by Nancy Carson
Dr Froggatt called shortly after twelve o’ clock. He went upstairs and into the bedroom, took one look at his late patient and opened his bag. From it, he drew out a pad of pre-printed forms; death certificates. He sat down on the ottoman and began to write in copperplate swirls. Cause of death, peritonitis. The fact that Will Stokes had passed away did not seem to surprise him in the least, but he spoke kindly, and with the practised voice of compassion, to the man’s grieving wife, his son and his daughter. He had seen this all before a thousand times. The sudden death of a hitherto well person, whether by accident or illness. The acute distress and upheaval it caused the families, who had neither expected, deserved, nor planned for such a traumatic event, which invariably turned their lives upside down.
Back downstairs, he handed the death certificate to Clara.
‘I presume this house is owned by the Stourbridge Canal Company,’ he said conversationally, ‘and so tied to Mr Stokes’s employment.’
‘That’s true,’ Clara stated, and looked at Algie aghast as the implications suddenly dawned on her.
‘I wonder how long they will allow you to stay here,’ the doctor continued. ‘They’ll certainly want to install a new lock-keeper here very quickly, I would have thought.’
Chapter 16
‘You know as much about the job as anybody, going about with your father like you did when you was a lad, our Algie,’ Clara said tearfully when the doctor had gone. ‘I think you should apply for the lock-keeper’s job.’
‘It doesn’t necessarily mean that I’d get it, Mother.’
‘But if you did, it’d mean we could stay on living here. I think you should try for it, our Algie.’
Our Algie gave a great shuddering sigh. ‘But I don’t want to be a lock-keeper, Mother. I’ve got my own plans. Anyway, I’m supposed to start my new job tomorrow. I can hardly let Mr Sampson down, he’s depending on me.’
‘I don’t think you’ll be going anywhere tomorrow, other than the canal company’s offices to tell them about your dad, and the undertaker to arrange to bury him.’
‘Won’t I have to go to the town hall as well to report my dad’s death?’
‘Somebody will, I expect. I daresay our Kate will do that. She can go to the Brierley Hill Advertiser as well and have your father put in the Deaths as soon as we know when the funeral will be.’
‘We’re going to have our work cut out,’ Algie said. ‘I suppose I’d better have a ride over to Mr Sampson’s house to let him know I shan’t be at work. I wonder what’ll be the best time to go.’
‘Before they have their dinners,’ Clara suggested without hesitation. She glanced up at the clock on the mantelpiece as she got up from her chair to give the fire a poke. The glowing coals shifted randomly and a flurry of sparks flitted up the chimney. ‘Gentlefolk tend to rest of a Sunday afternoon. They did when I was in service. They won’t want to be disturbed if they’ve got somebody round for Sunday tea. You could always leave a note, I suppose, if they’re busy.’
‘I’d better get a move on. Shall you two be all right while I’m gone?’
‘I expect so,’ Clara answered for herself and Kate, who had hardly spoken, secretly more indignant over being abandoned by her lover. ‘Me and Kate’ll get our Sunday dinner on to cook. I bought a nice joint of lamb … Your father was ’specially fond of lamb …’ Tears moistened her eyes as she thought of Will, and Algie threw his arms about his mother to comfort her. ‘I’ll be all right, our Algie,’ she said, mopping up the tears with a handkerchief. ‘You’d better go. I’ve got to get used to your father not being here anymore to enjoy his Sunday dinners.’
‘Nor any dinners, come to that,’ Kate interjected carelessly.
‘When they’ve taken him away, it’ll be easier,’ Algie comforted, casting an admonishing frown at his sister. ‘It’s hard when he’s still here, upstairs. You think he’s going to come down any minute and ask why we’re all so maudlin.’ He picked up his bicycle clips from the drawer where he kept them. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can,’ he said, and bent down to fasten them round the bottoms of his trouser legs.
He rode as fast as he could to the house of Mr and Mrs Sampson, practising what he would tell them, anticipating their sympathy and hoping he would not break down in front of them. Soon, he was tugging at the bell-pull, his bike leaning against the house, beneath a window.
The maid answered the door.
‘I called to see Mr Sampson,’ he said. ‘My name’s Algie Stokes and I work for him at the bedstead works. You might remember me. I was here a week or two ago.’
