  He had been smiling, but the smile faded at the sound of her name and he inclined his head only very slightly, not moving forward to shake her hand.

  Nodding in return she went inside, weary now and too tired to puzzle over why a complete stranger would look at her so coldly.

  When the door had closed behind her new neighbour, Mrs Diggle looked at Marcus and said quietly, “Mr Redway brought her here—and he asked me to keep an eye on her, to let him know if there was any trouble.”

  “You know about whose daughter she is?”

  She nodded. “Yes. But I speak as I find and let alone she came with Mr Redway, she spoke to me as civil as you like.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Mr Fleming owns this row of houses, all except the end cottage,” Mrs Diggle went on.

  “Luckily my Harold keeps our place in good order, because he won’t spend a farthing on repairs.”

  “I wonder why she’s come to live here when she has a comfortable home with her father?”

  Mrs Diggle shrugged. “She’ll no doubt tell me when she knows me better. People do. Would you want to live with him? ”

  “Definitely not. But then he isn’t my father.”

  Chapter 4

  Marcus frowned as he got out of the cab at the Lodge. “What do you make of that—Fleming’s daughter moving into a workman’s cottage?” he asked Vic.

  “I don’t know. She doesn’t look like a rich man’s daughter though, does she?”

  “No, anything but. Which makes it all the stranger. I don’t like the man. I’ve met him once or twice and he’s a cold fish. And it was apparently he who encouraged my cousin to gamble—and won most of the money Lawrence lost.”

  “Fleming’s tenants aren’t fond of him, either. Pearl’s parents have to do all the upkeep themselves if they want to keep their cottage watertight.”

  “Well, I suppose it’s no business of ours what Miss Fleming does.” Marcus looked down at his leg and frowned. “I have to go back into town tomorrow so that the doctor can tell the District Nurse how he wants her to dress my injuries. Things were more convenient when we had a doctor in the village. I’m sorry you have to keep driving me to and from Tinsley like this, Vic. I’d hoped to provide more interesting work for you.”

  “As long as I’m earning money, I don’t mind.” He grinned. “At least you’re more interesting to talk to than my usual passengers.”

  Marcus chuckled. He enjoyed Vic’s company too and felt as if they’d resumed their boyhood friendship. “I’m looking forward to meeting your young lady tonight. After you’ve introduced us, I’ll leave you to take her across and show her round the Hall, if you don’t mind, then you can bring her back to the Lodge to discuss things—if she wishes to work for me, that is.

  “I can’t move across to the Hall until I’ve found some extra help. Those two elderly maids have enough on their plate looking after my aunt and I’m deeply grateful that they’ve been so loyal. Now, I need to sit with my leg up for a while. Though it is getting better, thank goodness, which is why the doctor intends to hand me over to the district nurse.”

  “I’ll just tie up Dolly then come and make you a cup of tea.”

  “Make us a cup of tea.”

  Vic nodded, appreciating the subtleties of that attitude, though he intended to tread carefully until he knew the other better. They weren’t lads any more, after all, and the glow of war-time comradeship might wear off after a while. However friendly his manner, Marcus was from carriage folk and Vic was only a carter’s son.

  As he got things ready in
the kitchen, he hoped his Pearl would like the job that was being offered. It’d make a decent start for them to move into the Hall. He reckoned Marcus would have been a good officer, you could usually tell from the way they spoke about their men. Vic was sorry he hadn’t had a chance to try being an officer for himself. Though if he had, he’d probably not have lasted the war. There had been a high loss rate among junior officers.

  Some time later, when he heard the gate click, he went outside to see Pearl hurrying down the path. At the sight of him she ran forward to fling herself into his arms, then as he began kissing her hungrily, she pulled away and looked round guiltily.

  “What are you thinking of, Vic Scott, kissing me like that in broad daylight. We don’t want Mr Graye catching us cuddling, do we?”

  “He wouldn’t mind. He’s—different. More like one of us than gentry.”

  She looked at him in surprise.

  “I hope you take to him because I think we’ll do well working for him.”

  “I’m not sure about the job, I will admit. I’m not going to wear silly caps and bow and scrape to the upper servants again.”

  He grinned. “There aren’t any upper servants left now and I can’t imagine Marcus expecting anyone to bow and scrape to him. He’s told me to call him by his first name, as I did when we were lads.”

  “Well, we’ll see.” She straightened her clothes and put up her hand to feel her front hair self-consciously. “I don’t feel comfortable about him seeing me like this the first time we meet.”

  “No one who served during the war would be anything but grateful to women like you, who’ve risked their own lives to keep us supplied with ammunition and shells.”

  She linked her arm in his. “Don’t you believe it. I’ve had unkind comments about my appearance from men in uniform, complete strangers who passed me in the street.”

  “If I’d been there, I’d have punched them in the face.”

  “Oh, I gave as good as I got, I promise you, love. Well then, lead me to him!”

  Marcus was in the sitting room, lost in thought, and it took him a moment or two to realise someone had spoken. “What? Oh, sorry.” He pushed himself to his feet at the sight of a woman.

  “I do beg your pardon.”

  “This is Pearl.”

  Marcus moved forward, hand outstretched. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Diggle. I gather you and Vic are engaged to be married.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I hope you’ll be very happy together. Do sit down.”

  She sat on the edge of a chair. “About the job . . . ”

  “I need help in the Hall. Let alone, my leg isn’t healed properly yet, I don’t know how to cook and the two maids up there have their hands full looking after my aunt and trying to keep the main rooms in order.”

  Pearl looked at him with a dubious expression on her face.

  “Is something wrong, Miss Diggle?”

  “I worked at the Hall before the war, sir. Things were very—strict. I don’t think I’d want to go back to that sort of life.”

  Vic looked at her in dismay. Trust Pearl to come out with it just like that.

