A Stranger in Honeyfield

by Anna Jacobs

  But he kept coming back to the question of why his mother had cared about this place. It was conveniently situated, certainly, but such a gloomy house. And she hadn’t got on with Audrey, so perhaps the things she was interested in dated from the previous occupant, Cousin Gertrude. If so, maybe whatever it was had been consigned to the storage bedroom or the attic. Yes, that sounded right.

  He couldn’t see this involving a large object and his best guess was documents of some sort. He couldn’t imagine what his mother would want with old documents, but you never knew where her tortuous plans would lead. She could be a cunning old fox.

  He went back into the storage bedroom, edged along the narrow gap between the door and the window and threw the curtains wide open. Turning, he stared round as the objects here were revealed more clearly.

  Two caught his eye instantly, matching tallboys, with two small cupboards at head height above the five drawers. Each piece had carving writhing its way down side columns on either side of the drawers, and round the oval mirrors set into the cupboard doors. It was exactly the style of furniture his mother had in her bedroom at Westcott.

  On an impulse he began to go through the contents of the tallboys, pulling out each drawer, tipping its contents onto a bed shrouded in dust sheets so that he could examine the whole drawer and underneath it. Each time he shoved the things back into the drawer anyhow.

  There was nothing in or attached to any of the first set of drawers except an old lady’s clothes and he nearly didn’t tackle the second one after the disgusting exercise of sorting through her bloomers. How could women wear such ugly things?

  He scowled at the second tallboy, groaning aloud, but he might as well finish this job properly, so he took a deep breath and started going through it just as thoroughly as the first tallboy.

  He was sighing over how he’d wasted his time as he started to check the lowest drawer, but a minute later he yelled in triumph when he found a large envelope stuck on the bottom of it with pushpins. His mother considered them one of the more useful modern inventions for holding papers on cork boards.

  The sneaky bitch! he thought admiringly. Not many people would check thoroughly enough to find this.

  The sound of his yell seemed to echo down the stairwell and for a moment he thought he heard footsteps coming up. He even went out onto the landing to check, but there was no one to see. Of course there wasn’t. He was letting this dreary old house get to him.

  He opened the envelope, whose flap wasn’t stuck down, and pulled out a set of smaller envelopes. When he saw his father’s handwriting on them, he hesitated. It didn’t do to upset his father so perhaps he should stay out of this.

  But his mother had hidden these and valued them so highly she’d bought a whole house just to get them back. He should at least find out what they were.

  Putting the final drawer and its contents back in place, he picked up the envelope and stuffed it inside his jacket.

  Downstairs he shivered, once again feeling as if someone was watching him. Oh, he was being stupid! How could they be? The house had been empty and locked up for months.

  He closed all the curtains again before leaving. He might not tell his mother what he had found yet, not till he’d examined the documents and thought about their contents. It depended what they were. He wasn’t opening anything till he was alone in his bedroom, though.

  That made two things he was keeping secret from her.

  Outside he saw a woman peering out from the house opposite. He took off his hat and used it to flourish a mocking bow at her and she vanished quickly. Stupid bitch. It was probably she who’d called the police.

  It began to rain as he was trying to start his car and wouldn’t you know it, the damned thing coughed and spluttered. It took him ages to get the motor going and by that time he was soaked. He shivered all the way home.

  But the precious envelope had been safe and dry inside the car, and he couldn’t feel miserable after such a successful expedition.

  How lucky that his mother had had that fall!

  At Westcott he found her awake and querulous now that the light sedation had worn off.

  ‘Where have you been, Spencer? You’re absolutely soaked. Go and change your clothes at once. In fact, have a hot bath and warm yourself up properly.’

  ‘I’d rather have a brandy.’

  ‘Have that as well. We don’t want you falling ill.’

  ‘Don’t start fussing. I’ve survived this long and I think I can survive a little longer.’

