by Anna Jacobs
The silence in the sitting room continued. On and on. No sounds except for her own breathing puncturing the darkness.
She began to feel panic creeping through her. She couldn’t breathe. She’d used up all the air.
At the very moment when she was feeling utterly desperate to get out, a faint light began to glow in the corner. She couldn’t work out what it was, then realised with a feeling of shuddering relief where she’d seen light like that before. The Lady had come to join her.
Gradually the figure became clearer, transparent and glowing slightly. The Lady was smaller than life size this time but so real Harriet couldn’t doubt it was really happening. The Lady was looking at her lovingly, as her mother used to. That made her feel better, safer.
Was she imagining this? Harriet didn’t think so. She hoped not. She didn’t reach out to touch the apparition, though she’d only need to raise a hand to do that. It would seem disrespectful.
Others had seen the Lady over the years. Miss Bowers said she always looked just the same as in the painting, wearing the grey habit and semicircular headdress with a soft fall of material hanging down her back. It was the sort of garments ladies wore in Tudor times. Harriet had seen drawings of old clothing in schoolbooks.
The figure smiled again, nodding slightly as if in encouragement.
Harriet found herself smiling back and letting out her fears in a long sigh. She wasn’t alone any more. It wasn’t even dark now. She could manage to hold on for a while longer, till she had a chance to escape and go for help.
She distracted herself by considering who she’d go to, coming to the conclusion that Mr Pocock would be the best person because Mr Greenlow’s house was too far away to be sure of getting there before anyone pursuing could catch her. The shopkeeper was a man in his prime, a leader in the village.
Norris and Winifred were not going to steal her inheritance, if she could help it.
Taking the short cut through the shrubbery, Flora hurried towards the village, moving as quietly as she could, bending when she had to pass behind the lower bushes. Twice she stopped behind a tree to glance round and listen carefully, but didn’t hear or see anyone on the way.
She sobbed in relief when she reached the lane and saw Farmer Brunson riding towards the village on his old chestnut gelding. He would know what to do. ‘Stop! Mr Brunson, stop! There’s trouble at Greyladies.’
He reined in his horse as she ran across to him, looking shocked as she gasped out her plea for help with intruders. ‘Miss Bowers said to be quick. She said the man who came to the door is a nasty sort and there are two other men with him. They look rough. What are we going to do?’
‘I’m too old to fight anyone, so we’ll have to get some younger men to help.’
‘Miss Bowers said to send word to Mr Greenlow, too.’
‘Good idea! Look, I can see to that. You go and tell Mr Pocock. Tell him to find three or four other men, strong ones, and he must take care how he goes into the house. Maybe by a back window. We don’t want your intruders threatening to hurt the ladies or that lad in the wheelchair, do we?’
She watched the farmer ride off in the direction of Mr Greenlow’s house, then got angry with herself for wasting time and ran headlong up the village street. She nearly fell through the door of the shop, shouting, ‘There’s trouble at Greyladies. Miss Bowers sent me for help.’
She began to cry, couldn’t stop herself. She was terrified of the intruders hurting people.
Mr Pocock came out from behind the counter and put his arm round her. ‘Calm down, Flora lass. Take a deep breath and tell me what’s wrong.’
Even before she’d finished her tale, he was untying his long apron, tossing it aside and telling his wife to look after the shop.
‘What are you going to do, Sam?’ Mrs Pocock called out as he moved towards the door. ‘Don’t go there on your own.’
‘I’m not. I’m going to find Ben and Chas, Steve Hollis as well, and anyone else who’s around. Once I have enough men to outnumber the three of them, we’ll all go to Greyladies to help Miss Latimer. That family’s helped people in this village time after time, and now they need our help.’
Flora hesitated, not knowing what to do.
Mrs Pocock beckoned to her. ‘Leave it to my Sam. You’ve played your part now. Call me if anyone comes in the shop. I’m going into the back to make us both a strong cup of tea. That’ll give us heart. You leave the fighting to the men.’
