Cherry Tree Lane

by Anna Jacobs

  ‘Jacob … stay.’ Her voice was slurred but she persevered, managing to say a few words with great difficulty. ‘Can you … all … stay here, help me?’

  Mattie didn’t even wait for Jacob, but said at once, ‘Of course we can. As long as you don’t mind us bringing the children, that is.’

  ‘Bring them.’

  ‘And we’ve written to Mr Longley. The doctor’s taken the letter to post. Your lawyer will be here tomorrow morning, I’m sure. If anything needs doing, he’ll see to it. You’ll be in a better state to talk to him then.’

  ‘Good.’

  Again her eyes closed and Jacob exchanged pitying glances with Mattie. To see a brisk old woman brought to this helpless state was very sad.

  When he went down, Jacob heard Lyddie talking to the postman, telling him what had happened. He cursed under his breath that he hadn’t thought to tell her to keep quiet about it. There would be no stopping Kenneth now. He was the main carrier of news and gossip in the village and beyond.

  He went to join them. ‘Can you do me a favour, Kenneth?’

  ‘Certainly.’

  ‘Miss Newington has asked me and my wife to stay and—’

  ‘So it is true!’ Kenneth said triumphantly. ‘You hev got married again.’

  ‘Er … yes.’

  ‘Who is she?’

  ‘No one you know. She’s from Swindon. You’ll meet her in the next day or two, I’m sure. Now, what I wanted to ask was if you’d tell young Ben Summerhaye to come and stay here for the next few days, and young Peter too.’

  ‘I can do that. Are you still afeared Mr Arthur will come back?’

  ‘Yes. You won’t forget, will you?’

  ‘Not me. And we’ll all keep our eyes open. Don’t want them rough types causing trouble in our village, do we?’

  Kenneth cycled off, whistling tunelessly, seeming impervious to the bumpy surface of the lane.

  Jacob turned to the maids. ‘I think you’d better lock the doors and windows again, Lyddie.’

  ‘In the daytime?’

  ‘Better safe than sorry. We don’t want Mr Arthur walking in unannounced, do we? And tell Horace to move into the main house tonight. He can leave the lads to keep watch outside.’

  ‘You think them rascals will be comin’ back, don’t you, Mr Kemble?’ Lyddie said, her voice shaking a little.

  He did but he didn’t want to make her panic. ‘I think it’s best to be prepared, just in case. But Mattie and I’ll be staying, the children too, so after you’ve locked up, perhaps you can find us some bedrooms.’

  Her anxious expression lightened. ‘Oh, that’s good! I’ll feel a lot safer with you here, in charge, like. So will Cook, I know. But just in case, I’ll go to bed with that poker beside me again. Miss Newington druv ’em off with a poker that first time. Brave, she was.’ She dabbed her eyes. ‘Good mistress, she is, too.’

  He patted her shoulder. ‘Yes. I know.’

  The letter Jacob had written just caught the lunchtime collection and arrived at Frank Longley’s rooms in Swindon by the second post instead of the next day. It was taken straight through to him, since it was the only one delivered. He exclaimed in shock when he saw what Jacob had written, then sat thinking hard, not liking the sounds of this. What if Miss Newington died?

  She’d made a will, but only as a temporary measure. If she died now, the estate would go to a most unsuitable person.

  He looked at the clock and decided to go out to see his client straight away. There was no time to be lost. If she was at all lucid, she must make a new will.

  Then he scribbled a note to let his wife know why he’d be late and told his clerk to see it was delivered. As he set off for the railway station, he prayed Miss Newington would still be alive. Matters couldn’t be left like this.

  Ben strolled up to the big house, whistling and feeling pleased to be earning money merely for staying up there at night. Nothing had happened so far, but if it did, he’d be ready.

  His dad said he was a fool and shouldn’t mess with the gentry, especially nasty types like Mr Arthur, but Ben reckoned the gentry had had their day and ordinary folk were what counted now. Decent folk, who didn’t get rich and leave others to want. His dad hated him expressing such views but Ben wasn’t going to tug his forelock to anyone.