‘Mr Sampson ain’t here,’ the maid replied, eyeing him up and down. She thought she recognised him. ‘He’s out, visiting his mother.’
‘Is Mrs Sampson in?’ The prospect of seeing her, especially without Benjamin present, was an unanticipated diversion that lifted him momentarily from his sorrow, though he felt somewhat guilty that it should.
‘I’ll ask her if she can see you. What did you say your name was again?’
He repeated it and she left him at the door while she sought Mrs Sampson. Two minutes later she returned.
‘Mrs Sampson will see you, Mr Stokes,’ she said, sounding as if she thought Mrs Sampson was off her rocker. ‘Would you follow me, please?’
He followed the girl through to a small sitting room at the rear of the house. Aurelia was playing with her little son, and wooden toys littered the carpet around her. She stood and smiled warmly when she saw Algie enter, and approached to shake his hand.
‘This is a pleasant surprise, Algie,’ she said amiably as they shook. ‘Won’t you sit down?’
‘Thank you.’ As pliable as moulding clay at the touch of her hand, he did as she suggested. She looked fresh and lovely, wearing a white linen morning dress that only served to enhance her youthful figure. He was painfully reminded of why he had been so diverted in the first place; she was so utterly beautiful, so desirable. ‘Would you like a cup of tea or something?’
‘Thank you,’ he said again, suddenly aware that he was still wearing his cycle clips. ‘I’d love a cup of tea, if it’s no trouble.’
She turned to the maid, who was awaiting instructions. ‘Mary, if you would be so good as to clear up Benjie’s toys and ask Nanny to take him back upstairs, please? Then can you bring us a pot of tea?’
‘Very good, ma’am,’ the maid said, glancing at Algie once more. She quickly disposed of the toys, to little Benjie’s apparent dismay, for he complained bitterly to his mother.
Algie took advantage of the distraction to remove his cycle clips which he slipped into his jacket pocket.
‘No, Benjie,’ Aurelia scolded gently. ‘Mommy has a visitor and Mr Stokes doesn’t want to be bothered by you, dear.’
‘I don’t mind, honest.’ Algie felt sorry for the child, for being shepherded away and deprived of his toys, just because he had appeared unscheduled in the house. The boy reminded Algie of Aurelia, with his large blue eyes and long lashes.
‘He’s due for his lunch anyway,’ Aurelia said. ‘We try and keep him to a strict routine.’
Algie smiled to himself, acknowledging her refinement, which allowed her to call the child’s dinner his ‘lunch’.
‘Benjamin has taken the gig and is visiting his mother,’ she went on. ‘She vacated this house in favour of us and moved to a cottage in Himley after his father passed on, you know.’
‘No, I didn’t know.’
‘He won’t be back yet awhile.’ She sat down again, more relaxed now that she’d organised the maid and the nanny. ‘It’s so nice to see you again, Algie. I often think of the evening we all spent together when you discussed your new project with my husband.’
So do I, he wanted to say, but smiled dumbly instead.
‘I really enjoyed it,’ she went on. ‘So how is Harriet?’
‘Oh, Harriet. She’s well as far as I know. Don’t you remember that Harriet and me are not … not a couple … I mean, in the sense that we’re not courting.’
Aurelia smiled brilliantly. ‘Yes, of course I remember. And yet I thought she was very pleasant company.’
There was a tap at the door. Aurelia called, ‘Come in,’ and another young woman opened it. It was the child’s nanny.
‘Maude … Thank you for coming so quickly. Would you take Benjie for me? If you would give him his lunch now, please, since I have a visitor. And then you can go.’
Maude smiled, and said of course she would. She was also about twenty-one or twenty-two, slim and attractive, but wearing a sombre flannel dress in a dark green plaid. Attractive as she was, she was completely outshone by Aurelia, who stole a hug and a kiss from her son before the girl shepherded him away.
‘It’s Maude’s afternoon off.’ Aurelia explained. ‘Where were we? Oh, yes, we were talking about Harriet …’
‘I know,’ he said, not realising how glum he looked. ‘D’you mind if we don’t?’
Aurelia laughed. ‘Of course not …’
‘Well, she’s not my favourite person right now.’
