by Diane Allen
She didn’t know how long she’d slept when she was jolted awake by a loud bang. Was that the back door slamming? She quietly withdrew her arm from around the baby and went to the top of the stairs. The kitchen appeared to be empty and everything was quiet. Then she crept along the landing and peered into Nancy’s bedroom only to find the bed empty and Nancy gone.
Out into the wild, dark night Nancy ran, her sodden nightdress clinging to her skin, the voices urging her on. Through howling wind and driving rain she ran and ran . . .
Alice tore down the stairs, stumbling and banging her head hard against the banister in her haste. Lightheaded and with blood trickling down her face, she pulled herself upright and continued to the door. Supporting herself against the doorframe, she stood yelling into the night: ‘Nancy, Nancy, Nancy . . .’ She kept on yelling until her voice was too hoarse to continue. Blood from her head wound was dripping down the back of her neck, and her body and face were drenched from the rain and battered by the wind. Upstairs she could hear Baby Alice crying. Reluctantly she closed the door, giving up on Nancy returning. Hopefully she’d have taken sanctuary in one of the old workmen’s huts, but only daylight would reveal that. The baby was yelling loudly now, demanding attention. Alice hauled herself up the stairs and looked at the little one’s angry face. As she leaned over the cot, she realized that she was dripping water on the baby. She pulled off her soaking nightdress and put a clean one on before picking the screaming bundle up.
‘Hush, little one. Quiet now. Your mam’s gone to look for your pa, but you’ve still got me. You’ll always have me.’
26
When morning came, the skies had cleared and the wind had dropped. Her head aching, her eyes red and sore from the tears she had wept over all she had lost, Alice went to the kitchen window and looked out. Storm debris lay scattered on the ground, and the sound of the river in full flood filled the air. The sun was rising over Whernside, its weak rays caressing the reddish-brown tops of the fells.
After feeding the baby, Alice had spent the rest of the night in the kitchen, sitting by the dying embers of the fire and anxiously watching the back door, hoping that Nancy would return. She thought of Gerald and Will, both lost to the war, and the promise she had made Gerald: that no matter what happened, she would look after Nancy. She cursed herself for not looking after her, and not stopping her from going out into the night.
Wearily she climbed the stairs and tiptoed to the cot. Baby Alice was breathing heavily, fast asleep. Alice got dressed and put her boots on, then set off in the direction of the viaduct. From up there she would have a view over the marble works, maybe see where Nancy was. Leaving the back door open so she would be able to hear if Baby Alice awoke, she ventured up the hillside. The cobbled path was awash with small tributaries flowing downhill into the swollen River Dee, and the stream that powered the polishing machine for the marble works had turned into a full-blown river. As she climbed, Alice called Nancy’s name over and over, and when she came to the remains of the marble works, she searched the remaining workmen’s shed, in the hope of finding her there. Not a sign.
She carried on up the slope until she reached the arch of the viaduct. From there she could see right to the far end of the dale. Somewhere out there was her sister-in-law; she only hoped she was safe and not, as she had feared in the middle of the night, lying dead and alone. The chill December air was crisp and pure, and the smell of fresh water cleared her heavy head. Alice gazed around her: even the sheep had gone, deserting the fell for lower ground where they might find shelter from the pounding rain that had fallen for the last few days. It was time to head home; Baby Alice would be waking soon, and her needs must come first. She picked her way down the rough cobbled road, her skirts getting wet and dirty. As she reached the final few yards, she saw a figure emerging from the kitchen doorway.
‘Jack! I’m here, Jack, I’m here!’ Alice yelled to him, desperate to stop him before he disappeared.
‘By God, I thought you’d done a runner on me, but then I heard the baby making a noise upstairs.’ He began to walk up the slope towards her. ‘I was just checking the sides of the river – I’ve lost some sheep; silly bloody things crept down here to get away from the storm and ended up drowning – and since I was almost at your bridge, I thought I’d pop my head in to see that you’re all OK after last night’s storm.’
Hearing Jack rambling on about lost sheep, Alice covered her head in her hands and began sobbing uncontrollably.