  Which was why he wasn’t working in Swindon. If you went into the Railway Works, they thought they owned you body and soul. He’d always found a way to earn enough to manage on, and he’d kept his freedom so far. And that meant freedom from girls, too. They’d come a-chasing him, but he wasn’t getting married till he was a lot older and had made something of himself.

  When Ben got to the big house, Jacob explained what had happened to poor Miss Newington and asked him if he could make up a roster for the young fellows who’d be staying at the house turn and turn about.

  ‘Yes, I can do that, Jacob. I’m good at organising things and I know who I like to have on my side in a fight.’

  ‘Right. I’ll leave it to you. But keep my son out of it, eh? We’re all staying here for the time being and Luke will be bursting to join in.’

  ‘He’s too young, but he’s got a good heart. I’ll keep my eye on him.’

  ‘School should be out soon. When the bell goes, can you find him and Sarah and tell them where we are?’

  ‘I’ll do better than that. I’ll walk up with them.’ Strange thing to do if you expected trouble, take your children into the heart of it, Ben thought, but then Jacob had no one else to leave them with.

  He set off again, happy enough to walk round in the afternoon sunshine and earn money for doing it. And happy to organise things, too. He enjoyed that sort of thing.

  * * *

  When Mrs Henty saw the postman, she stopped to give him a letter to post for her, which would save her a walk.

  Kenneth leant closer. ‘Hev you heard the news, Mrs Henty? Miss Newington’s been took bad …’

  After her shock had died down, Jane began to feel annoyed that the Kembles should be the ones to be helping out at the big house, when obviously it was her duty as the curate’s wife to perform this service and make sure those two servants didn’t take advantage of the confusion to slack off.

  She went home to share the news with her husband and he was as shocked as she was about poor Miss Newington. She sent him on his way to his monthly meeting with the clergyman whose curate he was, and after fidgeting around the house for a while, decided to go up to the big house to see for herself what was happening.

  She puffed her way up the hill and hesitated, wondering whether to go round to the kitchen, then shook her head. She might be a mere curate’s wife but she was a lady born and bred, and had a right to enter by the front door. When no one answered, she knocked again, harder this time, annoyed at being kept waiting.

  As she was raising her hand to the knocker for the third time she heard footsteps and the door was opened by Jacob Kemble.

  ‘Miss Newington’s not well, I’m afraid, Mrs Henty. She can’t have visitors.’

  ‘I know she’s not well. The postman told me about it. I’ve come to help.’

  ‘She’s got enough help, but I’ll tell her you called.’

  When he tried to close the door in her face, she stuck her foot in it, because whether it was a ladylike thing to do or not, it was a tactic sometimes necessary when visiting the poor, who were an ungrateful bunch on the whole.

  As he was still barring her way, she snapped, ‘Let me in this minute!’

  ‘Look, it’s very kind of you, but—’

  She took him by surprise, shoving him out of the way, and since she knew he’d not dare lay hands on her, made her way towards the stairs.

  ‘Come back!’ he roared, forgetting to keep his voice down. He ran after her and pushed in front of her.

  ‘Get out of my way this minute, Kemble! How dare you try to stop me seeing Miss Newington!’

  Since Mrs Henty was famous for being able to make herself overheard above a
whole church hall full of people talking, her voice easily penetrated into the sick room. Mattie recognised it at once and frowned, remembering the woman’s visit to the cottage and how rude she’d been. Unfortunately, the noise had woken her companion.

  She bent over the bed. ‘It’s Mrs Henty. Do you want to see her?’

  Miss Newington shook her head, mouthing the word ‘No’.

  ‘I’ll get rid of her, then.’

  Mattie managed to get the bedroom door closed before the unwelcome visitor reached it. When she looked at the curate’s wife, she was reminded for a moment of Bart Fuller – the woman had the same angry red hue to her face as he got when annoyed, the same staring eyes, and even the plumpness of face reminded Mattie a little of her stepfather’s double chins.

  Suddenly the years of bullying boiled up inside her. She was free now of the need to put up with this sort of treatment. Drawing herself up to her full five foot two inches, she folded her arms and waited.

  ‘Open that door!’ the foghorn voice ordered.