  Marcus smiled. “I remember only too well how things were. I got into trouble with my aunt sometimes when we went to tea there for being over-familiar with the servants. But it’s my house now and I shan’t treat the people who work for me like that. In fact, come to think of it, you’d probably be the one in charge of the housekeeping side, because Ada looks after my aunt and Gladys is quite elderly herself and not the sort to take charge of anything.”

  Pearl gaped at him. “I’d be in charge?”

  “Yes, but there won’t be many servants. I’ve been left a pile of debts and I’ll need to watch the money very carefully. As I’ve said to Vic, I need people working there who won’t mind turning their hands to whatever needs doing, whether it’s turning out the bedrooms, cooking a meal or doing the shopping.”

  Pearl sat straighter in her chair. “Well now, that sounds much more interesting to me, Mr Graye. I’ve lost the habit of bowing and scraping to rich folk, I’ve got to admit.”

  “Good. I never did want anyone bowing and scraping to me. You’d better go and see the rooms that you and Vic could live in, then come back and let me know your decision.

  Vic and Pearl walked slowly across to the big house, his arm round her shoulders, her arm round his waist. They didn’t say much, were just happy to be together.

  “Your Mr Graye looks tired,” she said as they approached the house.

  “He’s still recovering from his injuries.”

  “Pity about his face. He’d be good looking otherwise.”

  “There are a lot of tired men in England just now, worn out by the war, and a lot whose bodies have been damaged.” His glance lingered for a moment on his leg. “I reckon I’m not alone in wondering how to fit into civilian life.”

  She gave his arm a quick squeeze. “You know I don’t care about your leg but I can’t see you staying a servant for ever.”

  “I don’t intend to. But I don’t feel I have to be servile with Marcus.” He knocked on the back door and heard footsteps coming towards it.

  Gladys peered round the edge of the door, as if nervous of who might be lurking there. “Oh it’s you, Mr Scott. Come in. I’m just having a rest.”

  He introduced her to Pearl.

  She looked at the younger woman in relief. “I’ll be glad to have some help. I can’t keep up with things, and that’s a fact. What has Mr Graye taken you on as—housemaid?”

  “More like housekeeper cum housemaid, I think, if you don’t want to run things.” As the other woman shuddered visibly, Pearl smiled. “I’ll do anything I need to, but I’ll tell you straight out I’m not wearing a silly cap and uniform.”

  Gladys looked at her anxiously. “Madam won’t like that.”

  “Isn’t it Mr Graye who’s in charge now?”

  “I keep forgetting. And she won’t even admit he owns the house. You’ll find her—um—a bit difficult.”

  Pearl grinned. “Then she’ll find me difficult, too.”

  Vic nudged her and gave Gladys one of his best smiles. “We’ll all be mucking in together, I reckon. I’ll be doing anything from driving Mr Graye around to polishing the silver or digging the garden. I don’t think things will ever go back to what they were before the war.”

  Gladys sighed. “You’re right, I suppose. But you knew where you stood then, at least. I don’t know how to deal with people now or what I’m supposed to be doing here half the time.”

  “We’ll soon work out a routine for ourselves,” Pearl said.

  Gladys cheered up marginally. “A routine. Yes. That’ll make things easier. So will another pair of hands. You don’t—cook, do you?”

  “Yes, actually. Just plain stuff, but I enjoy doing it. My Mam’s the cook, really. Everything she does tastes good. Now, Mr Graye says we can look at the rooms off the kitchen and live in them if it suits. Will that be all right with you, Gladys? You don’t use them, do you?”

  “Dear me, no. I’d be afraid to be on my own down here at night. They’re through that door over here. Light another lamp and have a good look round.” She went to fling open a door leading to a small storeroom and gestured to a shelf of lamps, then went back to sit by the fire.

  Vic lit the lamp and the two of them went through a small vestibule next to the store room and opened the heavy panelled door at the other end of it, to find themselves in a very large room. He held up the lamp and they turned round slowly, studying the place in silence.

  “I never expected anything so big,” she said. “And it’s still got furniture, so we won’t have to buy any. Let’s look at the bedroom, then.”

  This was equally large and furnished with a very old-fashioned double bed. They stood together at the foot of it, then Vic turned her in his arms and kissed her. She put her arms round his neck and returned his embrace enthusiastically.

  “We can get married now,” he said
in a low, husky voice. “How soon can you leave the munition works?”

  “As soon as you like. They’ve told us to find other jobs quickly, said they’d let most of us go with only a day’s notice. They’re expecting the men who used to work there to come back to their old jobs and to stop making things for war.” She stepped back, shaking her head when he would have stolen another kiss. “No, Vic. Not till we’re married. It only gets me all het up when you kiss me like that.”

  “Me, too,” he said softly, his eyes full of love.

  She smiled, then took a deep breath and resumed her normal crisp tone. “Now, when we come back tomorrow to look round the rest of the house, I’ll make a list of what there is here and we’ll see what else we shall need.”

  “And if your parents are still up when I walk you home, I’ll tell them it’s time to have the banns called.”

  Her hand went up to touch the ginger hair at the front. “I’d wanted this to grow out before we got married.”

  “It doesn’t matter to me. You’re not going to make me wait, are you?”

  “No. But it’ll show in the photographs. It’ll look as if I’m going grey.”

  “It’s a badge of pride, as far as I’m concerned, that hair. Let’s go and tell Marcus we’re happy with the rooms.”

  The following morning Serena woke with a start as someone crashed open the front door below her bedroom and men started calling to one another downstairs. She blinked in shock in the grey light of an early winter morning then pulled on her dressing gown and picked up a candlestick to defend herself with before rushing down to confront the intruders, who were about to carry in some empty tea chests.

  “What on earth do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.