Mistress of Greyladies (23 page)

She picked up a jar of preserves from a nearby shelf and used it to tap on the wood. ‘Could be.’

They searched again, and it did sound hollow, but they could find no sign of a way to open the panel.

Suddenly they heard a sound, a faint tapping, coming from behind the wooden panel and a voice called out.

‘It’s her!’ Corin exclaimed and yelled, ‘We’re here, Phoebe! Open the door.’

‘I don’t know how.’

Joseph had stayed behind them, watching, studying the wall. Something caught his eye, not next to the panel, where the others were looking, but further along one of the shelves. It was a small lump in the wood, showing now that Harriet had taken away the jar. Had she done that by chance or had she been guided to choose that particular jar?

‘Wait!’ he called. ‘What’s that?’

Corin followed the direction of his pointing finger and moved sideways to touch the unevenness, then press it and twist it. But it didn’t move, or cause a door to open.

‘Stupid thing!’ In frustration, he hammered on the sturdy shelf below the small lump of wood.

There was a grating sound and the whole shelf shook.

‘That’s it!’ Joseph called. ‘Stand back, let it move.’

With agonising slowness the wall began to swing backwards. Dust swirled out of the opening.

Then the door stopped moving, still only partly open. They could see Phoebe’s arm and part of her face.

‘Damnation!’ Corin threw himself against the door, which gave way suddenly, catapulting him through it.

He grabbed Phoebe to stop her falling as he bumped into her. ‘Thank goodness! Oh, thank goodness!’ Pulling her towards him, he kissed her roughly and quickly, then simply held her close. ‘If anything had happened to you, I don’t know what I’d have done!’ he murmured against her hair.

‘It didn’t. Anne showed me how to get out of the crypt. Did you catch Frank or did he get away again?’

‘Ah. He’s dead, I’m afraid. They think it was a heart attack.’

‘Oh. I should be sorry, but I’m not. I’m relieved.’

‘Why should you be sorry?’

‘Well. Death is so final, isn’t it? Frank was … a strange man, and not a nice one. But he died young and poor Janet will be upset. She loved her son.’

‘Do you think you two could get out of the passage and let us have a look at it?’ Harriet teased from behind Corin.

He smiled, feeling tension slip away. ‘Yes. Sorry. I was just so glad to see her.’

While Joseph and Harriet examined the entrance to the passage and worked out how to close and open it, Corin took Phoebe to one side. ‘I couldn’t bear the thought of Frank touching you.’

‘He didn’t. I’m fine, really I am.’ She smiled at him and reached up to caress his cheek, saying more with that gesture and the love in her eyes than she could ever have put into words.

‘I should have spoken to you before I left, my darling, asked you to marry me. I realised it as I drove away, but it was too late to do anything then. I was planning to come back as soon as I could wangle a few hours off and propose to you. You will marry me, won’t you, Phoebe?’

‘Of course I will.’

He kissed her again and caught sight of Harriet and Joseph smiling fondly at them. He gave them a rueful smile. ‘Sorry. But I needed to propose to her.’

‘Not the most romantic of proposals,’ said Joseph with a grin. ‘But she doesn’t seem to mind, so I think it’ll do the trick.’

‘And you’ll both live here,’ Harriet said. ‘For a while, anyway.’

‘My whole life long if necessary. Wherever she is, I’ll be too.’

Phoebe surprised herself by bursting into tears at those words. She wasn’t sure whether she was weeping for relief at being free of Frank, or out of joy at Corin’s proposal. Perhaps it was both.

She didn’t weep for long and borrowed Corin’s handkerchief to wipe her eyes. ‘Sorry. It all caught up with me suddenly.’

He hugged her close. ‘Cry as much as you like.’

‘No, don’t cry. I think this calls for a celebration,’ Joseph said. ‘There are a few bottles of wine down here. Let’s open one and drink to your health. We ought to do something to mark the occasion.’

He limped across to the section of the cellar where some wine was stored and called out in triumph, ‘There’s some champagne!’

‘I’ve never had champagne,’ Phoebe said.

‘I have, but this will taste better than any other I’ve had,’ Corin said. ‘How quickly can we get married? Do you want a big, fussy wedding, or can we get a special licence? I’ll do whatever you wish, but I must admit, I want to make you my wife as quickly as possible.’

‘I’ve never been one for fuss. But I’d like Beaty, Harriet and Joseph to be there.’

Harriet put an arm round them both. ‘You couldn’t keep us away.’

When they went up to the big sitting room in the old house, Joseph got glasses from Cook and told her the happy news, which made her mop her eyes as she wished the happy couple well.

Corin attended to the bottle, prising the cork out of it carefully, waiting for the glasses before he made the final push of the cork.

The pale golden liquid foamed prettily as he poured it into the glasses, shining in a light that had begun to gleam above them. The light didn’t resolve itself into Anne Latimer’s figure, but it hovered there till Joseph had said, ‘Congratulations and we wish you a happy life together.’

As they clinked glasses together and sipped, the light grew briefly brighter then faded.

