Anna Jacobs (9 page)

“As long as I’m earning money, I don’t mind.” He grinned. “At least you’re more interesting to talk to than my usual passengers.”

Marcus chuckled. He enjoyed Vic’s company too and felt as if they’d resumed their boyhood friendship. “I’m looking forward to meeting your young lady tonight. After you’ve introduced us, I’ll leave you to take her across and show her round the Hall, if you don’t mind, then you can bring her back to the Lodge to discuss things—if she wishes to work for me, that is.

“I can’t move across to the Hall until I’ve found some extra help. Those two elderly maids have enough on their plate looking after my aunt and I’m deeply grateful that they’ve been so loyal. Now, I need to sit with my leg up for a while. Though it
is
getting better, thank goodness, which is why the doctor intends to hand me over to the district nurse.”

“I’ll just tie up Dolly then come and make you a cup of tea.”

“Make
us
a cup of tea.”

Vic nodded, appreciating the subtleties of that attitude, though he intended to tread carefully until he knew the other better. They weren’t lads any more, after all, and the glow of war-time comradeship might wear off after a while. However friendly his manner, Marcus was from carriage folk and Vic was only a carter’s son.

As he got things ready in the kitchen, he hoped his Pearl would like the job that was being offered. It’d make a decent start for them to move into the Hall. He reckoned Marcus would have been a good officer, you could usually tell from the way they spoke about their men. Vic was sorry he hadn’t had a chance to try being an officer for himself. Though if he had, he’d probably not have lasted the war. There had been a high loss rate among junior officers.

Some time later, when he heard the gate click, he went outside to see Pearl hurrying down the path. At the sight of him she ran forward to fling herself into his arms, then as he began kissing her hungrily, she pulled away and looked round guiltily.

“What are you thinking of, Vic Scott, kissing me like that in broad daylight. We don’t want Mr Graye catching us cuddling, do we?”

“He wouldn’t mind. He’s—different. More like one of us than gentry.”

She looked at him in surprise.

“I hope you take to him because I think we’ll do well working for him.”

“I’m not sure about the job, I will admit. I’m not going to wear silly caps and bow and scrape to the upper servants again.”

He grinned. “There aren’t any upper servants left now and I can’t imagine Marcus expecting anyone to bow and scrape to him. He’s told me to call him by his first name, as I did when we were lads.”

“Well, we’ll see.” She straightened her clothes and put up her hand to feel her front hair self-consciously. “I don’t feel comfortable about him seeing me like this the first time we meet.”

“No one who served during the war would be anything but grateful to women like you, who’ve risked their own lives to keep us supplied with ammunition and shells.”

She linked her arm in his. “Don’t you believe it. I’ve had unkind comments about my appearance from men in uniform, complete strangers who passed me in the street.”

“If I’d been there, I’d have punched them in the face.”

“Oh, I gave as good as I got, I promise you, love. Well then, lead me to him!”

Marcus was in the sitting room, lost in thought, and it took him a moment or two to realise someone had spoken. “What? Oh, sorry.” He pushed himself to his feet at the sight of a woman. “I do beg your pardon.”

“This is Pearl.”

Marcus moved forward, hand outstretched. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Diggle. I gather you and Vic are engaged to be married.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I hope you’ll be very happy together. Do sit down.”

She sat on the edge of a chair. “About the job . . . ”

“I need help in the Hall. Let alone, my leg isn’t healed properly yet, I don’t know how to cook and the two maids up there have their hands full looking after my aunt and trying to keep the main rooms in order.”

Pearl looked at him with a dubious expression on her face.

“Is something wrong, Miss Diggle?”

“I worked at the Hall before the war, sir. Things were very—strict. I don’t think I’d want to go back to that sort of life.”

Vic looked at her in dismay. Trust Pearl to come out with it just like that.

Marcus smiled. “I remember only too well how things were. I got into trouble with my aunt sometimes when we went to tea there for being over-familiar with the servants. But it’s
my
house now and I shan’t treat the people who work for me like that. In fact, come to think of it, you’d probably be the one in charge of the housekeeping side, because Ada looks after my aunt and Gladys is quite elderly herself and not the sort to take charge of anything.”

