Mistress of Greyladies (5 page)

Phoebe walked away and when she peeped back over her shoulder, the woman seemed to have forgotten her. The two policemen had disappeared inside the house.

She stopped again at the corner, watching from a distance, not speaking to anyone. She wouldn’t dare try to defend the poor Steins again. You couldn’t reason with hysterical people.

After a while, she saw the policemen come out of the house again, escorting her poor employers, who looked pale, terrified and suddenly much older.

A few stones whizzed in their direction and the crowd pressed in on them. One policeman roared at the bystanders to get back. ‘This is England. We don’t tolerate mobs causing trouble here. We leave that to foreigners.’

For a moment all hung in the balance, then a woman said calmly, but in an equally carrying voice, ‘He’s right. We’re English and should act like it. Let the law take them away.’

The Steins tottered off with their two blue-clad protectors. Phoebe could only hope the poor dears would be safe.

They weren’t her employers now, were they? They wouldn’t dare open the shop again, even if they were released. She’d better find another job and somewhere else to live.

With nothing more to see, the crowd started dispersing. She realised she was wasting valuable time. Another mob was bound to turn on the Steins’ shop at some stage, if they hadn’t done so already. She hurried away to pick up her bag of clothes and as much else as she could carry.

At the shop she found that the violence had started. A policeman was guarding the premises, but the big shop window was broken. Stones and shards of glass littered the pavement. She stared at the damage in dismay, then went up to him.

‘Stay back, miss, h’if you please.’

‘Can I go inside and get my things?’ She gestured to the shop. ‘I work there. Or I used to. I’ve been living above the shop, so I need to get my clothes out.’

‘How do I know you’re not a looter?’

‘I’m not! I’ve come here openly, haven’t I?’

‘I suppose so. What’s your name? Right. Wait there.’ He went to the next shop and yelled inside. ‘Police! Can someone come out here, please?’

Mrs Harby peeped out of the door.

‘Do you know this young lady?’

‘Yes, Constable. She’s called Phoebe Sinclair and she works – I mean
used to work
for them.’ She jerked one thumb in the direction of the Steins’ shop.

‘I’m definitely not working there any more, Mrs Harby, but I need to get my clothes and my other bits and pieces.’ Thinking of the Steins and how afraid they must be made tears come into her eyes and she let them fall, squeezing out others on purpose. ‘All I have in the world is in there.’

‘I can’t let you go inside on your own,’ the policeman said, ‘and I can’t leave my post. If I do, people will break in.’

‘How about I go in with her?’ Mrs Harby offered. ‘I can check she’s not taking anything that’s not hers – not that I think she would anyway. She’s a nice lass and I’ve always found her very helpful and willing, I must say.’

He frowned, seeming uncertain still.

‘Oh, go on, Constable. You can’t let that poor lass lose all she owns as well as her job. It’s not her fault they’re foreigners. She’s as English as you and me.’

‘All right. Get your things, miss. But nothing else. And hurry.’

Inside the shop, Mrs Harby stared round, clearly enjoying the drama. ‘What a waste! Look at how the broken glass has torn that lovely material.’

Phoebe couldn’t bear to look at the destruction and led the way quickly to the rear. ‘I packed some things this morning and put a bag in the coalhouse. I wonder if it’s still there.’

‘Let’s go and look.’

They retrieved the bag, then Phoebe said, ‘The furniture upstairs is mine, and there are all sorts of bits and pieces I don’t want to lose.’

‘Well, you can’t carry everything. You can leave some of your stuff with us, if you like, though, just till you find somewhere else to live.’

‘Can I? That’s very kind of you. I know I can trust you.’

‘You definitely can. I haven’t forgotten you getting my washing off the line when it came on to rain, and more than once, too.’

‘We should all help neighbours.’

When they’d finished gathering together Phoebe’s bits and pieces of crockery from the kitchen downstairs, Mrs Harby asked, ‘Do they – um, keep money on the premises?’

‘No. Well, only the petty cash for buying milk and tea.’

‘You should take that with you. It’ll just get stolen otherwise.’

‘I can’t do that. It’d feel like stealing. Anyway the tin’s locked and it’s quite big.’

‘Leave it with us, then. Me and Mr Harby will look after it for them.’

Phoebe had a feeling that the Steins would never see the money again, but she didn’t say so. And better the neighbours had it than a mob. She packed the rest of her things rapidly, bundling her bedding into a sheet.

‘I suppose these were your mother’s,’ Mrs Harby commented. ‘It’s sad you lost her so young. Do you have any relatives to go to now?’

