“Who Would Want You with Five Kids?” — A Mother Casts Out Her 32-Year-Old Widowed Daughter, Unaware That an Old English Cottage Holds an Inheritance and a Mysterious Night Visitor…

Who on earth would fancy you, with five children hanging on?! her mother threw her out at thirty-two, never guessing an inheritance and a peculiar visitor awaited her in an old house

The graveyard was boggy and bleak. The mud sucked at Nellys cheap pumps, caking them with heavy English clay. She watched as the workmen consigned her entire existence to the soil. Serge had checked out very suddenly thirty-five years old, dropped one afternoon at the factory and didnt get back up.

Her mother, Gloria Peterson, shuffled anxiously beside her, wrapped up in a well-worn mink coat. Gloria shot a look of pure distaste at her grandchildren, huddled against their mothers black coat like ducklings behind a mallard.

All right, weve had our weep. Thats quite enough, her mother announced briskly as the mound rose up. Come on, Nelly. No point freezing your tears off out here. Time we talked.

Back in their cramped little flat courtesy of a mortgage now pointless Gloria went straight into the kitchen and planted herself at the head of the table, as was her imperial way.

Right then, she began, hat still perched, proclaiming her intentions. The bankll snatch the flat, obviously. You cant pay, can you? Serge is gone, and youre always on maternity leave. Its not exactly a career, is it?

Ill get a job, Nelly murmured, bouncing baby Michael on her lap.

What job? Cleaner at a school? Her mother gave a haughty sniff. Youve got five five extras! Whos going to want that package? If I were you, Id send the older two, Tessa and Paul, off to a nice boarding school just temporarily. Little ones, well the council might help, maybe.

Thats enough, Nelly whispered.

Her mother frowned. What?

I said, get out of my house. Nellys head jerked up; her eyes were arid, hollow and dangerous. I will not send my children away. Id starve first.

You and your idiotic principles. Gloria got up indignantly, re-adjusting her coat. I told you, didnt I? You shouldve thought all this through. And now look at you, knee-deep in your own mess. And dont come crawling back to me for money, understood?

One month later, the Bank did indeed arrive a letter giving her a paltry two weeks to vacate. Nelly dashed around asking anyone for help, but with five children in tow, people found fantastic excuses to say no.

Then came a letter, this time with good news. Totteridge, of all places! A notarys letter announced Nelly was to inherit a house from a third cousin shed met once as a child. Old bones, but mine all the same, thought Nelly. Hardly a choice.

Totteridge greeted them with a north wind straight out of the arctic. The house perched at the very edge of the woods, timber blackened with age, the porch sagging, and windows clouded with the worlds indifference.

Mum, Im cold! whined five-year-old Elsie.

Hang on, poppet, well have it toasty soon, Nelly replied, trying (and failing) to keep the tremor out of her voice.

That first night was an ordeal: the stove smoked, the little ones coughed, and icy drafts howled through every gap. Nelly bundled them up in coats, duvets, picnic blankets, and the bathroom mat. She sat up listening, making sure Ivans breathing never faltered.

Seven-year-old Ivan had an incurable illness only expensive surgery could help, according to the consultant in Oxford. The NHS might offer a place in a year. Time was a resource Ivans shrinking lungs could barely afford. Price tag? About two of those flats.

In the morning, Nelly went up to the attic to stuff out the winter blasts. Buried among ancient tea chests, fifty-year-old newspapers and a battered fox-fur wrap, she found a battered old tea tin filled with something weighty.

A pocket watch. Heavy, on a chain. She rubbed its silver lid. Amidst the tarnish she made out a two-headed eagle and the words For Faith and Fidelity.

Nice enough, she sighed. But whod want this old thing? The hands were stuck at five to twelve, silent as a grave.

She stashed it away in the wardrobe. Too much to do; not enough food, barely a stick of firewood left, and Ivan now so weak he could barely stand.

That evening a blizzard swept in, snow piling high enough to trap the lot of them inside their antique freezer of a house. Nelly kissed her children goodnight and perched by the window, anxiety fluttering in her chest. Had she doomed all of them?

A knock. Soft as a suggestion.

Nelly started. Had she imagined it?

