by Anna Jacobs
Harriet was going up there as soon as she could, she decided. Whatever Mr Lloyd, or Joseph, said. But she would do it later. Now wasn’t the time to argue.
‘Shall we go back into the main house, Miss Latimer? Even that is now in need of a thorough cleaning, because it’s several weeks since Miss Agnes died. I can arrange for the cleaning, if you wish, and of course, you must stay with us until it’s done.’
Harriet had been expecting to stay here tonight and she was going to do it, too, she decided. ‘Thank you, but I’d rather move in straight away. After all, our luggage is on its way. We shall need to find bedrooms for myself, Joseph and his manservant. And see if we can buy some food in the village.’
The lawyer looked at her. ‘But you’ll need servants, and the place needs cleaning . I hadn’t realised it was quite so run down. You mustn’t even consider it. When the cart arrives with your luggage, perhaps you could leave some of it here, and just take back what you’ll need for a few nights.’
Harriet felt stubborn. ‘I’m sorry to disagree, Mr Lloyd, but I want to move in tonight. After all, we’ve already agreed that we don’t wish to attract attention to ourselves. Where better to hide than at Greyladies?’
‘It’d increase the risk greatly for me to move back to the hotel,’ Joseph agreed. ‘People do notice the wheelchair, you know.’
‘But it won’t look good if you move in here with two men, Miss Latimer. People will talk.’
‘Oh. I hadn’t thought of that. And I don’t want to get a bad reputation, but oh, I do want to stay here. So very much.’
Even the lawyer’s stern expression softened at her words.
‘Are there any families in the village who might supply maids, even temporarily?’ Joseph asked. ‘In the country, my mother often uses locals to help out at busy times and they’re usually glad of the money. One of them could stay and chaperone Harriet.’
The lawyer was silent for a few moments, then snapped his fingers. ‘I know! We could ask Miss Bowers to stay with you. I’m sure she would. She loves Greyladies.’
‘Who’s Miss Bowers?’
‘She used to be the schoolmistress till she retired and there isn’t anyone more respected in the entire village. If anyone will know how best to manage things, it’ll be her.’
‘Shall we send Frank with a note for her?’
‘I could walk over to the village by the garden path. It’d only take a few minutes. I can call on her and ask her help. Do you mind waiting here, Miss Latimer, Mr Dalton?’
Joseph laughed. ‘Mind waiting in a house filled with books? I should think not.’
‘I love it here,’ Harriet said. She decided she’d do a bit more exploring while the lawyer was gone.
She walked to the front door with him, then turned to Joseph. ‘I’m going to look upstairs at the back.’
‘Mr Lloyd said it wasn’t safe.’
‘I’ll watch where I’m placing my feet, I promise you.’
The words were out before he could stop them. ‘I wish I could come upstairs with you. I’m too tired to try it today, I’m afraid.’
She went to clasp his hand. ‘I’ll just have a quick look round. You go into the library and wait for me there.’
‘You’ll be careful?’
‘Of course I will.’
Chapter Thirteen
Reginald Lloyd walked briskly into the village, turning left just before he reached the shop. Miss Bowers’ neat cottage stood in a terrace of similar dwellings, each with a small garden in front. No one had such a pretty garden as hers, whatever the time of year. He stopped briefly to admire it.
As he raised his hand to knock on the door, it opened and she stood there, head on one side. She always reminded him of a sparrow waiting to pick up some tasty morsel. Only in her case, it was information not worms which she enjoyed gathering.
‘What can I do for you, Mr Lloyd?’
He could see curtains twitching in the next cottage. ‘I wonder if we could discuss this in private?’
‘Of course. Do come in.’
He sat on the sofa, refused a cup of tea and explained exactly why he was there.
‘You need a chaperone,’ she summed up.
‘Yes. Or rather, Harriet does.’
‘What is she like?’
‘The Latimer line has bred true in her, unlike …’ He didn’t say it, but she finished it for him.
