by Anna Jacobs
‘Give me ten minutes.’
‘Try not to be longer than that. For all we know those villains are keeping an eye on who comes and goes from the village. I want to get you away before dawn and we’ll go by farm tracks they won’t know about.’
Georgie flung the last few things into her suitcase, the two women hugged and then Mr Grey drove off with Georgie hidden under some sacks in the back of his truck. He used narrow lanes and stopped a couple of times to make sure they weren’t being followed.
‘Where are we going?’ Georgie asked when he suggested it was safe for her to ride beside him.
He simply tapped the side of his nose and continued driving.
They saw no other cars, heard nothing whenever they stopped.
‘We’ll be there in another hour,’ he said after a while.
But she still didn’t know where he was taking her. ‘How do you know I’ll be safe?’
‘My wife had a cousin whose husband was ill-treating her. These people helped her. They’ll help you.’
Chapter Nine
Bella felt sad as she prepared their breakfasts of scrambled eggs while Tez hooked slices of bread on a long-handled wire fork and toasted them in front of the fire.
‘I’m still good at doing this,’ he commented as he put the last perfectly golden slice in the little silver toast rack she’d found in a cupboard that seemed to hold everything for serving one- or two-person meals. She couldn’t help thinking that she would be living the same lonely life here most of the time.
‘Lovely.’ She couldn’t help thinking how good it was to have someone to talk to, especially someone as easy to get on with as Tez. He reminded her a bit of Philip, because he had the same acceptance of his fellow human beings, whatever their station in life, and showed the same kindness to everyone and their dog.
The prospect of spending most of the next few months on her own was upsetting her more than she’d expected. Tez would probably come here regularly at first, but she wasn’t sure that would last. He had his own life to lead, after all. She had to keep reminding herself of that.
He laid his hand over hers on the table. ‘What’s the matter, Isabella?’
‘I like you calling me Isabella. My father used to call me that, but you’re the only person to have called me that since he died. He gave me the name, but my mother shortened it to “Bella”. She said it was too much of a mouthful, and anyway, Bella was more suited to the likes of us. It was only one of the many things they quarrelled about.’
His voice softened. ‘Tell me what’s wrong. Maybe I can help you with something else before I leave.’
‘You can’t. But thanks for offering.’
‘And?’
‘I’ve been wondering how I’ll occupy my time after you’ve left. Day after day. I’ve never actually lived alone before, you see. Never in my whole life.’
‘I’ll send you some books as soon as I get back.’
‘Thank you. I enjoy reading.’ But you couldn’t read all day, could you?
‘Do you draw? I could send you some sketching materials as well.’
That gave her genuine amusement. ‘I can’t draw anything recognisable. I was so bad the teachers used to hold up my drawings and make everyone laugh at me.’
He frowned. ‘That was unkind. Everyone has different talents. I enjoy drawing and painting.’ He looked down at his hand as he spoke.
‘You’ll still be able to do that once your hand has healed, surely?’
‘I hope so but they can’t tell me yet how well this injured hand will work. Anyway, we weren’t talking about me. Look, why don’t I come and visit you next weekend? I know that’s less than a week, but I’d like to.’
She stared at him in surprise. ‘You’d come back so soon? Don’t you have things to do in London?’
He set his knife down and fiddled with the piece of toast he’d been buttering, picking it up as if to take a bite, then setting it down untasted. Avoiding her eyes, he said in a low voice, ‘I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself either, Isabella. So we’re both in the same boat there.’
That hadn’t occurred to her. ‘But you’ll still have your family.’
‘They’re always busy. Both my brothers are still fighting, and my mother is working hard for the war effort. My father is back at the farm growing food for the country.’
‘Your father’s a farmer?’
‘Not exactly: a gentleman farmer would be more exact. His first love is horses. He lost most of his when the government requisitioned them for the army, but he was allowed to keep some to breed from.’
She felt comfortable enough with him to say, ‘You’re like Philip, you come from people with money.’
‘I don’t have much. It’s my eldest brother who’ll inherit the family fortune. All I’ve decided is that I’m not going back into banking. My father’s cousin got me into that before the war and I hated it. Only, there are going to be a lot of other things I won’t be able to do because of this.’ He waggled the bandaged hand at her. ‘Yet I’m the third son, so I need to earn a living.’
He chuckled suddenly. ‘One of my aunts suggested I go into the church, but can you imagine me as a minister of religion? I can’t. I’m not even sure what I believe in now, not after what I’ve seen.’
‘You’ll make new friends in London.’
‘Perhaps. But I’ll be missing one old friend very much indeed.’
Her voice was a thin scrape of sound. ‘So shall I.’
They were silent. She was fighting tears as she still did when she thought about Philip. She glanced across the table and saw Tez staring bleakly into space, looking as sad as she felt.
‘If you do want to come here, Tez, I’ll be happy to see you any time, not just weekends. If you send me a postcard, I’ll come and collect you at the station in Malmesbury.’
‘Letter.’
‘What?’
‘I can’t send postcards because the people delivering them will be able to read them. And we all know they do that, so we have to be very careful with our secret. Your life may depend on such details.’
