Candles in the Storm

by Rita Bradshaw

  ‘Indeed they are, sir.’ Josiah looked at his master’s brother’s flushed face and red-veined eyes. Another few minutes and Mr Francis would pass out, he knew the signs. Then he would call Mallard and they could get him up to bed like they always did when the master retired early and Mr Francis took the opportunity to drink himself senseless.

  ‘Ma . . . making up to Will . . . William. I saw ’em.’

  He could barely speak now. Josiah stretched his legs in the armchair opposite, sitting quietly as Mr Francis continued to mumble on, the words incoherent in the main. He had been livid the night the fishergirl had refused him, that was what all this was about, added to the fact he must have consumed a full bottle of brandy and that after a bottle or two of wine at dinner.

  ‘. . . arrogant young buck. Von Spee’d got the right idea . . .’ There was more mumbling, and then, ‘Once he’d gone to the devil it would’ve been easy, but they had to bu . . . bungle it, damn their eyes!’

  Goodness knew what Mr Francis was on about now but he’d better get Mallard out of bed, it’d take him a few minutes to get dressed. Josiah rose to his feet, and actually had one hand on the bell rope when he froze, suddenly taking in what his master’s brother was saying. ‘. . . only had to dump the body in the water but couldn’t even get that right. Customs men be damned! Couldn’t be bothered, that was the thing.’

  Josiah leant against the mantelpiece for support, his head reeling as he stared at the bloated figure in the chair. This was all to do with the attack on Mr William. Mr Francis had had a hand in trying to do away with his own nephew!

  Francis was still muttering away but now the indistinct words seemed to be a string of profanities, and after a minute or two even these stopped as the brandy took hold and he slipped into unconsciousness.

  Nevertheless, it was some moments before Josiah moved, and then it was only to straighten himself slowly as he covered his eyes with his hand. He remained like this for a little while. He himself had been the one to bring Mr Francis back into the fold when his master’s brother had approached him in France. He had believed Mr Francis when he’d said he wanted to help, preferring to trust the old adage that blood is thicker than water. And all the time . . . He dropped his hand and turned to look at the man he had served, to a limited extent, off and on for many years. What was he going to do? It would break the master to know his own brother had played a part in the attempt to kill Mr William, especially in view of the mistress’s leaving and Mr Francis growing so close to Sir Augustus again. What was he going to do?

  At eight o’clock the next morning a carriage containing Francis Fraser and Josiah Kirby left Greyfriar Hall. It was bitterly cold, fat flakes of snow falling from a low laden sky, and Francis was in a filthy mood. He abhorred the process of travelling and was not looking forward to the journey to London and then Dover by train, or the crossing to Calais. Added to which he had the mother and father of a hangover.

  He glowered at Josiah as the carriage bumped over ridges of hard-packed snow, his voice reflecting his surly disposition when he said, ‘You packed my white tie, Kirby? Can’t be doing with that new fashion for the dinner jacket, although it seems to be catching on in certain circles.’

  ‘Your evening dress is at the very top of the trunk, sir, and I stood over the housemaid to make sure everything is as it should be.’

  Francis grunted. ‘I should think so. Damn’ useless girls! There’s not one of them with a grain of sense in her head.’

  ‘Quite so, sir.’

  Obsequious so-and-so. Francis belched loudly. Still, that was his job and Kirby was a damn’ good valet.

  When the carriage drew up outside the station the snow was coming down even more thickly. It had been arranged that Josiah would travel to Dover with his employer’s brother and see him onto the boat for Calais: one of Claude’s servants would meet him in France. Now Francis exited the carriage and walked into the station leaving Josiah to follow with the trunk. He turned as the valet reached him, his voice irritable as he said, ‘Come on, man, come on. The train’s due any moment.’

  Josiah had refused the help of a porter and his face was red with exertion when he placed the trunk on the ground for a moment, only for Francis to say, as the engine puffed into the station, ‘Pick it up, Kirby, I don’t intend to be the last on. Look lively, man!’

