Don’t Cry Alone

by Don’t Cry Alone (retail) (epub)

  ‘There was nothing we could do, you know.’ The doctor was seated behind his desk, studying her bowed figure and trying to call her back. ‘It was already too late when they brought him in.’ Still Beth did not look up. He came round the desk to stand before her. ‘Are you all right, Mrs Miller?’ His tone was anxious. ‘You really should go home and rest quietly. There is the baby to consider.’

  Beth looked up, her eyes brimming, and hysterical laughter threatening to overwhelm her. Only a woman could understand how futile his words were. ‘Go home and rest quietly,’ he urged. When only minutes before she had watched a kind, unselfish soul take his last breath, her husband, a man who wanted her to love him when she could not, a good man, a man she had much to thank for. But, no. The doctor was right about her going home. She had two children waiting there. Wearily, she pulled herself up out of the chair. ‘Thank you, doctor,’ she told him, her dark tragic eyes sweeping his face. ‘I know you did everything possible.’

  ‘The constable is waiting to take you back.’

  She shook her head. ‘No. Tell him thank you all the same,’ she said, ‘I have money enough for a Hansom cab to take me to the station, but I’ll walk part of the distance.’ She glanced out of the window. Already the sky was bright with the promise of a lovely July day. She had lost count of time, but was surprised when the clock on the wall showed that it was now ten minutes past four in the morning.

  ‘Walk?’ He seemed astonished. ‘Is that wise in your condition, Mrs Miller… and in view of what has happened?’ He studied her face with those dark expressive eyes and shining hair that fell loosely about her shoulders, as though she had just risen from her bed; but then, she could be forgiven that. It had been past midnight when the officers called on her, and she had been through a most traumatic experience. There were women who could never cope with such things. This one was strong. Even if her heart was breaking, she would not show it.

  ‘I need to walk a while,’ she said now, ‘I need to breathe.’ Stooping to collect the brown paper bag from her chair, she half-smiled. ‘It isn’t much to show for a man’s life, is it?’ she asked in a dry voice. In her mind’s eye, she could see the nurse spreading out the contents on her desk. The small bone toothpick, his front-door key, the brown pig-skin purse containing two guineas, a handkerchief, and a small leatherbound notebook which he carried everywhere – mostly for reckoning Luther’s fortune!

  ‘Surely you would rather wait and let your brother-in-law see you home?’ The doctor saw the shadowy rings beneath her eyes and knew that she was immensely tired. ‘He won’t be long, you know. He’s made his statement and now he’s collecting his father’s belongings. Won’t you allow him to take you home, Mrs Miller?’

  Beth was visibly shocked. ‘Brother-in-law?’ she said, looking at him as though he had made some kind of mistake. And yet she did have a brother-in-law, she reminded herself. However, until this moment, no mention had been made of Luther’s son being here. How was he summoned so quickly? Where did they find him? Even Luther did not know the whereabouts of his ungrateful son, Arnold Thomas. ‘He’s here?’ she asked. ‘In the Infirmary?’

  ‘He was with his father and your husband when the accident happened. Apparently, they met up in the sale room and afterwards were making their way home together when the accident happened. There was another witness, a gentleman who seemingly had a small set-to with your father-in-law some minutes before he fell.’ He wondered at the look of astonishment on her face. ‘If you’ll wait just one minute, I’ll let your brother-in-law know you’re here. He was informed earlier that you were on your way, but the authorities have kept him busy.’ He smiled wryly. ‘We can never escape from the legalities of life, I’m afraid,’ he said, glancing at the official papers which Beth had signed a few moments before. His smile was now quickly replaced by the abrupt professional manner with which he had originally greeted her. ‘Please sit down, Mrs Miller. I’m sure you’ll only have a moment to wait before he’s finished.’

