Heir to Greyladies (13 page)

He looked at Joseph and inclined his head. ‘Do you need any help, sir?’

‘Only if there are awkward corners or stairs. Otherwise, Harriet can push me.’

‘Very well. Come this way.’

When they were all three settled in the big, comfortable office at the end of the corridor, the lawyer got out some papers and tapped them with his forefinger. ‘This is the last will and testament of Miss Agnes Latimer, who was a relative of yours on your mother’s side, Miss Benson.’

Harriet frowned slightly. ‘My mother’s maiden name was Latimer, but she always said her relatives had disowned her when she married my father.’

‘Miss Latimer continued to think very highly of her, I promise you. Now, let’s get the details out of the way. First we have to establish your bona fides. Do you have
anything to prove who you are? It’s not that I’m doubting your word, because actually, you look like a Latimer. That hair runs in the family. But, in law, it’s always better to have incontrovertible proof.’

‘I have my birth certificate and my parents’ wedding lines.’

‘Do you have them with you?’

‘No. They’re in my suitcase. We left it at the station’s left-luggage office. Oh, and I have my mother’s family Bible too. It’s very old.’

‘Perfect. Would you let my junior clerk bring the suitcase here now?’

She turned sideways to look questioningly at Joseph.

‘My manservant could go with your clerk. He knows which suitcase belongs to Harriet.’ Joseph took out the ticket which identified him as the person who’d lodged eight pieces of luggage at the station. ‘He’ll need this.’

‘Thank you. I’ll send Perkins with your man, then.’

When the clerk had been despatched, Mr Lloyd sat down again. ‘Let me sum up Miss Latimer’s will for you, Miss Benson. It’s not complicated. She’s left you everything she owned, except for a small bequest to her nephew. Your inheritance consists of a house and some land, and there are also various investments, which will bring in enough money to live on and maintain the house.

‘The capital can’t be touched, nor can the house be sold. They must be passed on to your chosen heir who must be a female, and a Latimer or a descendant of one.’

Harriet gasped, so shocked by this information she felt as if the room was spinning round her. She couldn’t form a single word and put up one hand to cover her mouth, feeling as if she had to literally hold her shock in.

Only when Joseph took her other hand and patted it gently did things seem to steady again.

Mr Lloyd was leaning forward, looking anxious. ‘Are you all right, Miss Benson?’

‘I’m … amazed … and confused. Are you
sure
it’s me she’s left all this to?’

‘Oh, yes. She had us looking for you during the year or two before her death, and when we found you, she was very happy indeed, sure you were the one.’

‘But why did she choose me?’

‘Because she considers you the female relative most suited to look after the Latimer inheritance. It’s a great responsibility and passes only to the females of the family.’

‘But I’m not a Latimer.’

‘Your mother was, so you have Latimer blood in you, and when she made enquiries about you, she decided it had bred true. She does ask that you change your surname to Latimer, which can be easily done. Would you mind?’

‘Of course not.’ She shook her head, still feeling numb with shock.

‘Could you tell us more about the house?’ Joseph asked.

‘It’s quite large and is in a village called Challerton to the south-west of Swindon. That’s all I’m authorised to tell you till we get there. It’s a tradition to pass on the house in a certain manner.’

Harriet kept hold of Joseph’s hand because everything else felt so unreal. ‘I still can’t believe it.’

The lawyer gave her an avuncular smile. ‘It’s a pleasant surprise, though, I hope. Could I ask where you’re staying?’

‘We were going to see if you could recommend a hotel in Swindon. And we need your help with something else.’

Joseph turned to Harriet. ‘I think we should tell Mr Lloyd how we both came to be here today.’

At her nod of agreement, he turned back, his expression solemn. ‘I think Harriet is going to need your help on two other matters. And I would appreciate the services of a lawyer, as well.’

‘Then let me ask my office boy to fetch us some tea and biscuits so that we can talk in comfort.’

