Among the Darkness Stirs

by Nicola Italia

  When she entered the cottage, Frances did not greet her, and a stillness filled the air. She took her parcel to the kitchen to give to Cook, and after removing her coat and placing her umbrella away, she went to speak to her mother.

  “I’m back,” she told her mother.

  Her mother looked up at her serenely. “He asked for you.”

  “He did?” Audrey asked. “I’m here, Father,” she said, coming to sit on the bed opposite where her mother sat.

  “He can’t hear you anymore, Audrey. Not now,” she said softly.

  “He can’t—” Audrey began and then gasped. “What do you mean?”

  “You are too late. He’s gone, Audrey.”

  Audrey pressed a cool hand to her forehead. Her head ached and had been doing so for several hours. She had given Frances laudanum to help her sleep, as the poor dear had been inconsolable. Her mother refused to leave her husband’s bedside, so Audrey had sent Polly into town to fetch Dr. Thomson. It would be hours before he received the note, saddled his horse, and arrived. He might not even arrive until after midnight or beyond. She could do nothing but wait.

  There would be so many preparations to come, and she could see she would have to do them all alone. Her mother was too distraught, and there was simply no one else.

  She went to her armoire and opened the heavy walnut doors. She pulled out dress after dress until she found the one she was looking for. It was a heavy dress of black bombazine she had worn two years previously for a cousin who had died of typhoid fever. It was considered bad luck to keep mourning clothes, but her mother had insisted. She had paid good money for it, and Audrey had complied.

  She laid the dress across her bed and stared at it. She must wear mourning for a year as was the custom, and her mother would do so for a minimum of two years and longer if she wished. Only little Frances was not expected to wear mourning.

  Tears fell upon her checks, but she brushed them aside. She had loved her father, but he was gone, and now there was so much to do.

  She must place the black crape bow on the door to let visitors know someone had died. She must make the funeral arrangements and send the invites with the wide black borders. She sat down at her desk and took up her fountain pen and paper. She wrote the words across the paper that would announce her family’s loss to their friends and stared at them.

  In affectionate remembrance:

  Ezra Wakefield

  Died in Kingsdown, Kent, 1880

  Ten words that would tell their small world that her life as she had known it was gone. She placed her pen aside, folded her arms, and put her head down. The tears wouldn’t stop coming. Her kind and affectionate father was gone.

  Chapter Two

  Augusta pulled on her black gloves and tied her widow’s cap underneath her chin. She didn’t bother to look at herself in the mirror, as it had been covered with crape to prevent Ezra’s spirit from getting trapped inside. She picked up her small bag and entered the front parlor. Audrey was waiting on the small sofa with her hands clasped in her lap.

  “Come. We must hurry or we’ll be late,” she told her eldest daughter.

  “Can I come, too, Mother?” Frances asked.

  “Certainly not,” Augusta told her. “We are going to the village to visit the solicitor. The reading of the will is to take place, and that’s no place for a child.”

  Audrey tweaked her sister’s noise in affection. “We’ll return soon enough, Lambkin. Don’t worry yourself.”

  Augusta settled into the carriage, and Audrey sat across from her. As the carriage began, Audrey looked out the window much of the time to avoid conversation with her mother. She knew this was a difficult time for her, but her mother was behaving oddly. She would often speak about her father as if he were still alive, and she had found her caressing his photograph several times.

  Her mother was not elderly, and at forty-six, she was not ready to wear black for the rest of her life. But she also knew her mother had relied upon her father for everything.

  “The reading of the will. It’s such a nice turn of phrase for such a morbid event,” Augusta said suddenly.

  “Yes. It does not sound at all like what it is. But perhaps we’ll understand better our situation when it is done,” Audrey said.

  “Our situation?” Augusta frowned. “What does that mean?”

  Audrey inwardly sighed. “Our situation, Mother. What money Father left behind. How we will be able to live. If we will even be able to keep our servants,” she explained. She had little knowledge of their finances.

  “Our situation will be very much the same, Audrey. Your father had an excellent living as the parish priest. He was well-regarded and well-liked,” she reasoned.

  “That’s very true. But he is no more. He is no longer the vicar. He no longer has a church. And whatever Father might have had, he has none of it now. Therefore, we have nothing now,” she said quietly.

  Augusta sighed. “For all that fancy education of yours, you don’t understand the basics. Your father was a vicar, and he was paid well. Even our cottage was given to him through his vicarage. They will not simply throw us out, and Ezra was very sparing with his coin. So, let’s talk no more of this situation until we speak to the solicitor,” she said condescendingly.

  The carriage arrived a short time later to the small law office of Felton and Cobb. Mr. Felton was an elderly gentleman in his late sixties while Mr. Cobb was much younger. Mr. Cobb looked admiringly at Audrey, and then she and her mother were ushered before the white-haired Mr. Felton.

  “My dear Mrs. Wakefield.” He took her hand in his and then glanced over at Audrey. “Audrey, my child, you grow lovelier each time I see you. I must say, Ezra’s passing was a shock to us all. He seemed in such good health.”

  “Yes,” Augusta agreed.

