‘But the furnace must be fed by the Light,’ babbled Peter Wilkinson. ‘We must have a piece of the Eternal Fire so that Miss Walsh’s soul can enter the kingdom.’
A strangled noise pushed its way out through Mona’s tightly clenched teeth. At first, it sounded as if she might be choking, but, as her mouth opened, gales of laughter ripped through the saddened air. A neighbour crossed the chapel. ‘It’s the hystericals,’ she declared authoritatively. ‘She gets them. Summat to do with her being on the high-strung side.’
Mona rocked back and forth in her pew. ‘Lead – lead kindly light,’ she howled. ‘It’s stupid, it’s all stupid.’ She pointed to Wilkinson. ‘As for him,’ she paused to swallow a giggle, ‘he’s – the daftest thing, the most – most horrible man—’ She jumped to her feet, the sobs of laughter diminishing. ‘God sent that draught,’ she declared. ‘God snuffed you out, you miserable, nasty piece of work.’
‘Mona.’ James pulled at her coat. ‘Come on, now, this is a funeral. Let the service finish.’
‘Without the Light?’ she screamed. ‘Without the Light, there can be no service, no cremation, no nothing.’ She pushed past James and into the centre aisle. ‘There can be no virgins sent off to Texas into God alone knows what, not without the Light.’ She turned. ‘Mr Mulligan?’
‘Yes?’
‘You know how you were saying that anyone can do a baptism if there’s no clergy around? Ordinary folk who aren’t priests?’
James nodded. This was turning into a French farce.
‘Well, can somebody do this for my sister?’ She glared venomously at the guardian. ‘Like, if someone dies and there’s no pastor, can an ordinary person pray over them?’
James made no reply.
‘I’ll do it myself,’ she declared, turning to the guardian. ‘I’d advise you to pick up your bicycle clips, your holy book, your virgins, and leave while the going’s good.’
Wilkinson backed away. In spite of the loss of a couple of stones, Mona Walsh remained a figure to be feared. He wished he had never come; he wished that he had not been disgraced in front of Mulligan and within sight of three beautiful angels. They would be mocking him. Mona Walsh was mocking him now.
She stood next to her sister’s coffin, sent the two virgins packing. ‘I want to talk to you about my sister,’ she advised the congregation. ‘Now, I know she came over hard, but she wasn’t, not really. See, we knew no life excepting the wash-house. When you do nowt but work, something happens, like a wall being built round you. In our case, you can see the wall, pounds and pounds of it, because nothing much is expected of a fat woman.’
James relaxed perceptively. She was not as out of order as he had feared.
‘Tilly minded me. We minded one another, come to think. When she got sidetracked into that daft religion, I went with her and pretended to believe. Well, to be honest, I tried my hardest to believe. Now, if our Tilly died convinced that the Light shone on her path to Heaven, she will be saved. It’s believing that counts, not what you believe in.’
Ida snuffled into her handkerchief. Her heart bled for Mona Walsh, who was merely stating her own faith, or the lack of it.
Mona addressed the coffin. ‘Tilly, you are a good, Godfearing woman raised in the Methodist ways. We’re all going to pray now, ask God to open His arms for your soul. There’s a lot of Christians here, and they’re all on our side, so their prayers will be very powerful. God bless.’
Tilly was pushed towards the furnace while all present prayed for her salvation. Many wept, because Mona’s heartfelt tribute was far more touching than a sermon from a trained man. Her simple words reached the heart of everyone in the room, with the exception of Guardian Wilkinson, that was.
The insurance-man-cum-guardian picked up his book and stalked out of the crematorium, the two girls in white hot on his heels. Having reached the porch, he realized that he had forgotten his bicycle clips, so he sent one of the girls to retrieve them. Hatred burned hot in his heart, loud in his head. He had been made into a figure of fun, and his desire for revenge was strong.
Inside, Mona made her way towards the door, her hand in the crook of James Mulligan’s arm. It was over; she had got through it in one piece. She shook the hands of everyone present, had a word with those who wanted to talk.
When various vehicles lined up to carry people back to their homes, Mona opted to travel in Camilla’s van, while Margot, with whom Camilla had wanted a word after the funeral, got into the trap with the Moorheads. Seth expressed his gratitude to Miss Smythe, as she had released a driver who had been booked to carry the sole family mourner back to Pendleton.
Camilla sighed. She was not meant to say anything to anyone, she thought, as she began the journey towards town. Living in several minds was not easy, as she seemed to swing like a pendulum between the need to do something and the knowledge that she was powerless.
Mona sobbed quietly.
‘A long hard cry’ll do you good,’ was Camilla’s stated opinion.
Mona, who had done so well for days, realized that she had merely been in hiding. The space between a death and a funeral was an unreal dimension; now she would be forced to come to terms with life without Tilly. It was not going to be as easy as she had encouraged herself to expect. Thus far, she had concentrated on Tilly’s bossiness; now she recalled the good times. ‘We used to gossip by the fire,’ she said quietly. ‘We’d put the world right over cheese on toast and mugs of tea. She handled all the bills. I did baking.’
