Legacy of Greyladies

by Anna Jacobs

  Joe sidled hesitantly up to join them, as if expecting to be sent away. Ethel followed him more confidently.

  ‘A few of them look like new scratches to me,’ the boy said.

  ‘They are new scratches,’ a voice with a heavy German accent said from the other side of the entrance hall. ‘I don’t sleep well, so I get up before the others. The rug was out of place and one corner folded under, so I came across to straighten it.’ He shrugged. ‘We are old, don’t want to fall. I see the scratches near the lock and wonder who has been tampering with it.’

  ‘Do you know about locks, sir?’ Ethel asked.

  ‘Yes. I was a jeweller and sometimes people brought locks to me to unfasten on their trinket boxes. Over the years I learn a lot about how to mend simple locks. Why is the wood scratched, do you think?’

  ‘Someone broke into the old house last night,’ Ethel said before anyone could stop her. ‘We’re trying to find out how, but they locked up after themselves, so we weren’t sure how they did it, whether they came through here.’

  ‘I can look inside the lock for scratches if I fetch my magnifying glass,’ he offered. ‘If you want me to, that is. Or if you want me to go away and not say anything, I can do that too. I don’t want to cause trouble.’

  ‘The trouble has already been caused, Herr Brauchman,’ Captain Turner said. ‘Please fetch your magnifying glass and see what you can tell us about the lock.’

  The old man inclined his head and walked slowly up the stairs.

  ‘He’s a nice old fellow,’ the commandant said. ‘He plays the violin sometimes, and very well too, and he’s been of great help with information about certain matters.’

  ‘Why does that Hatterson say Germans are evil?’ Joe asked suddenly. ‘That old man don’t look evil to me. He looks like my granddad’s brother, Uncle Ralph. Got the same kind smile.’

  ‘Out of the mouths of babes …’ Phoebe said.

  Herr Brauchman came stiffly back, with a bundle wrapped in felt. ‘Please excuse me,’ he said to Phoebe, and she stepped back from the door.

  He set the felt bundle on a nearby chair and unrolled it, taking out a large magnifying glass and a small one. First he examined the area round the lock, making a little grunting noise as he found something.

  ‘Please look through this at the scratch, Herr Commandant,’ he said. ‘It is a new one but someone has tried to disguise it.’

  Captain Turner took the magnifying glass from him and studied the wood. ‘By Jove, yes.’

  When Phoebe looked, she could see the marks quite distinctly, as well as traces of something that had been rubbed into the slight depressions. She passed the glass to Ethel and Joe.

  Herr Brauchman took it back and looked inside the hole. ‘For this I need more light.’

  ‘I have one of the new handheld electric torches.’ Captain Turner hurried to his office at the rear of the hall and came back shortly, waving the metal tube.

  He showed Herr Brauchman how to switch it on and off, and the old man shone it into the keyhole. He made more faint sounds of excitement as he examined the interior, then put down the big magnifying glass and used the small one. ‘This is very strong magnifier for small things. Ah! There are several scratches inside, where they forced the lock. Please check them, Herr Commandant, ladies.’

  Again, everyone looked in turn into the old lock and it was quite obvious that something had scratched the metal inside it recently because the marks were shiny, as if newly made.

  ‘This is how they get in,’ Herr Brauchman said. He looked from one to the other. ‘This lock is old and easy to force. You should put in a better one. I cannot do that, but a good locksmith could and without changing its appearance much.’

  ‘Thank you, Herr Brauchman,’ Phoebe said. ‘But my family has never changed the old lock, not for centuries. I think I’d prefer to have bolts put on the other side of the door, where there used to be some. I don’t know why they were removed.’

  ‘Well. Thank you for your help, Herr Brauchman,’ Captain Turner said. ‘Please don’t discuss this with anyone.’

  The old man nodded, rolled up his pack of tools and walked away. Everyone else turned back to study the door.

  ‘Do you still have the old bolts, Mrs Latimer?’ the commandant asked.

  ‘I think we do. Somewhere in the attic.’