  ‘I told Miss Newington you were here and she said she didn’t want to see you.’

  ‘Of course she wants to see me. I’m here to help nurse her.’

  Mattie shuddered at the thought of being nursed by this loud-voiced bully. She looked at Jacob. ‘Why did you let her come up?’

  ‘She pushed past me before I knew it. I could hardly manhandle her.’

  ‘Well, she’ll not push past me.’ Mattie stared at the older woman. ‘And I’m quite prepared to manhandle her if I have to, to protect Miss Newington.’

  ‘Let me through at once!’

  Mrs Henty reached out to push her aside, but it was Jacob who grabbed her hand and pulled her away. ‘You’ll not touch my wife.’

  ‘How dare you lay a hand on me!’

  ‘I’m obeying the mistress of this house and keeping you out of her bedroom. I think you’d better leave now. You’re causing a disturbance and she needs peace and quiet.’

  The curate’s wife made no effort to leave, continuing to berate them at the top of her voice. But Mattie neither flinched nor did as she was told, and Jacob stood beside her as solid as a rock, his eyes watchful.

  When the other woman ran out of steam, Mattie looked at her husband. ‘Will you please show Mrs Henty out, Jacob? And if she won’t go, then she’ll need helping on her way.’

  He took a step towards Mrs Henty, who hesitated.

  When he took another step and raised his hand to take hold of her arm, she took a hasty step backwards. ‘You’ll be sorry for this! I’m quite sure Miss Newington didn’t mean you to keep me out!’

  ‘I said your name to her, so she did mean it. And I’m never sorry for doing what’s right,’ Mattie declared. ‘Jacob?’

  ‘I’ll be back with someone in authority,’ Mrs Henty threatened.

  ‘Doesn’t matter. Miss Newington is still in charge here, and what she says goes.’

  Only when the front door had slammed behind the curate’s wife did Mattie sag against the bedroom door as reaction set in. Then she remembered the sick woman inside and hurried back to the bedside, suddenly afraid she’d gone too far. What if that loud encounter had so upset Miss Newington that she’d had another seizure?

  But as Mattie approached the bed, she saw that the other woman was smiling at her, crooked mouth and all.

  ‘Well done!’ the invalid said and let out the faint husk of a chuckle.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Frank Longley was worried about this visit to his client, because Arthur Newington had a lot of power in the district. Why, he might claim that the young lawyer was too inexperienced and had misinterpreted Miss Newington’s wishes. Frank had been told to his face that he was too inexperienced when he set up his rooms – several people had said that – and been advised to continue working for an older lawyer till he learnt his business.

  He’d already worked for a few years in London and saved hard, so he knew he was ready. He’d come back to the town where he’d been born to set up his own practice, determined to work in a more modern way, helping ordinary people, trying to see that justice was done, not merely supporting the rich. Times were changing and he believed the way the law was applied should change with them.

  But he still needed to protect himself and his client from those who wielded power, so he walked down the street to the nearby public telephone box to call his friend, who lived in Wootton Bassett. Sam Painton worked in his family law practice there. They had a private telephone in the rooms and Sam owned a motor car. It was only a small Riley, but it was his pride and joy, with three-speed transmission and wire-spoked wheels. Sam had been known to clean these lovingly with his carefully ironed pocket handkerchief, to his mother’s intense annoyance.

  If Sam would drive him out to Shallerton Bassett, Frank knew his friend would make an impeccable witness, and by using the car he could get there and back tonight.

  He slipped a coin into the slot in the door of the telephone box to gain access to the phone itself, picked up the handpiece, bent down to be near the fixed mouthpiece on the wooden wall panel, which wasn’t designed for tall people like himself, and asked to be connected to Mr Painton’s rooms.

  When he was better established, he intended to have a telephone installed in his rooms, too, but couldn’t yet afford the expense.

  To his relief, Sam was there and agreed to come with him. The little Riley got them to the turn-off for Shallerton Bassett very quickly, then putt-putted its way up the bumpy lane, going more and more slowly. At one stage it seemed as if the engine was going to fail, then the car seemed to summon up just enough momentum to crest the rise and find its way to the front door.

