Cherry Tree Lane Read online

  Emily stepped forward. ‘I shall go first. Don’t let me down, now.’

  ‘No, miss.’

  They crept down from the attic and pressed themselves out of sight against the landing wall while Emily peeped over the second-floor banisters. She was in time to see the men start creeping up the second flight of stairs towards them.

  She stood behind a chest of drawers, waiting till the men had almost reached the top of the stairs before rushing out at them, screaming at the top of her voice and waving the poker.

  One yelled out in shock and stumbled, falling a few steps before he could grab the wooden rails and save himself.

  The other moved towards her, but jerked to a stop as the young maid sprang out of hiding and struck out at him with the metal ewer, screeching even more loudly than her mistress.

  Cook was yelling, ‘Help! Police! Murder!’ over and over again and waving her poker wildly.

  The man who’d fallen down a few stairs turned and fled.

  Cursing loudly, the man next to Emily tried to punch her but missed. She managed to hit his shoulder a glancing blow with the poker and raised it for another. But with a yell of pain, he turned and ran after his companion.

  Emily didn’t make the mistake of pursuing him. ‘Well done!’ she told her two helpers and had to lean against the chest of drawers for a few moments till her heart stopped fluttering unevenly in her chest.

  Cook plumped down on the top step, patting her massive bosom. ‘Oh, my. Oh, my! I never thought to see the day.’

  ‘Let’s go and make sure they’ve left the house.’ Emily led the way down the stairs, followed closely by the young maid, with Cook trailing reluctantly behind them.

  They found a broken window in the scullery but no sign of the intruders. Then a man’s shadow wavered across the backyard area, coming towards them.

  Emily tensed.

  ‘Miss Newington?’ a voice quavered. ‘Be you all right?’

  She took a deep breath and refused to give in to a slight dizziness. ‘Come in, Horace. We’ve had burglars, but we chased them away.’

  She had to make the cups of tea herself, because Cook decided to ‘throw a spasm’ and sat weeping loudly into a tea towel. Lyddie was still so excited she broke a cup and looked like breaking another until Emily took them out of her hands. ‘Sit down and pull yourself together this minute!’

  ‘Sorry, miss.’

  ‘We’ll send for the police first thing in the morning,’ Emily said. ‘In the meantime, I’d be grateful if you’d sleep in the house tonight, Horace. I’m going to load one of my uncle’s shotguns and if they dare to come back, I shall have no hesitation in shooting them.’

  ‘Better load one for me, too,’ he said. ‘I’m too old to fight anyone, but I can still pull a trigger, yes and hit a target.’

  ‘You know how to use a gun?’

  He chuckled. ‘Oh, yes, miss. In fact, I’ll come and help you load them.’

  Emily slept rather badly for the rest of the night, but she felt they’d all acquitted themselves very well, considering, and told her little band of helpers so in the morning.

  Cook had provided a more substantial breakfast than usual, ‘to build up our strength’.

  The woman wasn’t too upset to clear her plate, Emily noticed, hiding a smile, but she didn’t grudge them the ham and eggs. They’d stood by her at some risk to their own safety and that was what counted.

  As soon as it was light she sent young Lyddie into Wootton Bassett on the bus that passed occasionally along the main road, with a note to let the police know what had happened. Then she waited for someone to come out to investigate. She had had a quick look round herself and found boot marks in the damp soil at the edges of the lane.

  She was quite sure this was part of an attempt to drive her away and force her to sell the house to her cousin. Well, Arthur didn’t know her very well if he thought she’d give in to this sort of bullying.

  She would go and see her new lawyer again as soon as she could get into Swindon. She intended to make a new will. He’d told her she was free to leave her property to someone other than her cousin, because the conditions of inheritance would be broken by her death if she died before the ten years were up. Her former lawyer had told her she was obliged to leave it to her cousin. Malpractice, that, but it was no use challenging a lawyer. The other lawyers and judges would only close ranks on her. And Parker had only ever said that to her, not put it in writing.

