Cherry Tree Lane

by Anna Jacobs

  Miss Newington’s voice was low and persuasive. ‘Why not take the chance?’

  ‘I don’t want anyone to be forced into marrying me!’

  ‘If there were more time, if you lived nearby, I don’t think I’d have had to give him a nudge. Jacob’s not indifferent to you.’

  ‘One of the reasons I ran away was that my stepfather was trying to force me into marriage with a friend of his. The friend had paid him money. He’d sold me!’

  ‘I don’t know what this other fellow was like—’

  Mattie couldn’t help shuddering at the thought of Stan Telfor. ‘He was big, like my stepfather. No, not quite as bad, but I didn’t like him to touch me. I think I’d have had a miserable life with him.’

  ‘If you don’t want Jacob to touch you, there’s nothing more to be said. I’ll help you find somewhere to live and we’ll look elsewhere for a wife for him.’

  Mattie blushed scarlet. ‘I don’t … It’s not like that with Jacob. He’s different, kind, caring.’

  ‘Yes. You’ve only to watch him with his children to see what a gentle, loving man he is. Do you find him attractive in that way?’

  For the life of her, Mattie couldn’t deny that she did. ‘I … yes, I do like Jacob, what I’ve seen of him.’

  ‘He’s a good man. You’re a decent young woman—’

  ‘Not so young now. I’ll be thirty next month.’

  ‘That seems quite young still to me. I’m seventy and thanks to my father, I never had the slightest chance of getting married and having children. I regret that bitterly now, very bitterly indeed.’

  Mattie could hear the pain in the older woman’s voice and that, more than anything, made her take the suggestion more seriously. She’d been feeling upset for years about not getting married, not having children of her own. It had hurt her to see women she’d been at school with pushing prams, walking along holding a child’s hand, smiling fondly at a husband.

  ‘Wouldn’t a marriage which brings respect and liking from your husband – at the very least – be better than nothing at your age? You’re not too old to have children. You get on well with Luke and Sarah …’

  Mattie could only shake her head blindly. She was a fool, a romantic fool, worse than the heroines of her library books, but she wanted more than mere respect from a husband.

  ‘Think about it, my dear,’ Miss Newington said. ‘Don’t make a hasty decision. Take everything into account.’

  ‘Very well. I will. But I’m not promising anything.’

  That evening Stan came into the pub looking particularly pleased with himself. Bart, who was nursing a pint and wondering what to do about his washing, because he’d run out of clean shirts and the damned laundry charged a fortune for washing and ironing them, scowled at his friend.

  ‘Want another pint?’ Stan offered.

  Bart nodded.

  While they were waiting for the potboy to bring the beers, Stan leant forward. ‘I found out which way she went.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Your Mattie.’

  ‘She isn’t my Mattie any more. I’ve washed my hands of her.’

  ‘Have it your way. I shan’t need to tell you what I found out, then.’ He took a long, slow pull of beer.

  Bart tried not to ask, but in the end curiosity got the better of him. ‘Where did she go, then?’

  Stan wiped his mouth and murmured his appreciation of a good, well-kept beer.

  ‘Where?’ Bart repeated.

  ‘Out of town. My cousin remembered a woman who could have been Mattie, remembers her very clearly. He said she got on his tram looking like death warmed up, white as a sheet and shivering, sneezing and blowing her nose. Her hair was soaking wet so it looked dark, except at the front, where it was sticky. He said she looked a right old mess.’

  ‘Serve the bitch right.’

  ‘She got off at the terminus and headed off along the road to Wootton Bassett. She wouldn’t have got far walking in that condition, now would she? So I reckon she’s quite close still. Why didn’t she take the train with the others, that’s what I want to know?’

  Bart shrugged. ‘She stole the housekeeping, but she wouldn’t have had enough money to get far by train. I don’t believe in women handling money, not more than they need anyway, or they waste it, so I kept my eye on every penny.’

  ‘Some women are careful enough. My mother, for one.’

  ‘Well, in my house, I’m in charge.’