‘Oh yes. Of course.’ It was like a story from Home Chat, and she still found it hard to believe anyone could want her dead, just as she’d found some of the stories in the women’s magazine hard to relate to, full of handsome princes who fell in love with kitchen maids. As if a kitchen maid would even meet a prince in real life!
A few minutes later Tez pushed his chair back. ‘I’ll bring my suitcase down and we can set off now, if you like.’
She dropped Tez at the station and drove away at once, as he’d advised.
She wasn’t looking forward to returning to an empty house.
At the sight of the car and its number plate, a man stopped dead in the middle of crossing the street, nearly causing a delivery van to run into him. As the driver sounded his horn, the man rushed across to the pavement, bumping into an elderly gentleman.
‘Watch where you’re going, sir.’
‘Sorry.’ He ran in the direction the car had taken, but it was just turning the corner. He was quite sure it had been Philip’s car. He knew that number plate.
Even though he ran along the edge of the pavement, the car was out of sight by the time he got to the corner. He stopped, cursing under his breath.
After a moment or two he turned and went on his way. It had been a woman driving Philip Cotterell’s car, he was sure, though he hadn’t been able to see her face.
That meant the bitch was still in the area. Where was she living? Why had she risked coming into Malmesbury?
He’d have to keep his eyes open from now on.
He told Spencer what he’d seen and his friend grew angry. ‘One day she’ll not be able to get away from us.’
‘If she’s living nearby we’ll find her, whatever it takes.’
Bella drove back slowly. What had she to hurry for? She stopped at the baker’s because she had a sudden yearning for the simple comfort of crumpets wi
th butter and honey for tea.
‘Husband gone back to London?’ Mrs Saunders enquired.
‘For the time being.’
‘Will he be coming home at the weekend?’
‘He’s planning to, if his duties permit. It’s, um, a new posting because of his injury and he isn’t sure yet what he’ll be doing or how often he’ll manage to get away.’
‘You’ll be able to get to know your neighbours while he’s away. Nice folk they are in Pear Tree Lane. And they’ll love to have a new baby to coo over.’
Bella gaped at her. ‘How did you know? I didn’t think I was showing yet.’
‘Bless you, dearie, I had eight of my own and I’ve got nieces falling for babies every time I turn round. Women in your condition get a look to them.’
‘That’s what M—a friend told me.’
‘Well, she was right, wasn’t she? Here you are.’ She wrapped up two crumpets. ‘And you should keep an eye on the garden of the old Hanson house next door. There are fruit bushes and trees there. Why let the fruit fall off and go rotten?’
‘Won’t the owner mind me taking them?’
‘It’s just a lawyer chappie as keeps an eye on the place and he leaves them rotting on the ground. Your neighbours share out the fruit. The new owner isn’t interested in the cottage at all. He tried to sell it but no one offered, because it needs a lot doing to it and materials aren’t as easy to come by in wartime. Even the lawyer hasn’t been around since that dratted war started.’
‘Oh. Well. Thanks for telling me.’
‘We all look after one another in Honeyfield.’
When Bella came out of the shop, a man hurried across the street towards her, clearly intent on speaking to her so she stopped to wait.
He tipped his cap and introduced himself. ‘I’m Ellis Larner. My orchard is the one behind your wall.’
‘Nice to meet you. I’m Mrs Tesworth.’
‘Bless you, we all know your name by now. Mrs Saunders made sure of that after she met you and your husband.’ He chuckled. ‘Can’t keep anything private in this village.’
‘Oh. Right.’ She hoped he was wrong about that.
‘I locked that gate in your back wall when Miss Thorburn died and took away the key. Can’t be too careful these days, can you? My wife’s been wondering if you’d like the key back or whether you’d rather leave the gate locked.’
‘I can’t work out what the gate was used for, because it only seems to lead into your orchard, but I’d better have the key, I suppose, just in case I need it.’
‘The gate’s been there as long as anyone can remember because that whole piece of land used to be part of Honeyfield House’s grounds till they sold it and built Pear Tree Lane. In my great-grandfather’s time, that was. Miss Thorburn used the gate quite often because she got on well with the old matron at Honeyfield House and they used to take tea together. Going through the gate is a shortcut from Pear Tree Cottage to there, you see.’
‘I gather Honeyfield House is a convalescent home.’
He chuckled again. ‘That’s what they say it is but we all know it’s more than that, though we don’t tell outsiders about it. They take women and children there who’re needing somewhere to hide, you see. Some have run away from violent husbands and good luck to those who help them, I say. I can’t abide men who ill-treat women and little ’uns. And some of the women have been got into trouble by men who forced them, and I don’t hold with that, neither. So I give the folk there some of my apples and pears every autumn to help them along a bit.’
His words were like a gently flowing stream, so she let him talk on at his own speed. After all, she had nothing to rush home for.
‘Anyway, Mrs Tesworth, I can bring the key round, if you like. I’ll come in the back way, if you don’t mind. Much quicker.’
