A True Love of Mine

by Margaret Thornton

  Nor would Clara be the only person to be laid to rest on that day. Influenza and pneumonia as well as the usual winter ailments of bronchitis and asthma had been rife in the town. There had been several funerals planned, but Isaac Moon and Son had passed their bookings for that week on to another firm.

  Bella gave an involuntary start when she answered the knock on her door and found William standing on the threshold. She invited him in and listened to his plans regarding the shop.

  ‘Very well then, William,’ she said, with a compassionate nod and the hint of a smile. ‘I will contact Martin and Polly and tell them that we will be reopening tomorrow. What about your other arrangements, though? I don’t want to appear pushy but…what about your meals? I assume you want me to take over my duties in the shop again, and I don’t think…’

  ‘No, of course you can’t do that and look after us as well,’ replied William. ‘I want you to know how much we appreciate all you have done for us. We – that is to say my father and I – we would like you to resume your duties in the shop, though. And now that Clara is…no longer with us, would you consider, perhaps, taking over as manageress? With a suitable rise in your wages, of course.’

  Bella inclined her head. ‘That would be very acceptable,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘As for our family arrangements,’ he continued, ‘Louisa has offered to look after us for the next few days. She is heartbroken, as you can imagine, over Clara’s death. She regarded her almost as a daughter. We can’t put on her good nature, though, for too long. She’s an elderly lady and she has her own business to see to as well. When…when all this is over…’ He paused, overcome for a moment by an upsurge of grief, ‘…we will have to see about employing a housekeeper. We intend to ask around in the chapel congregation. There are one or two ladies who might be willing.’ He looked straight at Bella then, not smiling, but as though he were inviting her, it seemed, to share with him in his grief. ‘We are all going to miss her so very much,’ he said, a sob catching at his throat. ‘And I know you were such a good friend to her, Bella. You will come to the funeral, of course, won’t you? I know she would have wanted you to be there.’

  Bella felt so ashamed at that moment, so overcome with guilt, that she was unable to answer for several seconds. She felt the colour rising to her cheeks as she looked down at the floor. She hoped that William had not noticed her discomfiture. But he could not help but do so.

  ‘Is there something the matter?’ he asked gently.

  She raised her head, looking him in the eyes and trying to control her emotions. ‘No…no; of course I will be there.’ She knew how odd it would appear if she were to stay away, which, deep down, she felt she ought to do. What right did she have to attend the funeral of the woman she had considered killing? The thought still plagued her that what she had done might, indeed, have played a part in Clara’s death. ‘I was just thinking how very sad it is,’ she went on. ‘Just a short while ago Clara was well, and now…’ She shook her head. ‘It’s so hard to understand… Anyway…thank you for inviting me.’

  She had regained her composure now, so she asked, ‘Would you like a hand with the arrangements for the meal? I take it you will be having something to eat…afterwards. If there is anything I can do…’

  ‘That’s all taken care of,’ said William. ‘But thank you all the same. The women at chapel have rallied round and asked if they can help. A few of them will be coming here on Friday morning to prepare sandwiches, meat pies…whatever they decide on; I have left it all to them. And they will draw back the curtains and let the daylight in again, ready for our return.’ That was always the custom after a funeral, to attempt to dispel the gloom and help the household to return to normal.

  William stood up, and Bella realised that their conversation was at an end. ‘Goodnight, Bella, and thank you again,’ he said briefly as he took his leave of her.

  They had spoken of nothing else but the funeral arrangements and business matters, but it was the longest talk they had had for many years. Certainly the longest since she had come to work for the Moon family. A time would come, she felt sure, when William would realise how much he relied on her. And, maybe, when his time of grieving had passed, he would remember how it had once been between the two of them…

  It was something of an anomaly organising the funeral of his beloved wife. William had wanted to tend to her himself; he could not possibly have allowed anyone else to perform such intimate tasks. But as far as the funeral was concerned, he had at first considered handing over the arrangements to a rival firm; a friendly rival, that was, as they all worked amicably together. Then he came to the conclusion that it would be more fitting to use their own hearse, with their own two horses, Jet and Ebony, to pull it. But neither Patrick nor his father nor, indeed, he himself, wanted to lead the procession as they normally did, in their turns, in their professional capacity. Eventually they decided to ask another firm in the town, with whom they had cooperated in the past, to provide them with pall-bearers, an extra carriage in which the family members would ride, and someone to lead the procession in front of the hearse.