  ‘I’m going to have a look out Bassett way on Sunday. I’ve got a friend who’s lending me his horse and trap. Do you want to come with me?’

  ‘I suppose I might as well. Mattie’ll know where her sisters are, that’s all I care about.’

  ‘I’ve got some news about them, too.’

  Bart watched Stan raise his pint glass to his lips and take another leisurely swig to torment him.

  ‘Your Nell’s been seen meeting Cliff Greenhill, one of the upholsterers. His family lives up in Old Swindon. It’d have been a good match. Don’t know why you didn’t encourage it.’

  ‘Because I want her to look after me, not another man!’ Anger surged through Bart, beating at his temples, making his heart thump in his chest. ‘How the hell did she meet him?’

  ‘At church, I was told.’

  ‘I’ll kill the sod.’

  ‘You’ll have to find him first. He’s disappeared too.’

  ‘Ah! He’ll be the one who’s run off with her. But I reckon his family will know where he’s gone.’

  ‘Mebbe. Not my business.’

  ‘No, but it’s mine.’

  ‘Don’t do anything rash. They might not know anything.’

  ‘If they don’t know now, they’re bound to find out sooner or later where he is.’ Bart quickly changed his mind about the way he was going to approach this. He intended to punch the hell out of Cliff when he found him, but Stan was right. The family might not know where the son was now, but if he threatened to hurt him, they’d never tell him. Bart must tread carefully and play the upset father, then they might be more inclined to share information with him once they did find out. ‘And why’s Renie gone with them? She isn’t old enough to be interested in lads.’

  ‘They could’ve took her with ’em. Might have been frightened you’d hurt her.’

  ‘I’d have given her a leathering for not telling me, that’s for sure.’

  ‘There you are, then. She wasn’t with Mattie, so she must be with them.’ Stan drained the last of his beer and tapped his glass on the table as a hint.

  Grudgingly, Bart bought him another pint.

  ‘Don’t you want another drink yourself?’ Stan asked.

  ‘This’ll do me for a bit. Without the girls’ wages, I have to be a bit more careful, damn them. I need to find someone to do my washing and that costs money. So from now on, we’d better each buy our own drinks. I don’t know how you can afford to drink so much every night with only your wage to rely on.’

  Stan tapped the side of his nose. ‘Got ways of earning a bit extra.’

  ‘I wish you’d show me, then.’

  ‘Can’t. Only enough for one in it.’

  Which left Bart thinking hard as he trudged home to a dark house. What was Stan onto that he’d missed? If he’d ever needed extra money, it was now. As for Nell and Renie, they couldn’t marry anyone without his permission.

  It wasn’t till he was in bed that he suddenly remembered that Nell had turned twenty-one not long ago. Mattie had wasted money on a fancy iced cake and sewed something for her. So Nell didn’t need his permission to get wed. He smiled in the darkness. But she did need her birth certificate to prove her age and he’d got that hidden away.

  Only he couldn’t settle till he’d checked his box of papers. He got up, lit the gaslight and took the box of family documents down from the top of the wardrobe. It was still locked and hadn’t been broken into. He nearly put it back once he was sure it hadn’t been taken, but just to be sure, he took out his key chain an
d opened the box.

  He cursed when he saw that none of the girls’ birth certificates was there. How had they known where to find them? And how had they got hold of the key? Mattie always cleaned this room and she wasn’t tall enough to see on top of the wardrobe. She always had to get the stepladders to clean up there when she did the spring cleaning and he hid the box inside the wardrobe then.

  His fingers itched to take off his belt and give all three of them a proper lesson in obedience. As he’d once done to Mattie.

  Stan was a fool to hanker after her. She was nothing but trouble, that one. But Bart was sorry he’d not now get the money Stan had been going to pay for marrying her, very sorry. She owed him for that as well as everything else. And he’d make her sorry for what she’d done.

