Free The Fall and Rise of Lucy Charlton by Elizabeth Gill

work.

S IX
    Joe didn’t have visitors. He only went out for food and into the yard at the back of the house – where the carriage houses and stables were – to replenish the fire. So he was astonished one day in February to hear a banging on the front door. He had fallen asleep some time in the middle of the night in his father’s chair. He almost didn’t answer it but then he thought of Angela – it could be news from some unexpected source – so as the banging went on he trod through the freezing hall and jerked open the door.
    ‘Major Hardy?’
    The man had a slight north-eastern accent, Joe recognized; he had met many men from Durham and Newcastle when he was in France, though they had flatter vowels than this man, he must have been educated, middle-class. He was about Joe’s height, in his thirties, and well dressed, with a coat and scarf and hat and leather gloves. And he had been a soldier, Joe could tell; he had about him that rigid, tired air that they all had, those who had come through, as though he had seen too much too young and everything was dulled.
    ‘My name is Edgar Bainbridge. I’m a solicitor. I would like to talk to you. May we go inside?’
    Joe ushered him along the hall and into the library. There was still nothing but one chair; it was obvious from the pillow and blankets that Joe was using the room to sleep in.
    Joe could see Mr Bainbridge trying not to stare. The fire was dead in the grate – other than his blankets and pillow there were no signs of habitation. Joe tried to look at it objectively, but it defeated him; this was his whole world now.
    ‘You see, Major Hardy—’
    ‘It’s “mister”,’ Joe said.
    ‘I’m sorry?’
    ‘Mr Hardy. I’m not in the army any more.’
    ‘People usually …’
    Joe waved at the armchair, tired of the whole thing and hoping this wouldn’t take long since there was only one chair.
    ‘Do have a seat,’ he said.
    Edgar Bainbridge nodded and sat down among the cushions and the blankets as though he did it most days. Joe admired that.
    Mr Bainbridge hesitated and then said, ‘I don’t know much about your circumstances, Mr Hardy, so you will have to forgive me if I’m indelicate here. You have been left a house in Durham City, in County Durham.’
    ‘I have been left what?’ Joe said.
    ‘A house,’ the man said, as though neither he nor Joe had ever heard anything of the kind.
    ‘I think you’ve made a mistake,’ Joe said. ‘I had a house in Northumberland where I used to spend a lot of time, but everything’s gone now. I know nothing about Durham and nobody of my family or my close friends ever lived in thecounty. I’ve never even been there.’ He had heard there was a cathedral, surrounded by coalmines. He had never had any inclination to go there.
    Mr Bainbridge frowned. ‘The will reads simply. It is yours.’
    ‘Is it something I can sell?’
    ‘The will states that you must go and live in it for a year. It’s quite a substantial building,’ he said, ‘a tower house. What we call a pele tower, a fortification. They are often situated in the borders, from the disputed lands in the days of the reivers – many of them have survived, only this is in the city.’
    Having an estate in Northumberland Joe knew something of this but hadn’t considered it before.
    ‘Is there any money?’
    Mr Bainbridge looked patiently at him. ‘No.’
    Joe smiled in tolerance. ‘I don’t understand then. Which side of the family is it?’
    ‘I have no idea who it is in relation to you.’
    ‘What is the name of the person?’
    ‘Miss Priscilla Lee.’
    ‘It doesn’t mean anything,’ Joe said.
    Perhaps, he thought, it was some dotty old aunt. Both his grandfathers had apparently been landowners so their families must have been rich at some time, before gambling, drinking and debts took care of it.
    ‘After a year you own it and may do what you please.’
    ‘So this Lee family – who are they and how did they come by such