  ‘If you get them out, I’ll find someone to fit them today. We can’t have people breaking into your part of the house from here. What I want to know is how they got into the new part, and I can think of only one way.’

  Silence greeted his words, then Joe blurted out, ‘Someone must have let them in.’

  ‘Yes. That’s what I’m afraid of, lad. There’s no other explanation. I thought all our people were loyal but there must be one who isn’t. Some people get paranoid where Germans and Austrians are concerned, even those who have lived here so long they’re loyal to Britain.’

  He stood for a moment lost in thought, then turned to Phoebe and repeated, ‘So … if you can find the bolts, I’ll see that they’re fixed on to the door before nightfall.’

  ‘Thank you. I think it’s safe to go home this way now, don’t you?’ She took out the only key, a huge iron piece, and inserted it in the lock.

  Joe followed her and Ethel into the old house. ‘I hope you don’t mind me coming through this way, Mrs Latimer, only I get a bit nervous when there’s just me and the commandant.’

  ‘Any lad your age would. He’s used to ordering people round, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yes. He’s worse than my dad.’

  ‘Thank you for keeping an eye on things, Joe.’

  ‘That’s all right, Mrs Latimer. The major pays me and I like doing it. It’s good practice for when I’m called up.’

  ‘Don’t be in a hurry to go,’ Ethel said sharply. ‘Your mother will be terrified every day you’re away.’

  Phoebe knew the maid was thinking of her own son.

  The two women escorted Joe to the back door and he nodded politely to Cook as he went out through the kitchen. Phoebe closed and locked the door immediately after him, then stood staring out of the window, feeling rather numb.

  Corin was right. She had to take great care. A fall today could have made her lose the baby.

  ‘Shall I get your breakfast now, ma’am?’ Cook asked.

  ‘I don’t feel hungry.’

  ‘You have to eat for two now.’

  ‘Do I? Well, a piece of dry toast is all I can face.’

  ‘With an egg on it?’

  She shuddered. ‘No. The mere thought of an egg makes me feel sick. Dry toast, Cook, and only one piece. Is the fire hot enough? If you tell me where the toasting fork is, I’ll toast the bread myself.’

  Cook looked as if she would object, then shrugged. ‘Life’s topsy-turvy these days, isn’t it? I never thought I’d eat my meals with the mistress.’

  ‘If it upsets you, I can go back to eating on my own.’

  ‘Bless you, no, ma’am. The major wouldn’t want you to be lonely and if you’re with us, we can make sure you’re safe.’

  Phoebe found herself nodding off as she slowly forced down the toast, and when Ethel shooed her upstairs for a lie down ‘for the baby’, she went meekly.

  She felt warmed by the kindness of her two servants and the people in the village.

  She lay down on the bed without undressing and didn’t wake till someone started hammering downstairs.

  Ethel opened the kitchen door to a man whose horse and cart were standing in the stable yard.

  ‘I’ve come to put the bolts back on the old connecting door. Walter sent me a message. He knows I only come out now for jobs I enjoy doing. I mended that old door once, years ago that was, when Agnes Latimer looked after the house. Beautiful wood that door is, even after all this time. Oak.’ He paused, head on one side. ‘Aren’t you going to let me in, girl?’

  Ethel laughed. ‘Girl? I’ll have you know I’m fifty.’

  ‘You seem like a girl
to me. I’m past seventy but I can still do a good day’s work, mind.’

  She let him in and he nodded to Cook, who clearly knew him.

  ‘Got any cups of tea handy, missus?’ he asked.

  ‘You always were a cheeky one, John Mullard,’ she said.

  ‘And you always make a good cup of tea.’ He turned to Ethel. ‘Where are these bolts?’

  ‘Oh dear. I don’t know. I’d better go and wake the mistress. She’ll know.’

  But when Ethel got to the landing, there was a light glowing at the foot of the attic stairs. She stopped, but didn’t feel afraid. ‘Did you want something?’ she asked the ghost.

  The light glowed more brightly for a moment or two then began to move up the stairs.

  Ethel hesitated, then decided to follow it. She hoped she was right about what it wanted her to do.

