A Valley Wedding

Book 0: Backshaw Moss

by Anna Jacobs

Genres: Historical Fiction; Sagas; Historical Romance

Synopsis

The third novel in the brand new Backshaw Moss series by beloved million-copy bestselling author Anna Jacobs

Lancashire, 1936. With her son Gabriel finally married, and her youngest following his dreams of becoming a doctor, Gwynneth Harte finds herself with an empty nest - until a fire forces her to move in with Gabriel and his wife Maisie at their home on Daisy Street.

Arthur Chapman has been at a low ebb ever since the death of his wife. Turning to drink in his grief, he lost both his job and contact with his grandchild, Beatie - but now the inheritance of a house from a distant relative is the fresh start he needs.

When Beatie runs away from her cruel grandmother and takes refuge with Gwynneth, she and Arthur are thrown together - and find themselves growing closer. But trouble is brewing in the valley, from the ambitions of the bullying local landlord to rumours of a Fascist spy. Can the residents of Backshaw Moss band together to keep each other safe, and will there be wedding bells on Daisy Street?

(P) 2022 Hodder & Stoughton Limited

Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton

Print pages: 400

Sample

Dear Readers,

I hope you enjoy reading this last story set in the Ellin Valley. I have very much enjoyed writing the four series. A Valley Wedding is the 14th book set in my imaginary valley – which sometimes feels a very real place to me.

When I first started writing seriously, I was also working full-time and we were raising teenagers, so it took a while to polish my skills to a professional level. I had just turned fifty when I heard the news that one of my books had been accepted after years of trying.

The first novel published was Persons of Rank, which won a $10,000 prize in Australia – and that paid off our mortgage. I was thrilled to be published and literally didn’t sleep all night, just lay there feeling joyful. My economist husband was thrilled for me, and just as thrilled that this lump sum paid off our mortgage. He keeps my feet on the ground, thank goodness.

I remember thinking that if I wrote steadily, I might get as many as 10 novels published before I made my final exit. Shows how good I am at foretelling the future, eh? A Valley Wedding will be my 100th book published.

I still love telling stories as much as I always have and I’m not considering giving up writing or even slowing down. It’s my favourite activity. I’m already planning my new series, but I shan’t give you any details about it yet. I’ll just let you know that my publisher was so pleased by the basic idea that they accepted my suggestion for the new setting after a two-sentence description of it. As a consequence, they have contracted me to write three more historical novels and set them there.

As for the characters who will be involved, they are lively enough now to have woken me several times in the middle of the night to ‘show’ me scenes. Well, that’s what it always feels as if they do. I usually think about a series long before I start working on the stories which take place there.

And finally, on a personal level, I’ll share with you my joy that this September will mark our 60th wedding anniversary. Something to celebrate big time. Dave and I have had a wonderful life together. In addition, he deals with the business side of my writing, so he’s an integral part of the writing team. And it does take a team to turn a story into a book and sell it to the world.

Thank you for reading my story. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it! I’ll now go back to working on the next one.

All the best

Anna

1

Lancashire, 1936

As Gwynneth Harte was getting her basket and purse ready to go shopping in town, the post arrived. She picked up the letter that had dropped through her door. It was addressed to her youngest son. Well, letters usually were. She turned it over and let out a muffled groan at the sight of the sender’s name stamped on the back.

Lucas had already been to a week-long course at this workers’ college and had come home thrilled to pieces. Apparently he’d done so well they’d found a private benefactor who would pay for him to go to Manchester University and become a doctor. It was something he’d wanted since he was a small child, caring for an old teddy bear and ‘mending’ its broken limbs.

She wished he was at home to open the letter and put her out of her misery about when he’d be leaving. She shouldn’t begrudge him this chance and she didn’t, but these people would take him away from her, she knew they would, and things would never be the same.

Three sons she had, all of them over thirty, and none of them had produced grandchildren for her to love. Well, during the past ten years when times were at their worst and little steady work available, how could they have married? As a widow, she’d often depended on their support.

Then, as life improved slightly and they were getting on their feet again, she’d fallen ill and nearly died, costing them a lot of money for an operation. Now, however, her two eldest sons were in employment and married, so surely there was hope that they’d start families?