But Flora couldn’t leave it. Greyladies was her home, had been since she was a young maid of twelve. She had to help get rid of that horrible man.
‘I’m going to see if I can help,’ she called out.
‘Flora, no!’ The doorbell was still jangling as Mrs Pocock burst into the shop, and when she went to the open door she could see Flora running down the street, heading towards Greyladies.
Her neighbours came out to see what was the matter, and before she knew it, Mrs Pocock was gathering together a group of women, armed with rolling pins and frying pans, all determined to make sure their menfolk were all right.
You couldn’t be too careful with villains, especially when there wasn’t a village policeman.
Farmer Brunson rode over to Mr Greenlow’s house and dismounted more quickly than he had for years. Throwing his reins to a gardener and yelling, ‘Hold him!’ he ran past a motor car which must belong to a visitor and hammered on the front door. He didn’t wait for anyone to open it, but went inside, yelling for his old friend.
Mr Greenlow popped his head out of the library. ‘We’re in here, John. What the devil’s the matter?’
‘There’s trouble at Greyladies.’ He saw that Mr Greenlow was entertaining a fellow magistrate. ‘Sorry to disturb you, Mr Murborough, but this is an emergency.’
As soon as Farmer Brunson told them Miss Bowers had sent for help, the two men paid more attention.
‘If she thinks there’s danger, then we’d better get over there. Never met a more level-headed woman in my life. We’d better send for Miss Latimer’s lawyer, too. We need to get this matter settled once and for all. Don’t you agree, Murborough?’
‘I most certainly do. If it’s the stepmother you were telling me about who’s bringing rough men to Challerton to bully people, the woman is no fit guardian. Though the girl must have someone to keep an eye on her till she turns twenty-one. That old house is a big responsibility.’
‘Of course, she’s under twenty-one.’
‘We can deal with that together. Sometimes two magistrates are better than one.’
‘Do you want me to ride into Swindon to fetch the lawyer?’ Brunson asked, impatient of these technicalities.
Mr Greenlow looked smug. ‘No need. We had the telephone fitted only last week. I wasn’t sure whether we’d use it much, but my wife was eager to have one. She’s used it several times already, and here we are with an emergency, so I need it too. It’s just the thing for a modern man. I’m sure Miss Latimer’s lawyer will have a phone. Bound to.’
He went into the hall, where a table ebonised in 1901 in respect for the old Queen’s death, sat in an alcove with the brand-new telephone sitting in its centre on a lace-edged mat. A chair was to hand for anyone using the device.
Never having seen anyone use a telephone before, Farmer Brunson walked over to watch his friend sit down and unhook the earpiece from a stand shaped like a silver candlestick which had a little trumpet shape pointing upwards. Mr Greenlow leant forward to speak into that.
When he got through to the operator, he asked to be put through to Harrington and Lloyd, lawyers of Swindon. And just like that, he was talking to someone several miles away.
Whatever would people think of next?
When he’d finished speaking, Mr Greenlow hung up the earpiece again. ‘Mr Lloyd was out, but the clerk promised to find him and send him over to Greyladies immediately. He said he’d met Mr Harding and the fellow’s a rough customer, so the ladies were right to be worried.’
He pat
ted the earpiece as if it were one of his dogs, setting it swinging gently to and fro in its holder. ‘Got to move with the times.’
He didn’t even try to hide his pride in his newest acquisition and Mr Brunson guessed his friend would soon be buying a motor car. How did you begin to choose something like that? he wondered. Then he realised the others were moving out to the motor car and went to reclaim his horse.
He’d follow them at a decent pace. He wanted to find out what was going on at Greyladies.
Half an hour passed. Their intruder was getting jittery, pacing up and down, scowling and muttering to himself. Miss Bowers and Joseph dared do nothing but exchange glances occasionally.
‘Harriet’s taking a long time,’ Norris said at last. ‘Hey, you, idiot fellow! Where is she?’