‘Yes. A cousin of my mother. He has a farm. I’ll go to them till I can get another job, but I’ll have to find someone to take all my stuff there.’

When Phoebe had finished packing, Mrs Harby brought her husband and son to help carry the boxes of smaller things next door.

The policeman checked everything. ‘You’re sure she’s not stealing these?’

‘Of course she isn’t!’

A police sergeant came up just then, and the bundles
had to be explained to him. He nodded. ‘Take your things, Miss Sinclair, and don’t work for foreigners again, if you can help it. We’re keeping order here, and it’s only property that’s been damaged, but there are other towns where people have been harmed and buildings set on fire. Foreigners bring trouble with them.’

She answered with a slight nod because she wanted to get her things away. She didn’t agree with him about foreigners, though, not when they were as nice as the Steins.

When they’d got Phoebe’s bags inside her house, Mrs Harby filled the kettle. ‘We’ll have a cup of tea, then you’d better go and look for someone to take you and your things out to your cousin’s. We haven’t got a spare bedroom, though if you’re desperate, you can sleep on the sofa tonight.’

‘I think I’d better go and see my cousin’s son. He works in Swindon. He might know someone.’ She didn’t like asking Frank, but there was no one else.

‘Good idea.’

‘Thank you for your help. I’m very grateful.’

Mrs Harby had said nothing about the petty cash, either to the police or her family. Phoebe didn’t mention it, either. She thought it a small price to pay for the neighbour’s help.

Phoebe walked to the address Frank had given her, not liking the mood of the people she met in the streets. She passed quite a few small groups talking and gesticulating, and felt there was a hard, angry edge to them. She didn’t feel comfortable near them, was sure the slightest thing would set them off like roasting chestnuts exploding near a fire.

Frank’s home was in a very seedy street, and people there stared at her strangely, as if assessing what she had in her pockets.

She didn’t expect to find him home at this hour of the day, but hoped someone would know where he was. To her relief, the woman who answered the door yelled over her shoulder, ‘Frank! It’s for you.’

He came to the door, not wearing a shirt, pulling his braces up over his vest as if he’d been getting dressed. He studied Phoebe. ‘I was just having a lie-down. Trouble?’

‘Yes. I need help. Would you mind?’

‘I’ll finish getting dressed and take you for a cup of tea at the corner cafe. Keep an eye on things here, Flo.’

‘Is this the new girl?’

‘No. She’s a relative of mine.’

‘Pity. She’s quite pretty.’

The predatory look in the woman’s eyes made Phoebe shiver.

He gripped Flo’s shoulder so tightly she winced. ‘Remember: this one’s a relative of mine. Not to be touched.’

‘Yes, Frank. Frank, don’t! You’re hurting me.’

‘Remember.’ He shoved her away so hard she nearly fell, then said to Phoebe, ‘Wait for me outside. I don’t want you in here.’

She wondered why he was undressed so late in the day and why he didn’t want her here. What was this place?

As they set off down the street, she told him what had happened.

‘You’re all right, though?’

‘Yes.’

‘Lost your things, have you?’

‘No. Mrs Harby next door helped me get the smaller things out and she’s looking after them for me till I can find some lodgings.’

Another of those stares, then, ‘Better go out to stay with my mother.’

‘Yes. That’s what I thought. For the time being, anyway. But I’ve got quite a bit of furniture still in the house and I don’t want to lose it. Do you know anyone with a cart?’

‘Might do. We’ll see what you’ve got, but first we’ll have something to eat and drink.’

She didn’t feel hungry, but forced some food down. She had to keep her energy up. Frank didn’t talk much, but he ate a lot and finished off what she’d left on her plate as well.

‘You don’t eat much, Phoebe. No wonder you’re so slender. It suits you, though.’

She didn’t want him talking about her appearance. He looked fatter and puffy. ‘I’m not hungry today. Too upset.’

‘About them Germans?’

‘They’re
not
Germans.’

‘Whatever they are, they’re foreigners and I bet the police will lock ’em away till the war’s over.’

‘Where will they send them? Will I be able to visit them?’

‘How should I know where they’ll be going? Don’t you go near them. You’ve got to start looking after your own interests.’

‘They’ve been kind to me.’

‘You’re too soft for your own good, you are. People take advantage.’

She’d rather be soft than hard like him, but she didn’t say so. She was watching what she said today.

She would not, she decided, tell any of them about the money. Especially Frank. She had to find some way of hiding it. On her person would be best. She’d need to make some sort of money belt.

She’d sew one tonight after everyone else had gone to bed.

When they got to the shop, the policeman called out, ‘There she is! Hoy, miss! Come here.’