‘Unlike her nephew, who doesn’t even look like a Latimer with that crinkly blond hair. He always reminds me of a ram my uncle used to keep. Magnificent animal, but chancy tempered.’
She fell silent, staring into space, so he said nothing to disturb her.
‘I’d be happy to come and act as a chaperone, but she’ll need a maid or two as well, and a gardener-cum-general helper. It’s a big house and she must present herself as a lady from the start, not be scrubbing her own floors.’
‘Yes. I agree absolutely. She’ll find that strange, though. Do you know anyone suitable?’
She smiled, a cheeky smile, incongruous but charming on such a wrinkled face. ‘Of course I do. Shall I come over to the house now, or shall I collect Miss Latimer’s new staff first?’
‘Collect the new staff, if you please, and … you couldn’t order some groceries as well, could you? Miss Latimer is eager to move in at once.’
‘She’s met the ghost? She’s been accepted as the Lady.’
‘You know I don’t believe in ghosts. But she does seem to think she saw one and she did go straight upstairs to the portrait without being told. How long will you need to sort things out?’
Another of her thoughtful silences, then, ‘I’ve changed my mind. I think it’ll be best if I come to meet Miss Latimer and we decide on servants together, not to mention food. I don’t want to seem as if I’m taking over.’
He found himself saying meekly, ‘Whatever you think best,’ and waited for her to put on her hat and coat.
He was usually in charge of a situation, but as he’d discovered before, with Miss Bowers you often found yourself doing what she wanted, whether you agreed with it or not.
Harriet went back into the old part of the house, standing in the middle of the long room and turning slowly on the spot. She stretched out her arms, feeling as welcome here as she had in the newer part of the house. When she went to examine the side rooms more carefully, she found closets in the walls, filled with all sorts of small household items, some needing repair, some so old-fashioned they were no longer used.
At the rear of the long room was an area behind a wooden screen, with a pump standing in the corner over an old-fashioned slopstone. She tried the pump and clear water gushed out. When she collected some in her hand and drank it, she thought she’d never tasted anything quite as fresh and delicious.
She nearly missed the dark, narrow staircase in one corner because it had been boxed in. Opening the wooden door, she tried the stair treads, moving slowly from one to the other. She was at the top before she knew it.
This area of the old house was long and narrow, running along the side of the old hall, and the rooms leading off it were tiny. Servants rooms, she decided with a smile. She knew about those. Some had bedsteads, but there were no mattresses or bedding to be found.
Again, she almost missed the stairs leading up to an attic at the rear and she hesitated about whether to go up there. Why not? She could stand at the top and look round, didn’t need to risk putting her foot through a rotten board.
The attic was dim, with a window at only one end and a very low roof, too low for her to stand up in parts. Like the attics at Dalton House, it was heaped with stuff: old furniture, wooden chests, the debris of centuries. Rich people had so many possessions they could afford to throw things away that could have been repaired.
The afternoon was drawing in, so she didn’t try to explore the attic’s contents. Joseph would be waiting for her. She felt guilty at having left him on his own for so long.
As she went down the stairs to the ground fl
oor, she again experienced the illusion that people were in the hall, eating together, chatting, with someone playing a musical instrument. How strange! But it was a happy sound, like a group of friends.
She wished she had a group of friends.
She immediately scolded herself. She’d been given more than she’d wished for even in her wildest dreams, and she still had her dear friend Joseph with her. She had nothing to complain about.
I’ll try to be worthy of it, she vowed again.
As she rejoined Joseph, she heard voices outside and ran to the window. ‘It’s Mr Lloyd and that must be Miss Bowers.’
The lawyer came into the house and stood back in the doorway to let an older lady come into the sitting room before him. She couldn’t have been more than five foot tall, but she had a presence that instantly made itself felt.
‘This is Harriet Latimer. Harriet, this is Miss Bowers, who has kindly agreed to come and help you settle in. I can’t think of anyone more fitted to do that.’