  Jacob Kemble opened it before they could knock. ‘How did you know to come here?’

  ‘Your letter reached me by second post today.’

  ‘Thank goodness for that!’

  Frank watched in amazement as he locked the door behind them. ‘Is Miss Newington so nervous she must have her doors locked all the time?’

  ‘She is since her cousin tried to force her to leave with him,’ Jacob said bluntly.

  ‘Force her?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why would he do that?’

  ‘He wanted her to sign some papers, apparently.’

  ‘You’re sure of this?’

  ‘I was there and helped prevent it. There’s nothing wrong with my eyesight, or my hearing either. I heard what he said.’

  Sam let out a low whistle of surprise, which reminded Frank of his manners. ‘Ah, this is my colleague, Mr Painton, who has kindly brought me here in his motor car. This is Jacob Kemble, Sam, who collects Miss Newington’s rents for her.’

  The two men shook hands, then Jacob gestured to the stairs. ‘Would you like to go up? It’s on the second floor. I’m sure Miss Newington will be delighted to see you.’

  ‘How is she?’

  ‘She’s regained consciousness and seems in full possession of her senses. The doctor says if she doesn’t have a second seizure, she’ll probably make a good recovery. But she’s very anxious not to let her cousin Arthur take over while she’s ill, which I think is why she wants to see you.’

  ‘Ah. Who’s looking after her?’

  ‘My wife and I, with the maid’s help. Although the servants are very loyal, they aren’t capable of standing up against Mr Arthur, so the doctor suggested my wife and I move in temporarily.’

  ‘The doctor suggested it?’

  ‘Yes. And we’re glad to help, since the poor lady has no one else.’

  ‘She’s not paying you to do this?’

  Jacob looked affronted. ‘I don’t need paying to help a neighbour.’

  ‘Very commendable. Could you take us up to her, please?’

  ‘She gets tired easily. Perhaps your friend could wait down here?’

  ‘Considering the power of Arthur Newington, it’d be better if Mr Painton stays with me and witnesses what she says.’

  ‘Ah. I see.’ Jacob h
esitated, then added, ‘I’ve been obliged to hire young men from the village to stay here too, just in case there’s any more violence.’

  ‘The police haven’t found the people who broke in?’

  ‘No, sir. I don’t think they’ve tried very hard, but we all have a fair idea of who’s behind it.’

  ‘Hmm. Well, it won’t hurt to have the men here, I’m sure.’

  As they followed Kemble up the stairs, Sam whispered to him, ‘I can’t believe such precautions are necessary in this day and age. Are you sure this man isn’t exaggerating?’

  ‘Once you’re out in the countryside, you don’t have the police to hand, or even neighbours in a place like this,’ Frank said. ‘And besides … I don’t know whether you’ve ever met Arthur Newington?’

  ‘Yes. He’s an acquaintance of my parents. I don’t know him well, but he’s a gentleman and surely he’d not descend to that sort of thuggish behaviour?’

  ‘Who else could be behind it? He was very angry about not inheriting the house.’

  ‘Yes. I’ve heard him talk about that to my parents.’

  ‘As long as these young men from the village give my client peace of mind, it costs her very little. And if there is something in the story, well, once again we’ll have witnesses to hand.’

  ‘Can’t beat that.’

  The bedroom was large, with a window slightly open to let in the fresh air. Miss Newington looked frail, her face almost as pale as the pillows against which she was propped up. It took only a quick glance round the tidy room for Frank to see that she was being well cared for.

  Mattie bent over the bed and said quietly, ‘Mr Longley’s here to see you, Miss Newington.’

  The old lady opened her eyes and to Frank’s relief, the same intelligence shone in them, even though one side of her face was drooping a little. When she spoke, her speech was slurred, but he had no problem understanding her.

  ‘Good. Leave us … Mattie.’

  Mrs Kemble nodded to Frank. ‘I’ll be in the kitchen. You’ve only to ring that bell if you want me, sir.’

  When she left, Sam escorted her to the door, keeping it slightly open for a moment or two, then shutting it and mouthing, ‘She’s gone.’