An Independent Woman

by Anna Jacobs

  He’d expected to lie awake, but exhaustion quickly claimed him and he only had time to wonder what the hell had brought the senior branch of the family so low before he fell into a deep sleep.

  Chapter 2

  On the tenth of December Serena turned thirty. She made no attempt to celebrate the day or even to remind Ernest that it was her birthday, because she was still pretending to be unwell. Since her mother’s death, he’d spent every evening at his club, virtually ignoring her. Today he’d once again left word that he’d be dining at his club that evening and there was no sign of the envelope with five guineas in it which he normally gave her in lieu of a present. She could only presume he’d forgotten what day it was. She hoped he had. It would make things easier.

  When informed that her master would be out that evening, Cook said disapprovingly, “You should have reminded him that it’s your birthday, Miss Serena. You shouldn’t be on your own today.”

  “It wasn’t worth troubling him. Please don’t say anything or it’ll put him in a bad mood.”

  Cook shuddered and nodded. All the servants dreaded rousing their master’s temper, because although he remained icily calm at all times, he could make the most cutting remarks Serena had ever heard, unerringly pin-pointing a person’s weakness and playing on their fears. In his bad moods, he’d been known to dismiss maids on the spot for behaving in a manner of which he disapproved. The trouble was, no one knew why he got these sour moods, which seemed to happen out of the blue, so they were hard to prevent.

  Serena ate a solitary meal that evening, too nervous to feel hungry even though Cook had made a special effort to please her. She pushed the plate aside then, rather than upset Cook, she cut a large piece of the elaborate birthday cake and dropped it into the hottest part of the fire, using the poker to make sure it was totally consumed. It was a pity to waste food when it was in short supply in the whole country, but she wouldn’t like to hurt Cook’s feelings.

  When she rang to have the table cleared, she sent the cake back with her compliments and instructions that all the servants were to have a piece. How Cook had got the ingredients for it she had to wonder, but then they always ate better than most folk and she guessed that was because of her father’s black market contacts.

  The evening passed pleasantly. She allowed herself one small glass of his brandy, on the principle of doing something to mark the occasion, and settled down to read the new novel she’d bought herself as a birthday present from the bookshop near the station. She kept an eye on the clock and went to bed before he was likely to return. Sometimes he didn’t come home till the small hours of the morning, but you could never be sure.

  As she brushed her hair out in front of the dressing table mirror, she turned from side to side, thinking how much more flattering it looked loose. Her mother had always said she had beautiful hair, the dark brown showing auburn highlights. But she always pulled it back into a low, very tight knot which sometimes made her head ache, and she frizzed the short hair at the front into an unflattering fringe, using pipe cleaners. Tonight she wouldn’t do that, she decided, because very soon now, she hoped not to be here for him to notice the change.

  Tucking the ends of her hair into her dressing gown, she tried to see what it would look like bobbed. One rather dashing member of their Comforts for the Troops ladies’ group had had a bob and it had been much admired. It must be so much easier to manage shorter hair.

  So now, Serena thought as she climbed into bed, she had turned thirty and was legally mistress of her inheritance. But first she’d have to prise it out of him and that would be difficult, she was sure. He liked to control everything in the house, especially money.

  And he was going to be furious when she left home, absolutely furious, not because he would miss her but because it would reflect badly on him if she left for any reason other than marriage.

  He would soon realise as well that he’d lost a very efficient housekeeper, which she knew she was. She’d taken over that job from her mother years ago and had done it well, but she’d never received a word of thanks or praise from him, only blame or cold silences if something didn’t please him. She hoped he wouldn’t take his anger out on the servants after she’d left.

  The next day Vic arrived at the Lodge at nine o’clock prompt to pick up Marcus and take him into Tinsley to see his aunt’s lawyer.

  “You look a bit better today, Captain,” he said cheerfully.