  “You have my sincere condolences,” he told them both. “Ezra was a good man.” The elderly man pushed several sheets of paper aside and sifted through others until he came upon the one he wanted. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Thoughtless of me. Would you ladies care for tea?” he said suddenly.

  Audrey was about to shake her head, but her mother nodded. “That would be nice. The carriage ride was so dusty.”

  Felton rang a small bell at his right hand, and when his younger associate entered, he said simply, “Tea, Cobb.”

  The younger man disappeared, and Felton went back to his voluminous papers. “I must put these in order. The paperwork piles up higher than the bodies that they represent.”

  Audrey and her mother said nothing, and Felton didn’t seem to realize his comment might be construed as tactless.

  “I remember the last time I saw Ezra. He seemed in fine spirits,” Felton commented. “He mentioned you, Audrey. But then, he always mentioned you. He was quite proud of you. My daughter has received a certificate from Queen’s College, he would tell me.”

  Audrey smiled lightly. “It was an education for a governess, but that never materialized.”

  “I recall years ago when he asked my thoughts on sending you to Queen’s College. To be honest, I thought it daft. But he wanted you to go. He wanted you to see the world. He said your feathers were too bright for this small village.” Felton smiled kindly at her.

  Audrey bit her bottom lip to stem the tears. “It was very kind of him to allow it. I did want to learn.”

  “An education is a bit of nonsense, isn’t it, Mr. Felton?” Augusta interjected. “After all, Audrey needs only to find herself a decent husband, and that will be that. No need for a certificate then, hmmm?”

  Audrey didn’t speak, and she saw Mr. Felton nod. “Maybe. But even when she marries and has children, she might use her education to teach the little ones. Mrs. Felton and I were never so blessed. But she does love those damn pugs of hers.”

  The door opened, and Cobb entered carrying a tray with three teacups. He handed the cups and saucers to the two women and a final cup to his employer.

  “That’s all.” Felton waved the young man a
way. “Ah ha! Here it is!” He held up a black leather folder. “It was buried far below at the bottom of the stack. Buried like so many of my clients, more’s the pity.” He sighed.

  Audrey watched as he opened the folder and moved several papers about. He seemed to be studying them and looked up only once at her mother and then back to his documents.

  “When Ezra first came to me over fifteen years ago, he had a tidy sum, and he left everything to you, Mrs. Wakefield and Miss Wakefield,” he directed at them both, and Augusta beamed.

  He took a long sip of his tea and then replaced the cup into its saucer. “But over the years, he appeared to lose most of his savings, and when he made his final codicil four months ago, all that was left now was fifty pounds.”

  Augusta gasped and looked at her daughter and then back at the solicitor. She placed her teacup aside. “Fifty pounds? That might not even last us the year. There must be some mistake.”

  Felton shook his head. “There’s no mistake. As I said, he came in four months ago and wanted everything ready. He said his circumstances had changed, but he didn’t elaborate how. I thought maybe he bet on the horses.”

  “Ridiculous!” Augusta snorted. “Ezra wasn’t a gambler.”

  “Mother,” Audrey said, trying to soothe her. She placed her cup aside as well.

  “Madame, I meant no disrespect,” Felton said. “I don’t know how the money disappeared. I only know it did.”

  Augusta shook her head. “It makes no sense. He was so careful. Wasn’t he, Audrey?” She looked at her daughter. “Always watching the coins. Making sure they stretched. I don’t understand.”

  “I know you said the money wouldn’t last a year. I can speak to the parish and see if perhaps they can let the rent go until you have time to get on your feet. That way, you don’t have to worry about your lodgings,” he said kindly.

  “Speak to the parish? What on earth do you mean? That’s our home. It has been since…” Augusta’s words trailed away.

  “I would like to help you, madame. Let me speak to them on your behalf,” he told her. “It can help bide your time.”

  “This is too absurd,” Augusta repeated, rising from her seat. “Too absurd!”

  “Madame—” Felton tried to speak to her.

  “Come, Audrey. We’re leaving,” she said and stormed out of the room in a rush of black silk.

  Audrey looked at the elderly gentleman with his tired eyes. “Please, Mr. Felton, please speak to the parish. Any help you can give my family is appreciated, as is theirs.”

  “Of course, I will, my dear. And should you need anything, please come see me. I am sorry about this.”

  Audrey made her way outside to the carriage. Her mother was seated inside, and she joined her. It was several minutes before her mother spoke to her.

  “I don’t know what to say.” She shook her head. “If Mr. Felton wasn’t so well-regarded in the village, I might think he had taken the money.”

  “Surely not, Mother. He’s a man of intelligence and, as you said, well-regarded. Something must have happened. Father needed money or someone else did and he gave it to them.”

  Augusta sat up at this. “Of course! That’s it! One of those beggars at his services told him some sob story and he believed it. How often did I tell him that people would say whatever they wanted for his purse?”

  Audrey sighed, feeling sorry for her mother. “Mother, Father wasn’t gullible. He had a good heart. A kind heart.”

  “Yes, well, his kind heart has led us to this. Poverty.” Augusta spat out the last word. “What will become of us now? Answer me that.”