Pearl gaped at him.
“I’d be in charge?”

“Yes, but there won’t be many servants. I’ve been left a pile of debts and I’ll need to watch the money very carefully. As I’ve said to Vic, I need people working there who won’t mind turning their hands to whatever needs doing, whether it’s turning out the bedrooms, cooking a meal or doing the shopping.”

Pearl sat straighter in her chair. “Well now, that sounds
much
more interesting to me, Mr Graye. I’ve lost the habit of bowing and scraping to rich folk, I’ve got to admit.”

“Good. I never did want anyone bowing and scraping to me. You’d better go and see the rooms that you and Vic could live in, then come back and let me know your decision.

* * * *

Vic and Pearl walked slowly across to the big house, his arm round her shoulders, her arm round his waist. They didn’t say much, were just happy to be together.

“Your Mr Graye looks tired,” she said as they approached the house.

“He’s still recovering from his injuries.”

“Pity about his face. He’d be good looking otherwise.”

“There are a lot of tired men in England just now, worn out by the war, and a lot whose bodies have been damaged.” His glance lingered for a moment on his leg. “I reckon I’m not alone in wondering how to fit into civilian life.”

She gave his arm a quick squeeze. “You know I don’t care about your leg but I can’t see you staying a servant for ever.”

“I don’t intend to. But I don’t feel I have to be servile with Marcus.” He knocked on the back door and heard footsteps coming towards it.

Gladys peered round the edge of the door, as if nervous of who might be lurking there. “Oh it’s you, Mr Scott. Come in. I’m just having a rest.”

He introduced her to Pearl.

She looked at the younger woman in relief. “I’ll be glad to have some help. I can’t keep up with things, and that’s a fact. What has Mr Graye taken you on as—housemaid?”

“More like housekeeper cum housemaid, I think, if
you
don’t want to run things.” As the other woman shuddered visibly, Pearl smiled. “I’ll do anything I need to, but I’ll tell you straight out I’m
not
wearing a silly cap and uniform.”

Gladys looked at her anxiously. “Madam won’t like that.”

“Isn’t it Mr Graye who’s in charge now?”

“I keep forgetting. And
she
won’t even admit he owns the house. You’ll find her—um—a bit difficult.”

Pearl grinned. “Then she’ll find me difficult, too.”

Vic nudged her and gave Gladys one of his best smiles. “We’ll all be mucking in together, I reckon. I’ll be doing anything from driving Mr Graye around to polishing the silver or digging the garden. I don’t think things will ever go back to what they were before the war.”

Gladys sighed. “You’re right, I suppose. But you knew where you stood then, at least. I don’t know how to deal with people now or what I’m supposed to be doing here half the time.”

“We’ll soon work out a routine for ourselves,” Pearl said.

Gladys cheered up marginally. “A routine. Yes. That’ll make things easier. So will another pair of hands. You don’t—cook, do you?”

“Yes, actually. Just plain stuff, but I enjoy doing it. My Mam’s the cook, really. Everything she does tastes good. Now, Mr Graye says we can look at the rooms off the kitchen and live in them if it suits. Will that be all right with you, Gladys? You don’t use them, do you?”

“Dear me, no. I’d be afraid to be on my own down here at night. They’re through that door over here. Light another lamp and have a good look round.” She went to fling open a door leading to a small storeroom and gestured to a shelf of lamps, then went back to sit by the fire.

Vic lit the lamp and the two of them went through a small vestibule next to the store room and opened the heavy panelled door at the other end of it, to find themselves in a very large room. He held up the lamp and they turned round slowly, studying the place in silence.

“I never expected anything so big,” she said. “And it’s still got furniture, so we won’t have to buy any. Let’s look at the bedroom, then.”

This was equally large and furnished with a very old-fashioned double bed. They stood together at the foot of it, then Vic turned her in his arms and kissed her. She put her arms round his neck and returned his embrace enthusiastically.

“We can get married now,” he said in a low, husky voice. “How soon can you leave the munition works?”