  Anyone would do as a legatee for the will, just temporarily. She’d get it signed and leave it safely in her lawyer’s hands, then let her cousin know he’d not be inheriting. That should protect her from misadventure.

  And she’d sleep with a gun beside her bed from now on, with the bedroom door locked.

  Once she got away from here, she’d redo the will and leave her money to charity, or maybe some of her old friends. She sighed. It must make life very easy if you had children to leave everything to and relatives you could turn to. The only thing she was sure of was that she wasn’t letting this house fall into Arthur Newington’s hands, or those of his children. Bad blood on that side of the family.

  They’d come here fussing around her when she first arrived, but she’d seen them eyeing the house, estimating values, and had soon sent them packing.

  The police didn’t turn up until midday, then a plump young fellow puffed his way up the lane on an elderly bicycle. By that time Emily was very annoyed at being kept waiting.

  He was so young, looking more like a boy than a man to her, and confessed that he’d only been in the area for a few months. He bounded around the house like an eager puppy that wasn’t quite sure what was expected of it. She answered his questions patiently and suggested he report everything to his sergeant.

  She didn’t mention her suspicions that this incident had been caused by her cousin, because she didn’t intend to give Arthur cause to sue her for slander. But who else could it have been? There was little of value in the house to tempt burglars. Everyone in the neighbourhood knew how rundown it was.

  When the young policeman had left, she walked down the lane to help care for the stranger, as she’d promised, taking with her a jar of chicken broth made by Cook.

  ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t get here sooner, Mr Kemble. We had burglars last night.’ She explained briefly what had happened.

  He didn’t say anything, but she could see faint frown lines on his forehead as he thought about it.

  ‘You should take care, Miss Newington.’

  ‘I am. I now have a loaded shotgun by my bedside and anyone else breaking into my house will get well peppered. I don’t suppose they’ll come back, though, not now they’ve seen we’re prepared to fight.’

  He smiled. ‘No, probably not. But the gun is a good idea.’

  ‘How did your visitor go last night?’

  ‘She slept a bit better, thank goodness. And I think she’s breathing easier today. I’ve managed to get a little water into her every now and then, but she didn’t really wake up, just drank a few mouthfuls as if she was thirsty.’

  ‘That’s good. But you look exhausted. Did you get any sleep at all?’

  He shrugged. ‘I can manage without. I’ve done it before.’

  She looked at the little fob watch pinned to her prim grey jacket. ‘I can give you a break for a couple of hours. Go and lie down. I’ll wake you when it’s time for me to leave.’

  He hesitated.

  ‘Do as I say!’

  She went into the kitchen and tidied it up, because she wasn’t too proud to do her own housework if necessary, or help her neighbours. She kept an ear open for the stranger, and when the two hours were nearly up, went and washed her. The woman’s breathing might have improved slightly, but it was still rasping in her chest, and it was still touch-and-go whether she’d recover.

  Such a pity if she didn’t. She had a pretty face and couldn’t have been more than thirty.

  Chapter Five

  On the Wednesday
morning Jacob sent both children to school, repeating his warning to tell no one about their guest. He was feeling deep-down tired for lack of sleep, so took his cup of tea into the front room and sat with it by the fire, watching her. He’d done that a lot over the past few days. She’d been quite slender to start with, but flesh had been stripped off her, leaving a frail, ethereal-looking creature. He’d seen that word in books and looked it up in his dictionary, but had never been able to use it before. Now he knew exactly what it meant.

  He wondered what she was really like. She had hard-working hands, reddened, marked with needle pricks from sewing. His wife’s hands had been like that.

  As if she could feel him staring at her, the stranger began to stir. Her head moved from side to side, then her eyes slowly opened. She closed them again, blinked, then opened them fully. Once again, he was struck by how blue they were, like the periwinkles that grew down one end of his garden. He’d always liked those flowers and spared a clump or two when weeding, for the pleasure they gave him.

  This time, she was aware of her surrounding and gasped in fear at the sight of Jacob, her eyes darting to and fro as she tried to work out where she was. He sat perfectly still and asked calmly, ‘How are you feeling now?’

  She tried to speak, but her voice came out as a croak.