  ‘Of course, Mr Francis.’

  It was talked about for months afterwards by those who had been present on the platform.

  One minute the train had been chugging to a stop as usual, the next the station was echoing with the most blood-curdling screams as that poor gentleman fell on to the rails and under the wheels. Cut him in two, it did, near as damn it.

  What exactly happened no one was really sure. However, the police talked to the valet who had been accompanying the dead man, and it appeared the gentleman had been standing too close to the edge of the platform and just lost his balance. Mind, it did emerge he had been drinking excessively the night before and had still been more than a little unsteady on his legs that morning. At the inquest one of the footmen from Greyfriar Hall said the gentleman had had to be carried to bed after midnight; incapable of even undressing himself, he’d been. You can’t get into a state like that and it not have consequences, can you?

  The valet was as upset as the family, poor devil. ’Course, he’d seen it happen, hadn’t he, and it’d live with you for ever something like that. What a way to go, eh?

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Nellie died on New Year’s Eve and her end was peaceful, with those she loved gathered about her and Daisy holding her hand. It was a gentle, slow slipping away and Daisy knew her grandmother wouldn’t have wanted to continue living with many of her faculties gone. Nevertheless, as the old woman breathed her last she found herself inwardly crying, Granny, don’t go. Please don’t go. Not yet, I can’t bear it. You can’t go. But she had. And in death the lines and wrinkles of years of pain and suffering were smoothed away and she looked young again as she went to meet her Abe.

  Daisy sat for a long time stroking the gnarled old hand, her eyes streaming and her heart sore, and then she asked Enid to help her lay her granny out. Cuthbert had had all the bairns at his house since it had been obvious the end was nigh, and while Daisy and Enid did what needed to be done, Kitty, Alf and Tilly joined him, Daisy’s brothers and their wives returning to their own homes.

  Daisy and Enid had just finished and Daisy was filling the poss-tub to soak the soiled linen when a grim-faced Harold knocked on the door of the cottage. He had brought her clothes and belongings, he said quietly. Miss Cecilia and Miss Felicity were in the process of clearing the house before they sold it, and the solicitor had advised them they had to return what was hers.

  ‘Thank you.’ Even in the midst of her grief over Nellie Daisy thought how ill he looked, and something made her say, ‘Are you all right, Harold? I would ask you in for a hot drink before you go back but my grandmother died today.’

  He stared at her long enough for her to become sure there was something terribly wrong with him, actually wringing his hands before he said, still in the same quiet flat voice, ‘I’m sorry, lass, about your granny. Give . . . give Kitty me best when you see her, will you? Tell her me an’ her mam’ll be movin’ on in the next few days.’

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘Don’t know, lass. Gladys was hopin’ they’d fit us in at Greyfriar Hall but they’ve given her short shrift.’

  ‘But you’ll be all right? I mean, with what the mistress must have left you?’

  ‘For a while, aye.’ He chewed on his lip for a moment. ‘But it weren’t as much as Gladys had hoped an’ it won’t last long if we don’t get work. Gladys is gettin’ on an’ I’m not as young as I used to be, an’ there’s not many places’d be lookin’ for a cook an’ gardener both.’

  Daisy didn’t know what to say. There was silence for a moment beyond the sound of Enid pummelling at the washing in the scullery, and then Harold said, ‘I’d bes
t be gettin’ back, Gladys is in a state. Miss Cecilia has made a list of everythin’ in the place down to the last teaspoon, an’ Gladys has got it into her head the young mistress thinks she might pinch somethin’.’

  Well, Daisy for one wouldn’t put it past her old enemy. Her face must have reflected her thoughts because Harold dropped his eyes, switching his gaze to one side as he said, ‘You . . . you won’t forget to remember me to Kitty?’

  ‘No, I won’t forget, Harold.’

  ‘I wish . . . I wish things could have been . . . been different, lass, when we was all up at the house together.’