Joseph gave him a bewildered look. ‘I told you, I wasn’t sure where she was going. I’m not her keeper. I just rent the back part of Greyladies from her.’
‘I’d guess she’s at Mary Clarke’s house by now,’ Miss Bowers said calmly. ‘It’s at the far side of the village from here. We can’t expect her home for another hour, at least.’
‘Then we’ll have to send one of the maids to fetch her. The one who answered the door will do.’
Miss Bowers held her breath, wondering what to say to hide Flora’s absence. She looked at the fob watch pinned to her lapel and said calmly, ‘Flora will have left by now. It’s her half day. She goes home to see her parents, who are elderly and she—’
Norris cut her short. ‘What do I care about your bloody maid and her parents? Very well. We’ll wait a bit longer for Harriet. Ma and I are here to stay, after all.’
The Daltons arrived at the lawyer’s rooms just as Perkins was putting down the telephone after speaking to Mr Greenlow.
‘My name is Dalton. I need to see Mr Lloyd urgently.’
‘I’m afraid you can’t see him now, sir. There’s an emergency and I have to find him.’ The clerk tried to push past, but William was bigger than he was and refused to move from the doorway.
Then suddenly Perkins stopped trying to pass. ‘Dalton, did you say? Are you related to a Mr Joseph Dalton?’
‘Yes. He’s our son.’
‘Then you should know that he’s also in danger, so will you kindly stop holding me up. I have to find Mr Lloyd and send him to Greyladies – that’s where your son is.’
‘Why is he in danger? And what is Greyladies?’
‘It’s Miss Latimer’s house. I thought you’d have known that, since your son’s living there.’
‘I’m not acquainted with any Latimers. Are you, Sophie? No, I thought not.’
‘You’ll know the young lady who owns it as Benson, sir. But she’s changing her name to Latimer as a condition of the inheritance.’
‘My former maid has inherited a house? And Joseph is living with her?’ Mrs Dalton asked, her heart sinking in dismay.
‘Yes. Will you let me pass, sir? They could be in danger with that young brute.’ He snapped his fingers as if he’d just had an idea, called for the junior clerk and sent him running to find the young man with the motor car to take Mr Lloyd out of town on an urgent errand. Only then did he move towards the door again, to go after his employer.
To his relief, Mr Dalton stepped aside.
But as he opened the door, his employer arrived back.
By the time Perkins had explained the situation and the Daltons had introduced themselves, the driver had arrived with the car.
‘I’m afraid I can’t discuss this now,’ Reginald told the Daltons. ‘I’ve got to go and help Harriet. And your son.’
‘If our son’s in danger, we’re coming with you,’ Mr Dalton said. ‘Are you game for a motor car ride, my dear? Or do you wish to find a hotel and wait for me there?’
‘Of course I’m coming with you. No one’s going to hurt my Joseph.’
Within minutes the three of them were crammed into the small car and it was chugging out of Swindon at a rate far faster than any horse could manage.
Mrs Dalton held on to her hat and prayed her son would be safe, and that they wouldn’t have an accident in this smelly contraption that rattled and jolted along at a terrifying speed.
Mr Dalton was made of sterner stuff. He ignored their rate of travel and addressed the lawyer. ‘Now perhaps you’d explain about this Greyladies place and this fellow who’s causing trouble.’
Norris watched the damned clock hand tick slowly round the face of a big clock with curly gold bits round the edges. Tiring of that, he went to stare out of the window, then moved back to fling himself into a chair. Like his mother, he began to assess the contents of the room, which calmed him for a while.
After an hour had passed, however, he’d had enough and was beginning to wonder if they were trying to fool him to let her get away.
He glared at Miss Bowers. ‘You were wrong in your estimate. Harriet hasn’t come back. And I’ve had enough waiting around. We’ll send the other maid to fetch Harriet back. You can write her a note. I’ll tell you what to say.’
‘I’m afraid I’m not prepared to do that.’
If a mouse had come into the room singing and dancing, this refusal could not have surprised Norris more. He gaped at her for a minute, then yelled, ‘Are you defying me, woman?’
