Cherry Tree Lane Read online

  She groaned again and muttered, ‘Mustn’t stop … walking. Mustn’t … stop!’

  He guessed she’d forced herself on till she dropped and had likely come from Swindon way, a tiring journey on foot in a storm like that.

  ‘Dad! Dad!’

  He realised Sarah was shaking him.

  ‘You need to get out of your wet clothes, too.’

  ‘I never catch cold.’

  ‘Me an’ Luke have to change when we get wet. An’ you’ll need these clothes dryin’ out for tomorrow.’

  ‘All right, then, my little love.’ He hugged his daughter. ‘I’ll nip upstairs and change into my old things. You keep an eye on her. I won’t be long.’

  Sarah sat and stared at the stranger. Mum’s nightdress was far too big for her, and now that her hair was drying out, you could see it was a lightish red in colour, not brown.

  When Jacob came down again and knelt to check the stranger, she opened her eyes and stared round in panic, trying to raise herself and failing. ‘Who are you? Where am I?’

  ‘My son found you lyin’ in the lane unconscious, so I carried you back to our house.’

  The stranger searched his face and something she saw there seemed to reassure her. ‘Thank you!’

  A cough racked her, going on and on. He held her upright until she’d stopped spluttering, but he could still hear the rattling in her chest.

  ‘Can’t … breathe properly.’

  ‘I reckon you’ve got a touch of lung congestion. You’ll feel better if you stay warm.’ He remembered how worried she’d been so added, ‘And don’t worry, we’ll keep you safe.’

  ‘Safe?’

  Her eyes lingered for a moment on Sarah’s face, then she looked at Jacob, stretching out one hand to touch him, as if to reassure herself he really was there. He took hold of the hand, warming the slender fingers between his own.

  ‘You won’t tell anyone … I’m here?’

  She looked so desperate he said, ‘I promise I won’t.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Another sigh and her eyes closed. But her breath was still rasping and rattling, and he was afraid she had more than a bad chill. If he wasn’t mistaken, she’d got the dreaded pneumonia that killed so many people, rich and poor alike, because there was nothing anyone, even doctors, could do to make it better.

  Sarah spoke in a whisper.

  ‘She’s asleep again, Dad. And she didn’t tell us her name.’

  ‘We can ask her in the morning. It won’t have changed by then.’ He looked round. ‘I’m going to light a fire in the parlour. She can lie on the sofa there. It’s as good as a bed and there are fewer draughts in there. Fetch my winter sheets, love. The flannel will be warmer than cotton. Quick as you can.’

  When the stranger was settled, he sent Sarah back to bed but stayed up to keep an eye on the sick woman. And it was a good thing he had done. He spent the night alternately pulling the blankets off as she grew hot and feverish, then piling them back on when she began to shiver.

  Morning took him by surprise. He looked out of the window and saw the nearby fields clearly in the misty grey light. It was still raining, but more gently now. The force had gone out of the storm.

  There were sounds from upstairs and a short time later the two children peered into the room.

  ‘Is she still alive?’ Luke asked.

  ‘Yes, but she’s not well. I fear she’s got pneumonia.’

  ‘Like old Mr Benness?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘He died.’

  ‘She’s much younger. She’s got a better chance.’ Jacob looked at the clock and yawned. His eyes felt gritty from lack of sleep, but the work on his market garden waited for no man. ‘You keep an eye on her while I feed the hens.’ He sold eggs to a couple of the neighbours, or swapped them for things, and they made good quick meals for his children, though he had fewer hens these days than when he’d had Alice to look after them.

  ‘Shall I go and fetch Mrs Henty?’ Luke asked. ‘She helps sometimes when folk are sick.’

  Jacob had a quick think. It would be good to have a woman’s help, but the curate’s wife was an inveterate gossip and if she came here, the whole village would soon know about the stranger. ‘No. I promised this woman I’d not tell anyone she was here and you mustn’t, either.’

  Luke’s face crumpled in disappointment. ‘Aw, Dad.’

