Mistress of Greyladies

by Anna Jacobs

  Mistress of Greyladies

  ANNA JACOBS

  With thanks to Roy Baker, Curator, Leece Museum, for his help with information about the internees sent to the Isle of Man during World War I

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  By Anna Jacobs

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Wiltshire

  When she heard the sound of a car, Harriet peeped out of the sitting room window and saw two middle-aged men get out of what looked like an official vehicle. They stood staring at the house, muttering to one another.

  ‘They’re here, Joseph.’

  Her husband joined her. ‘They don’t look very happy.’

  ‘I’m not happy, either. I wish I didn’t have to see them. I told the maids I’d let them in myself.’ She waited for the knocker to sound, then walked across the hall and opened the front door.

  ‘Good morning. I’m Mrs Latimer.’

  ‘Good morning, ma’am. We’re here to see your husband.’

  That annoyed her for a start. ‘You’ve come about the house and I’m the owner, so it’s me you need to speak to, not my husband. And perhaps your driver would like to go round to the kitchen for a cup of tea while we have our tour and discussion?’

  They stared at her in surprise, then exchanged puzzled glances before one waved to the driver and pointed to the rear.

  The other man frowned at Harriet. ‘But your husband isn’t dead, so the house must be his?’

  ‘It isn’t. Greyladies is a trust, which passes down the female line only, and the husbands of its owners change their names to Latimer. Please come in.’

  She ignored their surprised expressions and walked back briskly into the sitting room, leaving them to close the front door and follow her. ‘This is my husband.’

  ‘Joseph Latimer?’

  As they offered him a handshake, they seemed to relax a little.

  Ignoring Harriet again, one said, ‘I’m Mr Dorrance and my companion is Mr Pashley.’ They pressed two cards into his hand. ‘We’re here about the house.’

  Joseph immediately passed the cards to Harriet. ‘Greyladies belongs to my wife, as she just told you, so you’ll need to discuss the requisition with her.’

  Again, a moment of silence, as if they’d been spoken to in a foreign language and weren’t sure whether they understood it correctly.

  Harriet would have smiled if she hadn’t been irritated by the way they’d tried to ignore her. She gestured to some armchairs. ‘We’ll all be more comfortable sitting down, I’m sure. Can we offer you some refreshments, gentlemen?’

  ‘No, thank you. Um, do you know why we’re here, Mrs Latimer?’

  She couldn’t help answering sharply. ‘Of course I do!’

  Joseph gave her a warning glance and shook his head slightly, so she tried to speak more calmly. ‘The letter explained it quite clearly. You’re from the Special Requisitions Section of the War Office. You’re here to see if this house will be suitable for your needs.’

  And the letter had informed her that she had no choice about whether they requisitioned her home or not. They had the power to turn her and her family out – though she might be entitled to compensation for any damage at some unspecified stage after the war.

  ‘Perhaps I should show you round first, gentlemen? As you will have noticed, my husband walks with a limp and he finds the stairs a bit of a trial.’

  ‘Er, yes. If you don’t mind.’

  She did mind. Very much.

  ‘I’d better explain that the house is in two parts. The older part at the rear is the original building. We don’t use that any longer. The front part is the newer section.’

  She led them round the new part of the house, which was just under two hundred years old, then took them into the original house at the rear, which dated from the sixteenth century.

  To her surprise, the old house looked run down and felt distinctly damp and chilly. It felt different today and she couldn’t understand why until she walked to the other end of the main room, which had been the old Elizabethan hall. Where she was standing felt normal. Where the two men were standing looked even darker and more menacing – as if the house resented their presence as much as she did.

  One of the men shivered. ‘Such dampness wouldn’t be good for convalescent men. Is that why you moved to the front part?’

  ‘Er … yes.’ She didn’t contradict this impression, even though she knew the old house wasn’t at all damp. Well, it wasn’t normally.

  Once back in the new house, the two men relaxed.

  ‘I wonder if we could be left alone somewhere for half an hour or so to discuss what we call “matters pertaining”,’ Mr Dorrance said.

  ‘You can stay here,’ Harriet said curtly.

  ‘Are you ready for a cup of tea now?’ Joseph asked in a politer tone.

  ‘Thank you. That would be much appreciated.’

  ‘I’ll have some sent in. My wife and I will wait for you in the library, just across the hall.’

  Harriet couldn’t settle, so paced up and down. ‘They’re going to take Greyladies from us, I know they are, Joseph.’

  ‘There’s nothing we can do about that, my darling. And if there is a war between Britain and Germany, then we must all do what we can for our country.’

  ‘But the house could be damaged, ruined even.’

  ‘I don’t think they’ll allow that. And Harriet – please try to be a bit more friendly. It’ll do no good to put these men’s backs up.’

  After what seemed like hours, but was only forty minutes, according to the clock, there was a tap on the door. Mr Dorrance looked in. ‘Could we speak to you now, please?’