  Miss Newington left the house but didn’t go across to speak to Jacob, who was working at the upper end of the field. She saw him staring at her and when she didn’t make any sign of how she’d got on, he walked across to the wall, waiting for her to come up the lane.

  ‘Well? Did you speak to Mattie?’ he asked before she’d even come to a halt.

  ‘Yes. She’s thinking about it.’

  ‘She is?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Don’t sound so surprised. You’re a good-looking man.’ She paused, amused to see a tide of red wash across his face. ‘Of course, if you find her repulsive, we can still look for someone else. It’s not too late.’

  ‘I don’t find her repulsive, but I keep telling you, I’ve not thought of remarrying, especially someone I don’t know. Marriage is for life, not just something you slip into with anyone convenient.’ But he’d known Alice and still been surprised at what it was like living with her, how limited her view of the world was.

  ‘Well, think about it carefully, as she’s doing. But remember … if she leaves here, you may never see her again, never even know if she’s safe or not.’

  Emily walked on without another word and he didn’t call her back, but she’d seen from his expression that her parting shot had hit the mark. He’d looked shocked, definitely shocked.

  Where the lane curved slightly to the right, she risked a quick glance back and saw that he was still standing there, hadn’t moved an inch. She smiled. She felt pretty sure now that they’d get married.

  She went and asked old Horace to harness the horse and trap, then drove into Wootton Bassett, leaving them at the livery stables as usual and taking the train from there into Swindon.

  Frank Longley looked up as his clerk came to the door of his room.

  ‘Miss Newington to see you, sir.’

  He stood up and quickly checked that his tie was straight, because his wife said he had a habit of fiddling with it when he was thinking, then went out to greet her. For a man who had only opened his own rooms the previous year, every new client was important, but this one was quite a feather in his cap.

  ‘My dear Miss Newington, please come through.’ He waited till she’d sat down and then asked, ‘How can I help you today?’

  ‘I want to make a new will – and quickly. A very simple one, just a single legatee will do. I suppose there’s no chance that you could do it for me this afternoon, is there?’

  He blinked in shock at this. ‘It usually takes longer than that to write a will. There are things to discuss and—’

  ‘There’s nothing to discuss this time. I wish to leave everything, unconditionally, to one person.’

  ‘Well, I suppose I could draw up a simple will like that quite quickly. Is there some reason for the hurry?’

  ‘Yes. My cousin Arthur is sending men to break into my house, trying to force me to sell it to him. Who knows what lengths he’ll go to? I do want to leave the district now that you’ve told me I can rent out the house without breaking the conditions of my uncle’s will, but I’m doing nothing until I’ve made sure Arthur can’t get hold of the property if something happens to me.’

  ‘Are you sure he’s behind the break-ins?’

  ‘Very sure.’

  ‘But surely you don’t think he’d … do something violent to you?’

  ‘I intend to make sure he has no reason to.’

  Frank didn’t know what to say. She was an intelligent woman, sounded so certain. ‘Tell me who your legatee is, then – another family member perhaps, or a close friend?’

  She pulled a wry face. ‘I’ve no relatives now except for Arthur and his family, and most of my friends have died in the last few years, so you can put this person down as legatee.’ She took a piece of paper out of her handbag and gave it to him.

  He stared at what she’d written in puzzlement, not recognising the name. ‘Are you sure? Who is this?’

  ‘Just someone I know and like. It’s only temporary so that I can tell my cousin Arthur that if anything happens to me, he won’t get the house. That should stop him, don’t you think? And since at my age life is precarious, I want to make absolutely certain that he’ll never get the house, whatever happens.’ She held up one hand to stop him speaking. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll make a proper, well-thought-out will later. This person doesn’t know what I’m doing, so I’m not being coerced or flattered into it.’

  ‘I see. Well, in that case, I’ll do as you’ve asked. But I don’t approve, I really don’t.’

  ‘You don’t need to. Just do what I ask. I’ll leave a letter with you, explaining the reasons for my actions, if you like.’

  ‘Yes. That might be useful.’