She’d tried to introduce Lucas to suitable young women, but he’d told her bluntly that he didn’t intend to get trapped in marriage because he was determined to become a doctor. That would take him years, so he wasn’t likely to marry till he was at least forty, if then.

She’d known her youngest lad was clever, but no one she knew had ever had a son go to a university. What would happen to him there? Would it change him, make him look down on the rest of the family? She paused, head on one side. No, not their Lucas.

She was working as a part-time housekeeper and lived in the flat at the rear of her employers’ house, but she hated the thought of living there on her own.

She mopped her eyes and blew her nose, telling herself to pluck up. She caught sight of the clock, snatched up the basket and hurried off to take the bus down the valley into Rivenshaw. What couldn’t be cured must be endured, and best do that with a smile or you’d drive folk away.

Biff Higgins walked into the seedy pub in the poorer part of Rivenshaw, keeping a careful eye on the men sitting there, some of whom looked ready to cut your throat for twopence. He doubted anyone drinking in the middle of the day had any sort of job.

He walked up to the bar and asked the chap behind it for a half pint because in his experience as a private investigator, people who worked in pubs were usually more willing to talk to you if you bought something. He’d decided to lose the slight Irish accent he’d pretended to have last time he visited this town.

He paid for the drink and put a further shilling down on the counter, keeping his forefinger on it. ‘I’m looking for Arthur Chapman. I was told he comes in here regularly.’

‘What do you want him for?’

‘I have some good news for him.’

After a searching gaze, the man said, ‘The poor sod definitely needs some good news, for a change. He’s the one in the corner by the fire.’

Biff turned to stare in that direction and saw a scrawny, sad-looking man of about the right age, who looked chilled through and was holding his hands out to the fire. Nodding thanks to the barman, he pushed the shilling across the counter, not surprised at how swiftly it vanished.

As a private detective, he’d found the heirs to the other two properties left by Miss Jane Chapman and her nephew, and now, hopefully, he was about to find the heir to the final house.

He sat down in a chair across the tiny table from the man, who seemed to be drinking lemonade, or was it water? If so, the barman must have taken pity on him and given him a drink so that he would have an excuse to stay and warm himself.

‘Are you Arthur Chapman?’ he asked quietly.

He got a suspicious glance in response. ‘Who wants to know?’

‘Biff Higgins.’ He extended a business card.

After a slight hesitation the man took it, read it and dropped it on the table. ‘Has she set a detective on me now?’

‘She?’

‘Don’t pretend. That Mrs Hicks will do anything to keep me from my granddaughter.’

‘I’ve never met or communicated with anyone of that name. I’ve been sent by Mr Albert Neven, a London lawyer, to find Arthur Chapman who has been left a bequest by a distant relative.’

That was greeted by a frown. ‘That’s my name, but who’d leave me anything? I’ve got no close relatives left.’

‘It was a Miss Sarah Jane Chapman.’

After a moment’s thought, he snapped his fingers. ‘Ah. Dad’s second cousin on his father’s side. He allus spoke well of her. I didn’t think she knew I existed, though.’

‘She must have done, because she’s definitely left you something.’

Arthur shook his head, clearly baffled.

Biff realised that the men sitting nearby had fallen silent and were trying to listen to their conversation. ‘How about we go somewhere more private to discuss it, Mr Chapman? I could buy you a meal at the Star hotel. They’re open for luncheon and I’m hungry, even if you aren’t.’

‘Well, I could certainly do with a good meal, so I’ll thank you kindly for that offer.’ He stood up, leaving the rest of his drink, so Biff left his beer. It had served its purpose and he didn’t enjoy drinking in the daytime anyway.

At the hotel, the waiter glanced at Arthur and showed them to a table in the corner, away from the better-dressed folk.

Biff’s companion seemed to relax a little once they were seated. ‘Eh, it’s a long time since I’ve been in a posh place like this.’

‘They do excellent food. Let’s order, then we can talk.’

When he nodded across the room, a waitress came to their table, smiling at him. ‘Nice to see you here again, Mr Higgins.’

After she’d taken their order, Arthur asked abruptly, ‘What has the old lady left me, then?’

‘A house and its contents.’

Arthur gasped, then spoke in a shocked, croaky whisper, ‘A house?’ Then he scowled. ‘You’re mocking me.’

‘I’m not. It’s the simple truth. She left houses to three of her distant relatives who’d fallen on hard times, people she thought deserved a helping hand.’