The knock repeated steady, ominous.

She grabbed the poker and tiptoed to the door.

Whos there?

Let me in, love, the storms a terror tonight, came a voice, ancient and creaky as the attic stairs, yet kind.

Before she knew it, shed slid back the bolt. There stood an old man: short, swaddled to his slippers in a monks habit of sorts and cinched with a bit of twine. His silvery beard tumbled to his chest, but his eyes were young and merry.

Come in then, Nelly said, moving aside.

He entered, but no snow melted in the hall, and instead of chills, the house grew warmer, homelier.

The old man headed straight for the children. He leaned over Ivan, now breathing in sharp, shallow pants.

Poor devil, is he ill? the visitor asked.

A very bad illness. We need help, but weve no money, Nelly confessed.

Moneys just old dust, duck, he said, settling heavily on the bench. Time, now, thats gold. You found my bit and bob, didnt you?

Nelly froze.

The pocket watch? Yours?

Mine. Present from the guvnor. Pulled him out of the river, years ago I kept the watch safe. Knew itd come in handy.

Sir, I could sell it! Nelly leapt up. Buy at least some medicine. It’s silver, isnt it?

He winked. Dont rush to throw it away for nothing. Theres a trick to it. Old Mr. Barker, the clockmaker, was a card. Take a needle, and where the chain joins, poke gently. Theres a hidden compartment.

He stood up.

Well, best luck to you, Nell. Your name means hope, you know. Dont forget that.

Hang on, at least stay for tea! Whats your name? she blurted.

Bartholomew, he replied.

She turned, but hed already vanished slippers, staff and all. The bolt was firmly in place, the children asleep. The only trace: a faint scent of incense and baking bread.

Nelly hardly blinked all night. With dawn, she ransacked her meagre sewing kit for a needle and prodded the nearly invisible spot by the chain. The back popped open.

Inside, she found a carefully folded, brittle paper and a shining golden sovereign. Not the kind that hang about pawnbrokers.

She tried her luck in Oxford: the antique dealer, plump and sharp-eyed, looked at her with casual indifference, until she showed him the coin and the paper.

He went ashen. Where where did you get these?

Came with the house, Nelly shrugged.

Miss Thats a King Constantine proof sovereign only a handful still exist. And this letter! Its a royal deed with original ink. I’m afraid youll need Sothebys. I couldnt possibly afford it. Its a small fortune.

Ivans operation was done within a month. The best surgeon, the best hospital. Nelly watched his cheeks bloom with real colour. There was money left for a proper house, even the childrens university funds.

When she returned to Totteridge, Nellys first stop was the graveyard. She searched for ages, sweeping back dry grass. She found it at last a tilted wooden cross and a nearly illegible brass plate: Bartholomew, Servant of God. 1888 1960.

She laid a bunch of daffodils and bowed her head.

Thank you, Grandpa Bartholomew.

She had a big, bright new house built with central heating, thank you very much. The villagers admired the energetic widow who kept her five kids neat and spotless.

Six months on, Gloria Peterson arrived by taxi, obviously sashaying up with a lemon drizzle cake. She peered at the dazzling two-storey number and impeccably mown lawns.

Well! Hello, darling! chirped her mother, spreading her arms as if theyd never had words. I hear youve done rather well! Folk say you found a treasure? Knew youd sort it out. Oh, Ive been poorly, and pensions are a joke now. Youve plenty of rooms, havent you?

Nelly let her stand on the doorstep with all her day-of-crossing-the-Channel confidence.

Hello, Mum, she said, even and polite.

Youll invite me in, wont you? Gloria started for the stairs.

No.

No? Glorias smile slipped off her face.

You made your decision when you threw us out.

You Ill take you to court! Im your mother! You owe me! Glorias cheeks spotted crimson with rage.

Do as you like, Nelly turned and nodded to the children, standing behind her. But youll have to leave now. Ivans nap-time. Quiet, you know.

The solid oak door closed with an unassailable thunk.

She could still hear the outraged yelps and five ball-and-chains through the letterbox, but she didnt mind. The kitchen was filled with the scent of Victoria sponge, and the old pocket watch ticked peacefully on the wall, counting the seconds of their new, happier life.