When Mr Lloyd had left the room, Joseph smiled ruefully at Harriet. ‘It sounds as if I’ll have to find myself another maid.’

‘No! I don’t want to leave you. I’d be completely on my own if I did.’ Then she had an idea. ‘Why don’t you come with me to the house I’ve inherited? If it’s large enough, you and Frank can stay there, at least for the time being.’ She looked at him anxiously. ‘Unless you’d rather not?’

‘I’m honoured that you’d ask me. You’re still nervous about my father, aren’t you?’

She nodded. ‘Yes, I am. And now, there’s not only your father to worry about, but my stepmother. If she finds I’ve inherited something, she’ll come after me and try to get hold of it.’

Behind them Mr Lloyd cleared his throat. ‘I think you need to put me in possession of all the facts. I know you’re a minor in law, but I’d expected there to be a family member responsible for you until you reach your majority.’

It took them a full half hour to tell him their stories and his expression grew steadily grimmer as the confidences continued.

‘With your permission, Miss Benson – no, let’s call you Latimer from now on or we’ll get confused when we change
over. With your permission and as your lawyer, I’ll act
in
loco parentis
for the moment. That means—’

She didn’t want him to think her stupid, even though she was only a servant. ‘I know what it means, Mr Lloyd. And yes, that sounds a sensible thing to do. I meant it when I said I would run away again if anyone tried to make me return to my stepmother’s.’

‘I hope it won’t come to that.’ He cocked his head as there were sounds outside. ‘Ah, that sounds like my clerk returning with your suitcase.’

Perkins brought it in and Harriet searched inside, taking a big envelope from the bottom, holding it out to the lawyer. ‘These are my mother’s family papers. My father gave them to me to look after when he remarried.’ She began to unwrap a parcel, to reveal a very old Bible, its gold lettering rubbed and its leather binding dull with age.

Mr Lloyd picked up the Bible and opened it, nodding, then turned to the envelope. ‘Ah, good. Here are more than enough things which prove who you are. I wonder … would you consider leaving these papers and the Bible with me? I think they’ll be safer here until we’ve got everything sorted out and you’ve legally come of age.’

‘I think that’d be a good idea.’ She didn’t even ask Joseph’s opinion. She trusted Mr Lloyd instinctively and obviously Agnes Latimer had also trusted him.

The lawyer leant back in his chair, looking thoughtful again. ‘It’s a bit more of a legal tangle than I’d expected, but we’ll work our way through it. Now, I have other appointments this afternoon, so as you’re not in urgent need of money from selling the jewellery, Mr Dalton, I suggest we find you a hotel.’

‘Might I leave my godmother’s jewellery with you in the meantime?’

‘Certainly. It’ll be quite safe here. I can, if you like, ask a jeweller I know to value it.’

‘Please do.’ Joseph took out the package and the clerk was brought in to list the items it contained before they were locked away.

When that was done, Mr Lloyd looked at his watch again and stood up. ‘I’ll make arrangements to take you both over to Greyladies tomorrow.’

‘Greyladies?’

‘The name of your house, Miss Latimer. Didn’t I tell you? How remiss of me.’

‘It’s a lovely name. I’m looking forward to seeing it. Is it pretty? Does it have a garden? Even a little one would be nice.’

‘Miss Agnes asked me not to tell you anything about the house till you got there and could see it for yourself. It does have a garden, but the only other thing I’ll say is that it’s a remarkable old place. I know it quite well because my father used to take me along with him whenever he went to visit Miss Latimer, whose lawyer he was till his death a few years ago. My family has a tradition of serving the Latimers and I hope you’ll continue to use our services.’

‘I’m happy to continue with you,’ Harriet said.

‘Good. Now, for the moment, I’ll get my clerk to find you and your man rooms at a hotel, Mr Dalton. There’s one near here which is small but comfortable. And I’d like to invite you, Miss Latimer, to spend the night at my house. You’ll find my wife very motherly and welcoming.’

