Through Glass Eyes (22 page)

Beneath a yellowed canopy of mosquito netting and with the smell of Indian spices wafting in his nose, James lay naked on the hotel bed, counting the hours until his sailing day. He thought mostly about Grace and about seeing her again. He wondered about Mr Fothergill and the farm and hoped the weather in Yorkshire had improved. He thought about Alice and wondered why she had suddenly decided to leave the cottage and return to work. He wondered if it had anything to do with his growing attraction for Grace Fothergill. No doubt he would find out when he got home.

Six weeks later, James stood in the front room of his cottage staring at the empty shelves in his glass cabinet. All Edward’s fine ornaments had gone. The marks in the dust were the only clue as to what had been there. ‘Tell me what happened,’ he said quietly.

Grace sniffed and wiped her face. ‘When I came down to feed the chickens one morning, I noticed the door to Alice’s cottage was wide open. I thought maybe she’d come back to get some things, but when I went in, I found the place in a mess. Pots and pans were scattered on the floor, the cupboard doors were hanging off, every one of the dresser drawers was smashed and the curtains ripped from the rails. I drove straight to the police station and got the constable. We went through the two other cottages together and they were in the same state. I couldn’t tell the policeman what was missing but I knew you had lots of lovely things and they were all gone. I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Dad and I stayed here a couple of nights but after that we had to go back to the farm. Dad said whoever did it got what he wanted and probably wouldn’t come back.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, James.’

‘It’s not your fault,’ he said. ‘I wish Alice had been here, then this might never have happened.’

James looked at the list he had made of the items missing from the three cottages. But it was not comprehensive. There were probably many more things than he could remember. He was angry with himself. He should have shown more interest in Edward’s things, but trinkets and ornaments had never been important to him.

Constable Merrifield was sympathetic but could offer little hope the items would be recovered. ‘Quite a haul!’ he said. ‘What surprised me,’ he added, ‘there was no sign of a forced entry. Looks like the burglar had a key. You don’t think it could be anyone you know do you?’

James shook his head.

‘Hopefully some of the items will turn up. From what you say, whoever took them knew they were worth a few quid otherwise they’d have been smashed.’

‘Is there anything I can do to get them back?’ James asked.

‘I suggest you scout round the markets. And take a look in the antique shops. You never know, you might strike it lucky.’

Chapter 22

Decisions

‘Pull up a chair, lad,’ Mr. Fothergill said. ‘Try some soup. It’s not bad.’

James smiled at Grace. It smelled good.

‘You said once you were looking at getting a few acres,’ the farmer said. ‘Putting a few cows on it. Were you serious?’

‘Yes, I was.’

‘But your mother said you were going to go to college, become a doctor, or teacher, or some such sort.’

James sighed. ‘I thought so too a few years ago and I think Mum still has her hopes. She says I’ve been wasting my time since I got left the money. Maybe she’s right.’

‘Well I don’t want to know your business, but if you’re interested in doing a bit of farming, I’ve been thinking of putting part of the farm up for sale.’

Grace pushed the stool towards her father and lifted his foot onto it.

‘I ain’t getting any younger and this damn leg don’t work so good since I took that tumble in the snow. Me and the missus hoped the boys would take over when we was too old, but the war put paid to that. So now it’s just me and Grace.’

Looking straight at his daughter, the farmer spoke as though she was not in the room. ‘She’s a good lass but she’s been wearing herself out lately minding me and the dairy.  I can sit all right and do the milking but she’s got to fetch the beasts in and fill the racks with hay. Then there’s the horses, the cart, delivering the milk, and the churns to clean. When I asked her about ploughing the paddocks for this year’s crop, she was ready to take off. Get a job in the city.’

‘I was tired, Dad. That was all. You know I wouldn’t leave you.’

‘Aye, I know you wouldn’t, lass,’ he said, turning to James. ‘But I got to be honest with myself. It can’t go on like this forever. Different if she was a farmer’s wife, but she ain’t and it’s no life for a girl on her own.’ He noticed the look exchanged between Grace and James. ‘Now,’ he said. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I’m not suggesting you two get married, but I do have a proposition.’

