by Anna Jacobs
Perhaps as magistrate you can persuade my daughter to be sensible.”
The stranger nodded a greeting but didn’t move forward to take Fleming’s outstretched hand.
He took his time, looking from one person to the other, studying their faces before he spoke.
“Since there seems to be a dispute about who owns this property, I shall have to close the cottage to everyone until I’ve reviewed the evidence, I’m afraid.”
Serena gasped. “But I’ll have nowhere to live!”
Justin murmured, “I’m sure my cousin Evadne will take you in.”
“Or you could come home with me,” Fleming turned to the magistrate. “The recent death of her mother has upset her and she’s behaving rather irrationally, I’m afraid.”
“I’m not behaving at all irrationally!” she said at once. “I’m merely trying to claim my inheritance.”
Ignoring her, he looked at the magistrate, confident of his support.
Marley turned to her, his polite tone in great contrast to that of her father. “I’m afraid I really must close the cottage for the time being, Miss Fleming.”
“Then I’ll need to retrieve my clothes and some food I’d bought.”
“She’s not stealing any of the contents,” Fleming said at once. “I’ve sold them to these men here, who specialise in disposing of deceased estates. Be reasonable, Serena! You can’t possibly want the old furniture your aunt’s maid left you.”
She looked at him. “I wasn’t aware she’d left me anything, had assumed the furniture must have belonged to my godmother. Why did I not hear about her maid’s will?”
“You are getting forgetful. I showed it to you weeks ago.”
“No, you didn’t! And you’ve given me no money for any of these sales.”
For a moment his anger showed through then he glanced at the others. “It’s waiting for you in my bank account. Since you ran away immediately after your birthday I haven’t been able to discuss it with you.”
“Well, now you can discuss it with me,” Justin said calmly. “In fact, since I’m her lawyer, I’ll be happy to receive it on my client’s behalf.”
Serena nodded. “Thank you.”
“Go and get your things now, Miss Fleming,” Marley said with a puzzled glance in her father’s direction. “I’ll have to check exactly what you’re taking, though, I’m afraid.”
“I could go in and help her,” Marcus said. “I’d be able to bear witness then as to exactly what she’s packed.”
Justin looked from him to Serena and smiled, “Thank you, my dear fellow. I’ll be better employed keeping an eye on these two, in case they make any other slanderous charges against my client. I’d hate to have to bring an action for slander against them.”
Fleming glared at him, breathing deeply. He didn’t speak but there was a vicious look behind his calm expression and a rigidity to his body which said he wasn’t really as calm as he appeared.
Serena led the way inside, stopping for a moment to pull out her handkerchief and wipe her eyes. She then blew her nose and straightened her shoulders. “I’ll just go up and pack my things.”
“I think it might be best if I came with you, Miss Fleming.”
She hesitated then nodded, but when they got to the bedroom she blushed to see her underclothing scattered across the bed where she had pulled things out of her holdall when she dressed in a hurry this morning.
“It must have been hard for you growing up with a father like that,” Marcus said.
“That man is not my father.” Then she clapped one hand across her mouth and stared at him in consternation. “I didn’t mean to tell anyone that.”
“I’ll keep it to myself, though I can’t help wondering what makes you say it.”
For some reason, she felt comfortable confiding in him. “My mother told me on her deathbed and I believed her. My real father is a man called James Lang, but her parents wouldn’t let her marry him. He disappeared on the very day my mother and he had planned to run away together, so they made her marry Fleming to stop the scandal—she was already expecting me, you see. She apparently had a very large dowry.”
As she spoke she looked towards the front of the house from where her so-called father’s voice could be heard. “I believed her. I’d always wondered why I couldn’t love him—and why he was so cold towards me. It was an enormous relief to me to find that I’m not related to him. But though he overheard her telling me, he’s made it plain to me since that he still considers himself my father, I suppose because of the scandal it’d cause if people found out that he wasn’t. I haven’t told anyone else about this because I don’t want to blacken my mother’s name and also because if I spoke out, who knows what he would do?”
“You can be assured that I’ll keep the information to myself. I’m honoured that you trust me.”
She began packing her things into the holdall, stopping once to say, “And how dare he imply my wits are addled! As if I’d not remember signing a contract to sell the house.”
“You haven’t received any money from the sale?”
“I’ve not even received any from my annuity for the past fifteen years, let alone . . . ” Her voice trailed away and her mouth fell open in surprise as she suddenly realised something.
“That’s why he wants to continue the fiction that I’m his daughter. He must have been taking my money. But why? He’s a successful businessman. Why does he need my money as well?”
“He could have debts.”
“Debts?”
“From his gambling.”
She stared at him. “Gambling?”
“Yes. It’s known in the town that certain gentlemen like to have a flutter at that club they all belong to. But it’s not as well known that considerable sums of money are won and lost. My cousin Lawrence was one of those who lost. If he’d gone on playing much longer, I’d have had nothing to inherit except the care of my aunt.”
She went to fetch the rest of her clothes from a drawer, shaking her head as she tried to take in this new information. It would explain so much. Fleming’s bad moods for no reason that anyone could work out. His meanness with money lately.
