Heir to Greyladies

by Anna Jacobs

  She smiled at the way they were looking at her with exactly the same sulky but wary expressions they’d worn when scolded as children in her classroom. Though she’d loved teaching, she was glad a small legacy had allowed her to retire while she still had some life and energy left. She wanted to do other things than teach before she met her Maker, but most of all, she wanted to finish her history of the Latimer family.

  She found the continuity of old traditions here in the heart of Wiltshire rather comforting in this hectic new world, where speed and money seemed to be more important than people’s lives.

  Railways had been taking people to every corner of the country since she was a girl. She was used to that, though she had no desire to dash around England like a madwoman. And at least the trains were kept away from people using the roads.

  She wasn’t at all sure about these new-fangled motor cars, like the one Damian Latimer drove. Now that the Red Flag Act didn’t apply to them, and no one had to walk in front of each vehicle carrying a flag to warn passers-by of the danger, motor cars were whizzing along at speeds of up to 14 miles an hour, knocking down and killing people not used to them. She had read of several such accidents in the Swindon Advertiser, her favourite daily newspaper.

  As for telephones, she didn’t know what to think about them. All she knew was, there wasn’t one in the village and people seemed to manage perfectly well without.

  Every now and then she wondered what would happen next, what marvels she’d see before she died. Some said men would build flying machines that took people quickly from one place to another, but she didn’t believe that. How could heavier-than-air machines possibly stay up in the sky?

  Greyladies wouldn’t change, though. She felt quite sure of that. It had been there since the sixteenth century, and would still be there in the twenty-first, as her history of it would show.

  She went home and was guilty of going up to her attic and leaning out of the dormer window to see what was happening at the big house. But all she could see was a carriage standing outside and a gentleman pacing up and down near it. It looked like the family lawyer, whom she’d met a few times, but she couldn’t see him well enough to be certain.

  Sadly, her eyesight wasn’t very good these days and her new spectacles only made things close at hand clearer, so that she could read more easily and see across a room. But she did hope the question of an heir had been resolved. Oh, she did. She was longing to get back to her research.

  Harriet walked slowly up the worn stone steps to the front door. When it opened of its own accord, she expected to see a servant of some sort standing there, but there was no one.

  She didn’t feel frightened, though she still felt like a visitor, not the owner.

  As she stepped into the hall she heard a bell tolling somewhere, not a loud bell like the ones in churches, but one that sounded smaller, with a very melodious tone.

  Three times the bell rang out, there was a pause, then it rang three more times.

  She was just about to carry on exploring when it began to ring again, so she waited. But after three more peals there was only silence.

  Three times three, she thought and wondered where she got the phrase from.

  Presumably this was to welcome the new owner, but who had been ringing the bell, and why? Was there someone in the kitchen?

  In front of her she saw shafts of coloured light reflected into the hall through the stained glass window above the front door. She walked through the light, holding out her hands and enjoying the sight of the bright patterns of jewel colours flowing across her skin.

  When she reached the shadows beyond, she twisted round to look up at the window, and saw a scene of beauty, with a garden of flowers in the foreground, and a small building and one grey-clad figure in the distance.

  ‘How lovely!’ she said aloud, then glanced round guiltily. Her voice had sounded much louder than usual, though she’d spoken quietly. There must be an echo in here.

  She moved to the foot of the stairs at the rear of a spacious hall that was bigger than the whole ground floor of the house where she’d grown up, calling out, ‘Is anyone there?’

  Her words echoed back to her. ‘Anyone there … anyone there …’

  Still no one came to see who had entered the house. She should have asked Mr Lloyd if there were any servants here still.

  When she listened, she could hear a faint movement. It sounded like a full skirt brushing softly across the floor as its owner walked. Mrs Dalton had evening gowns with skirts that did that.

  ‘Hello?’ she called again, but received no answer, so moved to the foot of the stairs because that sound had definitely come from above her. But there was no one in sight, either on the stairs or the landing that ran round three sides of the hall.