‘Let’s hear it,’ James said.

‘The farm’s getting run down because the pair of us is trying to do everything by hand. Now you’re pretty good with mechanical stuff, you’ve even got Grace driving the car like she’s some racing driver.’

‘Dad!’

‘You buy some land off me, lad, and with the money, I’ll rebuild the dairy, install some mechanical machines for milking and I’ll buy a truck for delivering the cream. Aye, and a tractor, if funds will run to it. What do you think?’

‘I like the sound of it but I’ll have to give it a bit of thought.’

The farmer beckoned his daughter. ‘Come here, lass.’

Grace walked over to her father and rested her hand on his shoulder. Sliding his arm around her waist he looked into her face. ‘Me and Grace can make the place run, but we’re fighting an uphill battle and losing. But,’ he said, ‘with a bit of careful planning, we can make this farm into a good paying concern. I’ve done me sums. We can run more livestock. Buy a new bull to improve the line. Increase the volume of milk. And our Grace is pretty good at making cheeses, if she’s given the time. Think about it serious, lad. But,’ he said, as he leaned across the table to James, ‘if you decide, you’ve got to remember this, farming’s not for a week or two, or even a season or two, it’s for life. But if you give it a go and we work it right, we can both make a decent living. It’s up to you.’

‘Colonel Winters?’

‘Welcome, Mrs Oldfield. I am very pleased to meet you.’ The colonel’s accent was English southern counties, the sincerity of his greeting, Yorkshire West Riding. He was smartly dressed in a dark pin-striped suit which would have been more appropriate in Bradford than Bombay. He was at least seventy-five years of age, wore gold-rimmed spectacles and carried a walking cane with an ivory handle. Taking Lucy’s arm, the retired colonel escorted her up the stone steps into a rather austere sitting-room. Though the entrance to the building had been light and airy, this room was heavy with mahogany and the worn leather bindings of innumerable books. Having invited her to sit down, he settled himself on the settee opposite. A marble-topped coffee table separated them. After barely raising his hand more than a few inches, a waiter appeared and bowed.

‘Lemonade for the lady and the usual for myself.’

As they waited for the drinks to arrive, Lucy looked around. The fronds of a tall palm tree growing from an earthenware pot curled over at the ceiling. Beside the ornamental fireplace were two stools made from the feet of an elephant, the steel-grey skin was coarse and wrinkled, the enormous toenails – highly polished. Above the mantelpiece, a huge pair of tusks hung like crossed swords. Lucy wondered if they were from the same animal.

‘I did not know ladies were allowed into gentlemen’s clubs,’ she said.

The colonel smiled. ‘We maintain our inner sanctum but we like to provide an area for members’ guests, most particularly the ladies.’ He leaned forward slightly and lowered his voice. ‘If truth be told, most of the members would give their right arm to be accompanied by a lovely lady like yourself, though if you asked them outright they would probably argue they are quite content without the company of the fairer sex.’

Lucy sipped her lemonade. It was freshly squeezed and cool.

‘But tell me. How is Captain Wainwright? Haven't seen the blackguard in fifteen or twenty years. And that lovely wife of his, Lydia. I heard she was not well.’

‘I’m sorry to say that Lydia passed away after a long illness. But Captain Wainwright is very well and sends his regards.’

‘Must look him up when I am in England. Must go back to the old Dart sometime. It has no doubt changed since 1910.’

Lucy smiled politely.

Colonel Winters clicked his fingers again. This time the servant appeared with a box of cigars. Before selecting one, Colonel Winters turned to Lucy. ‘Do you mind if I smoke?’

‘Please go ahead.’

A swarthy hand held the flame steady, while the colonel sucked on his cigar. The blue smoke had the distinctive smell of first-class railway compartments, P&O smoking-rooms and gentlemen’s clubs.

‘Now,’ he said, shuffling in his seat. ‘You said when you phoned you had a problem.’

Feeling a little embarrassed, Lucy returned her glass to the table, sat upright and broached the subject. ‘I don’t know if you can help me, Colonel, but you are the only person I can turn to.’