  ‘I don’t want to see him.’ Beth’s mind was in chaos. Luther Reynolds’ son had been with him and David when the accident happened! She knew instinctively that she would not like Luther’s son any more than she had liked the old man himself. And what was going to happen now? Would he turn them out of the house? It seemed likely, because any son who could walk out on his own father would not think twice about claiming what was his, and she had not forgotten how Luther had taken great pleasure in telling David, ‘It’s all for my own flesh and blood.’ Suddenly, she needed to get out of this place. She couldn’t think straight here. ‘I have to go now,’ she said, wrapping the shawl about her shoulders and hurrying to the door. ‘I’m sorry.’ Before the doctor could protest further, she was gone and the door was clicking shut. He stared after her for a moment, then he shrugged and returned to his mountain of paperwork.

  As Beth fled from the building, Tom Reynolds emerged from the side ward where he had been ‘dutifully’ paying his last respects to his unfortunate stepbrother. The officer had gone in with him, and now he turned to Tom with a look of sympathy. ‘Dreadful business,’ he said. ‘Dreadful! But accidents happen, I’m sorry to say. It’s times like these when I’d rather sweep the streets than be an officer of the law.’ He waved a paper in the air, the long and detailed statement of what had taken place. ‘Terrible accident,’ he said again, ‘I’m very sorry, but certain formalities have to be followed, even at a time like this.’

  Tom Reynolds’ expression was suitably sad. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I understand. But now, if you don’t mind, I would like to be alone with my grief.’

  The constable’s voice was kindness itelf. ‘My condolences, sir,’ he said, shaking his head, ‘a terrible tragedy. Terrible!’ With a slow heavy tread, he made his way along the corridor, then out of the door through which Beth had passed only moments before. Outside he stood a moment, enjoying the fresh air, then wedging his helmet securely over his thick thatch of ginger-coloured hair, went away at a jauntier pace. He was glad the job was done. ‘Rum thing,’ he muttered to himself, ‘losing your father and brother in one fell sweep.’ He quickened his pace as though eager to get away for fear he might be contaminated with the ill-fortune that had struck that poor grief-laden man back there.

  ‘Of course I am sorry to have missed my sister-in-law,’ Tom Reynolds explained to the doctor, ‘and from what you tell me, I need to hurry after her and make certain she arrives home safely.’ He lied with conviction, hoping he was portraying himself as a grieving but concerned individual. He was not the slightest bit interested in his stepbrother’s wife. If anything, he was delighted that their paths had not crossed just now. First, there were papers to sign, and certain arrangements to be made; after which Tom Reynolds hastened from the building, under the pretext of being anxious about his sister-in-law. But it was not his hapless stepbrother’s wife who filled his mind as he travelled directly to Liverpool Railway Station, where he would begin his journey back to London. No indeed! It was his own success at having effectively got away with the heinous crime of murdering his own father, and dispatching David Miller at the same time. It was this realisation that played on his thoughts and lifted his spirits.

  As for Mrs Miller, well now… let the poor bitch enjoy her short stay in Luther Reynolds’ house, because soon it would belong to his only son, and there would be no place there for David Miller’s ‘mistakes’. Soon as ever the funeral was over and the will read out, there were plans to be made. Plans that did not include anyone but Tom Reynolds! If the old man was as good as his word, everything he owned would go to his only son.

  Recalling the last conversation he had had with his father, Tom was reminded that a small legacy had been made to David. That was a real pity, because now it would no doubt pass on to his wife. Suddenly he saw his stepbrother’s wife in a different light! His curiosity was aroused and he wondered whether he should have made her acquaintance after all. What exactly had the old man left to David? he wondered. Of course,
Luther could have written a clause into his will stipulating that in the event of David’s untimely demise, all should revert to his own blood-kin; that being Arnold Thomas himself. But for the moment there was no use racking his brains. He had no idea at all what had been left… either to himself or to his stepbrother; although, of course, the old man had intimated that he had built up a considerable fortune over the many years since he last saw his son.

  Climbing into the train carriage, Tom leaned back into the seat and closed his eyes. Greed overwhelmed him but he must be patient and contain himself: the contents of Luther’s will would not be known until after the funeral. Until then, there was much to arrange, much to think about. He laughed softly when the image of Esther came into his mind. Wouldn’t she be envious though? Oh, wouldn’t it be wonderful to rise above that family who, for too long, had looked down on him? He might even go so far as to seek out the lovely wilful Beth. When a man had a fortune, there was no limit to what he could do, or which woman he might entice into his bed. The thought was exhilarating. The taste of success was intoxicating. He couldn’t settle. Getting out of his seat, he began pacing up and down the empty carriage. The day of the funeral could not come fast enough for him. And then… oh, what a great time he would have, counting the fortune which had so carefully been built for him. And with such devotion!