She was about to refuse this, not wanting to be separated
from Joseph, when Mr Lloyd added quietly, ‘Apart from the proprieties, you needn’t be seen again by anyone in the town if we do that. What do you think, Mr Dalton?’

‘I think that’s an excellent idea.’

Not until he and his wife were getting ready for bed that night did Reginald Lloyd voice his concerns. ‘I don’t know how long we can keep Harriet’s existence secret once she goes to live at Greyladies.’

‘Then you must work out a plan for getting her away if those relatives come after her,’ his wife said at once.

‘I’m a lawyer. I’ve sworn to uphold the law. If it’s on their side …’

She smiled as she stood up from her dressing table and reached out to turn down the gaslight. ‘As if you’ve never bent the law before in the cause of real justice.’

‘That was when I was much younger and a bit rash at times. But still … I couldn’t allow a Latimer to be bullied – or worse. No, I couldn’t allow that.’

‘Of course you couldn’t.’

‘I shall have to think about it, work out some contingency plans. Like Joseph Dalton, I don’t feel Miss Latimer will remain safe from pursuit for long. I’ll speak to him again about his father and ask his opinion about how far he thinks Mr Dalton senior will go. But I won’t do anything else until after she’s seen Greyladies.’

It rained during the night, but when Harriet woke and went to look out of the window of the large town villa where the Lloyds lived, she was greeted by sunshine and birdsong. A narrow flowerbed, bare at this season, marked the boundary between the vegetable garden and the paved area at the back where someone had placed a small wrought iron table with matching chairs.

She’d have thought herself in paradise to own a garden like that, to simply sit there and look at the flowers.

There was a knock on the door and a maid poked her head in. ‘Oh, you’re awake, miss. The master asked me to wake you, so that you can get an early start. Would you like me to bring you a tea tray? I’ve just made a pot, so it won’t take a minute.’

‘Yes, please.’ Harriet went back to sit in the bed, piling the pillows behind her and feeling very grand to be waited on like this. The maid returned almost immediately with the tea and a plate with two biscuits on it.

When she was on her own again, Harriet allowed herself time to appreciate the crockery sitting on a pretty tray cloth 
and the fine china with lovely red roses on it. How many times had she performed the very same task, taking in the early morning tea? And now someone had done it for her.

Mr Lloyd had said she’d have enough money to live on for the rest of her life. Imagine never having to worry about money or even having to work for a living again!

Only … what would she do with herself all day? Housework, she supposed. Even if you had plenty of money, there were still chores to be done. If she was a married woman, she’d have children to look after, only she wasn’t married and she wasn’t sure she ever wanted to be. A woman was so much at the mercy of her husband, as she’d seen with her own father and mother. He’d been very much in charge, the one to make all the major decisions. You’d have to trust a man absolutely to give yourself into his keeping.

She hoped the house would be big enough for Joseph and his manservant to live there as well, because she didn’t want to be separated from her only friend in the world. After all, he did need somewhere to live. And he did seem to want them to stay together. She knew she wasn’t mistaken about that.

If only … she cut her thoughts short, wouldn’t allow herself even to dream of something so impossible. She prided herself on being sensible, had needed to be ever since her mother died.

Joseph was as far above her as the sun in the sky.

When they picked up Joseph and Frank from the hotel, they continued in Mr Lloyd’s carriage and he explained to her, ‘We could have gone most of the way to Greyladies by train,
but then we’d need a carriage for the rest of our journey, so I thought, if you didn’t mind, we’d take longer and then Mr Dalton needn’t be inconvenienced.’

‘That’s very kind of you.’

She stayed out of sight in the comfortable carriage while the coachman cheerfully tied the wheelchair on the back of it. Frank opted to ride outside with him, which left Harriet to chat comfortably with Joseph and Mr Lloyd as they travelled. She almost didn’t want the journey to end, the time passed so pleasantly.

After they left Swindon, they travelled south-west into a more rural part of Wiltshire. The scenery was beautiful and so were the villages they passed through, with grey stone houses and often grey gabled roofs as well.