  ‘You’re probably thirsty,’ he said. ‘Shall I get you a drink? My son brought in some fresh water from the well before he went to school.’

  ‘I remember … a child. A girl?’

  ‘Yes. My daughter Sarah. She’s been helping me look after you. My son found you lying unconscious in the lane during the storm.’

  ‘Storm?’ She repeated the word, with a dubious glance towards the sun streaming in through the window.

  ‘A really bad one, too. Trees uprooted, roofs damaged, and some of my seedlings battered into the ground.’ He brought the water and helped her drink, then asked, ‘Would you like a cup of chicken soup? Miss Newington brought some yesterday. I can soon warm it up. They say it’s very nourishing and you’ve been quite ill.’ She still was, but he didn’t say that, wanted her to think she was recovering.

  She nodded.

  It didn’t take long to warm up a cupful. When he brought it back, he thought for a minute she was asleep, but she opened her eyes again, looking at him warily. He felt as if he was dealing with a wild bird that would rather fly away than stay – and for some strange reason he didn’t want her to leave. He set the mug on the hearth. ‘We’ll have to leave that to cool for a minute or two, else you’ll burn your tongue.’

  She tried to sit up, but couldn’t. ‘I feel … so weak.’

  ‘You’ve had pneumonia.’

  She began to cough, fighting for breath until the spasm passed.

  ‘Let me help you sit a bit higher.’

  She flinched back.

  He stilled. ‘I won’t hurt you! What sort of fellow do you think I am?’

  She took a deep, shuddering breath and this time allowed him to slip an arm round her shoulders and ease her into an even more upright position, propped against the pillows. When he held the mug to her lips, she drank eagerly.

  Once she’d emptied it, he stepped back, not wanting to loom over her. ‘From what you said when you were delirious, it was obvious you’re running away from someone. I don’t know who it is, but you’re quite safe here with us, I promise you.’

  The flush had faded from her face now, in spite of the warmth of the room, and she was looking chilled again, her cheeks devoid of colour. Even her lips seemed bloodless.

  ‘My name’s Jacob – Jacob Kemble,’ he said by way of encouragement.

  ‘Oh. Yes. My name’s Mattie …’ She broke off, not giving him her surname.

  ‘Mattie, short for Matilda?’

  She nodded.

  ‘I had an aunt called Matilda. Auntie Tilda, we called her. Have you any family we should tell? Someone who’ll be worrying about you?’

  She shook her head. ‘No. There’s no one left.’ Her eyes filled with tears and she swallowed convulsively.

  ‘Then you’d better stay here with us till you’re better, hadn’t you?’

  She regarded him even more warily.

  He smiled. ‘I dare do nothing else but keep you. My Sarah’s decided to adopt you, like she does injured birds and other little creatures. She’ll be fussing over you the minute she gets back from school.’

  ‘I can’t impose.’

  She began coughing again and he gave her a clean handkerchief, holding her as the spasms racked her. ‘You don’t really have a choice. You can’t even sit up on your own.’

  She stopped coughing and he waited. When her breathing became deeper and she said nothing, he realised she’d fallen asleep, cradled against him. He looked down at her pale face and that pretty marigold-coloured hair, and felt tenderness suffuse him. ‘I wonder who’s hurt you so badly and where your family are,’ he murmured. Perhaps they were all dead. She’d had a grieving look on her face when she said there was no one left now.

  After he’d propped her against the pillows again, the impulse to stroke her cheek was irresistible, and the skin was indeed as soft as it looked. Then he drew the blanket up carefully and tiptoed out into the kitchen, with a feeling of certainty that she wasn’t going to die. He was surprised at how pleased he felt about that.

  A few hours later, Mattie woke again, to find the little girl sitting beside her.

  The child’s face brightened and she leant forward. ‘Are you really awake?’

  Mattie moistened her lips. ‘Yes. Is there … ? I’m very thirsty.’

  A small hand patted her shoulder and as the father had said, the child seemed to regard her as a pet. ‘I’ve got a glass of water here. Dad said not to fill it too full. Shall I help you drink?’ Tongue sticking out of one corner of her mouth, so deep was her concentration, she did so, then set the nearly empty glass down.