  She had such a strong urge to go up the beautiful wooden stairs that before she could even consider the wisdom of it, her right foot was on the bottom tread. As she climbed, a light began to shine from the landing at the top, faint at first, then growing brighter.

  She looked round for a window, but it wasn’t sunlight this time. She hesitated, then continued.

  The light seemed to be gathering round a portrait hanging on the wall. It was large, showing a life-sized figure of a lady clad in old-fashioned clothes: a long grey skirt, with a grey bodice. The bodice had a square neckline filled in by white lace inserts, and the grey oversleeves spread out over white under-sleeves, edged in lace.

  The lady’s hair was parted in the middle and she had a stiffened half-moon-shaped headdress, from the back of which finer grey material hung down past her shoulders. She was holding up the folds of her skirt with one slender, elegant hand and a pointed shoe peeped from beneath the heavy folds which reached the floor.

  It was the lady’s face which drew Harriet’s eyes again and again as she studied the portrait. Such a wise face, not old but not young either, and beautiful in a gentle way. No, it wasn’t her face that was beautiful, Harriet corrected herself mentally – it was the lady’s expression. She looked out at the world in a kindly way, as if she loved everyone and wanted to help them.

  The faint noise sounded again, coming from Harriet’s right, and she turned to see the shimmering outline of a woman’s figure a few feet away from her, transparent against the oak panelling. As she stared, the figure came into sharper focus and she recognised the lady from the portrait.

  A ghost! But smiling directly at her, it seemed.

  Harriet didn’t feel afraid and couldn’t help smiling back.

  The figure blew her a kiss, then began to fade.

  ‘Don’t go!’

  As the outline wavered, the ghost lady raised one hand in farewell.

  Harriet couldn’t move for a moment. Had she been imagining this? No. She shook her head. The figure had been so real, she couldn’t doubt the spirit existed.

  It felt as if the lady from the picture had been welcoming her to the house, it really did.

  She looked at the picture and saw a small metal plaque at the bottom, saying simply, ‘Anne Latimer’.

  Harriet looked down into the big entrance hall from the landing which ran around three sides of it. Everything was dusty. It needed love and care. She could love it. She could. And who knew better than she did how to care for the interior of a house?

  She walked along the landing, first one way, then the next, peering into the two bedrooms that opened off each longer side, then turning into a corridor which led off at a right angle near the top of the stairs. She found herself in a short wing with two other bedrooms.

  So many rooms!

  Stairs led both up and down from the rear of this wing, probably servants’ stairs, going to the attic or kitchen. But she didn’t go up them because the two men were waiting for her outside and it would be bad manners to keep them waiting any longer.

  ‘I’ll do my best to look after you,’ she whispered to the house as she walked slowly down the stairs.

  Chapter Twelve

  Harri
et went to the front door and called, ‘Would you like to join me inside?’

  ‘We’d love to,’ Joseph said at once, then grimaced as he got down from the carriage onto the uneven gravel. ‘Could someone please bring the wheelchair into the house for me? I can’t push it along myself on such loose surfaces.’

  ‘I’ll do that.’ Mr Lloyd dragged it across and Joseph followed more slowly.

  Harriet watched him, seeing the shame in his face at needing to ask for help and wishing she could do something to help him realise what a wonderful man he was.

  The coachman came round the corner of the house. ‘I’ve found some water, Mr Lloyd. All right if I take the horses round the back now and see to them? I brought some feed for them.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  Frank stood near the carriage. ‘Do you want me to push you round the house, Mr Dalton, or shall I go and help with the horses?’

  ‘I’ll be happy to assist your master, if he needs it,’ Mr Lloyd said. ‘You help with the horses. Oh, and watch out for the cart bringing your luggage. They’ve been told to take it round to the back.’

  Joseph moved towards the house, seeing Harriet waiting for him on the top step, smiling. She never seemed to notice how he walked.