  In the attic the light drifted across to one corner and she followed it.

  The glow shone on a jumble of pieces of black iron with little holes in them here and there. It took her a moment to realise these were the bolts and fittings. ‘My goodness! Aren’t they big? I’ll have to fetch Mr Mullard up to check that these are the right ones and help me carry them down.’

  The light began to fade and she felt impelled to call, ‘Goodbye. Thank you.’

  What next? she wondered as she went downstairs. Had she been talking to thin air, imagining all this, or had a friendly ghost really helped her?

  What a strange house this was. But she loved living here. The work kept her mind off what Danny was doing – well, most of the time.

  When she woke up, Phoebe lay for a moment trying to remember the details of the vivid dream she’d just had. In it, the war was over and she’d been leaving Greyladies, one arm linked in Corin’s, the other waving goodbye to a misty woman’s figure standing in the doorway. She had been feeling sad and yet happy at the same time.

  Did that mean she was one of the chatelaines who only stayed for a short time at Greyladies? If so, it also meant that Corin would survive the war. Well, she hoped it did.

  But perhaps it had only been a dream and she was reading more into it than was meant.

  She realised suddenly that someone was hammering loudly downstairs. She tidied herself up and as the noise was still going on, she followed it down the main stairs to the connecting door.

  There she found an elderly man she’d seen occasionally in the village. He was hard at work attaching the old bolts. As she watched, he stopped to stroke the wood, then continued to drill out the holes for them. There were holes in the door already, which had been plugged with tiny round pieces of wood. She’d noticed them before and wondered why the bolts had been removed.

  Ethel came across to her. ‘I hope you don’t mind, ma’am, but I found the old bolts in the attic and gave them to Mr Mullard. He said Walter had sent for him, and Cook knows him, so I thought it was all right to let him into the house.’

  ‘Yes, of course. How did you find the bolts?’

  After a moment’s gaze down at her feet, Ethel explained about following the light up to the attic. ‘I don’t think I was imagining it.’

  ‘No, I don’t either. You’ve seen Anne Latimer before. She must approve of you.’

  She looked across to Mr Mullard. ‘We’ll all feel safer tonight if we’re able to bolt this door.’

  ‘And the bedroom doors,’ Ethel said. ‘Mr Mullard says he can fit bolts on Cook’s bedroom door and check those on our doors, too.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Are you hungry now, ma’am?’

  ‘Ravenous.’

  ‘I was just the same with my first. Queasy of a morning, then it’d pass and I’d be hungry.’

  Phoebe followed her to the kitchen, feeling that the day might not have started well, but what had come out of it was good. She felt even closer to the people she was living with now.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Olivia and Babs enjoyed meeting the Wallisdown WI members, and also enjoyed the company of their hostess for a further evening. After their two-night stay, they left Wallisdown and drove to meet Miss Cowley. She was a brusque woman of about seventy, and spoke in the loud tones of a slightly deaf person. She dressed appallingly badly, too, but Olivia and Babs soon realised that behind the thorny exterior was a woman who cared deeply about others. She had found ways to help the poorer women in her village, even though she didn’t have much money to spare – as she admitted quite frankly.

  ‘Stay and meet my village ladies,’ she boomed at her visitors. ‘If I send word round, some of them will come here tonight. We use my front parlour because West Fittonby is too small a village to have its own church hall. Indeed, we only have half a clergyman for our little church.’ She laughed heartily at her own joke. ‘Because we share a clergyman with another village,’ she added.

  Forewarned by their previous hostess, they’d stopped to purchase some food on the way. When Miss Cowley asked them what she should buy from the village store for their tea, and wondered whether the baker would have a spare loaf, Babs produced the bag of food from the car.

  ‘Oh, how kind. I don’t keep much food in, you see,’ the old lady explained. ‘Well, there’s only me and a daily help. But I can offer you a bed for the night.’

  ‘We wouldn’t dream of troubling you,’ Olivia protested. ‘I’m sure we can find somewhere nearby to stay.’

