every
second. I wish I could work for you, Miz Winn, like my old mum used to. I always liked this 'ouse.'
Mrs. Winn poured more tea for Hetty, remarking wistfully, 'I wish I could afford for you to work here, Hetty
my dear, but I'm only a widow on a Royal Navy pension. I can understand you not liking to work for Smithers—I
wouldn't fancy the job.'
Hetty pursed her lips as she sipped her tea. 'No more you wouldn't, marm! That Obadiah Smithers, nasty bossy
man, always asking me t'leave the room, so he can talk business, if you please! Then there's the other young madam,
Miss Maud Bowe, wants waitin' on 'and an' foot. Wants to get back to Lunnon, that's what she needs t'do. An' that
young Master Wilfred, dirty towels, muddy bootmarks, bad manners. Cheeky wretch, you should see the mess he
leaves the bathroom in every day. But his mother won't hear a word said agin him. No, she drifts about there, givin'
her orders like she was a bloomin' duchess or somethin': 'I think we'll have the gammon for lunch, Hetty, boil those
potatoes until they're floury, Hetty, you may pour the tea, Hetty.' Humph! An' her the daughter of a Yorkshire sack an'
bag maker. Oh, I notice these things, y'know. There ain't many secrets in the Smithers 'ouse that Hetty Sullivan ain't
over'eard!'
Ben nodded sympathetically. 'You haven't had it easy working for them, eh, Hetty?'
The maid primped at her lank, mousy hair. 'I certainly 'ave not, Master Ben!'
Ben seemed very concerned at the maid's plight. 'What'll you do for a job if Smithers carries out his plan and
takes over the village for his cement business? Surely you'll be out of house and home, won't you, Hetty?'
She tapped the tabletop with a stick-like finger. 'D'you know what Smithers said, 'e said I could live there, in
the spare room, an' he'd deduct lodgin' out of me wages. There! What d'you think of that, eh?'
Ben played the gossipy maid like a fish on a line. 'So it looks like he's got things well in hand. Does he talk
much about the new venture?'
Hetty looked this way and that, as if others were listening in on the conversation, then put a hand to the side of
her mouth and dropped her voice to a confidential half-whisper. 'Just between me'n you, 'e never stops talkin' about it.
Now, I'm not one for gossipin' an' repeatin' things, but you should've 'eard the argument Mr. Smithers an' Maud Bowe
'ad this mornin' over breakfast. It was fearful, I tell you, fearful!'
Mrs. Winn caught the nod from Ben, so she immediately took over his role, leaning forward to Hetty like a
conspirator, whilst dismissing the boy. 'Er, Ben, perhaps you'd better go and wash up for dinner.' As Ben left the
room, he heard Mrs. Winn murmuring to the maid. 'Oh, poor Hetty, you look so upset. Tell me all about it, dear.'
It was seven-thirty that evening. Hetty had departed, taking with her a jar of homemade blackberry jam and Mrs.
Winn's condolences for the indignities she was forced to bear under the Smithers regime. Ben was sitting with Ned at
his feet, Mrs. Winn with Horatio at hers, all replete after a Sunday dinner of Winnie's roast lamb and vegetables,
followed by trifle with fresh cream. Ben waited, containing his curiosity until the old lady was ready to divulge what
Hetty Sullivan had told her earlier. Mrs. Winn allowed Horatio to leap up onto her lap, and she stroked him as she
related the maid's conversation.
'It's not good news, I'm afraid. Apparently Hetty heard every word. They were shouting and ranting at each
other. Smithers is confident of the Chapelvale takeover and kept ignoring Maud's argument that something urgent be
done about me. Apparently I'm the fly in their ointment. Smithers reckons the other villagers will fall into line; he can
bully them with his legal jargon, compulsory purchase orders, and talk of big-money London investment companies.
But he's finding it difficult to push me about—I'm the only one who is resisting him, you see!'
The strange boy's blue eyes showed their admiration of the plucky old lady, and he winked knowingly at her.
'And you intend fighting Smithers and the Londoners every inch of the way. Good for you, marm!'
Horatio jumped down from Mrs. Winn's lap. She shook her head wearily. 'I don't let others see it, but I'm a bit
frightened really. I own this house and I can prove it, but the rest? Oh dear, it's all a bit up in the air. Captain Winn
knew more about it than me. What a pity he's not here to help. The almshouse is a big building—it takes up an entire
corner of the village square. It was always regarded as belonging to the Winn family, all the village land, too. I just
took it for granted.
Nobody ever asked me to produce title deeds, or confirmation of ownership. Not until Smithers and his London
acquaintances came along. If I want to carry on the fight, I need proper proof of ownership!'
Ben interrupted her. 'What else did Hetty tell you she overheard?'
The old lady fiddled with her worn wedding ring. 'Well, Maud Bowe told Smithers that they would lose the
contract if they don't have me moved out and the almshouse in their possession by the due date. Smithers blustered a
bit, but wasn't quite sure how to deal with the problem. Then Maud said that she had friends in London who could
take care of me.'
Ben looked questioningly at her. 'Friends?'
The old lady looked worried as she continued. 'Aye, friends she called them. But Smithers knew what she was
talking about. He said that he'd have nothing to do with Maud's plan, said he was a man with a respectable family and