  ‘So do I, Harold, but I think the person you really need to say that to is your daughter.’

  His neck stretched, craning out of his coat. ‘Aye, mebbe, but it’s too late.’

  ‘It’s never too late, not if you mean what you say.’

  ‘Oh, aye, it is, lass. You don’t know . . .’ He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple jerking. ‘Just give the lass me best.’

  He turned on his heel, leaving indentations in the freshly fallen snow as he made his way back to the horse and trap. His bowed head and drooping shoulders gave the impression of someone who was in utter despair. Daisy stared after him for a moment before she picked up the package Harold had placed on the mat and shut the door slowly, turning to face the room in front of her. She glanced across at the bed on which lay Nellie’s still figure, and all thoughts of Kitty’s father fled her mind.

  Her granny had gone, her lovely granny had gone, and right at this moment she would have given the world to be able to step back in time and become a child again, feeling her granny holding her tight and telling her that she was her own precious bairn.

  When Tilly brought Tommy and the other children back to the cottage, Cuthbert accompanied her.

  ‘We need to talk to you, lass, an’ I’m sorry it’s like this but it might affect what you decide to do and so . . .’ Tilly stopped abruptly, aware she was gabbling.

  ‘I’ve asked Tilly to marry me, Daisy, and she’s said yes.’ Cuthbert’s voice was low in acknowledgement of her grief but he couldn’t quite keep a thread of elation from it. ‘It will mean she’ll move in with me, her and the bairns, and . . .’ He paused, not knowing quite how to put it.

  ‘That’s wonderful, Tilly.’ Daisy reached out and grasped her sister-in-law’s hands, keeping her voice steady. She had known immediately what Cuthbert was trying to say. There would be no room for Tommy at his cottage. Almost from the first the two of them had not hit it off. Cuthbert’s children were placid, like Tilly’s, but Tommy had all of his father’s assertive, enquiring nature and then some. ‘Tommy and I will be fine.’

  ‘Lass, things can stay as they are for as long as they need to--’

  ‘But it would be nice to have the wedding as soon as we can,’ Cuthbert interrupted hastily.

  Daisy looked at him, a straight look. Cuthbert was a good man and would make Tilly a sound husband, but, like Tommy, she had never liked him. She said quietly, ‘I have a little money saved, enough to bury Gran properly and rent somewhere in Sunderland while I look for a job and someone to look after Tommy in the day, so you must get married as soon as you like. I shall rent somewhere unfurnished and take all the stuff from here, of course.’

  ‘Oh, of course, lass, of course. You’ve bought it all.’ Tilly nodded violently. ‘But won’t you carry on in service somewhere, now you’re so far up the ladder? As a companion or governess, I mean?’

  ‘No, I won’t go into service again.’ It was said very definitely. Suddenly there was only Tommy and herself to support and the change in her circumstances over the last two weeks had knocked Daisy for six. Or perhaps it was the loss of two dear old ladies, born at opposite ends of the social scale but still alike for all that. Suddenly she couldn’t discuss the future anymore, and was grateful for Tommy’s voice calling for her in the room above.

  By the end of January Daisy and Tommy were established on the upper floor of a two-up, two-down terraced house in Mainsforth Terrace West off Hendon Valley Road, opposite the Villette Brick Works.

  The location of the house was not ideal being close to the brick works, but a short walk down Villette Road and the better part of Hendon was at hand. Although Sunderland had absorbed the small villages of Hendon and Grangetown in latter years the main bulk of the heavily built up area lay eastward towards Hendon Dock and the Wear Fuel and Chemical Works; but westward, just past Barley Mow Cottage was Hendon Hill with trees and flowers, a fountain and well, and Hendon Burn.

  Daisy was determined that Tommy - born to the sound of the sea and used to playing on the sands and running wild most of the time with the other fishermen’s bairns - would not be confined to the grim terraced streets more than could be helped.