  Audrey had already been thinking of this. “What about my uncle Gilead?” Gilead was her mother’s brother, a man she had never met but heard her mother speak of.

  Her mother flushed red and turned her head away. “My family disowned me when I wed your father. They thought a mere vicar was not good enough for me. Or, more accurately, for them. That I loved him did not matter.”

  “But he’s gone. Maybe they would welcome a reconciliation,” Audrey asked.

  Her mother shook her head firmly. “I won’t stoop to writing them. Why should I? They never cared before. I wrote them years ago when you were born. I practically begged them to come to your christening. They didn’t even bother to respond.”

  Audrey bit her lip. “Would you like me to try? Maybe they might—”

  “Certainly not,” Augusta interrupted, shooting her a sharp glance. “I absolutely forbid it.”

  “Very well.”

  They sat in silence as the carriage swayed.

  “Did Father have anyone? Where are his people? He never spoke of them.”

  August sighed. “Because there’s no one. His parents died before you were born. He had a brother, but I recall he joined the Royal Navy, went to sea, and was never heard from again.”

  Audrey looked out the window and felt a sense of isolation. She had her mother and her sister, but her father was gone. He had been the one to bring in the money, to keep a roof over their heads, and now he was gone. A sense of unease spread through her.

  “We have time, Audrey. We have some money,” Augusta told her.

  “We do, Mother. But we should be thinking of what to do now, not months down the line when we will have to scramble.”

  Her mother waved the topic away. “Let’s leave it for now. I don’t feel up to the discussion.”

  Audrey didn’t try it argue. It would get her nowhere. “Of course, Mother. As you wish.”

  Later that night, Audrey put her small purse on the table and dumped out the contents. The little wooden lamb tumbled out, and she stared at it. She had forgotten all about the small gift for her sister. She thought suddenly of Frances and bit her lip to stop the tears. What was to become of them? Her mother’s side didn’t speak to them, and there was no one on her father’s side.

  What would they do? When Mr. Felton had mentioned the sum of money, she had been shocked. Like her mother, she assumed her father had always been careful and would provide for them when he was gone. Instead, they were left with the upsetting knowledge that they had fifty pounds to survive on. Even if Mr. Felton could persuade the parish to take no money for their living arrangements, that only bought them some time.

  She stood up and rubbed her hand along her lower back. What could they do? Her mother could take in sewing. She might be able to take in laundry. But how much would that bring in and what did they need to live on?

  She paced the room several times before a thought came to her. She would seek out Dr. Thomson! He had been a good friend of her father’s, and he was an educated, trusted man. He might have an idea that she had not thought of. Once they spoke and he understood their situation, he might have an answer.

  She felt a little relieved at the thought of speaking to Dr. Thomson, but their circumstances concerned her. She had never given much thought to their way of life or what money they had. Her father had been a vicar, and their house had been provided by the church. She had felt secure and safe within their small family.

  When she had gone to the Queen’s College for her education, she had missed her family but had known that, at the end, she would return to be with them. The sights and sounds of London had been exciting and diverting. She had visited the Victoria and Albert Museum, the National History Museum, the London Zoo, and had walked through Regent’s Park and Hyde Park.

  At the end of her time spent at college and visiting the various sights in the grand metropolitan city, she knew she would return home to her family and be loved and cared for. Now she felt an emptiness inside her breast, and she knew that it would not be filled. She must be strong for her mother and sister, but all she really wanted was her father’s arms around her.

  She looked at her small bookcase nestled near the window, spied a small volume, and took it in hand. She brushed her palm over the title. English Nursery Rhymes. She skimmed through the pages and stopped at one. “I Had a Little Nut Tree.”

 
She remembered her father reading it to her as a little girl and she delighted in the rhyme.

  I had a little nut tree,

  Nothing would it bear,

  But a silver nutmeg

  And a golden pear;

  The King of Spain’s daughter

  Came to visit me,

  And all for the sake

  Of my little nut tree.

  Her dress was made of crimson,

  Jet-black was her hair,

  She asked me for my nutmeg

  And my golden pear.

  I said, “So fair a princess

  Never did I see,

  I’ll give you all the fruit

  From my little nut tree.”

  A sense of loss washed over her, so extreme she was forced to close the book. Tears slipped down her cheek. She would not stop them. She would not even brush them away. She had lost her dearest father, and she missed him terribly.

  The next morning, after Audrey had washed her face, she pulled on her black mourning gown. She had not enjoyed wearing it for her cousin, but she liked wearing it now. It was respectful to her father, and it proclaimed her loss to the world. She wanted her loss to be known. She didn’t want people seeing her in a blue linen dress and assuming she was happy with the world around her. She was nothing of the sort.

  When she came into the small dining room, the table had been set, and there was a pot of tea with several slices of bread and cheese upon it. She poured herself a cup of tea and took the cup into the front parlor. She sat upon the window seat that looked onto the grassy lane. She could see the large oak tree that surveyed all with its majestic bearing and looked forward to the delicate snowdrops that would appear in spring. It was a quiet morning. The milkman would make his delivery soon, if he had not already.