  Mattie felt like smiling at her young helper’s earnestness, but didn’t because it wouldn’t be polite.

  ‘Dad said I should warm up some porridge because you need something to eat. It won’t take me long. We made extra this morning. I can put honey on it, if you like.’

  ‘That’d be nice.’

  ‘My name’s Sarah.’

  ‘And mine’s Mattie.’

  ‘Dad told us, but you didn’t tell him your other name, an’ me and Luke can’t call you Mattie, can we?’

  ‘Why not?’

  The child’s grey eyes widened in surprise. ‘You’re a grown-up! We have to call grown-ups Mrs or Miss something. It’s not polite to call a grown-up by her first name.’

  ‘Well, I don’t mind. Just call me Mattie.’

  A man’s voice interrupted. ‘Sarah, love, don’t pester our visitor. It’s not good manners.’

  ‘But I was only—’

  ‘Leave it, Sarah!’

  ‘She wants something to eat.’

  ‘Go and warm her porridge, then.’

  Lips pressed together in a stubborn line, resentment of unjust treatment showing in every line of her body, Sarah marched out of the room.

  Jacob came to stand in front of the fire, warming his hands, bringing a breath of cool, fresh air and a smell of the outdoors to the room. He must have left his boots at the door but hadn’t waited to find his slippers. ‘You look a bit better than you did this morning.’

  Mattie nodded. ‘Still weak, though.’

  ‘Miss Newington will be here in a minute or two to help you have a wash. I saw her walking down the lane from the big house.’

  ‘Miss Newington?’

  ‘She lives in the big house, owns half the village.’

  Shortly afterwards there was a knock on the back door and it opened almost immediately. Brisk footsteps came towards them. A thin older lady entered, clad in muddy-coloured tweeds that flapped around scrawny ankles poking out of sensible boots. A shapeless felt hat was pulled down over her grey hair, which was dragged back into a tight bun.

  She s
tudied Mattie. ‘You’re awake and have come to your sense. Good.’ Then she took over.

  Half an hour later, after she’d helped Mattie to use the commode and washed her as if she was a baby, she hesitated, then said, ‘Just so that you don’t say anything that upsets him: Jacob’s wife died over a year ago. There are only him and the children living here now. He’s a good man, won’t hurt you.’ She called him back in and sat down on one of the armchairs. ‘Now, my dear, tell us what brought you here.’

  Mattie looked from one to the other, feeling trapped and helpless. She didn’t want to tell anyone about the past, because it’d bring back memories of her sisters. She didn’t even know where they were now, or if they were still safe, and wouldn’t for a long time, if ever. Best if she made a new life for herself and kept her thoughts away from the past, surely?

  ‘We can’t help you if we don’t know who you’re running from,’ Miss Newington prompted.

  ‘Perhaps we should give her time to get to know and trust us,’ Jacob said.

  And it was that understanding and kindness in his face that made Mattie change her mind. She managed to explain exactly why she was there and what had happened to her sisters, by which time she felt exhausted and could hardly keep her eyes open.

  ‘Let her sleep now,’ Jacob said.

  What a lovely man he was, Mattie thought. She smiled at him and let herself slide into sleep. Miss Newington led the way into the kitchen. ‘She’s had a bad time with that stepfather if what she’s telling us is true.’

  ‘I’m sure it is. She hasn’t got a liar’s face.’

  ‘I agree with you. Rather a nice-looking young woman, actually, even now, when she’s not well. Not a beauty. Comely is the word I’d use to describe her. The pretty ones fade by her age, but comely stays with a woman.’

  Jacob didn’t comment on his guest’s looks. He thought she was very pretty, with those lovely blue eyes. ‘That stepfather sounds a nasty sort.’ He waited for Miss Newington to reply, but she didn’t and when he looked at her, she was staring blankly ahead, her expression bleak.

  ‘Some fathers are like that, think they own their children, make their lives a misery,’ she murmured.