About two hours later Mr Lloyd said quietly, ‘We’ll be arriving soon, so I’d better tell you more about your inheritance, Harriet.’

She leant forward eagerly.

‘Greyladies is built on the remains of a former abbey. Even in its prime, it wasn’t a big abbey, just a small foundation. You see, in 1536 the king decided that hundreds of other religious foundations all across England should be closed.’ He looked at Harriet as if wondering whether to explain this further.

‘Henry the Eighth and the dissolution of the monasteries,’ she said. ‘Yes, I know about it. I’ve read quite a lot of books about English history.’

His surprise at her knowing this was obvious, but he didn’t comment. ‘Good. At the time, about a dozen nuns lived at the abbey, spending their lives in prayer, offering help and kindness to those in need.’

‘Is any part of the abbey still standing?’ she asked, thinking it might be interesting to have ruins nearby.

‘There are a few pieces of wall left and some lines of stones where the foundations were. The people in the village keep the grass around them mown because hikers come to see them and view the ruins, and then they usually spend money at the village shop, or even stay overnight. There are a few houses that take in paying guests. Oh, and the crypt is still there, but it’s got a wrought iron gate across it to keep people out. I’ve never been inside. It’s probably unsafe. I don’t even know where the key is now.’

‘Is it because of the nuns that the house is called Greyladies?’

‘Yes. Their habits were of plain grey cloth, you see. The house you’ve inherited was the former guest house at the abbey. The villagers still call it “the big house”.’ He waited for this to sink in.

‘It’s a
big
house?’

‘Yes.’

‘As big as yours?’

‘Much bigger.’

She looked at him uncertainly, unable to believe she could own any house, let alone a big one.

‘It’s been the home of the Latimers ever since the abbey was closed. The first owner was called Anne Latimer and she used to be the abbess, but she chose to marry a cousin in order to preserve what was left. They had eight children. The descendants of those children have inherited the house ever since. I might add that the legacy of kindness and sanctuary the nuns offered people in dire need has also lingered. And it’s partly for that quality of kindness and compassion that an owner chooses her heir.’

‘But how would Agnes Latimer know I’m suitable?’ Harriet asked, puzzled. ‘She’s never met me.’

‘The Latimer women seem to know instinctively, don’t ask me how. They say the ghost of Anne Latimer helps them with their choice. Miss Agnes was convinced that the lady still walks round the house.’ He shook his head. ‘She would not see reason about that. But I don’t believe in ghosts, and as for this craze for spiritualism and contacting the dead, well, it’s just plain ridiculous.’

Harriet had occasionally seen ghosts too. Her father said she was just imagining things, but her mother had admitted having similar experiences. She’d told Harriet to keep quiet about it, though, because it annoyed her father, and anyway, most people wouldn’t believe her.

‘I believe in ghosts,’ Joseph said. ‘I’ve even seen one at our town house – more than once. But I didn’t tell anyone, because no one else saw them.’

They both turned back to Mr Lloyd, waiting for him to continue.

‘It’s the tradition for the new Lady to go into the house on her own the first time she takes up her new position.’

‘Oh.’

‘You needn’t be afraid to do that. It’s a very peaceful old place. Now, look out of the window and you’ll see the roof.’

Steep grey gables were visible from the main road but nothing else, because the house was surrounded by trees. The roof was enough to show that the house was even bigger than Harriet had expected.

She turned to Mr Lloyd, mouth open in shock. ‘Surely that isn’t … It can’t be Greyladies?’

‘It is.’

‘All of it?’

‘Yes, indeed.’

‘But it’s a
huge
house!’

‘Not as country mansions go. It’s considered quite a small one by neighbouring landowners.’

‘It seems enormous to me.’ She shot a frightened glance at Joseph for reassurance, but he was looking as amazed as she was feeling.