  His laughter rang out from one end of the train to the other. Those who cringed from the awful sound might have been forgiven for thinking that the Devil himself had joined them on their journey.

  Chapter Ten

  In that beautiful quiet church, Beth stood behind the first pew, alone and resolute, her dark eyes focused on the two coffins that stood side by side before the altar. The voice of the priest drifted to the high rafters, his prayers echoed in Beth’s heart; but her prayers were not for Luther, whom she still blamed for her husband’s death. Her silent prayers were for that humble, quiet man who had taken care of her and the children.

  It saddened her to know that David would never see his own child in the flesh. When she had first conceived, Beth had felt guilty because she had not wanted the child with all her heart. Yet, over the weeks, when she had felt it growing inside her, she had come to know and to love it. Now she thanked God that David had lived for a reason. The child was his legacy. A small person in his own likeness. Beth vowed to tell the child all the good and admirable qualities its father possessed, but she would be careful not to reveal the weakness which ran through his character and made him only half the man he might have been. That ‘weakness’ was Luther Reynolds. No, Beth did not pray for him. She would leave that to the priest.

  Word had been sent ahead that Luther’s son had been delayed. In fact, he never arrived; not for the service, nor for the lowering of the caskets into the ground. Now, when it was over, Beth found herself still alone. ‘God go with you,’ the priest said, and then he too departed. She smiled and watched him hurry away, a tall man in black ankle boots that were covered in mud. It made her smile. Even a man of God could not rise above the earth on which he walked. After it was all over, she went back into the church where she knelt on the hard boards and raised her face to the crucifix high on the wall. ‘Help me, Lord,’ she prayed; the desperate plea ran round that huge empty place and seemed to carry to Heaven itself. ‘Tell me what I must do.’ She waited a while, as though allowing the Almighty to think about what she had said. Then, bending her knee and making the sign of the cross on her forehead, she left the church and hurried home to the loved ones who waited for her. For one fleeting moment, she allowed herself to indulge in thoughts of Tyler. In that wonderful moment, her burden was lightened and her sorry heart was lifted with joy. But it was gone all too soon. Like memories of Tyler, it drifted into that secret part of her that was forever closed. Now and then she would peek inside, but the happiness it brought was short-lived. Just like the dream. A dream that never came true.

  Today was Thursday. Blackburn centre was always quiet on a Thursday. Folks had long spent out and were biding their time until the next pay day. As Beth went down Ainsworth Street towards the flower shop where she had left Richard in Cissie’s charge, she gave thanks for the girl’s small wage. Times were really hard, with fewer tradesmen on the streets and almost all of the shops empty of customers. The flower shop was no exception. Now, letting her eyes rove over the many beautifully arranged flowers that spilled in a riot of colour into the window, Beth was disturbed to see that they were virtually the same as when she had called in with Richard this morning. Nothing appeared to have been sold. It was true that when folks had to cut back, it was always the little luxuries that went first; and what could be more of a luxury than a vase of fresh flowers?

  As Beth went into the shop the tiny bell above the door rang out, bringing both Cissie and Moll Sutton rushing. The matronly woman emerged with a ready smile on her large, plain face, obviously expecting a customer. When she saw it was Beth, she made an effort to keep the smile, but it soon fell away. Cissie, however, came hurtling across the shop into Beth’s arms, ‘Oh, I’m glad you’re back!’ she said breathlessly, hugging her hard. Cissie had been wary about Beth attending the funeral, because the accident and the ensuing ordeal at the Infirmary had told badly on her. Her appetite had gone, and she spent most nights pacing the floor of her bedroom.