‘I think she was giving us her blessing,’ Phoebe said softly.

‘Look at the time. Can you stay for a meal?’ Harriet asked Corin.

He glanced at his wristwatch. ‘I’m afraid not. I was supposed to go straight back and I’ve stayed here for three hours. Phoebe darling, I have to leave now. Will you walk me to the car?’

She took his hand. ‘One day we won’t always be leaving one another.’

‘One day we’ll live together, have children, I hope, and grow old together.’

‘Oh, yes.’

When they got to the car, he pulled her close again for a final kiss and the driver carefully looked the other way.

Corin sighed as he moved away from her. ‘I’ll get Beaty working on a wedding. It might not happen as quickly as I want, because I’ll need time off and there’s a lot happening where I’m working, so it’s not easy to get leave. Can we get married in London?’

‘Anywhere. I’ll come as soon as you send for me. I’m sure Matron will understand. And then I’ll return and we can meet whenever or wherever you can get away. I love you, Corin.’

‘I love you with all my heart, my dearest girl.’

She watched him leave then went inside the house, smiling, to rejoin her friends. There was a little champagne left in her glass and she raised it to Harriet and Joseph. ‘To Greyladies!’

Light shone around her for a minute, then faded.

Joy was bubbling inside her as fizzy as the champagne had been. She didn’t know whether she’d live here for only a few years, like Harriet, or whether she’d be here for the rest of her life, but it wouldn’t matter where she was if Corin was with her.

Like Harriet, like a dozen women before her, she loved the old house, felt as if she belonged to it, rather than the other way round.

She smiled as she watched Joseph and Harriet holding hands without realising they were doing it. She hoped she’d love her husband as much as they loved one another. That thought made her raise her glass in a silent toast to the man she loved and drink the last mouthful of champagne.

The registry office was drab and people were queuing to get married, many of the men in uniform. But Phoebe didn’t notice the others. What she did notice was how Corin’s eyes lingered on her when she arrived with Beaty, who had driven them here in her car.

Phoebe and Corin had been separated for most of the past four weeks, as he took up his new post ‘somewhere’ in the north. Even she wasn’t allowed to know where.

‘You look beautiful!’ he breathed as he reached her side and took her hand. ‘I must be the luckiest man in the world today to have such a beautiful bride. And how on earth did you find a wedding dress so elegant?’

She smiled and smoothed the lustrous ivory silk with one hand. ‘Mrs Stein found an old dress in the attic, one with a lot of material in the skirt, and altered it. She said a bride should have something very special to wear when she marries the man she loves, war or no war. She made the wreath of artificial flowers for my hair and the veil, too.’

‘And all I have is my uniform.’

‘You always look very elegant in it.’

She turned to greet Harriet and Joseph, who had come up to London from their new home to be their witnesses. Then Phoebe waited in a glow of happiness for their wedding to start.

The ceremony was much shorter than a traditional church ceremony, and at the end of it, the registrar said, ‘You are now man and wife, and you’re just as married as if you’d done this in church.’

‘What a tactless thing to say to a wartime bride!’ Corin muttered in Phoebe’s ear.

‘I don’t care what anyone says. All I care about is that we’re married. I love you, Corin.’

‘And I love you, Mrs McMinty. More each day. What will we be like when we’re old if that love continues to increase?’

‘We’ll be blissfully happy.’

Her words seemed to echo and she wondered for a moment whether this was the same effect as at Greyladies. When something was said there which forecast the future, it always echoed.

‘We’ll change our names to Latimer as soon as we can,’ he added. ‘I do understand the need to keep up that tradition. But I didn’t want to delay marrying you.’

‘Neither did I.’

They went on to a wonderful meal at Beaty’s, who made a short but witty speech. Phoebe couldn’t take the words in, had eyes only for her wonderful husband.

In the end Beaty stopped talking and clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention. ‘Listen, people, our bride and groom only have tonight, so I think we’ll do no more speechifying. We’ll just have one proper toast.’ She raised her glass, waiting till everyone else had stood up and raised glasses.

‘Long life and happiness to Phoebe and Corin.’

The words echoed again, they really did, Phoebe thought. She raised her eyes to meet Corin’s, then clinked her glass against his. ‘Happiness,’ she echoed.

‘I think we can go now, Mrs McMinty,’ he whispered. He looked across at Beaty and mouthed, ‘Thank you’.

Phoebe felt as if she floated from the room. She had never expected to be so happy. No matter how long this dreadful war continued, she was sure that Corin would return to her, and in the meantime, well, she’d be mistress of Greyladies. How wonderful it all was.

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A
NNA
J
ACOBS
is the author of over sixty novels and is addicted to storytelling. She grew up in Lancashire, emigrated to Australia in the 1970s and writes stories set in both countries. She loves to return to England regularly to visit her family and soak up the history. She has two grown-up daughters and a grandson, and lives with her husband in a spacious home near the Swan Valley, the earliest wine-growing district in Western Australia, now a popular tourist area. Inside the house is crammed with thousands of books.

www.annajacobs.com

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Mistress of Greyladies

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