  It was a sombre little group who gathered together in the Moon family living room on the Friday morning. The service in the Queen Street Methodist chapel had been arranged for eleven o’clock, to be followed by burial at the cemetery on Dean Road. Louisa Montague joined the family members – William, Isaac, Patrick and Maddy – just before half past ten. She had seemed to age considerably over the last few days since the death of her beloved Clara. She was dry-eyed now, but her pale face still showed signs of weeping and her slight figure looked shrunken into itself in the deep black mourning clothes. They were waiting now for Bella, whom William had asked to accompany them in the family carriage. So when there was a knock at the door at ten-thirty he went to answer it, assuming he would find her there on the doorstep.

  He gave an involuntary start of surprise at seeing Faith Barraclough standing there. He had written to tell her of Clara’s death and had, indeed, invited her to come to the funeral if she should wish to do so. But it had been out of courtesy more than anything else, and he had not really expected her to attend.

  ‘William…’ She stretched out a black-gloved hand and he saw her blue eyes mist over with tears. ‘I am so very, very sorry. I hope you don’t mind me coming, that you don’t think I am intruding, but I felt I had to be here.’

  ‘Mind? Of course I don’t mind,’ he replied, taking her hand and holding it for several seconds. ‘I invited you, didn’t I? But I didn’t press you too much to come because it’s a fair way to travel from York at this time of the year; I didn’t want you to feel obligated.’

  It was a raw cold sort of morning. The recent fall of snow had all disappeared, but the thawing wind seemed even colder than the frost and ice had been.

  ‘I’m in good time, am I?’ she asked. ‘I caught an early train because I was worried in case it might be delayed. One never knows…’

  ‘Yes; it’s a quarter of an hour or so before we set off for the chapel,’ said William. ‘We’re just waiting for…for the undertaker,’ he faltered slightly at the word. ‘We decided to ask for some help, although we’re using our own hearse, and Jet and Ebony. Clara was so fond of them… Anyway, come along in.’ He looked at her cheeks which were pink with the cold wind, as was the tip of her nose. ‘You didn’t walk from the station, did you?’

  ‘No, I took a cab,’ she answered, following him along the passage and into the living room. They all turned to look at her. Maddy, who until then had seemed to be in control of herself, jumped up from her chair and ran across the room.

  ‘Mrs Barraclough!’ she cried. She flung herself at the woman, putting her arms around her waist and burying her head in the folds of her black coat. ‘Oh…oh, I’m so glad you’ve come. Oh dear! I didn’t mean to start crying again, but I miss my mam so much.’ Her shoulders shook with sobs as the tears began to flow again. ‘I just don’t know what I’m going to do with
out my mam…’

  ‘I know, dear, I know,’ said Faith, stroking the child’s golden hair and holding her close. ‘I’m so very, very sorry.’ She looked around at the menfolk and Louisa, whom she had met only briefly before. ‘For all of you…’ she added. ‘I was just saying to William that I hope I’m not intruding on your grief, but I wanted to be here. In the short time I knew her Clara was a good friend to me and to my children. Come along, dear,’ she said to Maddy. ‘Let’s go and sit down, and we’ll try and compose ourselves, shall we?’

  ‘You’re very welcome, lass,’ said Isaac. ‘I only wish it were in happier circumstances. Aye, it’s been a real blow to us. You might think as how we’d be used to it, but when it’s one of yer own…’ He shook his head sadly. ‘It were t’ same when my wife died, my Hannah. It was as though the bottom had dropped out of me world.’

