Free Charity by Lesley Pearse Page B

you. They all blow their noses, they use the lav and wipe their backsides. The only difference between them and me is they’ve got money and I ain’t.” It worked, y’know! After that I weren’t scared no more.’
    Charity smiled weakly at his irreverence.
    ‘That’s better,’ he grinned, showing his yellow teeth. ‘A couple of days and you’ll be right as rain. Just keep reminding yourself about what I said.’
    Charity sat on the edge of the seat as the car turned off the road on to a drive overhung by trees. Her stomach was in knots with fear and she clung to the leather strap as the car hit a rut.
    ‘Years ago this was as smooth as a pavement,’ Jackson said. ‘But things have slid a bit since then, half the house is shut up now. It takes me all me time just to keep the grass cut.’
    All at once they were out of the trees, and there, beyond a circular lawn, was the house.
    The view from back up the road had given her the scale of the place. Now as she saw it close up, bathed in sunlight, an unexpected lump came to her throat.
    She had sometimes seen pictures in glossy magazines at the dentist’s, of houses as big and as old, but a black and white photograph couldn’t show the serenity, the softness of the colours or the sheer beauty of such a place, with its warm grey stone walls, dozens of twinkling mullioned windows, tall chimneypots and a terracotta coloured roof. The turret-like porch with an arched front door and a coat of arms evoked castles in history books; the small belltower on the north wing and the stained glass in a bay window an image of a church. With the clear blue sky above, the lawn in front and the ancient cypresses grouped protectively round it, no one, least of all a girl from the back streets of Greenwich, could fail to be moved by its magnificence.
    Jackson stopped the car and got out to open her door. Charity stepped out hesitantly, looking up at the inscription above the front door.
    FEARE HIS GLORIOUS AND FEAREFUL NAME. THE LORD THY GOD. HONOUR THE KING .
    It brought back an image of her father and made her shiver.
    ‘Remember what I said.’ Jackson took her case from the boot and, holding her elbow, led her towards the door. ‘They’re only people, just like you and me!’
    Charity’s first impression of the interior of the house was of walking into an old church. The hall was stone, the floor made uneven by feet over the centuries and chillingly gloomy with a strong smell of mildew. But before she had a chance to catch her breath, an old lady came out of a door to her left.
    ‘Charity,’ she said. ‘How good to see you at last.’
    Her voice rang out like a melodious bell, echoing round the hall. Although she was small and slender and her hair a fluffy white cloud round a lined face, there was no sign of infirmity. Her back was straight, the hands that reached out to clutch Charity’s arms in greeting, unwavering.
    ‘Hallo.’ Charity wasn’t sure whether she should kiss her grandmother or not. Although her words were welcoming enough, she gave only a tight, cool smile and there was no inclination of her cheek towards Charity. ‘It’s kind of you to invite me.’
    She’d pictured her grandmother as an older version of her mother, but in fact there was no similarity. Grandmother’s face might be heavily lined, but it had a healthy glow and a sweetness that Gwen’s had lacked. Her eyes were faded blue, her mouth slack and puckered with tiny lines, but she was still undeniably pretty.
    ‘Take Charity’s case up, Jackson,’ her grandmother said, and caught Charity’s elbow in exactly the same way that Jackson had done, waving her hand dismissively towards the man hovering in the background.
    As Jackson disappeared, Grandmother opened the door she’d come through earlier, nudging Charity before her.
    ‘Stephen!’ she said. ‘Charity.’
    Charity stopped short as she saw her uncle. She was aware of the vast room which seemed to dwarf her, but the man in the