The carriage turned off the main road onto a narrow country road with hedgerows still crowded with plants, many with seed heads waving gently in the breeze. The village houses began almost immediately on the right, but the carriage turned left along an even narrower lane, which seemed to lead only to Greyladies.

The wrought iron gates stood open and beyond them, down a short, tree-lined drive, was a rambling stone house. A massive oak tree stood sentinel just inside the gate, so big it must have been there for hundreds of years.

The carriage stopped in its shade.

‘Take a few moments to study your inheritance, Harriet.’

‘What a beautiful house,’ Joseph said softly.

Harriet still felt it couldn’t be hers. ‘Didn’t Agnes Latimer have any other relatives?’

‘A nephew, Damian, who used to visit her every month. He was annoyed about the will, though she’d told him he wouldn’t inherit. He went up to Scotland for the shooting and hasn’t come back yet.’

‘Was that because he loved the house?’

Mr Lloyd shook his head. ‘No. I believe he was more interested in the money. Though he did his duty and kept an eye on Miss Agnes when she grew old and infirm.’ He
pulled the string and the carriage set off again, drawing to a halt outside the front door of Greyladies.

Mr Lloyd opened his briefcase and gave her a big old key. ‘As I said before, it’s the custom for the new owner to go into the house on her own. Don’t be afraid.’

The coachman opened the carriage door and let down the step. She got out, feeling as if she was in a dream, and began to move slowly towards the house.

‘And Harriet—’

She turned at the foot of the three shallow, worn stone steps that led to the front door.

‘Take all the time you need once you’re inside. Mr Dalton and I will enjoy a quiet chat about how exactly I can help him while we wait for you.’

She nodded, took a deep breath and moved on.

Miss Bowers turned round as a lad from one of the farms near Challingford came rushing into the village shop, shouting, ‘I just seen a carriage turn into Greyladies. It’s that lawyer fellow again and there was someone with him. I bet he’s brung the new owner.’

He rushed out again and went to stand on a bench so that he could see across to Greyladies more clearly. ‘It’s pulling up at the house now. Come and see.’

Another lad clambered up beside him.

The women looked at one another, shaking their heads at what he’d assumed, but they all followed the lads out of the shop, not wanting to miss anything.

‘He might be right. We knew Miss Agnes would find another female Latimer to carry on the tradition,’ Mrs Pocock, the shopkeeper, said. ‘Didn’t I say so?’

‘Well, I think it’s about time a man owned the house,’ the nearest lad said stubbornly. ‘A man would do something useful with it instead of keeping it like a stupid museum full of dusty old rubbish.’

Miss Bowers gave the group of younger folk a stern look. ‘The furniture and other things at Greyladies are priceless, part of our English history. Don’t you remember how I took you to see them from school?’

The lads rolled their eyes at one another. They hadn’t been impressed, but hadn’t dared misbehave, not with Miss Bowers in charge. She had been the village schoolteacher for many years until her recent retirement, and she knew more than anyone about the history of the old house.

Everyone knew that Miss Bowers was now fulfilling her lifelong ambition to write a book about Greyladies and the Latimers. Agnes Latimer had let her read the old family diaries, an honour and a fascination, she told people, and she was hoping the new owner would be equally generous.

‘You’ll be able to ask the new Lady about seeing the rest of the diaries,’ Mr Pocock said.

‘Yes. I shall look forward to meeting her.’

‘Because she ent got nothing better to do than muck around with books,’ one lad muttered to the other.

Miss Bowers let out an exasperated sigh at his lack of grammar. Tom Craik was one of her educational failures, like his father before him. Good farmers, the Craiks, poor with books and writing. ‘Stop gossiping, Tom, and get your mother’s shopping done. She’s probably waiting for it and that poor pony of yours is getting restless. You always were a chatterbox, even when you were a little boy.’

He threw her a resentful look but did as she’d ordered
and went back into the shop to hand over the list of items his mother wanted. His friends waited for him outside, clearly eager to continue their chat before returning to their own errands and duties.

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.