“As soon as you like. They’ve told us to find other jobs quickly, said they’d let most of us go with only a day’s notice. They’re expecting the men who used to work there to come back to their old jobs and to stop making things for war.” She stepped back, shaking her head when he would have stolen another kiss. “No, Vic. Not till we’re married. It only gets me all het up when you kiss me like that.”

“Me, too,” he said softly, his eyes full of love.

She smiled, then took a deep breath and resumed her normal crisp tone. “Now, when we come back tomorrow to look round the rest of the house, I’ll make a list of what there is here and we’ll see what else we shall need.”

“And if your parents are still up when I walk you home, I’ll tell them it’s time to have the banns called.”

Her hand went up to touch the ginger hair at the front. “I’d wanted this to grow out before we got married.”

“It doesn’t matter to me. You’re not going to make me wait, are you?”

“No. But it’ll show in the photographs. It’ll look as if I’m going grey.”

“It’s a badge of pride, as far as I’m concerned, that hair. Let’s go and tell Marcus we’re happy with the rooms.”

* * * *

The following morning Serena woke with a start as someone crashed open the front door below her bedroom and men started calling to one another downstairs. She blinked in shock in the grey light of an early winter morning then pulled on her dressing gown and picked up a candlestick to defend herself with before rushing down to confront the intruders, who were about to carry in some empty tea chests.

“What on earth do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.

They gaped at her for a moment then put down the tea chest. One said, “What are you doing here, miss? We’ve orders to clear out this house. They said no one was living here.”

She pulled the dressing gown tightly around her, only too conscious of her bare feet and dishevelled hair, which she’d been too tired to plait last night. “Well as you can see,
I
am living here, and since I’m the owner . . . ”

He looked at her scornfully. “Don’t give me that. Mr Fleming owns these cottages, only he’s just sold them. And now that the old lady’s dead, he needs her stuff clearing out.”

“Indeed he isn’t the owner! I am. Kindly take those tea chests out with you as you leave.”

They exchanged glances. “Can’t do that,” the one who seemed to be the leader said. “We’ve strict orders from Mr Hudd to have the place cleared by nine o’clock. You’ll have to see him about this, so if you’ll just get dressed and take yourself off, leave us to do our job, we’ll say nothing about finding you here.”

“I’ll do no such thing.” His expression grew ugly and the way he looked her up and down made her shiver and take an involuntary step backwards.

“If you don’t get dressed and leave, we’ll put you and your things outside ourselves, and we won’t be gentle about it.”

“But this is
my
house.”

“It can’t be.”

“My name is Serena Fleming and my father definitely doesn’t own the house, I do.” The look that had frightened her for a moment vanished abruptly from the man’s face and he stared at her as if uncertain whether or not to believe her. “Take your things and leave. I’ll let my father know I sent you away, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

“Even if you
are
his daughter—and I’m not so sure I believe you about that, because why would you be living here when he has a big fine house in town—you’ll have to take this up with him. Mr Hudd doesn’t like it if we don’t obey his orders. So if you’ll please leave us to get on with our job . . . ”

“I’m not going anywhere.” She backed into the house again.

“I did warn you.” He grabbed her and dumped her outside the door, banging her elbow against the door frame as she began to struggle and scream for help.

Mrs Diggle, carefully keeping out of sight of the men, nudged her youngest and bent to whisper in his ear. He set off running into the village and as she turned back to see what would happen next, her neighbours came running out of the nearby cottages and a man who’d been walking slowly along the lane came hurrying to join them.

It was his voice which cut through the babble of exclamations and questions like a knife. “What’s going on here?”

Something about the tone, the sense of confident authority, made them all turn towards him. He looked at the woman standing on the path, barefoot, her hair flowing down over her shoulders, her eyes flashing with anger, and it took him a moment or two to realise who she was, so different did she look. “Miss Fleming, can you tell me what’s going on here?”

He frowned as she came to the end of her explanation and turned to the two men. “I think you’ve made a mistake. And this is definitely Miss Fleming.”

“Even so, Mr Hudd gave us strict orders. Clear it by nine,” he said, “so that the new owner can take over. And we’re already late.”

“There
isn’t
a new owner!” Serena exclaimed. “How many times do I have to tell you that?”