  This past week had been especially hard, and it was showing. Moll Sutton remarked on it now. ‘You really are looking peaked, my dear,’ she said, bidding Beth to follow her into the back room where Richard was seated cross-legged on the floor, playing with a small wooden toy. On seeing Beth he scrambled up and came to wrap his arms round her. ‘Can we stay a bit longer, eh, Mammy?’ he asked, his green shining eyes looking up at her pleadingly.

  ‘Well, I never!’ she said in mock horror. ‘Here’s your mammy come to take you home, and you don’t want to go with her.’ She smiled secretly at the other woman, who for some reason seemed agitated.

  ‘Just a bit longer?’ He glanced at the wooden toy on the rug. It was a beautiful replica of a tram, painstakingly carved out of beechwood and painted in bright dazzling colours. ‘I want to finish my game,’ he said forlornly, making her ashamed that he had no real toys to speak of. Being dependent on Luther’s generosity, she had been careful not to waste money on trivial things, although Richard had not been made to go without toys altogether.

  Beth was firm, though. It had been a long and distressing day, and she was impatient to be within her own four walls. She stilled her thoughts, being quick to remind herself that ‘her own four walls’ were not hers at all. No doubt the letter of eviction would soon be on its way. It was something she dare not think about, although at the back of her mind there was a last forlorn hope that the worst would not happen. ‘No, Richard,’ she told the boy, ‘I imagine Mrs Sutton has had quite enough of you for one day.’

  ‘As a matter of fact, Beth,’ Moll Sutton appeared to be slightly embarrassed as she went on, ‘there’s something I want to talk with you about.’ She picked up the toy and gave it to the boy. ‘You keep it,’ she said to everyone’s surprise. ‘My son outgrew it years ago, and I’m sure I don’t want to play with it.’ She laughed now as the boy clutched the toy to himself, his eyes imploring his mother not to make him hand it back.

  ‘Oh, Mrs Sutton… are you sure?’ Beth could see how well the toy had been cared for. It seemed such a precious thing to give away.

  ‘Of course. I want the boy to have it,’ came the reply. ‘But if you have a moment, can we let him play while we talk in the parlour?’ She turned to Cissie, who had been preparing to leave with Beth. ‘Keep an eye on the shop,’ she instructed. ‘We’ll only be a minute.’

  Cissie reluctantly nodded. She would much rather be going home straightaway with Beth. She wanted to know about the service; after all, she had liked David a lot. It didn’t seem fair to her that Beth would not let her go to the church, although on reflection she supposed it was right. Her thoughts changed course as she wondered what Moll Sutton had
to discuss with Beth. She peeped into the shop. It was empty. It had been empty for most of the day. It was almost four now, and it was plain that there would be no more customers coming through that door before Moll Sutton put the bolt across. In fact, there had been only two all day long, and they only wanted buttonholes. Oh, and of course there was the beautiful spray which Beth had taken with her to the church.

  Inside the back parlour, Moll Sutton ushered Beth into one of the two black horsehair chairs that were positioned either side of the fireplace. ‘I dare say you’re gasping for a cup of tea,’ she said kindly. The table was already laid with a large daisy-patterned tray containing one dainty bone-china cup and saucer, milk jug and sugar bowl, and a small porcelain teapot. Moll Sutton had been a widow these many years and her only son lived miles away in the Midlands. When Beth replied that yes, she would welcome a cup of tea, it took but a moment for the other woman to get the kettle boiling on the rusty old gas ring, and soon she had collected another cup and saucer from the high, narrow cupboard. Soon she was seated and addressing Beth. ‘Firstly, I want to say that my heart goes out to you in your tragic circumstances,’ she began. Lowering her own cup to her knee and holding it there, she continued to stare at Beth for a moment before averting her eyes, seemingly lost for words. The ensuing silence was awkward. ‘You’ll be wondering why I asked you back here,’ she ventured. Her hands were trembling, and she was obviously in great difficulty.

  ‘I think I know why,’ Beth told her in a quiet voice. She hated to see this kindly woman so distressed. ‘I’m not blind,’ she said with a half-smile. Inside, her stomach was churning because she realised what was on Moll’s mind. ‘You want to let Cissie go, don’t you?’