House of Shadows by Iris Gower

a few shillings, otherwise I’d lose out,’ I said and burst out laughing. ‘I’m becoming quite mercenary, aren’t I?’
    â€˜Businesslike, that’s what you are becoming, and just as well if you mean to turn this old heap back into a liveable, pleasurable house with a show garden.’
    â€˜Oh, I never thought of showing the gardens.’ I hesitated. ‘I suppose the cloisters are worth seeing, and the yew-tree arch, and even the entrance flooring is as old as . . . well, very old.’ I decided that I would have to research the history of Aberglasney very thoroughly. I would ask Beatrice where the original plans were and see if I could find out anything more about the house at the library in town.
    At last, all the visitors had departed, and Mrs Ward was kind enough to provide us all with a roast for lunch. We sat down together: me and Tom, Mrs Ward and her daughter.
    â€˜Thank you so much, Mrs Ward.’ I cut a juicy piece of beef and popped it into my mouth.
    Rosie smirked. ‘It was me who cooked the dinner, Miss Evans,’ she said. ‘My mam taught me. I’ve known how to cook since I was a little girl.’
    â€˜The gravy is a delight,’ I said, feeling slightly reproved.
    â€˜Mam made that, miss. She’s good at gravy is our mam.’
    â€˜Well, you are both invaluable to me.’ I hoped I was being tactful. ‘Perhaps we can make this a regular arrangement. Do you both think you can bear to come and work for me, say once a month?’
    Mrs Ward nodded, her mouth full, and it was Rosie who spoke up. ‘That would be very handy, miss, what with Dad lost in the war, but all this screaming about ghost shakes me up, mind.’
    â€˜This ghost business is a lot of nonsense.’ Mrs Ward tightened the knot on her wraparound apron and adjusted her turban, tucking in a stray curl of permed hair. ‘Hysterical people see what they want to see.’
    â€˜There’s a lot of truth in that, Mrs Ward, but it seems to be paying, and if I earn money I can put the old house right and afford full-time help before too long.’
    Mrs Ward brightened up. ‘Well, as long as I don’t have to speak to them townies. I’ll stay in the kitchen and mind my own, and you, Rosie, will do the same thing.’
    â€˜I will that, Mam,’ Rosie said meekly, but her eyes were on Tom. ‘Mr Tom, sir, I hear the soldiers are having another party tonight with some of the village girls. Can I come along, sir?’
    Mrs Ward bristled. ‘Don’t be so forward! In any case, remember that those soldiers are . . . are not from this country,’ she added, looking flustered.
    â€˜They are black Americans, Mrs Ward. They are getting together from all over Wales,’ Tom said easily, though I could tell he was offended. ‘They are good brave men, and if the enemy had come here they would have defended the people of this village – including you and Rosie – with their lives.’
    Mrs Ward lowered her eyes. ‘I got to agree with that, sir,’ she mumbled. ‘I suppose you can go, Rosie, so long as you keep yourself tidy.’
    We all knew what she meant, and I met Tom’s eyes, trying not to laugh. Rosie was ecstatic.
    â€˜You’d be welcome,’ Tom said. ‘And perhaps Miss Evans would kindly come along as well?’
    I could hardly say no in the circumstances. ‘That would be very nice,’ I mumbled.
    At last I was alone in the house. Tom had gone, and there wasn’t even a sign of Beatrice; she must have been frightened off by the crowds. The quiet was a little unnerving after all the excitement, but I looked forward to seeing Tom at the social evening he’d arranged for the remaining black airmen.
    For the rest of the afternoon I painted as if I was possessed. I was so involved in my colours and what was appearing on the canvas I forgot to eat the sandwiches Mrs