  “Against all the odds I slept really well, thank you. I had a piece of dry bread and a couple of apples for breakfast.” He pulled a wry face. “We’ll go and see the lawyer first, I think, then do some shopping. He’s a distant relative but I only met him once, when my father died, so can’t really remember him: Justin Redway of Bridge Lane.”

  “Whatever you say, sir. I’m at your service. Oh, and—” Vic hesitated, “—I may have found someone to help you out in the house. Well, it’s the girl I’m going to marry, actually. She’s been working in the munitions factory over the other side of Tinsley, but they’re laying off workers so she needs to find something else. She used to work as a maid at the Hall. We’re saving up to get married, but we can’t do that till I’m earning enough, and even then we have to find a house to rent. There’s a shortage of houses round here because no new ones were built during the war.”

  “What’s your young lady called?”

  “Pearl Diggle, sir. She lives just down the road from you with her parents in that row of seven cottages on the outskirts of the village. You’ll want to meet her first, of course, and her mother wants to meet you.” He grinned. “Bit of a tartar, Mrs Diggle, thinks a lot of her girl. She terrifies the life out of me. I’m lodging with Pearl’s grandmother and she’s just the same.”

  “You don’t look the terrified sort.”

  “Ah, well, I get on all right with most folk. But I have to watch my step with the Diggles, I can tell you.”

  “When is your young woman free? Can we go round to see her on the way back?”

  “She’ll not be home from work till after seven, sir. I’ll bring her round to the Lodge later, if that’s all right. Oh, and she’s a canary. Thought I’d better tell you in advance so you aren’t surprised at how she looks.”

  “I honour the women who’ve put up with yellow skin for the sake of the war effort. Where would we soldiers have been without them making our shells?”

  “It’s her hair that still surprises me, more than her face even,” Vic said with another of his grins. “Ginger it is at the front now, which isn’t flattering. Her hair’s dark brown usually, lovely colour. But the ginger will grow out, they say, once she’s not handling the TNT and her skin will go back to its normal colour too. She used to have lovely rosy cheeks.”

  The elderly mare clopped the two miles into Tinsley and Vic dropped Marcus off at the lower end of Bridge Lane. “I’ll be over there by the river, sir, when you’ve finished. There’s a horse trough and it’s quite sheltered. This old girl won’t mind a bit of a rest. She’s past working really, but there weren’t any other horses available when I was setting up. All the good ones got sent off to war, poor things.”

  Marcus made his way slowly up the narrow street and soon found Justin Redway’s rooms.

  There was an elderly clerk in the front room who became very attentive once he found out who this unexpected customer was, fussing over Marcus, offering him a cup of tea and apologising that he’d have to wait until Mr Redway had finished with his first client.

  Accepting the offer of tea, Marcus went across to a hard, upright chair by the window and sank down on it with a sigh of relief. He was stupidly weak still and probably ought to be resting, only there seemed to be too many problems to sort out and no one but him to do that.

  Twenty minutes later he was shown in to see Redway, whom he recognised vaguely, a sprightly gentleman with silver hair, probably in his mid-sixties.

  Justin gestured to a chair. “I suppose you’ve come about the will.”

  �
��Well, my aunt’s maid suggested I see you, because someone has to sort things out and I seem to be the only one left.”

  “Yes. She wrote to you about Lawrence dying, I believe?”

  “So she says, but the letter never reached me, I’m afraid. I came home yesterday to find my aunt in bed and the Hall very run down. My aunt went into hysterics at the mere sight of me and when I spoke to Gladys, who now seems to be acting as cook, she said the tradesmen hadn’t been paid for a while. Obviously there are financial problems so I wondered if there was anything I could do to help.”

  “Hmm. So you’re not aware of how things have been left?”

  Marcus shook his head.

  “Well, the fact is your cousin Lawrence left everything to you, with the proviso that you provide a home for your aunt and look after her until she dies.”

  “Me? But—Lawrence and I didn’t get on. He was older than me and used to bully me unmercifully when I was little. I thought he’d have left everything to one of the relatives he does like.”