Another policeman standing there, called, ‘Are you sure she’s the one?’

‘Yes. It’s definitely her.’

Frank took hold of her arm and edged her forward. ‘No use running away,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Smile at them.’

But Phoebe couldn’t summon up a smile, just couldn’t.

‘You’re Miss Phoebe Sinclair?’ the policeman asked.

‘Yes.’

‘I have this letter for you. It’s been opened to check it’s got nothing dangerous in. It’s from your former employers.’

‘Are they all right?’

‘Mr Stein isn’t well, but he dictated this letter to his wife, and since it’s to your benefit, and you’re British, the inspector decided to pass it on to you.’

She opened the letter, gasping as she read it.

She read it again, amazed and touched that in all their troubles, they’d thought of her.

Frank twitched the letter out of her hand and read it, letting out a low whistle. ‘You fell lucky there.’

‘I don’t understand. Aren’t they coming back? Or selling the business?’

The policeman gave her a condescending smile. ‘They’ll be kept in custody for the duration of the war, together with other enemy aliens. And who’d pay good money to take over a ruined shop, especially if they had to give the money to foreigners?’

The poor Steins. What had they done to deserve this?

‘I should clear the contents of the shop quickly, if I was you,’ the policeman said. ‘The mobs will get in and loot it if you don’t. We’re only keeping a man on duty here till the end of the day.’

‘I’ll see to that for my fiancée, Officer,’ Frank said. ‘Thank you very much for helping us. I’ll buy you a drink one day … when times are easier.’

Phoebe was puzzled by the nods they gave one another, then it suddenly sank in what Frank had called her. ‘I’m not your fiancée!’ she whispered.

‘Shh. It’ll make things easier for me to help you. And you could be, if you wanted.’

‘No, thank you. I don’t want to get married, not to anyone.’

He laughed. ‘We’ll talk about that another time. You go inside now and start sorting out the shop stuff that isn’t damaged. I’ll fetch some fellows and a couple of carts.’

She didn’t like the idea of pretending to be engaged to a man like him. Something inside her shrank from the mere thought of it. But she did as he told her, consoling herself with the thought that she’d give everything back to the Steins once all this stupidity was sorted out. She didn’t want to benefit from their troubles.

Even if there was a war, everyone was saying it wouldn’t last long. She didn’t know if they were right. What did she know about wars? She felt very ignorant of everything after her years in a small village, focusing on caring for her mother, then her years in this shop.

She should have read more newspapers to keep up with what was going on, instead of novels from the library, but
she’d felt so tired after her mother died, so very weary. She’d needed time to recover.

And now … well, she didn’t know what she felt. Or what she’d do to earn her living.

When the two carts laden with furniture and goods got to the farm, Frank explained to his parents what had happened, then took charge.

‘We’ll put the things from the shop into my boss’s barn. They’ll be safer there because it has a good strong door and proper locks.’ He saw Phoebe’s puzzled look. ‘He’s paying my parents to store some things for him.’

‘Oh.’ It was the first time she’d heard about him having a boss to answer to. She was beginning to feel very suspicious about how he earned a living.

‘There’s another shed where we can put your furniture and household stuff,’ Cousin Horace told Phoebe. ‘It’s a bit ramshackle, but it’s waterproof and I’ll put some rat poison and mousetraps down.’

She could only say, ‘Thank you.’ She was so tired now that everything was starting to feel unreal.

‘You come inside and leave the men to put things away,’ Cousin Janet said. ‘You’re white with exhaustion, you poor thing. Must have been a terrible day for you.’

Her son overheard and grinned. ‘It was a very
good
day for her. She got given the stock of the shop. Nice lot of money that’ll bring in after the war. Do you know how to make curtains, Phoebe?’

‘Straightforward ones, not the fancy sort. Mrs Stein and Edith did those.’

‘Bring in good money, does it, a curtain shop?’

‘Not bad. Enough for the Steins to buy their own house with a few years’ profits.’

He nodded slowly, looking at her thoughtfully.

He’d better not start calling her his fiancée again. The mere thought of being kissed and mauled about by him made her shudder.

She sat in front of the kitchen fire, her eyes closed, feeling relaxed after a nice cup of cocoa and a currant bun. Frank came in and stopped in the doorway. ‘Got a minute, Mum?’

Cousin Janet went out into the hall.

Phoebe could hear them talking, even though they kept their voices low, because Cousin Horace had gone to bed and the house was quiet. They thought she was asleep and she didn’t bother to tell them she was only resting her eyes.