  ‘Long enough to marry? What if you died of pneumonia? You need to leave an heir to carry on the family name. Why won’t you do that for me?’

  He sighed. Here she went again. Suddenly he was tired of prevaricating. ‘Because I doubt I could father an heir, if you must know.’

  She stared at him blankly for a moment or two, then asked, ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I can’t do the act that creates a child – and I’ve tried several times.’

  She flushed bright scarlet. ‘You just haven’t found the right woman.’

  ‘I haven’t found any woman that I can do it with.’

  To his surprise she took hold of his hand. ‘Oh, Spencer, why didn’t you tell me about this?’

  ‘I told Father once. He sent me to a doctor, who said it wasn’t likely to change. I was born malformed.’

  She lowered her voice to whisper, ‘Do you like men? Is that it?’

  ‘No. I don’t like anyone in that way.’

  ‘Oh dear. You poor darling.’

  She had been so genuinely sympathetic for once that he took her hand. ‘I found something out last week, something that might help us. Wipe your eyes and listen.’

  When she had calmed down, he told her that he’d seen Isabella Jones in Swindon and what he suspected. He didn’t mention who she was with.

  ‘She’s expecting?’

  ‘Oh, yes, definitely.’

  ‘Is it Philip’s child, do you think?’

  ‘Bound to be. She’s not stupid enough to have played him false. What if we got hold of the child and raised it to be heir to Westcott?’

  But she only burst into tears again and cried even harder. ‘I don’t want Philip’s child inheriting. It’s not the same.’

  ‘How can you say that?’

  But she shook her head and that stubborn look came back. ‘I daren’t talk about it or your father will kill me. Literally.’

  ‘I hardly think he’s capable of murder.’

  ‘Well, he’d do something awful to me, something just as bad as murder, like destroying me socially. He’d go to any lengths if I upset him.’

  He didn’t think his father would kill her or anyone, but he might indeed do something to make her sorry. Why was she talking about his father destroying her socially? What had happened between them to create this marriage that wasn’t really a marriage? Something, Spencer was sure. Two people didn’t hate one another without there being a good reason. But he didn’t pursue that point. He might come back to it later.

  ‘Then think about the child, Mother. If we can get hold of it, bring it up ourselves, voilà. You have your heir and will spend your life raising him.’

  ‘Or her.’

  ‘Heaven forbid. If a female will do, get Georgina back.’

  ‘Your sister has wounded me to the core – me, who has cared for her all her life. I don’t think I want the ungrateful creature back.’

  ‘Well, Francis wants her back. He’s desperate for her money and our share of it, as we agreed with him, would come in useful for you and me, you must admit. Especially if there’s a child to raise.’

  ‘No, Spencer. Definitely not. I don’t want that woman’s child here.’

  Beyond that she refused to speak, so he decided not to tell her about the big envelope until after he’d seen what it contained. He didn’t intend to say anything to his father, either, or at least not until he was sure its contents wouldn’t upset the old man.

  The thought
of having his independent money from now on gave him a lot of pleasure.

  As his mother was growing bored with being confined to bed, she decided to get up for dinner, so Spencer couldn’t deal with the envelope until much later. He was still feeling a bit chilly, so he put on a thick sweater before facing the dining room. It might be summer, but his mother had been right. He should have changed out of his wet clothes and had a hot bath.

  Oh, well, the clothes felt dry enough now and a couple of stiff brandies would soon warm him up.

  After an interminable evening of conversation, he helped his mother to limp to her bedroom, then made his way up to his own.

  He put on his winter dressing gown over his clothes because he still couldn’t seem to get fully warm, then locked the bedroom door before tipping out the papers onto the bed.

  The envelopes had dates pencilled in the top right corner, so he put them in order and opened the earliest one. They seemed to be copies of payments to someone called Mary Jane Baxter, and they were in his father’s handwriting.