Tears came into Arthur’s eyes and he blinked furiously. ‘I don’t deserve anything. I’ve made a mess of my life in the past two years. Yes, a right old mess, and all my own fault.’

‘Well, now you’ve got a chance to sort things out.’

‘As long as it’s not too late.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘My wife died two years ago, an’ I started drinking. I let myself get cheated out of what savings I didn’t spend on beer. I’d talk to anyone, buy them a drink rather than go home to an empty house. I missed my Susan that badly I could hardly think straight for the first few months. We’d been wed since we were eighteen, you see, courting since we were fourteen.’

‘Grief can do strange things to people.’

‘Aye. I turned into such a drunken sot my son wouldn’t speak to me an’ I don’t blame him.’

He was speaking in such a bleak monotone, Biff’s heart went out to him.

‘Then my daughter and her husband were killed in that big railway accident down south a few months ago. Her husband’s widowed mother, who is a mean old devil, took my granddaughter in and got the minister of her church to speak for her as being a proper guardian. As if he knows her, he’s a new man to this town, that one is!’

He stared into space for a few seconds, then said in a husky voice, ‘She’s not let me speak to my little Beatie since, not once, and has threatened to bring down the law on me if I go near them, even though I’ve give up the booze.’

‘Could you not have hired a lawyer to help you?’

‘I might have if I’d any money left. Or a job. Only I haven’t got either.’

‘Ah. I see.’

‘What upsets me most is that my granddaughter looks unhappy since she’s gone to live with Ruby Hicks. Beatie may be warmly dressed and live in a comfortable house, but she’s downright miserable there if you ask me. It fair breaks my heart to see her in the street. She used to be such a happy little lass, skipping along an’ chattering away.’

‘How old is she?’

‘Just turned nine.’

Their meal was served and Arthur proved how hungry he’d been by clearing his plate rapidly. He looked across the table apologetically as he laid down his knife and fork, because Biff’s plate was still half full. ‘Sorry for my poor table manners. I were famished.’

‘Have a piece of apple pie for afters, then. They do a good one here.’

His companion gave him another of those wry, twisted smiles. ‘I’ve not been eating well for a while, so I couldn’t fit anything else in. Thank you for the offer, though. That were extra kind of you.’

Biff finished his own meal then pushed away his plate. ‘Can you prove who you are?’

‘Aye, easy. I’ve lived in the valley all my life. There’s a dozen folk in Rivenshaw who’ve known me since we were childer together.’

‘We’ll go and see Henry Lloyd straight away then. Do you know him?’

‘I’d recognise him by sight. Folk speak well of him.’ Arthur closed his eyes, murmuring, ‘I hope I don’t wake up and find this is all a dream.’

Henry Lloyd studied the man Biff Higgins had brought to see him. ‘You don’t need to prove who you are, Mr Chapman. I used to see you around town when you worked for Sam Redfern. After you lost your wife, you seemed to vanish, and when I wanted to find you, I couldn’t.’

‘Well, it’s good that you can identify him yourself,’ Biff said. ‘That’ll save me one job. What do we need to do next, Mr Lloyd?’

‘I’ll contact Mr Neven and we’ll get him to send us the key to the third house.’ Henry turned back to Arthur, and added, ‘Miss Chapman said those houses weren’t to be opened up again until the heirs had been found, just kept weatherproof. So I’m no wiser about the contents than you are.’

‘It’s a strange business altogether,’ Biff said.

‘But kindly meant. Both Miss Chapman and her nephew were very pleasant people to deal with. Now, where can I contact you, Mr Chapman?’

Arthur flushed, looking embarrassed. ‘I don’t have proper lodgings. You could leave a message for me at the church hostel in East Rivenshaw. I earn my night’s shelter there by doing some cleaning, and they let me leave my spare clothes in the cellar, but no one can stay there during the day so I never know where I’ll be then.’

Biff had seen unemployed men both here and in London walking the streets in the daytime come rain or shine, some carrying bundles, some without any possessions.

Mr Lloyd nodded. ‘I’ll do that.’ He glanced at the clock. ‘Now, if you two will wait in reception, I’ll telephone Mr Neven and see if we’re in time for him to send the house key here by the overnight express service.’