The schoolteacher came forward, holding out her hand like a man and keeping Harriet’s hand clasped in hers. ‘My dear, you’re a true Latimer. There are portraits of some of the ladies who’ve lived here and they could be your sisters. I am so glad Mr Lloyd has brought you here. Miss Agnes was quite sure you’d fit in.’
‘I hope so.’
‘You and I need to have a chat, but first, won’t you introduce me to your friend?’
‘This is Joseph – Joseph Dalton. He’s helped me greatly over the past few years.’
Miss Bowers studied him carefully, then nodded as if he’d passed some test. ‘I’m pleased to meet you and shall look forward to getting to know you. Now, Harriet, we can’t settle in until we organise a few things, so we’d better make a start. I’m sure the gentlemen won’t be interested so we’ll leave them to chat on their own for a while.’
She led the way out and Harriet followed.
Mr Lloyd chuckled. ‘She’s an amazing woman, Miss Bowers. I’ll be leaving you in good hands.’ He pulled his pocket watch out and studied it. ‘I shall have to set off for home soon because I don’t want to travel after dark, so I’d better see that your luggage has been unloaded. Or have you changed your mind about coming back to Swindon?’
Joseph laughed. ‘I don’t think anything would persuade Harriet to leave Greyladies. She’s come home.’
His words echoed in the quiet room. Strange that. Their voices hadn’t echoed before.
Chapter Fourteen
At ten o’clock, after a nice lie-in, Winifred and her son got up and began to eat their breakfast. She heard the mail drop through the letter box and went into the hall to pick it up. She frowned as she studied the top envelope, which was addressed to her. It was plain but expensive-looking, with the address embossed on the back: Dalton House, Welworth, Hampshire.
Norris reached for the marmalade jar and began slathering some on his toast. ‘Who’s that from?’
‘I’ve told you before, spread that marmalade more thinly. I’m not made of money.’
He waited. ‘The letter, Ma. Who’s it from?’
‘It must be those people Harriet’s working for.’ She turned it in her hand, wondering why she felt so reluctant to open it, then got angry with herself and deliberately tore through the fancy embossing.
‘Goodness me, it’s from Mr Dalton, not his wife.’ After a moment, she exclaimed, ‘What?’ then reread it carefully.
By this time her son’s attention was fully on her and his toast was lying unheeded on his plate. ‘Is something wrong? What’s happened?’
‘Harriet’s upped and run away, the ungrateful bitch. I find her a job, not just any job, mind, but a good one, and this is how she repays me.’
‘The money will stop now.’
‘So Mr Toffee-Nose Dalton says. But he wants to know where she might have gone, says she hasn’t worked her notice and must be brought back to complete her obligations.’
She let out a huff of amusement. ‘He can use all the long words he wants, but how the hell would I know where she’s gone? And why should I care if she works out her notice for him or not if I’m not getting paid?’
‘Can I see it?’ He stretched out his hand.
She passed it to him.
Norris frowned as he read it. ‘You didn’t mention the lawyer’s letter. Why would a lawyer be writing to Harriet?’
Shrugging, his mother poured herself a cup of tea.
‘Dalton gives the name of the lawyer, see: Harrington and Lloyd, Swindon. We should find out what they want with her.’
‘I’m not going off on a wild goose chase to Swindon. It’s probably nothing.’
He was drumming his fingers on the table. ‘Lawyers don’t usually write letters for no reason. Think about that, Ma. Why do lawyers usually write to people?’
‘To try to get money off you when you’re in debt,’ she said promptly.
‘Or … ?’
Their eyes met and suddenly she was as interested as her son. ‘Or they write to tell you a relative’s died and left you something. She couldn’t have run away from the Daltons without money, could she, because I take all her wages? She must have got hold of some money.’
‘Did Harriet have any rich relatives, Ma? You always said Benson’s folk were as poor as church mice.’
‘They are. But her relatives, those of his la-di-da wife, might have had some money, I suppose. James told me there weren’t any rich ones, but you never know. Sometimes an old person dies and leaves more than people expect.’