  He smiled back involuntarily. ‘Who’d have thought it, you being left such a big house?’ he said as he reached her side. ‘Isn’t it exciting? How did you feel, going inside? What’s it like?’

  ‘I felt welcome. I’ve only explored upstairs so far, though. I wanted to see the portrait at the top of the stairs.’ She turned and gestured towards it, and was it her imagination or did it brighten as Joseph turned towards it?

  Mr Lloyd had lifted the wheelchair up the steps and now he helped Joseph sit in it, looking beyond her as if expecting to see someone else. ‘I saw the front door open for you, Harriet. There aren’t supposed to be any servants here but someone must have done that.’

  ‘No. It just … opened of its own accord.’

  He looked puzzled. ‘But I locked it myself last time I was here.’

  ‘Perhaps someone else has a key?’ Joseph suggested.

  Harriet took a deep breath and risked the lawyer’s scorn. ‘When I went up to the landing, I saw the Lady. Her ghost, anyway. I think she was welcoming me to the house.’

  Joseph frowned at her. ‘The Lady?’

  ‘The owner of this house is always called “the Lady”,’ Mr Lloyd said.

  Harriet nodded eagerly. ‘There’s a portrait of her at the top of the stairs and she … materialised next to it. I wasn’t imagining it. I really did see her.’ She looked uncertainly at Mr Lloyd. ‘I know you don’t believe in ghosts, but I did see her.’

  ‘I believe you,’ Joseph said.

  ‘Well, I don’t believe in ghosts when I’m elsewhere,’ Mr Lloyd admitted, ‘but when I’m here they seem all too real. And the Lady always comes to welcome a new owner – if that owner is the one who was meant. It’s a good sign.’

  ‘I heard a bell too. Three times three.’

  He nodded. ‘Yes. That’s what they say is the proof that the right person has taken over. Three times three, as the saying goes.’

  ‘I wish I’d seen your ghost,’ Joseph said wistfully.

  ‘Perhaps you will one day. I’ve not been into the rooms on this floor, so let’s look at them together now. Shall we start with this one?’

  Mr Lloyd fell back to let them go first.

  ‘What a lovely room!’ Joseph exclaimed involuntarily as they went through the door on the right.

  ‘They call this the sitting room,’ Mr Lloyd said.

  The room was timeless and comfortable in appearance, not smart and fussy like his mother’s rooms. Two big armchairs took pride of place at either side of the fireplace and a large sofa stood between them. Another smaller armchair was set to one side of the square bay window.

  ‘Let’s look out of the window,’ Harriet said and began to push him, knowing it was harder for him to move the chair about on carpet.

  Joseph let her take him wherever she wanted, feeling very happy for her. His father would throw a fit of rage when he found out his former maid had been left a large house. Joseph wished he could be there to see it. No, he didn’t. He didn’t want to be anywhere but with Harriet.

  He and the lawyer would have to find some way to protect her, though. He couldn’t bear the thought of anyone hurting her. He glanced down at his body. He couldn’t do much physically, but perhaps he could use his brain to help her. Or hire somebody strong. He’d mention it to Frank.

  He watched Harriet sit down at a small desk set invitingly at one side of the bay window. ‘What a lovely place to read or write letters! That view must be beautiful in the summer when everything’s in bloom. It’s very pretty still.’

  A path curved through the flowerbeds to an open wooden gate with a stone arch above it. Through it some ruins could be seen.

  Joseph managed to roll his chair forward to her side. ‘I wonder if I could get down that path. I’d love to explore the ruins. Wouldn’t you?’

  ‘I’ll push you, or Frank will. I want to explore every corner of this house and the grounds. Oh, Joseph, isn’t it wonderful? Who would have thought it could be mine?’

  ‘I’m so glad for you.’

  ‘I’ll try my best to look after it, to be worthy of the trust placed in me.’

  Her voice seemed to echo and something made him add, ‘And I’ll help you in every way I can.’

  She came to stand in front of him. ‘Does that mean you’ll stay here?’