He came out to join them again a few minutes later. ‘They’ve just got time to catch today’s post, so the key will arrive in Rivenshaw late tomorrow morning. Perhaps you’d like to check tomorrow that it’s arrived, then bring Mr Chapman to meet me at the house at one o’clock in the afternoon, Mr Higgins, then we can hand everything over?’

Both men nodded, then Biff turned to Arthur. ‘There’s something else I need to tell you, Mr Chapman. Because of the difficulties the heirs had last time, with Higgerson trying to bully them to sell him the properties at a knock-down price, Mr Neven has hired me to keep an eye on you for a week or two and help you settle in. Will that be all right with you?’

Arthur looked from one to the other in puzzlement. ‘Higgerson wants my house?’

Mr Lloyd nodded. ‘Yes, and you know what he’s like. You’ll definitely need to be on your guard, Mr Chapman.’

Biff knew what he still had to tell the heir would give him further difficulties, so he tried to think how to cheer the poor fellow up. As they left the lawyer’s rooms, he asked, ‘Would you like to see your house from the outside today?’

‘I’d like to, of course I would, but it depends where it is. I can’t afford bus fares, and my shoes have holes in the soles, so I can’t walk very far. I put fresh cardboard in them every morning, but it soon wears through, especially on rainy days.’

He saw Biff’s pitying expression at this admission and added, ‘I made a vow after I stopped boozing to tell the truth – when it doesn’t hurt anyone but me, that is – so I’m not pretending about how broke I am.’

‘Well, I have my car and was expecting to drive you there and back. I’ll need to give you some more information after you’ve seen the house. You’ll understand better then why I’m here.’

He shrugged. ‘I’ll do whatever you and the lawyers think best. Where is this house exactly?’

‘Backshaw Moss.’

Arthur looked disappointed. ‘If it’s in that slum, it can’t be up to much – though anything’s welcome, of course.’

‘It’s quite a nice house, actually, the end one on Daisy Street, so not in the bad part of Backshaw Moss. What’s more, the council knocked down the row of slum dwellings that was on the other side of the street at that end, and they’ve built a row of new houses in their place. They’ve worked quickly, and the new places are almost finished. So where your house is situated is being transformed into a respectable area.’

‘Eh, that’s a relief. I’ve had enough of living in slums this past year, I can tell you. Thank you for that offer to drive me there, Mr Higgins. Once again I’m grateful to you, an’ I won’t forget your kindness. I can’t wait to see the house. Maybe even that Hicks woman will let me see my granddaughter now.’

And maybe, Biff thought, he could help him with that as well. He could try, anyway. Not being from the valley, he didn’t know who this Ruby Hicks was, but he’d make it his business to find out and get a look at her and the child, who clearly meant so much to her grandfather.

Arthur sat in the car as he was driven slowly up the hill to Birch End, enjoying the comfort of this means of transport. He wondered what he had to be warned about. Whatever it was, he’d cope. Life wasn’t always easy, but if the house was even halfway decent, he’d do it up gradually. He was good with his hands.

Surely he could find a job of some sort to earn the money for that? Especially if he didn’t have to pay rent. Maybe he could take in a lodger or two as well? No, they’d need someone to prepare meals for them, and he wasn’t a cook.

As they slowed down to go through the village centre of Birch End, they passed a couple of women standing chatting. Biff had to slow down just then to let an old man cross the road, and waved to one of them. She waved back, smiling.

‘Nice woman, Gwynneth Harte. Do you know her?’

‘I don’t think I’ve ever met her, but she looks friendly.’

‘You’ll be bound to meet her now because as well as visiting her son, who lives two doors away from your new home, she lives just down the road in Birch End.’

Arthur turned his head to take another look at her. She was about his own age, he’d guess, and had a lovely warm smile. Comely was the word that came into his mind to describe her. It was old-fashioned, but it suited her, somehow. He always judged people by their smiles. His wife had had a lovely one.

He forgot the stranger as the car drew up at the very end of Daisy Street. He hadn’t been up to this part of the valley since before his wife died. If he remembered correctly, a huddle of tumbledown old houses had once stood on the other side of the street, as if signalling the entrance to a slum. They were gone now, and a row of brand new terraced houses were standing there, giving a completely different impression to those who passed by.