  The reason for the payments puzzled him until he got to the fifth one. He suddenly realised what was going on and let the paper drop onto the floor as shock stiffened his fingers.

  No wonder his mother had been frantic to get them back. If his father found out she had them, he’d go mad at her and make her life very miserable indeed till he got them back. She wasn’t really going to try to blackmail him, was she, or coerce him into doing something? If so, she was braver than Spencer.

  When his father had made a plan, no one was allowed to interfere with it. She should know that better than anyone. But this plan was … well, incredible. Why had this been necessary? Had his mother been unable to bear any more children?

  Why should that have mattered? His father already had an heir: Spencer. So why had he been so desperate for other children? Yes, Spencer’s health hadn’t been good, but he hadn’t been at death’s door.

  He wasn’t rushing into anything. He’d need to find out more about the reasons for this first.

  He gathered the papers together and stuffed them into a drawer before ringing for the maid.

  ‘Sorry to trouble you, Olga, but I seem to have caught a chill. Could I please have a fire lit in here and yes, I know it’s summer but I’m cold. And would you also bring up the brandy decanter, please?’

  She looked at him sourly. ‘Yes, sir.’

  He looked back just as sourly. Except for Gladys, his mother seemed to hire the most unobliging servants in the world. Or perhaps they were all she could find, given how many of the younger women were working in munitions and what were usually men’s occupations because of the war. Yes, and earning men’s wages too – it was shocking.

  He sat on the bed, waiting, and when the fire had been lit, thanked her and locked the door again before pouring himself a stiff brandy, then another. He didn’t often drink deeply but then he didn’t often come across such amazing information.

  There had to be some way he could use this to his own advantage.

  Three brandies later, he opened the drawer and got out the small envelopes, stuffing them into the big one again and putting it on top of his wardrobe as a temporary measure. Then he rolled himself in the bedcovers fully dressed and fell asleep.

  Chapter Fourteen

  A couple of miles away from Westcott, Francis sat thinking good and hard. He hadn’t been able to find Georgina, and heaven knows, he’d tried hard to do it without giving away his real intent. He’d driven round the countryside, visiting all sorts of out-of-the-way places to make enquiries. But no young lady of her description had come to live in any of them recently.

  The last time he’d seen her had been at the cottage with Penny Richards, when the damned farmer had turned up and chased them away.

  He’d found out that Penny was now in Portsmouth with her husband, but Georgina seemed to have completely vanished. She couldn’t have got away on her own, so the farmer had to have taken her somewhere. But where? And how to get the information out of him?

  He stopped and slowly began to smile. Or perhaps he could get the information from someone who knew the farmer. Yes, that might be it. He wouldn’t find that ‘someone’ by staying at home staring at his shabby furniture or by driving round country lanes.

  He continued to smile as a new method of searching formed in his mind.

  Francis decided it was time to go back to the village nearest to the farm. He hadn’t made enquiries here because he was worried the farmer might recognise him. But perhaps it was worth the risk because someone here would surely know where the farmer had gone when the two ladies left the farm cottage. Nothing stayed secret for long in a small village and why should this one be any different? It was worth a try.

  He stopped in the shadows at the entrance to the pub to check that the farmer wasn’t there, then strolled inside. The landlady came to greet him and fuss over him, as she well might when he saw what a low-class clientele the pub had.

  He pretended he’d had a flat tyre and would like a drink and perhaps something to eat. If it wasn’t too much trouble.

  The landlady couldn’t do enough for him, offering to show him into a private room at the side, which was more suited to a gentleman like him.

  He followed her into it, hoping she’d stay and chat when she brought his meal and drinks.

  She came back with the pint of beer he’d ordered and was all too ready to chat, so he mentioned his friend’s sister who had come to stay near here, but seemed to have moved away.

  ‘I thought I’d call in on her, but I can’t find her. I had a letter from my friend only yesterday from the front, you see, and I felt sure it’d cheer her up to see it. I’m not medically able to fight myself, but I do what I can to help our brave fellows and their families.’