  ‘If you’re sure you want me to.’

  ‘Of course I do. You’re my only friend, and you know so much more about the world than I do. I shall need your help.’

  He laughed then, a laugh tinged with bitterness. He had never wished more fervently that he’d been born normal than since he’d met Harriet.

  She smiled back at him serenely. ‘We’ll learn about Greyladies and the world around it together. It’ll be a joy.’

  ‘A joy,’ he thought. She was the real joy in his life. Every day he was more sure of that.

  ‘Let’s go round the rest of the ground floor.’ Harriet didn’t wait for his answer, but pushed the wheelchair out into the hall where Mr Lloyd was now sitting, smiling at their eagerness. He waved them on.

  Behind the sitting room was a dining room with a massive table. It had a very ugly ornament in the centre that made them grimace. ‘That has to be put away,’ Harriet said. ‘It’s horrible. It’d put me off my food.’

  On the other side of the entrance was a library with two of its walls lined by shelves of books, all higgledy-piggledy as if they’d been read many times and replaced rather carelessly.

  ‘Look at all the books!’ they chorused, then laughed at themselves.

  ‘Plenty to read here.’ He looked longingly at the shelves, dying to check the titles, but she wasn’t having that. She wanted to see all the rooms on this floor.

  There was a small sitting room behind the library, then two doors at the rear of the hall. Harriet left him and peeped through the door on the right. ‘It’s just the kitchen. I can look at that later. Let’s try the other door.’

  Unfortunately it was locked.

  Mr Lloyd came to join them. ‘How do you like your house, Harriet?’

  ‘I love it. Do you have a key to this door, Mr Lloyd? I can’t bear to be locked out of part of my own home.’ Oh, how wonderful it was to say the words ‘my own home’!

  ‘Yes, I do have a key. But this door only leads into the oldest part of the house, the original guest house of the abbey. It’s not used now and it’s kept locked because we’re not sure it’s safe, especially upstairs. You should only go a little way inside and not upstairs until it’s been checked out.’

  When he pulled a heavy old key out of his briefcase, she held out her hand. ‘Please let me open it.’

  ‘There you are. You can lead the way in and I’ll push Mr Dalton.’

  ‘I can roll my
wheelchair myself if the floor continues to be wood, as long as it doesn’t have any rugs.’

  Harriet was relieved when Joseph held out one hand to keep the lawyer back. He seemed to know instinctively that she wanted to go in on her own at first. She turned the heavy key in the lock and moved forward.

  The room was about twenty foot long and twelve foot wide, with big oak beams meeting at points in the centre. There was an old-fashioned table, narrow but long, its wood dark with age and polish. She stopped when she thought she heard faint sounds of people eating and drinking, chatting, and a tinkling sort of music. She shook her head to clear it and the sounds vanished.

  Joseph rolled across to join her. ‘This must have been a medieval hall originally.’ He looked up to the narrow balcony overhanging the far end. ‘Perhaps that was a minstrel’s gallery.’ He frowned.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  He turned back to her. ‘I could have sworn I heard music, a happy tune with a jigging, three-beat rhythm.’

  ‘I heard it too!’

  He glanced back at Mr Lloyd. ‘Shhh. Don’t say anything. He’ll think we’ve lost our wits.’

  ‘Maybe we have.’

  ‘No. I think we’re both finding ourselves.’

  Mr Lloyd came to join them. ‘This part is hardly usable, my dear Miss Latimer. It’s a very primitive type of construction. It’s surprising it’s lasted so long.’

  ‘I like it.’ There were two closed doors along the left side. Harriet went to open them. ‘Empty rooms,’ she said in disappointment. ‘No furniture at all.’

  ‘I don’t think any of the old part of the house is properly furnished, apart from bits and pieces. That table has benches to go with it. They’re stacked somewhere.’ The lawyer looked round in disapproval. ‘I’ve never been upstairs, I must admit, and I don’t intend to risk it. Nor should you.’