‘What’s up, lass? Whatever’s wrong?’ Jack ran to her and put his arm around her. Only then did he see the cut on her forehead. ‘Are you all right? Did you bang your head? What happened?’
Alice buried her head in the familiar smell of his tweed jacket, sobbing and pouring her heart out, telling him of the past night’s events, of Gerald going missing and of Nancy running out into the night.
‘Are you sure you feel all right after that bump on the head? In that case, go put the kettle on and make a brew. Get that young ’un upstairs fed and this house warmed up. I’ll organize a search party – she can’t have gone far. And stop fretting. You couldn’t have stopped her: she’s been off her head for months now. The news of Gerald must have been the last straw.’ Jack gave Alice one last comforting hug as she sniffed and filled the kettle with brown floodwater from the tap, ready to boil for tea. ‘As soon as I’ve got any news, I’ll come back and tell you.’
Though he managed a smile for Alice, in his heart he feared the worst. Nobody could survive out in the open on a night like this. He only hoped that Nancy had found shelter.
It was nearly dusk by the time a weary and downhearted Jack entered the kitchen at Stone House. He didn’t want to break the news; he felt sick with the day’s findings.
‘Well, did you find her? Has anyone seen her? Please, Jack, tell me. I’ve been going out of my head with worry all day. I’ve felt so helpless, stuck in the cottage with the baby, not able to do anything.’ Alice tugged at his jacket as he steered her to the chair next to the fire and sat her down.
‘Aye, we found her. I’m sorry, Alice, I don’t know how to tell you . . .’ He bent over and gazed into the fire, rubbing his head with his hand. ‘There’s no easy way to say this: we found her drowned, in the river at Cow Dubb. She was washed up, tangled in some tree roots. She must have fallen in last night. She wouldn’t have stood a chance: the river’s still in flood today and it was a torrent last night.’
‘No, she can’t be! She just can’t be! That’s everyone gone. There’s nobody left.’ Alice crumpled in a heap on the pegged rug in front of the fire and wept. ‘I’m so fed up of fighting, of being strong. Now I’ve no one.’
‘You’ve still got me, lass. I’ll always be yours, you know I will. I’m not sure what to do for you, but I promise you I’ll always be there.’ Jack sighed, looking at her distraught face. ‘To make matters worse, they’ve found young Tommy Goad, the telegram boy, just below Bath Bridge. He must have tried to take a shortcut home down the back lane and been swept off his bike. His mother will be heartbroken too. It’s a right do. I’ve never known anything like it.’ Jack put his arm around Alice as she rested her head on his knee, sobbing and wishing that she had persuaded the young lad to stay, regardless of what his mother thought of Nancy.
‘Where have you taken Nancy’s body?’ Alice wiped her eyes and raised her head. ‘Did you not think to bring her back here?’
‘Nay, lass, you wouldn’t want to see her, the state she was in. We took her to old Mr Batty’s. He’ll see to her. No doubt he’ll be coming to see you once the river subsides a bit. Old devil will be rubbing his hands, thinking of the money he can make with this funeral. I shouldn’t say it, but you know what he’s like.’
‘Well, he needn’t bother. Nobody bothered with her when she was alive, so they’d only be hypocrites if they turned up for her funeral.’ Alice was angry that she would once again have to do business with the Battys. She hated them, and even in her grief she was determ
ined that they were not going to get the better of her.
‘Now, what are you going to do, lass? You’re in a funny position. I suppose if Gerald is missing, presumed dead, Baby Alice is the rightful heir to all his estates. Poor little mite, good thing she’s too young to know of all these carryings-on.’
‘I don’t know . . . Gerald’s solicitor will have to be informed of Nancy’s death and Gerald being declared missing. We were going to move into the manor before Christmas, and I think I will still take Baby Alice there. It’s where she belongs and, besides, I don’t want to stay here. There’s too many bad memories here for me.’ Alice rose up from her knees. ‘We’ll manage – you have to; no matter what life throws at you, you’ve got to get on with it.’
Alice looked at the concentration on Ernie Batty’s face as he bent over his notepad writing down her wishes for Nancy’s funeral.
‘Satin inlay, did you say, Miss Bentham?’ He had his professional slimy voice on and he smiled at Alice, showing his black stumps of teeth to her.