When she’d closed the holdall, she turned to her companion again. “I don’t know what I’m going to do. I’ve not got much money of my own, but if I go back to my former home, he will make my life a living hell.” She dashed away a tear with the back of one hand.
Marcus hesitated, wondering if he was being a fool, then decided he had every right to be a fool if he wanted. “If you need somewhere to live, you can come to the Hall. There are plenty of spare bedrooms there.”
She gaped at him. “I couldn’t do that! I don’t know you. And it wouldn’t be—well, proper.”
“Vic’s fiancée, the daughter of your neighbour Mrs Diggle, is coming to live there and could no doubt come earlier, to keep you company, if that’ll make you feel safer. There are also two elderly maids and my widowed aunt at the Hall, and I’m still living at the Lodge.”
Serena looked at him, doubt warring with hope in her eyes.
“I mean it. It’ll be no trouble to me and you can keep an eye on your property from there.”
“You believe me, then?”
“Oh, yes.”
“And you don’t think I’m losing my wits?”
“I’m sure you’re not. Just as I’m sure your so-called father is not the successful businessman he likes to appear, but a reckless gambler.”
“Thank you. I’ll take you up on your offer, then.” As Serena finished packing her things, her thoughts were in turmoil. She couldn’t understand why this near stranger had offered to help her, so in the end she closed the bag with a snap and asked him. “Why?”
“Why am I helping you? Mainly because I’d help anyone who ran foul of that man and because I believe you. There’s also something else, something I’ve never told anyone.” For some reason he didn’t mind sharing his thoughts and feelings with her. “When I realised I’d sur
vived the carnage of the War, I vowed to put my life to good use and to help as many people as I could.
It may sound quixotic and foolish, but that’s important to me after seeing so much death and destruction. So many fine men didn’t make it. There has to be a reason I did.”
“It doesn’t sound silly to me. Some people would say I’m the foolish one, running away from a comfortable home. Only it was more like a prison to me, a place where I had to guard every word, think carefully about every action, even dress dowdily.”
Suddenly she felt hopeful again. “Thank you, Mr Graye. I accept your offer of accommodation, but I would be grateful if Miss Diggle could come and live at the Hall too.”
“I’ll arrange it. Let’s go down and face them, then.”
At the foot of the stairs she paused. “I have some food in the kitchen. I can’t let it go to waste, not in times like these. Just a minute.”
She came back shortly with a shopping bag full of lumpy shapes. “I’m ready.” But she didn’t move and her face was full of apprehension as she looked at the door.
He smiled down at her. “You’ll not be alone.”
Her answering smile faded quickly, but she began moving towards the front door.
Chapter 5
When Fleming and Hammerton had driven away, Justin looked at Marcus. “Can I get your fellow to give Marley and myself a ride back into Tinsley?”
“Of course. Vic . . . ?”
Vic looked at Marcus and said in a low voice, “You’re looking tired. Shouldn’t I take you back to the Lodge first? These gentlemen won’t mind, I’m sure.”
“No. I’ll walk there slowly with Miss Fleming. Give us a chance to talk. You could pick her bags up on the way back, though. We’ll leave them with Mrs Diggle.”
“If you’re sure.”
“I am.”
Justin went over to Serena. “Can you come to see me this afternoon. I don’t think we should waste any time deciding what to do.”
“Yes, of course.” Then she turned to Marcus with a smile and he offered her his arm.
In the cab on the way back to town, Marley looked at his old friend. “On the face of it, right is on Fleming’s side.”
“On the face of it . . . but I believe her.”
“I do too, though I’d deny saying that. How did you come to be representing Fleming’s daughter anyway?”
“Evadne brought her to see me and I couldn’t resist the irony of it.”
“Bring her to my rooms this afternoon and I’ll take a statement, ask her a few questions. We’ll also get some samples of her signature for comparison.”
“I don’t suppose you’d give me an order to search Fleming’s records and accounts this very afternoon?”
“Not without good reason. After I’ve questioned Miss Fleming, perhaps, if I think it’s warranted. He’s a tricky customer and is on good terms with my fellow magistrate.”
“No one knows better than I do how tricky he is. Just keep an open mind, eh? I find Miss Fleming extremely rational, by the way. Why does he keep harping on that?”
“To discredit what she says, I suppose. Don’t worry. I’ll keep a very open mind.” He grinned.
“Though I never did like the man. For all his parade of wealth, he’s not a gentleman.”
Left alone with Miss Fleming, Marcus looked down at her luggage. “I’ll ask Mrs Diggle if we can leave these with her for Vic to bring up to the Hall and also, if Pearl can move in with you tonight.”
“You’re being very kind.”
He picked up her two bags, but she took the basket off him and they went across together to the next cottage.
Afterwards they walked slowly along the road towards the Lodge and she could see that he was in some discomfort. Her eyes kept going to the great carved sweeps of the moors that sat watch over the village. There was dirty-looking snow in patches in hollows on the highest parts and the slopes below were wearing their dull winter colours. It must be pretty out here in summer, she thought, and closed her eyes for a moment to beg whatever fate was hovering over her to let her keep her little house, even if she lost most of her money.