  They followed him across to the sitting room and sat together on the sofa facing the visitors. She resisted the temptation to clutch Joseph’s hand.

  ‘We feel that the front part of the house is suitable for our needs, Mr – er, Mrs Latimer. Not perfect, with so many stairs, but it’ll do.’

  Harriet’s heart sank. ‘Oh.’

  ‘If there’s war, we shall need the house for the duration of the hostilities. We’re suggesting it be used as an officers’ convalescent home, because it’s not large enough for an auxiliary hospital. If peace prevails and there is no war, as we all pray, then the house will be given back to you within a few months.’

  She didn’t know what to say, felt very close to tears, and now she did reach out for the comfort of her husband’s hand.

  ‘We shall not require the older part of the house, however, because of the damp. Also, the rooms there are rather dark and unpleasant.’ Mr Dorrance paused, then added, ‘Therefore, if you feel you and your family can tolerate those conditions, we would have no objection to you living in the older part of the building.’

  Harriet looked at Joseph and he nodded in answer to her unspoken question. ‘We would definitely like to live there. And … if we can help in any way, we will.’

  ‘That will be up to the commandant and matron, but I’m sure they’
ll be happy for you to volunteer your services, if only in tasks like reading to the men or writing letters for them.’ He looked round. ‘In a place of this size, which is not a hospital, the medical officer will probably act as commandant.’

  She nodded, feeling relieved that they could stay in the old house, at least. They had nowhere else to go, really. She’d been a maid at Dalton House before marrying Joseph, so relations were always a little awkward. His oldest brother, Selwyn, would inherit the family estate and, of course, Dalton House might be requisitioned too.

  Joseph took over from her, gesturing round the room. ‘We shall, of course, remove and store any items of value, like the paintings and books, but I wonder whether your department would agree to a requirement that those using the house look after the historical features of the building itself? The doors, windows, panelling and stained glass are all original. I always feel such places are part of our national heritage, rather than the possessions of one family.’

  The shorter of the two men nodded vigorously. ‘I agree with you entirely. I would definitely be prepared to support that requirement being stated, Mr Latimer. I too believe our country’s history is important. It’s good to hear you say that. Too many landowners take their possessions for granted.’

  Dorrance obviously didn’t share his colleague’s love of history, and merely shrugged. ‘As long as it doesn’t interfere with the patients’ welfare, I have no objection to such a requirement.’

  Mr Pashley smiled at Joseph. ‘This panelling is superb.’ He gazed up at the ceiling. ‘As for the plasterwork, it’s magnificent, even though it’s later than the period it tries to imitate. I shall make a note of this on the Greyladies file. If you have any trouble about the house, this is my card.’

  Harriet watched in annoyance as Joseph easily got his way. She was quite sure she’d not have succeeded. The men had continued to talk to her in a patronising manner, and Pashley had even explained the obvious features of her own home to her. They no doubt considered all women inferior in understanding.

  But she’d had many years of biting her tongue and hiding her emotions when younger and working as a housemaid, before she unexpectedly inherited this house, so though she couldn’t manage a friendly smile, she did manage to say nothing.

  Once the car had driven away, Joseph gave her a quick hug. ‘Well done. I know it nearly killed you to keep quiet, but I got more concessions out of them than you could have done.’ He frowned. ‘I wonder why they thought the older part of the house so unpleasant.’

  ‘It did feel damp and dark today, even to me. I couldn’t understand it. Not the whole place, but the part where they were standing.’

  ‘Yes. I noticed. It’s as if the house itself had taken a dislike to them. I half expected to see our ghost.’

  ‘Me too. The diaries say Anne Latimer still keeps watch on her house and the legacy she’s left behind. And we’ve both seen her many times.’

  ‘Well, whatever caused the feeling of dampness and unhappiness today, I’m glad of it. It means we won’t have to leave Greyladies.’

  ‘But we won’t be in charge of the main part. They might do anything in here.’

  ‘If we help out, we can keep an eye on things part of the time. And as some of the people from the village will no doubt be employed here, I’m sure they’ll let us know if they see anything happening that seems harmful.’

  She sighed. ‘I suppose so. Joseph, do you think there really will be a war?’

  ‘Yes, my darling, I do. It’s as if people have learnt nothing from the Boer Wars.’

  She knew he’d lost an uncle during the second Boer War and that he felt very strongly about the shameful tactics used by the British against the enemy women and children, many of whom had died because of their poor treatment as prisoners.

  If Britain entered into a war with Germany now, how many others would die? Her heart ached for what the young men of England would have to face.

  She turned to the post with a sigh, then a smile. A letter had arrived to say that Joseph’s sister had had another daughter, and that Richard’s wife was due to give birth.

  She wished all news was as pleasant as this.

  Things happened quickly after that. Only a month later, on a sunny day towards the end of May, Harriet walked through the central hall of Greyladies with the newly appointed matron, officially handing over her home to the government. The commandant would not be able to start for a few days, apparently.