  “There aren’t many others left now, well not close ones, anyway, and most of them are elderly and—disapproving.”

  “Of what?”

  “His gambling. Lawrence realised he wouldn’t make old bones after being gassed so he made a will. He said—” Justin broke off and shrugged. “Well, that’s not relevant now.”

  “You may as well tell me everything.”

  The other gave him a wry smile. “Well, Lawrence said it’d serve you right if he died before his mother and you were lumbered with her as well as a pile of debts. She was upset about his gambling, tried to get him to stop.”

  Marcus drew a deep breath. This was getting worse by the minute. “Oh. Did he gamble locally?”

  “Oh, yes. He could always find himself a game.”

  “Who with?”

  Justin hesitated. “It’s only hearsay.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Fellow called Fleming, another called Hammerton. They’re the two ringleaders. They use the private rooms at the Gentlemen’s Club for it, I gather. The war didn’t stop them. The Government couldn’t ration gambling, after all. Your aunt even confronted Fleming in the street once, haranguing him, though what good she thought that would do, I don’t know. He’s not a man to antagonise.”

  “I don’t remember much about him.”

  “Shrewd fellow, made a lot of money in the war.”

  “But you don’t sound as if you like him?”

  Justin shrugged. “I don’t have much to do with him, except when I try to get a bit of justice for his tenants.” He waited a moment, then added, “So there you are, proud owner of the Hall.”

  “I’m not sure I even want the place. Perhaps there’s someone else it could go to? I was thinking of selling the Lodge and going out to Australia, actually, because I fancy living in a sunnier climate.”

  Justin grimaced. “I’m afraid you can’t legally turn down the bequest. The Hall is yours whether you want it or not, and if you don’t look after things, what will happen to your aunt? She needs caring for, hasn’t been well lately, I’m afraid. She’s had a hard time of it over the past decade. Your uncle mismanaged things and they had to sell off most of the land. If your cousin had lived much longer, there’d have been nothing left for you to inherit, but if you’re careful, you may be able to turn things round. There’s still the home farm and a few cottages bringing in rents, plus one or two investments.”

  “Hell and damnation!” Marcus couldn’t bear to sit still for a minute longer and went across to stare out of the window, grateful when Justin left him in peace for a few moments. He felt helpless as well as angry because you couldn’t abandon an elderly relative to her fate or walk away from the family inheritance, and Lawrence had damned well known it. After taking a minute or two longer to calm down, he turned round and limped back to his chair. “You’d better give me all the details.”

  “I don’t know everything yet. But I’ll tell you what I’ve found out so far . . . ”

  When he left the lawyer’s rooms, Marcus carried a box crammed with papers and his head was spinning with figures. He’d authorised Redway to obtain statements from the various tradesmen of bills unpaid and until he knew the total, he couldn’t do much.

  As he walked slowly down the lane to the river, he felt as if he’d had a heavy burden placed on his shoulders, not an inheritance.

  Vic looked up as he limped across to the cab, gave him one of those shrewd, intelligent looks that seemed to be so much a part of the man. “Bad news, sir?”

  Marcus nodded and stood clutching the box. He couldn’t think of this man as an inferior, not after playing with him as a lad. And certainly not after fighting with chaps like him, seeing their bravery, listening to their hopes and fears, holding their hands when they were dying. “Not good news, well, I don’t think so, anyway. I’ve been left the Hall, together with the responsibility of providing for my aunt, but there are debts so things aren’t going to be easy. I may even have to sell up to pay off the creditors. I’m coming back to see Mr Redway after I’ve thought things over and we’ll do some proper planning then.”

  His companion gave him a twisted smile. “I wouldn’t mind your problems, nonetheless. You’ll have a fine house to live in, so you’ve at least got somewhere to bring a bride.”

  “I’ve no intention of marrying until I’ve cleared up the mess at the Hall. I haven’t had much chance to meet eligible young women in the past year or two, and anyway, this will probably put many of them off.” Marcus indicated his scarred cheek.

