Mistress of Greyladies Read Online Free Page A

pieces of farm produce from her mother’s cousin, who lived just outside the village with his second wife Janet.
    Horace Reid had no children of his own, even though he’d married a second time soon after the death of his first wife, because a farmer needed a wife. Janet already had a son from her first marriage. Frank Hapton was a surly lad, who refused to take his stepfather’s name and made it clear that he hated living in the country and wanted nothing to do with dirty, smelly animals.
    He’d moved away from the farm as soon as he turnedfifteen, by which time he looked like a man grown. He hadn’t even told his mother he was going and just vanished one day, sending a postcard now and then to say he was all right, but not giving his address.
    Phoebe was glad Janet’s son didn’t live at the farm any longer. She didn’t like Frank. He was a big fellow, but very lazy, and seemed to push his way through life, with no regard for others. She was sorry when he started coming back for visits, because now she was older, Frank had begun to look at her in what she thought of as ‘that way’. A couple of times, he’d kissed her, laughing when she tried to fight him off. She didn’t like to complain to Janet, so avoided going to the farm when she knew he was there.
    As her mother’s health grew worse, life became difficult. Phoebe couldn’t leave her mother on her own all day, so jobs were limited. They’d used up all their savings and she had to start selling or pawning their possessions.
    Thank goodness Horace and Janet continued to help them. Without the food from the farm and what she could grow in the garden, she’d have had to get her mother admitted to the workhouse, a place no one went into, except as the very last resort.
    It was a relief as well as a deep sadness when her mother died.
    The day after the funeral, which had been paid for by Horace, Phoebe begged a lift into Swindon from a nearby carter, determined to find herself a job. She walked round the streets, enjoying being among smiling, bustling people.
    At one point, she tripped on the uneven pavement and stumbled against the window of a shop making curtains. A white card said:
Help needed, general duties
. It seemedmeant to be and she walked inside to ask about the job. She didn’t know anything about making curtains, but she was a good needlewoman. They could only say no, after all.
    The Steins, who owned the shop, were foreigners, Austrian, she found out. They asked her some questions, then offered her the job. They seemed so nice, she accepted it without hesitation. ‘I’ll have to find lodgings first, though, and sell my mother’s furniture. She died last week.’
    Mrs Stein exchanged glances with her husband, and said in her heavily accented English, ‘We hev two little rooms in the attic here. You can live there rent-free, if you clean the shop each evening after it closes.’
    Mr Stein nodded vigorously. ‘Show her, Trudi.’
    Phoebe was shown two tiny bare rooms. She could use the smaller one with the sloping ceiling as her bedroom, and the other as her sitting room. It had enough room for her bookcase, armchair, a table and two upright chairs.
    There was an outside lavatory in the yard downstairs and her employers would let her cook in the kitchen behind the shop, which had a modern gas cooker, used to warm up Mr Stein’s dinners at lunchtime. That would be wonderfully easy to use after the wood-burning stove Phoebe had in the cottage.
    ‘We won’t charge you for the gas,’ Mrs Stein said. She waved one hand dismissively. ‘One girl, not much cooking.’
    As the weeks passed, Phoebe realised how lucky she’d been. She had an interesting job, with a lot to learn, good employers
and
somewhere of her own to live.
    She didn’t have the time or energy to make many friends. The library had plenty of good books to entertain her in the evenings, and she occasionally went to see a moving picture at the Country Electric cinema with Edith,