‘Yes, we agreed on that – bright red, if we could, Mr Batty.’
‘Oh! But, Miss Bentham, I don’t know if that’s proper in a coffin. I’ve a lovely shade of oyster silk that would be more fitting.’ He rubbed his hands, thinking of the price he could charge.
‘Red was her favourite colour and it showed her hair off so nicely. I want red, Mr Batty.’ Alice returned his sickly smile, gazing innocently at him, while what she really wanted was to scream.
‘Right, red it is. Horses, Miss Bentham – do you need a horse-drawn hearse? Nothing looks finer than horses with plumes . . .’ His hand made waves in the air, conjuring the forms of fine horses.
‘Mr Batty, she’s lying in your mortuary not twenty yards from the church. Do you honestly think I need horses and a hearse? Four bearers will be sufficient, thank you.’
‘And finally, how many are you expecting for the funeral tea, and where would you like it arranging? Should we say tea for a hundred to a hundred and fifty?’
‘Mr Batty, I don’t know where you are getting those numbers from, but there will be four of us there. And what tea we will be needing will be ready and waiting for us at the manor.’
‘I thought that you’d wish for her to have a funeral that befits her brother’s title; that’s why I came up the dale to sort it.’ His smarmy act was starting to fail as he realized that there was not going to be a lot of profit to be had.
‘Aside from her brother and husband – one of whom lies dead in France, the other missing and presumed dead – Nancy Frankland was loved by two good friends and two faithful servants. Those four were the only ones who really knew her, so those are the ones whom she would want at her funeral, no one else. We wouldn’t want to be seen as hypocrites now, would we?’
‘Certainly not, Miss Bentham. I’ll see to it – her funeral will be small but professional.’ He rose from his seat and put his tall black hat on. ‘Thank you for your time. Your wishes will be carried out.’ He grimaced a smile as he reached for the door.
‘Just one more thing, Mr Batty – please send your bill to Bramble & Partners Solicitors. Their office is on Stramongate in Kendal. They will settle with you once they have dealt with Miss Frankland’s estate. I’m afraid you might have a wait, as they are busy with a lot of estates given the times we are living in.’ Alice couldn’t be certain, but she was sure he swore as he closed the door behind him, mumbling under his breath.
She leaned against the door and surveyed the empty kitchen, remembering how Ernie Batty had asked for money up front from her heartbroken father after the death of her mother. She could still see her father throwing the few pence that they had onto the table for the money-grabbing couple to put into their pockets. Well, at least she had given Nancy the coffin she deserved and not the flimsy board one that her mother had been buried in.
She moved away from the door: time to pack. She was looking forward to moving into the manor with Baby Alice. The prospect was a ray of sunshine in the gloom. If she never saw Stone House again it would be too soon; there had been nothing but heartache since the day she’d moved in.
‘Oh, Alice, it’s so good to see you and the baby! At last you’re back where you both belong. I just wish Miss Nancy was with you. We’ll miss her so much.’ Mrs Dowbiggin dabbed her tear-filled eyes. ‘It’s such a terrible, terrible time. Have you any news of Master Gerald? Is he still missing?’
Alice and the baby couldn’t get into the manor for the endless questions that were being thrown at her as she climbed the front steps.
She gave Mrs Dowbiggin a kiss on the cheek and then passed the sleeping baby to her before taking off her black hat and hanging it up on the hall stand.
‘We’ve not heard a thing, Mrs Dowbiggin; I only wish we had. It’s the not knowing that’s the hardest part.’
‘Aye, and this little one’s left all alone in the big bad world.’ Hilda Dowbiggin smiled and tickled the chin of the dark-haired baby. ‘It’s a good job she’s too young to know owt about it all. Now, I’ve put you in your old room and I’ve made what used to be the nursery up for this little one.’
‘That’s lovely, thank you. I’ll just say goodbye to Jack and make sure he’s all right for Friday and the funeral, and then I’ll catch up with you and Faulks over a cup of tea.’ Alice left Mrs Dowbiggin holding the baby and went outside to thank Jack for bringing them and their belongings down to the manor.