  ‘And there’s something else. I want to find a tenant for Newington House. You hinted that you might know of someone? Are these people still looking for a house to rent?’

  ‘I can find out. What rent are you asking?’

  They discussed this, then she looked at the clock which was ticking loudly on his mantelpiece. ‘I’ll go and buy myself afternoon tea and return in an hour to sign the will.’

  She had left before he could stop her.

  He sat lost in thought for a minute or two, trying to work out the implications of what she was doing. Surely Arthur Newington couldn’t be behind the attacks on her house? He was a wellknown figure in the county, not always liked but wealthy men didn’t usually commit crimes to get their way. Only … there was a big estate at stake, and money had tempted people into crime before now.

  Besides, you couldn’t argue with clients who’d made their minds up, and though she didn’t have a lot of money to spare, Miss Newington had enough to pay her bills, and always did so promptly. Which was more than some of his other clients did.

  Arthur Newington’s lawyer, James Parker, had already made his displeasure about a young lawyer opening rooms in Swindon very clear. It was going to be … interesting working for Miss Newington.

  Frank called for his clerk and they set to work on the will.

  She would not find him lacking.

  Chapter Seven

  Embarrassed by what Miss Newington had done, Jacob avoided going into the house for a cup of tea and biscuit mid-morning. He slaked his thirst at the well and ignored his hunger. But though he continued working, he couldn’t stop thinking about what Miss Newington had said. It did make sense for him to remarry, he admitted that, but to live intimately with someone who was little more than a stranger … to commit yourself to that person for the rest of your life … the thought of that worried him.

  As the sun climbed higher in the sky, he couldn’t postpone going into the house any longer. He was ravenous, needed his midday meal and had to make sure Mattie got hers too, or she’d not recover properly.

  He took off his working boots at the door to save tramping dirt into the house. As he stepped inside in his stockinged feet, he stopped to stare round in surprise. The room was tidier and the table already set. And Mattie was sitting in the rocking chair, waiting for him as if she was meant to be there. He thrust his feet into his slippers, which always stood ready, noticing for the first time how stained and worn they looked. He needed new ones.

  As he turned, he tried to think of something to
say, but couldn’t.

  Mattie glanced at him quickly, then looked away before their eyes could connect. She seemed as embarrassed as he was, which eased his nervousness a little. He didn’t like bold women.

  She cleared her throat. ‘I saw you had some eggs in the pantry. I boiled some for sandwiches with our soup. Is that all right?’

  ‘Yes. I hope you did plenty.’

  ‘I did two for you, one for me.’

  He remembered what Miss Newington had said. ‘If you’re trying to cost me as little money as possible, remember that I produce my own eggs and always have plenty. Since Alice died, I’ve not known what to do with them all, because I don’t know how to bake cakes, even if I had time for it, which I don’t.’

  ‘Oh. Right, then.’ She went across to put a pan on the hob, pouring water into it from the big blackened kettle that always stood to one side of the stove top to provide warm water when needed.

  He let her work. She seemed very capable, her movements sure and graceful, a pleasure to watch.

  Within ten minutes he was sitting down to a bowl of ham-flavoured soup and neatly cut sandwiches. He thanked her, then ate in silence, enjoying the simple meal but unable to think of anything to say except, ‘This is good.’

  As he pushed his plate away, Mattie said, ‘Do you have any more of those wizened apples? I could make us stewed apple and custard for tea. And what do you want for the main course tonight?’

  ‘Are you sure you’re up to it?’

  ‘I’m taking things slowly. I cleared up this morning, then had a little nap, then … um … talked to Miss Newington. I shall do the same this afternoon – have a rest, I mean.’

  He liked the way she got flustered when she mentioned Miss Newington. She looked pretty today with her hair tied back and her face showing more colour. ‘Better open a tin of corned beef. Could you make us a hash?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ve not had time to get any fresh meat. I’ll send to the village shop for something. They put orders in with a butcher in Wootton Bassett.’

  ‘I make a good meat pie. If you get some stewing steak, I can do enough for two days.’