  ‘If I hear that you’ve said a word about her to anyone – anyone at all, even a hint – you’ll be in serious trouble, my lad. Give me your word as a Kemble that you’ll keep quiet about her.’

  Both children promised and he felt reasonably certain they’d keep the information to themselves. They were good children, the best.

  Bart went home from a hard day’s work, cold and wet from his walk, to find the house dark and cold. No fire was burning in the grate, the dirty breakfast plates were still on the table and there was no sign of the three girls.

  ‘What the hell—?’ He stood in the kitchen, amazed and outraged, then clumped upstairs, his heavy work boots making dull thuds on the wooden steps. He didn’t believe in stair runners. Carpet stopped you knowing if someone was going up or down.

  The back bedroom was empty. He looked round carefully. The top drawer was slightly open. He flung it open and frowned to see it only half full of clothes. He tugged the others open, pulling the last one right out and hurling it across the room, scattering its contents. Usually these drawers were full to bursting, because he checked them every now and then. He liked to keep his eye on everything that went on in his own house, every single thing.

  Where were the girls? Anger still burning through him, he sat on the bed, thumping it with his fist, trying to work out what was happening. He scowled at the upturned drawer and kicked it across the room as a dreadful suspicion crept into his mind.

  Could they have run away?

  Why would they do that? He gave them a good home, didn’t he? This was one of the railway houses, well built and maintained.

  But they’d never been late home before, not all three of them, and some of their clothes were missing. What else could they be doing but running away?

  Then he realised why. It was Mattie’s doing. She didn’t want to marry Stan, the ungrateful bitch, and she’d have persuaded the others to leave with her. They were too soft, his two, always did as she said. Well, he wasn’t having it. He damned well wasn’t!

  Where could they have gone? And how had they got the money to run away?

  On that thought he heaved himself to his feet and clattered back down the stairs, reaching up for the money pot, which always stood on the mantelpiece. Empty. He’d half-expected that, but still sucked in his breath in shock. Letting out a growl of anger, he threw the pot across the room to smash against the far wall.

  He began to pace up and down, wondering what to do, but his stomach rumbled. First things first. He opened the bread crock to find only half a loaf. Pulling it out, he thumped it down on the table, cut a slice and slathered on some butter and jam. He took great snapping bites, because he was always ravenous when he got home from work. This would hold him for a while, then he’d go out for some fish and chips.

  It was hard going at the Railway Works. He was a strong man still, though he wasn’t as young or strong as he had been, which was why he was saving hard for his old age, as any man of sense would. He needed those girls and the wages they brought in to keep him in comfort when the company sacked him, or offered him low-paid work, as they always did. He’d seen it happen to other men once their strength failed and had no doubt the same fate was in store for him.

  The girls were not going to cheat him out of that security. It was a child’s duty to look after its parents. Other folk might be stupid enough to let their girls go off and marry, but he wasn’t. He was going to keep his two at home, and with the money he’d saved, nicely added to by what Stan was going to pay him for marrying his stepdaughter, he’d manage all right. He had planned it all out years ago.

  ‘Damn
you, Mattie Willitt!’ he muttered. ‘I’ll be glad to be rid of you. Stan’s damned well welcome to you.’

  He saw the shards of broken crockery from the money pot and frowned. They couldn’t have gone far on the housekeeping money. There wasn’t enough for train fares for the three of them, or only to go a stop or two down the line. So how did they think they’d get away from him?

  He’d find them, whatever it took. No woman had ever got the better of him and no one ever would.

  On the Saturday Jacob kept the children at home, even though the weather had cleared up. He didn’t want them to have any opportunity to mention the stranger, not till he’d heard the full story.

  She was very ill, alternating between sleeping and tossing around muttering incoherently, poor woman. He kept her in a half-sitting position to make breathing easier but the coughing kept waking her up before she’d been asleep for too long.

  From time to time he left Sarah to keep an eye on her while he nipped outside to do odd jobs.