Above all, she needed to stay away from Ernest Fleming. Why he was trying to coerce her to go back to him, she couldn’t think. Surely he didn’t care that much about what people thought and said?
Or did he just need her money?
The Lodge was only about three hundred yards from the row of cottages but by the time it came into sight, Marcus was looking pale so she stopped as if to look at it in order to give him a rest. “This is your home, isn’t it, the one where you grew up?”
“Yes. But it’s only a house . . . not a home.”
She didn’t answer but could understand that feeling all too well. “You’re looking tired. I think you should rest for a while.” It was then she noticed it: blood seeping through the grey cloth of his trousers on the right side. “You’re bleeding! Why didn’t you tell me you’d been hurt?”
He looked down and grimaced. “I didn’t think it was enough to worry about. It was a deep wound and it’s taking a while to heal fully, you see.”
“I’ve done some first aid. Let me have a look at it.” She took his arm and he leaned on her as they walked up the path to the front door of the Lodge.
Inside she took charge in no uncertain manner, ordering him to take his trousers off and lie down on the sofa. He hesitated because he wasn’t exactly used to undressing in front of young women who weren’t nurses, then that side of his body throbbed again and he felt the sticky ooze of blood, so knew he had no choice but to let her tend it. He heard her run upstairs and then she came back with a blanket to cover him.
He could tell she was trying not to show her embarrassment, but she had probably never seen a man clad only in his underwear before. Fortunately for their mutual modesty, he was wearing knee-length under-drawers of wool, not full-length pants like older men wore, so he wouldn’t need to take those off to expose the wound, which was just above the knee.
She rolled up the bottom edge of his drawers with fingers that trembled a little, then checked his injuries. “This must have been bad.”
“It’s a lot better than it was.” He enjoyed watching her. She was holding her head on one side like a neat little sparrow, and she had a delightful air of earnestness that he found very attractive.
“Is it just the one place that’s bleeding?”
“What? Oh, yes. Well, I think so. The others are—”
“You have other wounds? Show me.”
“I don’t think they’re bleeding, thought they did get knocked a bit.”
She pulled the blanket off him before he could say anything else and repeated, “Show me!”
He took off his jacket and began to unbutton his shirt. “I’m sure these are all right. See.
There’s no blood on my vest.”
“It’d be sensible to check them properly.”
“Oh, very well!” He tugged up his vest and exposed the other wounds in his right side. The dressings were unmarked by blood, but that side was a mess still, not fully healed yet with pink scars everywhere and a few scabs flaking away. Her fingers danced over his flesh, tender, light as butterflies. When she raised her eyes to his face, he waited for the look of revulsion or pity, but it didn’t come. Instead she seemed thoughtful as she studied his scarred cheek.
“Your wounds seem to be healing well, and luckily for you, this time you were hit on the forehead not the cheek. I think you must have bumped the wound on your leg against something when you were struggling with that man who wanted to take my furniture away.”
“I bumped it against his boot.”
“He kicked you?”
Marcus nodded. It should have been embarrassing to lie here half-clad in front of a near stranger, but instead it felt comforting to have Serena tending him. Her eyes, he discovered, were beautiful, clear blue with a dark ring defining the border of the iris.
“But this latest injury won’t have done
the big wound on your leg any good. I’m so sorry you got hurt defending me.”
“I’m not. It was worth it.”
This time her glance was startled, as if she doubted her own ears, then she flushed slightly and rushed into speech. “I think I should bathe it and put on a new dressing. It’s time that is the healer in such cases, I was taught, time and scrupulous cleanliness.”
“Yes, you’re right. I have some clean dressings in my drawer upstairs. Are you sure you know how to change one?”
“I did a First Aid course in ’16, though I never got to use my skills except for a short time practising in the local infirmary, because I had to look after my mother.”
“What was wrong with her?”
The words were out before she could stop them. “Severe arthritis plus years of being married to Ernest Fleming. She was very low in spirits for the last year or two, and if I hadn’t been there—well, I don’t know what would have happened. Towards the end she worried a lot about what would become of me after her death.”
“With reason, it seems.”
“Yes.” It was as much a sigh as a word. “I’ll just fetch those dressings.”
He watched as she dealt with his wound, working as deftly as she seemed to do everything else. He had a desperate urge to tug the pins out of that hard little knot of hair she wore, because it had looked so pretty spilling over her shoulders this morning and it was a shame to hide it. But of course he didn’t. “You’re good at that.”
“I wanted to volunteer for the VADs. I had it all planned, was going to apply through the Red Cross to drive ambulances in France, but he wouldn’t let me learn to drive a motor car. He said he needed me at home to look after my mother and threatened to make her suffer for it if I left.”
“He threatened you with that?”
“Not in so many words, but that was what he meant. You heard him today, telling me that the only way I’d get any of my money would be to go back and live with him. What I don’t understand is how he can legally keep it from me.” She was silent for a moment or two, then finished her tale. “So anyway, in the end I stayed in Tinsley. All I could do to help was roll bandages and knit comforts for the troops. I felt ashamed of doing so little for the war effort.”