‘Yes, fine. Thank you.’
He turned to walk away, then swung back. ‘Nearly forgot. My wife wants me to tell you she’ll call on you when she has a minute, but we’re looking after four grandchildren at the moment while my daughter gets over having a new baby. My Nell’s run off her feet but she’s loving it, misses having little ’uns around.’
‘Thank you for thinking about me and for helping keep the house safe while it was empty.’
‘It’s a poor lookout if one neighbour can’t help another. They say your husband was injured in the war and is now working in London. We’re all grateful to them doing the fighting, poor chaps. If you need anything doing while he’s away, just nip through the orchard and knock on our door. My son Joss is very handy too, if I’m not around. He and his wife live in the old farmhouse next to ours. He failed his medical because he has a gammy foot and I can’t help being glad of that, because he’s safe. And the foot don’t stop him doing farm work, don’t hurt him, neither.’
‘Right. Thank you.’
‘Eh, look at me, talking your head off like this when you must have a lot to do settling in. I’ll let you get on with it all and bring the key round at teatime.’
He tipped his hat again and strolled off down the street. He looked so at home as he stopped to talk to someone else that she envied him.
Then she thought no more about the key as she went back inside and wandered round, because the empty house made her feel sad again.
Oh, don’t be so silly! she thought, cross at herself for moping. Get on with your life, you fool!
Tomorrow she would go and buy some material for baby clothes and perhaps start an embroidery, too, because she did enjoy embroidering. Pillow cases, maybe. She could buy a set of embroidery transfers to iron on and give her the pattern.
She’d spend the rest of today starting to go through the house one room at a time and making plans for clearing out some of the furniture and ornaments. She’d make lists, do the job properly, because she didn’t want to live amid such clutter. You could hardly walk around at the moment without bumping into little tables with ornaments on them or seeing reflections in the doors of glass-fronted display cabinets containing yet more ornaments.
But even though she kept determinedly busy for the rest of the day, when she went to bed, it all overwhelmed her and once again she wept for Philip. Her heart felt raw with loss still.
Georgie woke with a start as the farmer’s truck stopped moving and he switched off the motor. ‘Are we there?’
‘Yes, Miss Cotterell. This is Greyladies.’
She stared in astonishment at the beautiful old house, with its steep gables and roof tiled with long grey slabs of thin stone. ‘Where are we exactly?’
‘At the edge of a village called Challerton. The lady who lives here helps women who’re in trouble, with nowhere to go. I’ll just go and tell her I’ve brought you.’
While he was knocking on the front door, Georgie got out and stretched in the early morning sunlight. She seemed to be doing nothing but run away lately, first from her mother, now from Penny’s little cottage. She shivered as she remembered her brother breaking in and trying to smash the bedroom door down.
Hearing footsteps she turned to see a lady coming down the shallow steps at the front of the house. She was tall, must have been about forty, and had red hair only lightly frosted with grey. Altogether she was a striking-looking woman; the thing Georgie noticed most was the kindness in her face.
‘Welcome to Greyladies, Miss Cotterell. Mr Grey has been telling me a little about your disturbed night.’
‘Yes. It was … frightening.’ She shivered at the memory of how terrified she and Penny had been. It’d take her a long time to forget that, she was sure.
‘Why don’t you come in and we’ll let Mr Grey get back to his farm? You can stay here for a while. Alex and I are living in the old part of the house at the rear, because the War Office requisitioned the rest. There are some friendly internees now occupying the front part, but we can still go through this way. No one minds.’
‘Germans?’ Georgie’s mother said there was no such thing as a good German and had railed about
keeping those living in Britain interned in comfort.
‘Not exactly. They may have been born in Germany or Austria but they fled the country to escape the warmongers and most like to consider themselves British now. They’re helping our government in certain ventures, because between them they have a lot of information about their former countries.’
As they went through the house, Olivia said, ‘I did invite Mr Grey in for a cup of tea but he’s anxious to get back home and make sure your friend is safe. Do you mind if I call you Georgie? I’m Olivia Latimer, but call me Olivia.’
‘And you help women in trouble, Mr Grey said.’
‘When we can. I gather you’re in trouble at the moment. You’re very welcome here and we’ll do our best to help. I’ll tell you a little about the house once you’ve settled in. The old part was built in the sixteenth century by one of my ancestors. But Mr Grey said you hadn’t had breakfast, so let’s feed you first.’ She opened a heavy door and led the way into the rear of the house.
‘Oh, what a lovely place!’ Georgie exclaimed. ‘It feels as if it welcomes you.’
‘Does it? I always think so, but not all my visitors sense that.’
Georgie turned to and fro on the spot just inside the doorway, admiring the hall and its huge oak beams. ‘What a lovely staircase! Do you always leave a light burning at the top.’
Olivia didn’t attempt to hide her surprise. ‘You can see that?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll take you up there tomorrow and tell you about the light. You look too tired to explore now. Come this way.’
They went through into the kitchen area and she was surprised to see a long refectory table with both maids and ladies sitting chatting at one end. A man with a charming smile stood up and came towards them.