  In the afternoon, since the weather had cleared a little, he set Luke, who hated to be penned up indoors, to cleaning out the henhouse. They had only six layers at the moment, but the henhouse was a sturdy construction and could house more, if Jacob could only find more time in the day to care for them.

  He passed another disturbed night on an armchair in the front room and it seemed to him that the woman he’d rescued was getting worse. How sad if she died without them even finding out her name. As it was a Sunday, the whole family should be going to the morning service at the little village church. Luke had to go anyway because he sang in the choir, but Jacob couldn’t leave the stranger. He decided to keep Sarah at home, pretending she wasn’t well as an excuse for his own lack of attendance, and made sure Luke knew what to say if anyone asked.

  He wondered how long they’d be able to keep her presence a secret. His home was just outside the village, had been a keeper’s cottage on the big estate once. His father had bought it and the few nearby fields, using up his life savings to achieve his greatest ambition of owning his own land.

  The stranger stirred and Jacob abandoned his thoughts to make sure she was all right and persuade her to drink some water.

  He wondered what Miss Newington would say if she knew about his unexpected guest. She was his father’s generation and would perhaps be shocked at a man caring for a grown woman who was not a relative.

  No, it was Mrs Henty he had to fear. She’d kick up a right old fuss if she knew and try to send the stranger to the poorhouse instead. He’d not send a dog there.

  Miss Newington would see he’d had no choice. He rather liked the old lady, but he could also see that she hadn’t really settled down here. Folk said she was rich, but she didn’t live or dress rich. She didn’t go out much either, though she did attend the village church most weeks. Sometimes she talked wistfully of her old friends and Whitley Bay, where she’d lived by the sea.

  Money didn’t make you happy. Was anyone truly content with their life? He wasn’t. The stranger was running away from someone.

  Ah, he was being stupid. He had a lot to be thankful for. A lot.

  Emily Newington waited until the maid had closed the door, then gestured to the chair on the opposite side of the hearth. ‘Do sit down, Mr Parker.’

  Her lawyer took the seat opposite, clearing his throat and tugging at his tie. ‘Mr Arthur Newington has asked me to tell you that he would be happy to buy the house and miscellaneous properties from you.’

  She nodded. It wasn’t the first time Arthur had made this offer but she didn’t want to do this to the people in the village, who were decent sorts on the whole. Her cousin had a reputation as a poor landlord who rarely repaired his properties. If she sold she could move back to Whitley Bay, where she had friends still.

  But the will had said she must live here for ten years as a condition of inheritance and during that time she could only sell to her cousin Arthur. She wasn’t stupid enough to turn down a bequest like this, so she’d come to live here. She sighed. She missed the sea, missed her friends too.

  ‘What is my cousin offering this time?’

  Mr Parker named a figure which made her frown, only slightly higher than the previous offer. She’d made careful enquiries and had a fair idea of the worth of her various properties. The offer was only two-thirds of that. ‘I’ve told him before that I’d never accept such a low offer. I’ll stay here for the whole ten years if I have to and leave everything to …’ Her voice trailed away and she thought furiously because she had no other relatives. ‘I’ll leave it to charity.’

  ‘Your cousin was very firm in his refusal to increase his price, I’m afraid. And surely, if you’re not happy living here, it might be for the best? It’s still a handsome sum. You could live on it in comfort.’

  ‘I shan’t sell so cheaply, so we’ll let the matter drop.’

  ‘I would advise you to accept. It’s a generous offer, given the circumstances.’

  ‘Whose side are you on?’

  He avoided her eyes. ‘I’m on both your sides, of course.’

  ‘I think not. It seems to me you’re on my cousin’s side.’ She saw a dull flush stain his cheeks and knew what she’d suspected was right. ‘I shall dispense with your services. I’ll go into Swindon this very day and find myself a new lawyer. Please hold yourself ready to send him all the necessary papers.’