He was unloading the last case as she caught him.
‘I suppose you’re glad to be back here. You always wanted to live in a big house; that’s what you used to dream of.’ Jack looked at her, dressed in her mourning outfit; even in black she was beautiful.
‘It’s not for ever; it’s only till I know what’s going to happen to the baby. Are you all right for Friday? Can you still pick us all up and take us into Dent for the funeral?’
‘Aye, I said I would. I’ll pick you all up about eleven. I hope it’s reasonable weather, I’ve had enough of this wet stuff. It’s no good for nothing.’
Alice planted a kiss on his cheek and he returned with a kiss on the lips, holding her close and looking into her blue eyes.
‘See you Friday. Behave yourself.’ With a smile he climbed into the trap and whipped his horses into action.
Alice watched him go. He would want to know where he stood with her before long. Trouble was, she had no idea what she wanted: her head said marry him, but her heart said no.
The cobbled streets of Dent were empty as the small procession walked the few yards to the church, following the beautifully carved coffin along the iron-railed path, passing the ancient tombstones inscribed with the names of people long since gone. Mist gathered around the fells, making the air heavy and dank as the small funeral party entered the church. The vicar, who had never met Nancy in her lifetime, preached a quick sermon on good morals and the way to lead a decent life. The few mourners bowed their heads and listened as his voice echoed from the pulpit.
Alice sat staring out of the window. She’d no time for religion: God had not been kind to her, so why did she need Him? But at the same time there was something inbred in her that made her still respect the church. She bowed her head as the Lord’s Prayer was said; she’d been taught the words as a child, but she was too bitter to say them. They meant nothing to her. If God was so good, why had He taken so many people away from her? Jack squeezed her hand and sneaked a quick look at her as the vicar came to the end of his prayers. She smiled bravely and stood up, ready to follow the coffin out into the graveyard. Faulks put his arm around Mrs Dowbiggin, steadying the distraught cook, who had been more mother than housekeeper where Nancy was concerned. They walked, the vicar continuing the prayers, down the grassy bank to where Nancy’s final resting place was going to be, and there they gathered around the grave watching the bearers gently lower the coffin into the deep, dark hole.
As the coffin disappeared into the depths, Alice turned her eyes to the surrounding fells. She’d done this
too often; she didn’t want to be here again. Once the coffin had been lowered, she walked over to her mother and father’s grave, knelt down and said a few words to both, tears in her eyes. There would never be a grave for Will; he’d never be with his family, where he belonged, under the home turf of Dent. Instead he was lost on the battlefields of France, buried with hundreds of unknown soldiers. She got to her feet, crying, Jack by her side. Once again she turned and sobbed into the comfort of his jacket, but at the same time she was angry, she was so angry. Why had life dealt her such a bad hand? Perhaps it was time to play it at its own game. She’d had enough unhappiness; that she was sure of.
‘Come on, pet, there’s nothing you can do about what life throws at you. Time to move on.’ Jack put his arm around her and walked with her out of the churchyard and across to his horse and trap.
Faulks and Mrs Dowbiggin were waiting, both looking sombre as Jack gave Alice a hand up into the trap, making sure that her black skirt was all gathered in and that his two extra passengers were sitting comfortably.
‘I never want another day like this one. My nerves couldn’t stand it.’ Mrs Dowbiggin dabbed her eyes with her violet-scented handkerchief. ‘And to think it’s Christmas Day in a week! When I think back to last year at this time, everything was so different. This blasted war is to blame for everything. I still can’t understand why we are in it!’
‘Hush now, Hilda, don’t you go having one of your do’s. We’ve tea to serve when we get back to the manor.’ Faulks kept his cool as he tried to stop Mrs Dowbiggin from getting in a fluster.
Alice watched the familiar countryside go past as Jack’s team of horses made their way quietly home to the manor. She looked around her at the bare brown fields and dark silhouettes of the trees in winter. It’d soon be spring and the vibrant greens of the new season would be showing through. With the new year would come new hope and new aspirations. She just needed to get over the next few weeks and then things would seem better with the spring sun shining. She sighed and folded her gloves, which caught Hilda Dowbiggin’s attention.