  Harriet felt sad. She and her family had now moved into the old house and it was still in chaos as they tried to squeeze so many precious things into a much smaller space.

  She turned to her companion. ‘If you need to know anything about the house, don’t hesitate to ask me.’ She gritted her teeth as Matron Dawkins gave her another of those patronising smiles and deliberately kept her waiting for a reply.

  ‘Oh, I think I can manage to run a convalescent home, Mrs Latimer. I have, after all, been a matron for over twenty years. Various people will be arriving during the coming week to help me: my deputy matron, the quartermaster, a clerk and some orderlies. We’ll then be able to reorganise this place and set out the beds and equipment as efficiently as we can, in the circumstances.’ She turned a scornful look on the house.

  Harriet told herself that it was her country that mattered, not this uppity woman. ‘Nonetheless, I’m always happy to do my bit to help Britain.’

  ‘Some of the patients will probably enjoy a bit of company and others will need help with letters home, those with arms or hands that are injured.’

  ‘I’ll be happy to do that, of course I will. But you will need to prepare for your patients and I could—’

  ‘My dear lady, you already have a crippled husband, not to mention two small sons to care for, so you must have plenty to occupy your time. You should concentrate on settling into your new home, and leave us to deal with organising the convalescent home.’

  In other words, Harriet thought, keep away from Matron’s territory. She felt furious at hearing Joseph spoken about like that. He might limp markedly, because of the bad hip he’d been born with, but he was in better health these days than he’d ever been, and seemed to have outgrown his childhood weaknesses. He wasn’t crippled in any way that mattered, and since their marriage, he had become skilful at managing the finances of Greyladies.

  As for their children, she had plenty of help with Jody and Mal. The head housemaid and the cook acted like aunties to them and let them ‘help’ in the house and kitchen. No, that might not be possible now, because Livvy and Flora had volunteered to work in the convalescent home, and she couldn’t see this woman allowing any children into her territory.

  Still, a newly promoted housemaid and their usual washing woman from the village would be helping her family, so no doubt the boys would charm them. They were such happy, lively youngsters. And though the children’s governess, Miss Bowers, had moved back to her home in the village, she would be coming in every day to teach them. She might be in her seventies, but she was still hale and hearty, a capable woman who had been headmistress of the village school in her time.

  Both children were making such good progress that Harriet and Joseph hadn’t sent them to the village school. They were an intelligent pair, too far ahead of the work being done there to settle happily. She and Joseph did, however, encourage their sons to play with the village children outside school hours.

  Tim Peacock, the grandson of the owner of the village store, was eight-year-old Jody’s best friend. It was Tim who’d shortened young Joseph’s name to Jody, to avoid confusing him with his father, and the name had stuck. Malcolm had always been Mal from the time he’d struggled to say his own name in full.

  But whatever she and Joseph did, there would be further uncomfortable changes for everyone in the village of Challerton if and when war broke out, she was sure. She could only hope any conflict would be over within a few months, as people were predicting.

  Intercepting another frown
from her companion, Harriet realised she’d been lost in thought. ‘Sorry. I was just thinking about something I need to do.’

  She wondered yet again why Matron Dawkins had been so hostile towards her from the very first day. Though, actually, the feeling was mutual now that she’d spent time with the woman. It was so rare for her to dislike someone on sight that this worried her. Was it because Matron would be in charge of her beloved home from now on, or was it because the Dragon, as Joseph referred to her, was simply nasty by nature? She suspected the latter.

  As they reached the door between the two parts of the building, Harriet glanced back, feeling sad to see how shabby the bare, panelled walls of the huge hall looked now without the paintings which used to hang there. The library had been stripped of books and the floors of rugs, and now echoing spaces waited for the beds and other equipment to arrive.

  ‘I’ll leave you to get on with your work.’ Harriet was itching to get away from this woman now.

  ‘Just a moment.’ Matron held out her hand. ‘You need to give me the key to this door. We can’t have outsiders wandering around a convalescent home, can we?’

  As Harriet studied the other woman’s sour face, something told her the key wouldn’t be safe in her hands. There was only one, a huge iron piece several hundred years old, dating from the time when the door between the two parts of the building had been the front door of the small manor house. It would be a tragedy if that key got lost.

  She hated lying but did so now. ‘I’m afraid we don’t have a key. We’ve never considered it necessary to lock the door.’

  ‘Hmm. I see. Well, in that case, I shall have the door replaced. It’s good for nothing but firewood anyway, it’s so old-fashioned.’

  It was an effort to speak mildly. ‘You aren’t allowed to do that.’

  Matron glared at her. ‘I’m allowed to do whatever is necessary for the safety of my patients.’

  ‘Not when it concerns the fabric of the house. You would need permission. It was written into the agreement with the War Ministry that the historic parts of the building would be protected. Mr Pashley, who is in charge of requisitions in Wiltshire, is very keen to protect our national heritage. That door has been there since the sixteenth century.’