  “Shouldn’t think so. Decent women don’t care about things like that.”

  “What do they care about? Money? I shan’t be rich, either.” He smiled and turned up his face to the winter sun for a moment. “Ah, I suppose you’re right. I’m lucky really. It’s just—I was going to sell up and go out to Australia, so I’m feeling a bit disappointed.”

  “Too hot for me out there, I reckon, from what I’ve heard. Besides ...” Vic looked across the river towards the blue-green outlines of the moors in the distance, “ . .. this is home.”

  “Where did you serve?”

  “Mostly in France.”

  “Rank?”

  Vic hesitated, then said, “Sergeant. They were going to send me to officer school last year, but this happened and I got discharged instead.” He gestured towards his leg.

  “You must have done well.”

  The other shrugged. “I did my duty, we all did. What choice did we have?”

  “They didn’t promote just anyone. My cousin Lawrence remained a lieutenant for years, right until he was invalided out. And look, I’d prefer it if you stopped calling me sir from now on.

  After what we’ve both been through, such distinctions seem stupid to me. We were always Vic and Marcus when we were lads, let’s keep it that way?”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” At the other’s nod of agreement, he added, “I’ve a proposition to make you, Vic, and a job offer of sorts. It’d bring in more than driving a cab and there’d be living quarters with it.”

  “I’m very interested in that, sir—I mean, Marcus.”

  “Good. Let’s find some tea rooms and get something to eat and drink. I’m ravenous this morning.”

  They left the horse and cab in the charge of an old man, whose eyes brightened at the offer of a shilling for minding them, and went up to Yorkshire Road to Tinsley’s only tea room.

  Marcus leaned back in his chair. “I’m ravenous. Haven’t been so hungry for weeks, actually.”

  “Well, they’ll only be small scones,” Vic warned him. “Rationing, you know. There’s a fixed size to what this place can serve with morning tea, one and a half ounces of bread or cake, not both. I found out when I got back that they feed the troops much better than they do the civilians.”

  “Then how the hell do I get a decent meal?”

  “We’ll go and register you with the grocer and butcher—they did give you a ration
book when you left the convalescent home, didn’t they?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then we’ll buy some food and take it back to Pearl’s mother. Mrs Diggle will cook it for you and make it spin out. It’s not a meatless day today—Wednesday and Fridays, those are outside London—so you may be able to get something at the butcher’s.”

  A surly waitress brought their food and slopped away again in shoes that seemed too loose.

  They were the only customers at the moment, so could talk freely.

  “About this offer of yours . . . ” Vic prompted.

  “I’m not sure of the details yet, but I’m definitely going to need help. You can tell me what you’d consider a suitable wage—I have some money of my own saved so you needn’t be afraid I won’t be able to pay you—and I can offer you and Pearl accommodation at the Hall. God knows, there are enough rooms there gathering dust. It’s one thing I have plenty of—space. If I move into the Hall, I can rent out the Lodge and that’ll bring in something. If Pearl could help out in the house as well and I’d pay her the going wage.”

  “What would I be doing exactly?”

  Marcus spread his hands wide in an admission of uncertainty. “Anything and everything. And so will I, once I’ve recovered. Part of the time you could ply your trade with the cab. There’s be some physical work, even digging in the garden if necessary, though not as much of that at this time of year. Then you could drive me around. Who knows what else? It won’t be like the old days of being in service, I promise you, we’d be working as a team. I couldn’t treat a fellow soldier as an inferior, or a woman who’s worked in munitions either.”

  Vic’s face creased into a grin and he held out his hand. “I accept your offer, Marcus.”

  As the two men solemnly shook hands, he added, “Sounds more interesting than driving a cab, which means a lot of hanging around, and to be frank I get bored. It was all I could think of to do, though, because Pearl won’t move away from Horton. Fond of her family, she is. And well, I’d do anything to keep her.”