  The district had been electrified three years before so now the journey into the heart of Bishopwearmouth was not reliant on the old horse trams and was much quicker. But Daisy would have walked there and back every day if it had been necessary, rather than take accommodation in Sunderland’s stinking East End or the main part of the town where thick black industrial smoke hung in the air like a stifling blanket.

  An added advantage with the house in Mainsforth Terrace West was that the landlady - a retired schoolteacher who was nevertheless a very active and agile sixty year old occupying the downstairs of the dwelling - had been very pleased to alleviate the boredom of her days by taking charge of little Tommy while Daisy looked for work. Furthermore, Miss Casey had assured her new lodger that the arrangement could continue when Daisy had employment, right up to the time Tommy started school. Tommy, a child of definite and immediate opinions, had cast the plump, merry-eyed little spinster in the role of grandmother from the first moment he had seen her, and their relationship was proving to be a happy one.

  This, along with the fact that he had not once asked for Tilly or his old playmates but still seemed as ecstatic about being with Daisy as when she had first broached the news to the little boy, was a great encouragement but Daisy was anxious to find suitable employment quickly. By the time she had paid for her grandmother’s funeral - and she had been determined Nellie wouldn’t have a pauper’s send off like her father and brothers had had but a decent service and a nice plot in the churchyard - and other expenses, her carefully saved little nest egg was severely depleted.

  But their two rooms were a real home. Daisy glanced about the sitting room, having just left the bedroom after settling Tommy down in one of the two single iron beds the room held. She had bought these along with new mattresses after selling Nellie’s bed and the two double beds at the fishing cottage.

  In the sitting room the hard wooden saddle was standing by the wall under the window, but now its seat was festooned with flock cushions. Daisy had bought these from the second-hand stall in the old market in Bishopswearmouth and covered them in bright red material, some of which she had used to make matching curtains. The square wooden table was also from the cottage but Daisy had only brought two of the chairs, selling the other four. With a thick new tablecloth covering the old oilcloth and a pot holding a flowering azalea in the middle of the table, it was barely recognisable.

  When Miss Casey had decided to rent the two upper rooms as a small flat she had had the fireplace in the room she had designated the sitting room replaced with a kitchen grate with cast-iron hobs. Although small, this now enabled pots and kettles to simmer in front of the fire. Daisy had bought a large guard for this with Tommy’s exploring hands in mind, but the child had made no effort to get too near, merely lying on the thick clippy mat in front of the range when he was tired, dreamily watching the flames flickering in the fire.

  A small dresser and kitchen cupboard in the sitting room, and a wardrobe in the bedroom - again courtesy of a second-hand shop - completed Daisy’s small home. She felt it was clean, cosy and comfortable, and moreover that she and Tommy could be happy in it. There was just enough room for the privy and a washline in the back yard which was accessed by means o
f a door at the end of the hall, but no washhouse. This meant water from the tap in the yard had to be carried upstairs for washing as well as cooking, but Daisy didn’t mind this. All she wanted now was a job which would pay enough for her to support Tommy and herself.

  She had considered asking Sir Augustus for a character reference but decided against it. William’s family had made their feelings about her clear on numerous occasions, and she wasn’t about to give them the satisfaction of refusing her. If it became necessary she would approach Miss Wilhelmina’s solicitor to vouch for her. Mr Crawford’s premises were situated in Fawcett Street in between the cabinet maker’s and the ironmonger’s and she could easily call and see him.

  Daisy walked across to the table, pulling one of the chairs out from under it and sitting down. He was nice, Mr Crawford. He had written to her after the funeral saying that he was sure Miss Wilhelmina had been about to change her will in Daisy’s favour just before she died, that he had been due to visit the house regarding that very thing the morning they had found the old lady. It had been kind of him to let her know, and she was glad Miss Wilhelmina had felt that way, but in a sense she was relieved that this severance from the Frasers was final. It was her and Tommy now, and no one else - no one - mattered.