 The gentleman relaxed into the leather chair and listened as Lucy explained her problem which related to the sale of a large Victorian house left to her by Edward Carrington.

‘Ah, dear Edward.
We were all sorry to learn of his death.’

Lucy smiles and continued. ‘The rates and taxes have been paid each year, but the place has been left for a long time without a regular tenant. Unfortunately, the so-called resident staff either died or absconded and the property has been completely overrun by squatters.’

 The colonel shook his head sympathetically.

 Lucy explained that when the agent had showed her the building she had estimated over 200 people were living in it. ‘They have taken over every room, upstairs and downstairs, the attic, the bathroom, the pantries, even the closets. The toilets aren’t working; there’s no running water; the place is filthy and it’s infested with rats and cockroaches. I’m afraid the stench almost made me sick. It was unbelievable.’ She took a deep breath. ‘And if that is not bad enough, the gardens which I imagine were once sculptured and ornamental, have been replaced by a shamble of shelters made from bits of cardboard and canvas.’

The colonel puffed on his cigar allowing Lucy to continue. She told him she had instructed the agent not to advertise the property until the squatters were evicted and the place cleaned. The company’s representative had promised he would attend to the matter personally, but advised that it would incur additional expenses which would need to be paid in advance.

After handing over the fee demanded, and after several letters, frustrating phone calls and two rather perilous excursions to the property, Lucy had come to the conclusion that absolutely no effort was being made to evict the residents. Though she felt sorry for the people who were to be made homeless, she nevertheless had to conduct her business.

‘While the house remains the way it is,’ she said, ‘no one in his right mind would even consider buying it.’

Colonel Winters laid his cigar in the alabaster ashtray.

‘I will require the address of the property and the name of the agent. This business may take a little time and involve some expense.’ He looked at Lucy quizzically.

‘Cost is no object,’ she assured him. ‘And even if it were, any expenses would be offset by the sale once it goes through.’

‘As I thought.
Leave the matter with me.’

‘May I ask how you hope to remove all the people and when you do, how you will keep them out?’

‘That I cannot answer as I have not yet worked out a strategy. Speaking from experience, I can say dealing with some of the local government bodies is a long and painstaking procedure, and those tactics would get us nowhere in a hurry. In this instance what we need is a more dynamic approach. The first move will be the erection of a high fence around the grounds and the installation of a squad of security guards. If necessary I will call on my friends in the police department.’ He paused. ‘In fact, I will speak with the recently retired commissioner who is, right this moment, within these walls. Once the vagrants are evicted and the house is empty, I suggest you refurbish it before presenting it on the market.’

Lucy found it hard to thank him enough.

‘It is my pleasure, madam. Not only does it give me the opportunity to help you and return a favour to an old friend, but it gives me something to get my teeth into. One gets bored here with the same routine day in and day out. I have played so many games of chess in the last few years it is a wonder I do not walk diagonally across our checkerboard floor.’

‘Thank you, Colonel Winters,’ Lucy said, as she shook hands with him.

‘My dear lady,’ he said holding her hand in his. ‘I will enjoy this exercise immensely. And when the house sells, you may treat me to a box of those rather fine imported cigars.’

It was a long time since James had wandered over the moors alone. Sitting on a rock, he gazed across Wharfedale to the grey-green hills in the distance. He had always loved the countryside especially the open moors. It had a peacefulness he found nowhere else. Below, in the valley, the river snaked lazily through verdant fields. Downstream the clusters of smoke-blackened houses blemished the natural landscape. The thought of working in a dirty city was repugnant.

But James knew his mother had always wanted him to improve himself and to go to university. So had Edward. He had even left money in trust for that purpose. But Edward was dead, and James now found himself torn between his desire not to disappoint his mentor and his wish to work on the land. He sighed, knowing full well that study and professional qualifications were not what he wanted out of life.

But time was running out. He had to make a choice. His car was getting older and would not run forever. He was living on the interest from his savings, but that was rapidly diminishing as he was eating into his capital. One day he would likely inherit most of his mother’s money. But she was fit and only fifty years of age. Even though James knew she was a wealthy woman, he would never ask her for money. Besides, the trip to India, on which she had taken him, had not been cheap.