  ‘No trouble. The only things I have plenty of here are bedrooms and furniture. This was my family’s home for over a century, but there’s only me left now, last of the Wiltshire Cowleys, so there are seven bedrooms standing empty.’ She sighed, then jerked into action again to take the food to the kitchen.

  That evening they made an excellent tea of ham, pickled vegetables and chutney, with fresh crusty bread, followed by apple pie and clotted cream.

  Afterwards, they got ready for the visitors.

  One by one, women arrived at the house, greeting the strangers shyly but seeming quite at home with Miss Cowley. They teased her as they set out home-made biscuits and one had brought a bunch of flowers from her garden which she’d dried herself at the end of autumn.

  Miss Cowley blinked her eyes rapidly when they were given to her. ‘So kind. So very kind. And you do the drying so well, Mrs Wotton. I do miss my flowers in winter.’

  ‘I saw your last lot of dried flowers had fallen to pieces,’ her guest said complacently.

  They held their usual reading session for an hour or so, and Olivia was touched at how hard they worked to improve their halting words. After that they chatted over tea and biscuits before going home.

  As the door closed after the last one, Babs took Miss Cowley’s hand and shook it vigorously. ‘Congratulations. You’re doing an excellent job here.’

  Miss Cowley turned bright pink and lost herself in a jumble of broken phrases.

  ‘Now,’ Babs said. ‘We need to talk to you about founding a Women’s Institute in West Fittonby. You’re the perfect person to start things going.’

  ‘I’ve heard of them but I wouldn’t know enough to start one, I’m afraid.’

  ‘A lot of people say that. If we gather information and come back with it to help you, will you try?’

  Their hostess took a deep breath and said, ‘Yes, I’d love to. I like to keep busy. Will it … um, be expensive?’

  ‘No. Definitely not. Your main contribution would be to let the women meet in your front parlour. But I believe each member pays the organisation about two shillings per year to cover the costs of postage and other expenses, so you would all have to pay that.’

  The worried expression vanished from Miss Cowley’s face. ‘Oh, that’s all right, then. I’d be very happy to let them meet here.’

  ‘Now.’ Babs produced three small bars of chocolate and waved them at her companions. ‘I think we all deserve a little treat.’

  ‘Chocolate!’ whispered their hostess. ‘Oh, my. How wonderful!’

  In the morning, Miss Cowley gave them instructions for getting to
her friend Miss Bowers’ house in Challerton.

  At the last moment she suggested they visit the abbey ruins while they were there. ‘It was a small foundation, but must have been pretty once, judging by the stonework in the crypt. The abbey itself was destroyed at the orders of Henry VIII during the Dissolution of the Monasteries, but the former guest house wasn’t touched and it became the home of Anne Latimer, the former abbess. I’m not boring you, am I? Not everyone enjoys history.’

  ‘No, do go on.’

  ‘Well, the old house is still standing but a new house was built at the front and it’s that which has been requisitioned by the War Office. The family still lives at the rear, though I gather Mrs Latimer’s husband is in the army at present. She has a key to the crypt and takes people to see it from time to time. She allows Miss Bowers to show people round, too. That’s how I was able to see it.’

  ‘We must definitely ask about it, then,’ Olivia said.

  As they drove away, Babs said feelingly. ‘Helping run a Women’s Institute is going to make Miss Cowley a very happy woman in her declining years.’

  ‘Poor thing. Reading between the lines, she’s short of money and has been very lonely.’

  ‘Well, she didn’t sit and weep after her mother died, did she? She started helping other women in the only way she could find. I admire that.’

  Miss Bowers heard the sound of a motor car and looked out of the window of her small house. She smiled approvingly as she saw a lady driving the car, which had just pulled to a halt further along the street. Two ladies got out and started looking for house numbers – only there weren’t any, because everyone here knew who lived in which house.

  Before she could go out to them, they asked a passer-by, who pointed to her house. These must definitely be the two ladies Lady Wimborne had phoned her about. Now, what were their names again? Oh yes. Mrs Horner-Jevons and Mrs Harbury.