‘Oh?’ Aurelia regarded him with wide-eyed curiosity.
He shook his head solemnly.
‘Do you want to tell me why?’
‘Oh … she made it plain to Marigold, my sweetheart, that she was here with me that night,’ he replied. ‘The trouble was, I hadn’t told her. I hadn’t mentioned Harriet had been here with me.’ He shrugged woefully. ‘It didn’t go down very well.’
‘Oh dear.’ Aurelia sounded very sincerely concerned. ‘That’s unfortunate.’
‘I realise now that it was wrong of me, that I should have told Marigold. Now she won’t speak to me anymore. I don’t think she’ll ever have anything to do with me again. But I do wonder whether Harriet blurted it out deliberately.’
‘Oh, I’m sure she wouldn’t … It was most likely just a slip of the tongue. I thought you seemed a little preoccupied, Algie, if you don’t mind my saying so.’
‘Yes, I am, Mrs Sampson … But not just because of Marigold …’ Algie heaved a sob of a sigh, a sigh that he could not smother despite being in Aurelia’s company. ‘My father died in the night—’
‘Oh, Algie!’ Aurelia sounded horrified. ‘Oh, you poor, poor man. I am so sorry. So sorry … If there’s anything I can do …’
Another tap at the door; the maid entered, carrying a tea tray. She placed it on an occasional table in front of the sofa on which they both sat. ‘Would you like me to pour now, ma’am?’
‘I think we’ll let it steep for a minute or two, Mary.’ She smiled amenably at the maid. ‘You can go. I’ll pour when it’s ready.’
The maid curtsied and left the room. Algie was glad of the interruption, for he felt certain he would have burst into tears had she not broken into the conversation.
‘Your poor father,’ Aurelia continued. ‘What caused his death? Was he in that dreadful accident last night that we heard about? A tramcar toppled over, didn’t it?’
‘Oh, the accident …’ He’d forgotten all about the accident. ‘No, he wasn’t killed in the accident. He was nowhere near it. He died in his bed. Peritonitis, but we didn’t know. We didn’t know the symptoms, you see. We thought he’d got a bad stomach upset. By the time we got the doctor to him it was too late.’
‘Oh, how dreadful. I’ve heard of these things before, you know, Algie. You can’t be too careful with stomach and chest pains, it seems.’
‘I witnessed the accident with the tramcar myself,’ he said, wishing to veer off the subject of his father lest those threatened tears fall to embarrass him. ‘I watched it topple over.’
‘Oh, do tell me what happened,’ she said, going along with his change of tack.
He recounted what he had seen.
‘And you helped people out of the wreckage?’
‘Oh, yes,’ he said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
‘My, what a hero!’
‘Hardly that,’ he said modestly. ‘It was the very least I could do. People were frightened to death and a good many were hurt. There were some terrible cuts and bruises. Old Doctor Froggatt was sent for and he had a right old time of it, patching them all up. By this time Marigold had disappeared, because of our row over Harriet. I can understand why now … She’d gone back home, as it turned out.’
‘But your father, Algie, meanwhile …’
‘Oh, well … When I got back home my mother was waiting outside for me so I could fetch the doctor. Well, fortunately for once, I knew exactly where to find him.’
As he paused, she saw the grief return to his eyes, saw him fighting back tears, the troubled, distant expression that belies joy and contentment. She felt for him, understanding his grief and that he needed to give vent to it. Only by yielding would he gain any relief. She leaned towards him, deliberately reached out and took his hands in hers, stroking the backs of them gently with her thumbs. ‘So you’ve two bereavements to contend with,’ she said softly. ‘Goodness me. One is enough to knock anybody for six … but two … I can imagine, Algie, that you don’t know which is the harder to bear – losing your father or losing your sweetheart …’ She looked into his eyes, hers overflowing with sincerity and sympathy, and squeezed his hands gently. ‘You are obviously very fond of both.’
He nodded, aware of her soft, clear blue eyes studying his face as he watched her hands tenderly holding his, as if they were not his own, but somebody else’s, somebody more deserving than him. Whilst he could easily wallow in her sympathy, he had not wanted it to be like this; him the over-sensitive fool, when he needed to appear masculine and in control of his feelings, especially with this woman he admired so much, whose admiration he would give anything to attain, a woman who was above his station anyway. What on earth would she think of him? She would think him a proper milksop, a nincompoop.