  She gave him a pitying look and nodded, which annoyed him. Surely he didn’t look that bad? He wasn’t in poor health like Spencer, just had a bit of a problem with his breathing occasionally.

  ‘The lady’s brother was injured slightly, which could be a good thing because it got him away from the battles that are raging near the Somme – shocking, the losses there lately, aren’t they? I thought the news that he’s survived might be of comfort to her.’ He sighed theatrically. ‘It’s not only our brave soldiers who are suffering but their families. One’s heart goes out to them.’

  ‘You’re so right, sir. We’ve lost two lads from our village this year. Their mothers are broken-hearted.’

  A man yelled to her to come and help serve and she excused herself. ‘I’ll be back with your food in a minute or two, sir. You can tell me more then and I’ll see if I can help you find your friend’s sister so that you can set her mind at rest.’

  He sipped his beer, and it was good, then waited impatiently for her to return.

  When she did reappear, she was carrying a loaded plate. He complimented her on how good the food looked but carried on the conversation while he could, describing Georgina.

  ‘I saw her in the village several times but oh, dear, you’ve just missed her. She was staying with Mrs Richards at Hawes Farm Cottage, but she had to join her husband in Portsmouth, so your friend’s sister must have had to find somewhere else to stay. I wonder …’

  He waited.

  ‘One of the labourers from Hawes Farm is drinking here tonight. I’ll see if he knows anything about where she went.’

  ‘Show him in here. I’ll be happy to buy him a drink for his trouble.’

  ‘Oh, I couldn’t do that, sir.’ She mimed holding her nose. ‘The smell would put a gentleman like you off your food, not to mention his dirty great boots damaging my best carpet.’

  The look of pride she shot at the garishly patterned carpet warned him not to go against her wishes. ‘And very handsome the carpet is, too. Perhaps you can find out for me, then? I’d be very, um, grateful.’ He rubbed his finger and thumb together suggestively to indicate a financial reward and saw her face brighten.

  ‘I’ll ask the man
directly we have a quiet moment at the bar. The evening rush should be over soon. You get on with your meal now, sir. You don’t want it to go cold, do you?’

  ‘Indeed I don’t. It looks wonderful.’ The food was very tasty. His own cook-housekeeper didn’t produce anything nearly as good.

  When the landlady came in again, she took the plate and accepted his compliments with a smile that tried but failed to be modest. ‘I’ll bring you some apple pie and cream for dessert, shall I?’

  ‘If it’s as good as this was, I’d love some.’

  She came back a couple of minutes later with a huge slice of apple pie taking up half a dinner plate, and slathered in thick cream. His heart sank at how big it was. He was going to have trouble eating it all on top of that meal.

  ‘About the young lady you’re looking for … the man I was telling you about doesn’t know for certain but he thinks he heard the farmer saying that she’d gone off to a convalescent home somewhere. He heard the word “Greyladies” but he doesn’t know where that is.’

  ‘Oh dear, how can I find out?’

  She beamed at him. ‘Well, my husband and I can’t help overhearing things when we’re serving in the public bar, and I’m fairly certain I heard something a while ago about a convalescent home over in Honeyfield run by some people who call themselves the “Greyladies Trust”. That’s all I know, but if it helps you find the lady and set her mind at rest about her brother, I’m glad of it.’

  ‘Madam, you are a wonder. I’m sure that’ll lead me to her. Now, I’ll just finish off this delicious food and then get on my way. I can’t thank you enough.’

  He fumbled in his pocket for his purse and pulled out a half sovereign and a sixpence. ‘Would this be enough to pay for my meal and show my gratitude for your help? And a little extra for the man you spoke to.’

  ‘Oh, sir, I couldn’t.’ But even as she spoke she was reaching out for the gleaming gold coin and tucking it and the sixpenny piece into her apron pocket.