As he opened the car door, he could hear the sound of hammering coming from inside one of them, and there was a lovely smell of freshly sawn wood. He turned his head slowly, hardly daring to look at his inheritance in case it was a tumbledown place. But it wasn’t! On this side of Daisy Street there were three larger houses. He’d passed them a few times, but hadn’t taken much notice of them until now. He sucked in a sharp breath. His inheritance couldn’t be one of those, surely?

As Biff got out of the car, he pointed to the end house. ‘That one is yours. Number 25.’

It felt to Arthur as if the world had stopped turning and he with it. When he did manage to put a few words together, all he could say was, ‘But it’s a big house!’

‘Bigger than the average dwelling, yes.’

‘It can’t be mine!’

Biff smiled at him. ‘Well, it is, thanks to Miss Chapman and her nephew.’

‘I don’t deserve it, ’deed I don’t!’

‘She thought her bequests might help her descendants to pull their lives together, and it has done with the other two. She would be so pleased about that. I’m sure this one will do the same for you.’

Biff waited, but Arthur still said nothing, so he continued to offer information in a gentle flow to give him time to get used to his inheritance. ‘These houses are very soundly built, but you’ll probably find that yours needs modernising inside, as the others did. They’ve been empty for over a decade, you see, and all that’s been done in that time is maintenance of the exteriors.’

Arthur put one hand on the roof of the car, as if to steady himself, and said harshly, ‘I have only a few shillings in the world. How would I do any modernising at all?’

‘Miss Chapman will probably have left you a way to do it, with a bit of effort. She was a great believer in working hard if you wanted something. We’ll find out more tomorrow when we see the interior.’

‘What were the other houses like inside?’

‘Number 23 had been divided into flats, with some very badly behaved tenants needing throwing out. The owners have done a lot of modernising, and they have a couple of good tenants living there now, so maybe you can do that too. The whole of Number 21 was crammed so full of larger furniture, you could hardly walk through it.’

‘Why would anyone leave it like that?’

‘Miss Chapman had inherited two other houses when she was old and failing in health, so she had just had the furniture from them dumped inside to be dealt with later. I gather she had expected to recover and live to a ripe old age like most of the Chapmans. Sadly, she didn’t.’

He waited, but Arthur just nodded.

‘I have no idea what we’ll find inside yours, but probably some things to help you set yourself up.’

‘Anything would be a help, but I’ll sleep on the bare boards and use sacks for blankets if I have to.’

Biff nodded acceptance of this. He’d have been the same. Owning your own house was an impossible dream for most people. ‘Shall we walk around the outside and peep over the wall into the backyard?’

Arthur nodded, following him past the side of the house along which ran a side street where the better village of Birch End began. They could just see into the backyard if they stood on tiptoe. It contained the usual outhouses and was paved with big square flagstones.

They studied it in silence, then continued.

When they finished their circuit, Arthur stared at the house again from the front, muttering, ‘Eh, it’s a fine building. I don’t deserve it, ’deed I don’t.’

‘Then you’ll have to make sure you do deserve it by the time you get things sorted out.’

Arthur stared at Biff and nodded slowly, as if that remark had hit home.

Biff gave him a little more time to stare, then said quietly, ‘I’ll drive you back down the valley to Rivenshaw now. Can you meet me at half past twelve outside the town hall tomorrow and we’ll drive up to meet Mr Lloyd?’

‘Yes, of course. I’ll be grateful for the lift. Thank you.’

As they got out of the car, Biff slipped a ten-shilling note into his hand. ‘To help you smarten up a bit.’

Arthur stared down at it then nodded thanks. This was no time to stand on his dignity.

He watched the car drive away and walked slowly along the street to the hostel to do the cleaning job that would earn him a night’s shelter. On the way there he bought a second-hand pair of shoes from the pawn shop. The uppers were a bit scuffed, but the soles were sound, which was the main thing.

He also spent sixpence at the public baths that evening, taking his one spare set of underclothes in with him to wear afterwards so that he could wash the others in the bath water. He could dry them overnight at the hostel.

Sitting in the warm water, he bent his head forward and wept for both joy at the prospect of owning a house and sorrow that Susan hadn’t lived to move there with him.

*

When he raised his head, he felt cleansed in more ways than one, and utterly determined to make full amends for his recent mistakes and stupidity. He didn’t know how he’d do that, but he’d find a way.

He didn’t tell anyone at the hostel what had happened, though. Time enough for that later.