  Faith and Maddy sat close together in an armchair that was large enough to hold them both. And that little scene was what Bella noticed, first of all, when she arrived some five minutes later. She had not wanted to get there too soon. It would be an ordeal for her to spend time alone with the Moon family, especially with Maddy. The girl had scarcely spoken to her since Clara’s death except when she was forced to do so, and the looks she levelled at her were mistrustful to say the least.

  Bella acknowledged them all with a nod and a mumbled ‘Good morning…’ although she knew it could not, in any truth, be called a good morning. Then, as she could not ignore that the woman was there, she spoke to Faith Barraclough. ‘Hello, Mrs Barraclough.’ She had not been invited, last summer, to use her Christian name. ‘I didn’t realise you were coming. It’s a sad day, isn’t it?’

  ‘Indeed it is, Miss Randall,’ said Faith, inclining her head. ‘I knew I had to come…to show my respect for Clara. She was a lovely lady.’

  They sat in almost complete silence for the next few minutes. Bella could see that Maddy had been crying again. She could not help but feel a surge of compassion for the girl. It was her mother’s funeral when all was said and done and the poor child must be feeling wretched. No doubt Faith Barraclough’s arrival had set her off weeping again. The woman’s arm was around her now, comforting her as though she was a close relation. And she was nothing of the sort. She was just the mother of that girl, Jessica, who Maddy had been so friendly with last summer.

  Bella recalled now how William had glanced admiringly once or twice at the woman, when he had been in her company last August. Faith was, undeniably, a beautiful woman, and she was obviously rich enough to be able to dress in the very height of fashion. Her elegant black coat was edged with silver fox fur and her large-brimmed hat, trimmed with ostrich feathers, sat stylishly on her exquisitely coiffured auburn hair.

  Bella experienced a tremor of dislike, such as she had done in the summer, although she was not sure herself what there was to dislike about the woman. The truth was that there was nothing at all. Faith Barraclough was charming and kind-hearted; not over-friendly, to be sure, but that was probably because she was of a shy disposition. Bella knew only too well that her antipathy for the woman stemmed from jealousy, as had her feelings for Clara; those feelings of which, so recently, she had lost all control.

  She knew that William was not likely to cast admiring glances at Faith today; he was too steeped in his sorrow and despair, she guessed, to be too much aware of her. But what of the future? There might come a time, sooner or later, when William might want a companion to share his life, maybe even a wife. By keeping her ear to the ground Bella had discovered that Faith Barraclough’s marriage was not too happy… She made up her mind, there and then, that if, or when, that time arrived it would be she, Bella, who would be there in William’s sights, and no one else.

  She watched as William invited Faith to go upstairs to look at Clara, before the arrival of the funeral director. The undertaker arrived very soon afterwards; then the lid was screwed down and the pall-bearers carried the coffin down the stairs and into the street.

  William placed a large wreath of white lilies, a loving tribute from himself, Isaac, Patrick and Maddy, on top of the coffin. It was then surrounded by a host of wreaths and sprays, their multicoloured hues of bright yellow, gold, bronze, crimson and orange, as well as dazzling white, making a vivid splash of colour through the glass sides of the hearse, on a gloomy grey and sunless morning. They were tokens of affection to a well-loved friend, neighbour and member of the community.

  The procession made its short journey from North Marine Road to Queen Street, with the top-hatted leader walking in front of the horse-drawn hearse. The family carriage, in the end, held only Maddy, Faith, Louisa and Bella. William, Isaac and Patrick had decided to walk, leading the other mourners; several more would be joining them in the chapel.

  ‘How sweet the name of Jesus sounds

  In a believer’s ear;

  It soothes his sorrows, heals his wounds,

  And drives away his fear…’

  The hymn was one that Maddy knew as they had sung it quite often in Sunday school. She felt Mrs Barraclough’s arm go gently round her as she tried to sing the words; but they kept catching in her throat and the sound she was making was coming out all funny and squeaky. She knew she could sing nicely most of the time; people were always telling her what a good little singer she was.

  But it was different today. Singing was a happy sort of thing to do and she usually enjoyed it, but this was a very sad day. Lots of people had come to the chapel to show how sorry they were that her mam had died. It was a large building and the downstairs part was nearly half full.