‘Yet all may not be lost with Marigold,’ she said softly and with genuine concern. ‘She’ll come back and make it up to you, I’m sure. Especially when she knows about your father. No woman could be that callous.’
He heaved another great sobbing sigh and tears filled his eyes again. But in the face of Aurelia’s warm compassion he could stem the tears no longer. They flooded down his sorrowful face and he let out a half-stifled wail. Aurelia put her arm around him comfortingly, and his head was almost instantly on her shoulder, submissive, having no option but to weep like a child.
‘Yes, yes, you must cry,’ she whispered encouragingly into his ear, hugging him with a whole world of compassion. ‘The more – the longer you let out your grief – the easier you will overcome it. Come … Come, Algie … Let those tears fall … Don’t be afraid to show your grief. Let it go … Let it all go …’ She felt his warm tears penetrate through the shoulder of her white blouse, and was moved to tears herself. ‘I have lost a parent as well,’ she whispered into his ear. ‘I know exactly how it feels, believe me. It can only be twice as hard to have lost two loved ones simultaneously.’
‘I’m sorry, Aurelia,’ he blubbered. ‘I had no intention of letting myself down in front of you like this.’ He sniffed, trying to stem his weeping. ‘I don’t suppose you’ll ever forgive me.’
‘For pouring out your troubles to me? On the contrary,’ she said kindly, ‘I am so pleased to be of some help, flattered that you feel enough at ease with me to let it go.’
‘But I feel such a baby.’
‘Never a baby, Algie. Never. A man who can cry is not a baby, but a giant of a man. A man of compassion, which you obviously are, cannot hide his real emotions and I have nothing but admiration for that. So many men think it is beneath their dignity to cry, even over something as sad as the loss of a loved one. So many men are obsessed with displaying their masculinity and that silly stiff upper lip which they think it pays them to nurture. If only they could see themselves … my own husband included. You have shown me that you are a caring, sensitive man, Algie. If only all men were like you …’
‘But I only came to tell Mr Sampson that I wouldn’t be able
to go to work and start my new job tomorrow.’ He lifted his head from Aurelia’s comforting shoulder and gave another great series of shuddering sobs. ‘I’ve got so much running about to do,’ he said, wiping his reddened eyes on his Sunday best handkerchief, ‘arranging things for the funeral, seeing how long they’ll let us stay in the house.’
‘You have to move out of your house?’
He nodded. ‘It’s tied to my father’s work,’ he explained.
‘Don’t worry, Algie. I’ll see to it that my husband knows. Don’t return to work until after your father’s funeral. It is essential that you are there to comfort your poor mother in any case.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Sampson.’ He forced a smile through his tears. ‘I feel so much better now … I reckon you’re right about weeping – it does help pull the misery out of you.’
‘It certainly does,’ she said. ‘In times of grief, the more you can cry, the better … I know …’
He dried his eyes and blew his nose. There was no longer any physical contact between them, but Aurelia sat erect intently watching him, her hands in her lap, her knees swivelled towards him.
‘And please, Algie, don’t call me Mrs Sampson. Friends call each other by their Christian names.’
He forced a smile that creased his reddened eyes. ‘I’m sorry I troubled you with all this.’
‘I’m not,’ she whispered, and put her hand on his again reassuringly.
‘But I scarcely know you, Aurelia.’
‘I feel that I know you a good deal better already,’ she said quietly.
‘I think I know you better as well. Thanks for being so patient.’
‘You have nothing to thank me for, believe me.’
He sighed mournfully. ‘I’d better be going, I suppose,’ he said, loath to depart from Aurelia’s welcome tenderness. ‘I should hate Mr Sampson to see me here like this.’
‘Oh, I should love it,’ she replied. ‘It would show him it’s not so hard to let go of some feelings, as you have done …’ He might even be surprised to witness my response to it, she wanted to say, but did not have the nerve. ‘Look, we haven’t even had the tea. Do have your cup of tea before you go. It will be a pick-me-up for you before you go back home. And my husband will not return yet, I can assure you.’