  ‘My dear Miss Newington, I must protest. I’ve only been advising you for your own good and—’

  She stood up. ‘Goodbye, Mr Parker. Please send me the bill for your services. I’ll see that it’s settled promptly – as long as it’s a fair one.’

  She rang the bell. ‘Please show Mr Parker out, Agnes.’

  She went to the window to watch him go and was surprised at how long it took him to get out of the house so went out into the hall to investigate. He was still standing just outside the front door, talking to her housemaid, Agnes. They were both whispering and then she saw him slip some coins into Agnes’s outstretched hand.

  Without hesitation, she walked out into the hall and flung back the front door. They turned towards her, guilt on both their faces.

  ‘I was … um … just asking Agnes how her father is,’ Mr Parker said. With a nod, he went down the steps and tossed a coin to the elderly groom, who had been tending his horse and trap.

  Horace tucked the coin in his pocket and picked up the bucket, tipping the water over the flower bed and walking stiffly back to the stables.

  Emily stared at the maid. ‘Come into my sitting room, Agnes.’ She went to stand in front of the fireplace.

  ‘Tell me what Mr Parker really wanted with you.’

  Agnes’s face went pale. ‘Like he said, miss, he was asking after my father.’

  ‘We both know that’s not true.’

  ‘It is, miss.’

  ‘Mr Parker is a pompous ass and would never stop to gossip with a maid. What was he saying and why did he give you those coins?’

  Agnes burst into tears.

  ‘He’s been paying you for information about me, hasn’t he?’

  Agnes sobbed even more loudly.

  ‘I think you’d better find yourself other employment since you clearly bear no loyalty towards me. Pack your things and leave at once. Horace will drive you to wherever you need to go. I shall pay you until today.’

  Emily refused to change her mind and watched with feigned calmness as the weeping maid went up to pack her things. She couldn’t stand disloyalty.

  When she went to inform Cook about Agnes leaving, the woman hesitated, then said, ‘Her father works for Mr Arthur. But it’s not right to tell folk about what goes on here.’

  ‘Can you manage with just Lyddie for a while? I shan’t expect you to do anything more than you do now and I’ll find help with the heavy scrubbing.’

  ‘Yes, miss.’ Cook smiled. ‘You’re not a big eater and you don’t expect miracles. I’m happy to stay. And you won’t find me passing on information, I pr
omise you.’

  ‘Thank you. I appreciate that.’

  ‘Lyddie’s all right, too. She comes from the village. She’s one of us.’

  Emily walked out, satisfied. Cook was getting on in years but was good at her job and not wasteful. She saw no reason to overwork servants or make their lives miserable, and had closed down a lot of the rooms because one woman didn’t need all this space.

  She went out to ask Horace to harness up their one elderly horse to the equally old dog cart. She then drove Agnes into Wootton Bassett herself, left her at the railway station, took the horse and cart to the livery stable and caught the next train into Swindon.

  There she went to visit a new lawyer who had opened up rooms a year or so ago. She’d passed them last time she was in town. She was hoping desperately that he might have some ideas about what she could do with her house, how she could get back home. She had just turned seventy and didn’t want to spend the few years she had left in Shallerton Bassett, however pretty the countryside.

  Chapter Three

  Bart didn’t go to the pub on Friday evening, was still trying to come to terms with what had happened. The house felt empty without the girls, and he hadn’t enjoyed the fish and chips half as much as Mattie’s cooking. Too greasy. Gave you indigestion. He fumbled through the cupboard for the bicarbonate of soda, but it didn’t help him much.

  He slept badly, kept waking, thinking he heard the front door. But it was only the wind, which was hurling rain at the windows. Damned weather. Nothing spring-like about it today.

  On the Saturday morning, Bart went to work without his usual box of sandwiches. He felt outraged that he’d have to send the lad out for something to eat. Waste of money, that was, but he’d run out of bread. He’d have to buy a loaf on his way home, and there wasn’t much butter left, either. He wasn’t used to managing on his own, doing women’s work.