  They sat down when they had sung the hymn. The minister said some prayers and read from the Bible, all about a woman who looked after her family, just like her mam had always done. He gave a little talk and said what a lovely person – good and helpful and kind – her mam had been and how they would all miss her. Maddy bit her lip and tried hard not to start crying, and she thought that Patrick, sitting in front of her with their dad, was doing the same. She saw her father put his arm around him and Patrick lowered his head. It was hard not to keep looking at the coffin which was standing at the front on something she had heard Patrick call a bier. The wreath of white flowers from the family – Dad, Grandad, Patrick and herself – covered the full length of the coffin. Her dad had asked her if she would like to write on the card, and she had written ‘For Clara; a dearly loved wife, daughter and mother. God bless you and keep you in His care.’

  After they had sung another hymn they followed the men carrying the coffin – she knew they were called pall-bearers – out into the street and into the carriage again for the journey to the cemetery. It was not very far and Maddy, sitting next to Mrs Barraclough, could see people on the pavement, pausing for a moment from their shopping or whatever they were doing, watching solemnly as the procession went past. The men took off their hats and the ladies bowed their heads.

  She made sure as they stood at the graveside that Jessica’s mother was next to her. She clung tightly to her hand as she watched the coffin being lowered into the deep deep hole in the ground. Dad threw some clods of earth on the top and so did Patrick and her grandad, and it was then that Maddy felt the tears starting again. She couldn’t help it. It was the very worst thing that had ever happened to her. Whatever would she do? How awful it was going to be without her mam at home…

  Eventually, after yet another journey in the carriage, they were back home again. A cheerful-looking fire burnt in the grate, the curtains had been drawn back and the ladies from the chapel had been busy preparing sandwiches, meat pies and all sorts of cakes and things. They handed round cups of tea, just as though it was some sort of party. But how could it be? Mam was not there to share in it.

  There was quite a crowd there; friends and members of the chapel as well as the family. She saw some of the people smiling and chatting together and there was even some laughter. She wondered how anyone could laugh. Her father and grandfather and Patrick looked quite solemn, thou
gh, and she, Maddy, felt as though she would never laugh again. Bella, too, seemed subdued and rather sad as she sat quietly in a corner talking to Martin and Polly from the shop. Maddy hardly glanced at her. She didn’t even want to think about Bella and the awful thing she thought she had seen her doing.

  She edged close to Mrs Barraclough on the settee and smiled up at her. A sad sort of smile; but she was very glad to have Jessica’s mother there with her. It was not like having her own mam, of course, but she was a lovely kind lady and Maddy had always enjoyed being with her last summer.

  ‘You’ve been a very brave girl, Maddy,’ she said, patting her hand. ‘I know how hard it must have been for you.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Barraclough,’ replied Maddy. ‘I couldn’t help crying a bit. I still want to cry, but I ’spect my dad and Patrick do as well, and Grandad.’

  ‘You may want to cry for quite a while, dear. That’s only to be expected. But you must try to smile as well and think of all the happy times you had with your mother. It will get a little bit easier before long. And you have a dad and grandad, and a brother, who all love you very much.’

  ‘I know…’ said Maddy quietly.

  ‘Now, are you going to eat one of these nice sandwiches? I don’t suppose you had very much breakfast, did you?’ Maddy shook her head. ‘Well then; you’ll feel better if you get some food into your tummy.’

  Maddy nodded and nibbled at her ham sandwich. ‘Mrs Barraclough…’ she began.

  The lady smiled. ‘Oh dear! Do you think you could call me Faith? Mrs Barraclough is such a mouthful, isn’t it?’

  ‘Oh no! I don’t think so,’ said Maddy. ‘You’re Jessie’s mam… It would be rather rude, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Not if I gave you permission. But I do know what you mean. How about…Aunty Faith, then? Ladies who are friends of your parents are sometimes called Aunty, aren’t they? Isn’t that what you call…Bella?’