‘If by that you mean, am I refusing to do something which might hurt Harriet, then yes, I am, young man.’ She waited, as calm as ever, hands clasped in her lap. Just so had she outfaced two generations of naughty children.
Norris could feel the rage that had been building up roaring through his veins, as it had done sometimes when he was younger. It was a long time since he’d allowed himself to become this angry, though. He jumped to his feet, clenched fists raised and took a step towards her.
Before he could do anything, Winifred stood up too, shouting, ‘Norris!’
He ignored her, but she went across and shook his arm. ‘You’re losing control of your temper, son,’ she whispered. ‘Don’t. You might do something you regret. Remember, you have to stay respectable. If you get charged with assault, you’ll get nothing.’
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a minute, letting his fists fall.
Winifred spoke more loudly. ‘We can wait all day if necessary, son. Harriet’s got nowhere else to go, after all. And if she tries to run away, she’ll be easy to find with that red hair.’
When he opened his eyes again, he nodded to his mother, grateful for her intervention, then glared at Miss Bowers in a way that said he still intended to make her sorry for defying him.
Her calm expression didn’t change as she raised her book again and began to read.
Norris took two strides across the room.
His mother gasped.
He contented himself with knocking the book flying from the old hag’s hands, then went back to look out of the window. Once he was master here, he’d only let people visit who paid him proper respect, he decided.
His thoughts were interrupted by his mother. ‘We never did get anything to eat and we’ve been here hours. Shall I ring for that maid and ask for some food? I don’t know about you, Norris, but I’m rather sharp set. We had our breakfast so early.’
‘Yes, you do that.’
She rang the bell and when Livvy answered it, said simply, ‘Bring us something to eat and a pot of tea.’
Livvy looked across at Miss Bowers. ‘In the breakfast room, miss?’
‘Where’s that?’ Norris asked.
‘It’s at the back of the hall. We eat all our meals there.’ Miss Bowers looked at Norris, who stared for a moment then nodded permission.
Livvy bobbed her head. ‘Very well, miss. I got something ready in case, just slices of that pork pie, with scones and cake. I’ll take it through.’
Norris watched the way the old hag dealt with the maid. Polite as you please, acting as if they were two friends, not a lady and her servant.
He would give orders more smartly, and expect his servants to jump
to it, yes and act far more respectfully to him. He tried it out. ‘And hurry up with it.’
The maid shot him a dirty look. That settled her fate. He’d sack her as soon as he was married and had got hold of the house.
Miss Bowers stood up. ‘Shall I show you through to the breakfast room, Mrs Benson, Mr Harding? Joseph, are you joining us?’
‘I’m not hungry. I’ll stay here. But I’d be grateful if someone could pass me my book.’
Norris laughed. ‘I’m not letting you out of my sight, so you’re coming with us. But you don’t need to eat if you don’t want to. Why waste good food on a runt like you?’
‘Someone will have to push me, then.’
Norris jerked his head towards Miss Bowers, who went to the back of Joseph’s chair, pretending to help him sit in a more upright position before she moved it.
Harriet heard the discussion and the plans to have lunch in the morning room. She was hungry too. It felt wrong to be hungry when you were in danger, but her stomach had rumbled several times.
If they all left the sitting room, perhaps she could leave the hiding place and go for help? She could climb out of the window so that the man in the hall didn’t see her.
She listened to them leave, then stood up, her hand reaching for the lever. Light blazed out between her and it, like a barrier, so she sat down again. But after a few minutes, she began to feel as if she was suffocating and no amount of reasoning made her feel better.
She had to leave the hiding place, just had to.
When she reached for the lever this time, no light came between her and it, so she took that as a sign she would be safe and pulled it.
Fresh air poured into the small space as soon as it began to open and she pressed closer to the gap, waiting for it to be wide enough to go through, looking out to check that she was alone in the room.
And she was, thank goodness.
A few seconds later, she was able to squeeze through the half-open door, sighing in relief.