‘Phoebe’s got a lot of stuff, hasn’t she?’ Cousin Janet said. ‘Worth a nice bit of money, that is. And she’s a good-looking girl. You could do worse than marry her, Frank, love.’

‘I was thinking that myself today. She’s very ladylike, too. I wonder where she gets that from?’

‘Takes after her mother, Horace says. Not that
she
had money or anything but she was a Latimer.’

‘That name doesn’t mean anything to me.’

‘It didn’t mean anything to me till I married Horace. The Latimers have land in Wiltshire somewhere. I don’t know where exactly, but that’s probably where Phoebe gets that refined air she has. She carries herself like a duchess, Horace always says, just as her mother did before she got ill. Why she fell in love with a rough miner like Rick was a mystery.’

There was silence, then he said slowly, ‘I think you could be right, Mum. I pretended we were engaged to make it
easier for me to get the stuff from the shop. But Phoebe’s a good girl, if you know what I mean. Hasn’t been with any other fellows.’

‘How can you tell that?’

‘Shh. Keep your voice down. It was the way she blushed when I said something. Pink as a peony, she went. I’m beginning to think I’d better get married before this war gets much older. It stands to reason they’ll be taking the single fellows first.’

‘You come over on Sunday and have dinner with us. You can start courting her then. Talk to her nicely, mind. No bullying. Women don’t go for bullies and you do push your way around.’

‘It’s them as push who get the money, I’ve found. And I intend to make a lot of money out of this war.’

‘Profiteering? Frank, is that wise? People won’t like it.’

‘People can lump it. But I will come over on Sunday and spend some time with her. Let’s hope it’ll be fine so I can take her for a walk and kiss her a bit.’

‘Tell her she’s pretty, too. Women like compliments. And it’s true enough.’

‘All right. Words don’t cost anything. Hey, look at the time! I’d better get going now. My friends with the carts are waiting for me at the village pub.’

He called a goodbye to Phoebe and Horace. His stepfather replied from upstairs, but Phoebe didn’t say a word. She was too indignant. Marry her for her possessions and to stay out of the army, would he? Well, he’d get a slap if he tried to force a kiss on her. She couldn’t stand him and nothing he did would ever change that.

She wished she’d not gone to him for help with the
furniture and stuff from the shop. She should have tried to find someone else to help her.

When he realised she wasn’t going to let him court her, he’d probably not give her the curtains and other stuff back. Might was right, as far as he was concerned. Better lose them than give herself into his power, though.

At least he didn’t know about the money the Steins had given her. She had to make a hiding place for that.

When Cousin Janet came in, Phoebe pretended to wake up. ‘Oh, sorry. I must have fallen asleep. I’ll go straight up to bed, if that’s all right.’ She kept yawning and muttering about being tired as she climbed the steep, narrow stairs. She didn’t want Cousin Janet to suspect that she’d overheard them talking about her.

Frank hadn’t made the slightest pretence that he was fond of her, or cared whether she was fond of him. All he wanted was a presentable wife and the money Phoebe would bring him.

Lying in bed, with the curtains of the cramped little room open to show the clear, starry sky, she gradually grew less angry and her thoughts turned to the Steins. Where were her poor employers sleeping tonight? Were they being treated decently? She was particularly worried about Mr Stein, who had looked so ill and afraid as he was marched away.

Once she was sure Horace and Janet were asleep, she lit her bedroom candle and sewed a money belt out of a tea towel. It was rough, and her stitches were more like tacking, but the belt would hold the banknotes safe under her clothes.

As the next two days passed, she could only wonder how the war was going. Things were so cut off here at the farm. Horace and Janet didn’t even go into the village unless they
had to, and would have stared if she’d said she felt like a walk. They had plenty of jobs for her to do, kept her busy from dawn till dusk.

They didn’t even take a daily newspaper. Janet said there was only bad news these days and Horace didn’t seem to read anything, just sat gazing into the fire after he’d had his tea, then went to bed early.

Phoebe would have to get hold of a newspaper and see if there were any jobs on offer as soon as she left here.

Only how was she going to get away?

On the Friday, Cousin Janet said, ‘Frank said he would be coming to dinner on Sunday. You know, I think he’s sweet on you, dear.’

Phoebe didn’t like to say anything rude about Frank to his mother. ‘I may not be here on Sunday,’ she said. ‘I have to find myself a job.’

‘Oh, there’s no hurry for that. We like having you, don’t we, Horace?’

‘Mmm. Nice to have a pretty young face about the place.’

‘It’d make us very happy if you and Frank got together,’ Janet said when Horace had gone back outside to work.