‘If Harriet’s been left anything,’ Norris said slowly, ‘then it should come under your control. You’re her guardian till she’s twenty-one, after all.’
‘If she’s been left anything,’ Winifred said sarcastically. ‘It’s a big word, if is.’
‘Might be worth poking around, though, to find out for sure. We’re doing all right these days, you an’ me, but I’ve only just started making my way. You can never have too much money, and she would only waste it. Tell you what: I’ll go down to the library later and see if they have a town directory for Swindon.’
‘Even if they do have one, it’ll be out of date.’
‘Worth a try, isn’t it? Legal firms often pass from father to son, so it probably won’t matter if it’s not the latest directory. If I can find an address, we’ll write to them. I bet they’ll know where she is. We’ll claim to be soooo worried about poor little Harriet.’ He chuckled as he crammed the last of the toast in his mouth, then pushed his chair back and stood up. After wiping his hands on the dish cloth, he went to don his outdoor clothes.
‘Where are you going? It’s not time for you to start work yet.’
‘Got to see a fellow.’
She stared down the hallway, watching him pull his bowler hat right down and button up his overcoat. He’d fallen in with some rough types. And though he was making money, it wasn’t in the way she’d wanted for him. Or for herself.
He opened the front door and she heard him curse at the sight of the rain slanting down. He turned up his collar, slammed the door shut behind him and left at a run.
Winifred shut the hall door and went to sit near the stove. It was going to rain most of the day, she reckoned, with those lowering skies. She wasn’t going out today, not without a very good reason.
She couldn’t stop thinking about that letter, though. She’d done well out of Harriet and didn’t want the money to stop, though it was bound to one day, of course. It had mounted up, that money had. Every quarter she got a postal order from the Daltons’ man of business, and took great pleasure in paying it into her savings bank account. What with that and James’s insurance money, her life had become easier than she could ever remember.
She earned enough for her daily needs by helping Norris with the accounts for his various little businesses he’d set up. Debt-collecting for others round men’s paydays, lending out small sums of money himself, nudging those who’d borrowed to pay him the interest weekly, even if the
y couldn’t pay the loan back. Stupid fools they were to borrow like that. She’d never got into debt and she was never going to.
Norris had grown into a big, strong man and people were scared of him, but he had been careful not to get on the wrong side of the law. ‘One day I’ll have enough money to be respected in this town,’ he always said. ‘So though this isn’t nice work, I’m doing it honestly.’
She found doing accounts easy, had always been good at figures, while Norris hated paperwork of any sort. He was like his father in that, but not in other ways, thank goodness. She’d been young when she married Philip Harding, too young to realise how lazy he was, or how violent.
Harriet’s father had been a better husband. She missed James sometimes still. It could get lonely of an evening. He’d been pleasant to live with, had never hit her, not even once, and had brought home money regularly. He’d also been good in bed, very good. She missed that.
But she wasn’t getting married again. She didn’t intend to give up her savings to any man. Not even her son. It was her security, that money was.
Miss Bowers led the way into the library at Greyladies. ‘This is my favourite place in the whole house. Miss Agnes used to allow me to borrow her books. Such a joy, reading! She knew I’d take care of them.’
She waited and when Harriet didn’t play hostess, she went on, ‘Shall we sit in the bay window, dear? It’s so light and airy there.’
Harriet did as she was told, feeling rather shy with this confident old lady.
‘My first question is: do you want to have a chaperone?’
‘Mr Boyd says I need one if Joseph’s going to be staying here, which I’d like him to do. He’s such a good friend, you see, and he has nowhere else to go because he’s only just left home. Would you mind coming to live here with me?’
‘Mind? I’d be delighted. It’s lonely living on your own, and besides, I’m writing a history of Greyladies and the Latimers, and all the diaries and other old papers are here in the house. Miss Agnes wouldn’t allow me to take them away. She said they belonged here.’ She waited as the young woman studied her.