2

Gwynneth was glad to be going into Rivenshaw. It’d take her mind off her worries to do some shopping and maybe meet a few people she knew and chat to them. The village shop in Birch End supplied everyone’s basic needs, but it didn’t stock much beyond essential groceries.

She had a quarter of an hour to wait for the bus, but there was a bench behind the bus stop and she enjoyed watching people. Today she saw a little lass she’d noticed before walking sedately along the street, accompanied by a harsh-faced old woman.

Other children of her age skipped along and chatted to their companions, but this one always walked sedately. She’d have been bonny had she not been dressed in funereal black, with her hair dragged back into a tight single plait.

The stern-looking woman seemed to be scolding the child. Why was she not at school? Ah, that was a bandage on her wrist. Perhaps she’d been to see the doctor.

The child’s face bore an expression of what looked like the stoic calm of utter despair to Gwynneth, a way to hide her real feelings. Such a young creature to be so guarded and unhappy. She couldn’t have been more than about nine or ten.

It tore at Gwynneth’s heart to see her. She’d have given anything for a grandchild of that age to take for walks, chat to and make clothes for.

The old woman’s expression remained grim. Once, when the lass started to move in a pattern of steps to avoid stepping on the cracks between the paving slabs, she cast a quick, furtive glance around and slapped her young companion good and hard on the back of the head. From her expression, she enjoyed doing it.

The blow was so hard it sent the child tumbling to the ground, and when the poor little thing got up, she was cradling the arm with the bandage on it. That didn’t stop her getting scolded for not walking properly. The bandage was now trickling blood.

The woman’s shrill voice carried clearly in the damp air. ‘You stupid fool. Look what you’ve done to yourself now!’

Gwynneth knew better than to intervene, but she wanted to. Oh, she wanted to very badly! It was heartbreaking how some folk treated those weaker than themselves.

That particular day, the woman must have got a stone in her shoe, because she stopped suddenly, pointed to one end of a park bench, and snapped out a command. Sitting down at the other end, she pulled her shoe off and shook something out.

The child didn’t attempt to sit down, just stood motionless next to the bench while the woman bent to put on her shoe again. Gwynneth winked at the little girl as they started moving again and walked past the bus shelter, giving her a tiny wave with her hand lowered so that the woman didn’t see it.

After a quick look of shock and a glance to check that the old woman wasn’t watching her, the lass gave a tiny nod and a flicker of her fingers in response.

Gwynneth jerked in shock when someone spoke to her. ‘Did you see that, Mrs Harte?’

She recognised the voice and looked up to smile at Sergeant Deemer, who was standing nearby, half-concealed behind an evergreen bush. Had the policeman been watching the woman too?

‘Yes. And it’s not the first time I’ve seen her hit that poor child, sergeant. I think she’s the grandmother.’

‘Yes, she is. The child’s parents are dead, and she looks after her, but I’m starting to worry about what’s going on. My constable’s seen the woman hitting poor Beatie several times when they’re out in the back garden because his beat takes him past it. Mrs Hicks must think she can’t be seen there.’

They both sighed at the same time.

‘It’s one thing to slap a child for being naughty, another to beat them regularly,’ the sergeant said. ‘I wonder how Beatie got that injury?’

‘Who knows? There’s nothing we can do, though, is there? People are allowed to chastise their children.’

Deemer scowled. ‘That doesn’t mean beating them black and blue.’

As the bus came into view in the distance, a thought occurred to Gwynneth. ‘If something really bad happens and you need a place for the child to stay in an emergency, Sergeant Deemer, I’d be happy to take her in and look after her.’

He studied her face. ‘Are you sure about that, Mrs Harte?’

‘Yes. Definitely. I love children, and I don’t have any grandchildren yet.’

‘I’ll bear it in mind.’ He nodded and moved on.

Gwynneth sighed as she got on the bus. She couldn’t get the memory of that poor child being knocked to the ground out of her mind.

And here she was with all that love to spare. Life could be so unfair.

In London, Albert Neven called his clerk into his room. ‘Good news!’ he said by way of a greeting. ‘That phone call was from the lawyer in Rivenshaw. Mr Higgins has found Arthur Chapman.’

‘Oh, jolly good, sir.’

‘Yes, Penscombe. But the poor fellow is apparently in a sorry sta. . .