‘But weren’t you planning to break away?’ asked Camilla.
‘Aye, but not as finally as this.’
Camilla sought a clever change of subject when Mona’s sobs abated. ‘Margot is looking ill,’ she said.
‘She’s not eating proper,’ replied Mona. ‘Going through one of them slimming phases, I’ll bet. I’ve been dieting myself, only I’m being careful.’
No luck there, thought the driver. ‘Whereas Eliza seems exceptionally well.’
‘Aye, she does.’
There was, Camilla decided, no point in trying to drag blood from a stone, especially when that stone was so recently bereaved.
Back at Caldwell Farm, a small buffet had been arranged by Kate Kenny and the two young maids, Sally Hayes and Mary Whitworth, who were all on loan from the big house. People milled around having polite, meaningless conversations, while Mona, deep in thought, parked herself next to the fire and drank copious amounts of tea. Tilly would never again sit by a fireside, her skirt raised to allow heat to her legs, cup balanced on the fireguard, eyes glinting over a crumpet dripping with butter.
‘I think it has finally hit her,’ James told Amy. ‘I shall tell Kate to keep an eye on her.’
Amy watched, almost dumbfounded when Margot made her way to Mona’s side. This was the first voluntary movement Margot had made for ages.
‘Hello.’ Margot sat on the floor next to Mona. ‘I expect you’re feeling very sad and lonely.’ Margot knew about sad and lonely, since each day of hers might be described by those very adjectives.
‘I’ll be all right.’ Mona took yet another mouthful of tea.
‘Is there anything I can do?’
Mona looked at the youngest Burton-Massey. ‘You can start seeing to yourself,’ she replied. ‘The state you’re in, you’d be best off getting to a doctor.’
Margot swallowed. She had begun to feel again, and the main emotion was sheer terror. Everyone was noticing; soon, the whole world would have its eyes on stalks, its fingers pointing in her direction. ‘Have you seen that Burton-Massey girl? Pregnant and unmarried? What’s the world coming to?’ She felt Mona’s gaze, realized that even these eyes were probing.
‘Didn’t you used to have a boyfriend?’
Margot nodded quickly. ‘Rupert Smythe.’
‘Ah.’ It was Mona’s turn to lower her head in thought. ‘He went off to London with his mam yesterday afternoon.’
‘Did he?’
‘They’re going to a theatr
e, Camilla said. He’s got a flat with two bedrooms so’s his mother can visit him. Right mammy’s lad from the sound of it. He’s going to work in a bank.’
‘I see.’
Mona’s invisible antennae set to work. Thinking about someone else took her mind off her own situation, anyway. Also, after recent harrowing events, the niceties of life were suddenly unimportant. ‘Margot?’
‘Yes?’
Mona inhaled deeply. ‘Right, lady. You and me are on that tram next week, we’ll go and see my doctor. Nobody knows you down yon, if you get my drift.’
‘Yes.’ Margot’s reply was spoken in a whisper. Perhaps this was what she had hoped for, that an almost-stranger would step in and help her.
‘Promise?’ Mona asked.
‘I promise, Mona.’
The older woman gripped the younger’s hand. ‘Nowt’s as bad as what it seems. In the end, it’ll turn out for the best, you’ll see. Look at me. My only relative’s died, but I’ll get over it.’
As she watched Margot wandering off to the other side of the room, Mona got to thinking again. It was a pity that Tilly had needed to die for Mona to notice how pleasant some people were. Take the Dobsons. They had cleaned the house, arranged the funeral right down to the tiniest detail, all for no extra cost, had fetched Mona’s clothes up to Pendleton. Mr Mulligan had been a rock from start to finish, was arranging for both Mona’s houses to be emptied and closed down, would return keys to the landlords. He had even offered to store Mona’s bits and pieces in a loft above his offices at the yard. As for Amy, Ida and Kate – they had become real pals to Mona.
And now perhaps Mona could do something in return. If the youngest lass wasn’t pregnant, Mona would eat the contents of a hat shop. It wasn’t just the common folk who had problems like illegitimacy and abandonment. Life was hard; the alternative harder still. Poor Tilly.
Amy decided to try again with Eliza. The girl was growing more detached every day, was distancing herself from her family, failing to turn up for meals, ignoring the little niceties like ‘good morning’ and ‘good night’. Now, she was gazing through the window, a tiny smile on her face. ‘A penny for your thoughts,’ said Amy.
Eliza turned slowly. ‘Amy.’
‘I am so glad that you remember my name.’
‘Sarcasm doesn’t suit you,’ said Eliza. ‘You are far too sweet for it.’
‘Well, while I hold you captive, so to speak, may I ask what you have been up to for the past few weeks?’
Eliza considered the question. Avoiding Rupert’s mother was going to be a terrible bore; waiting for Amy to come in search of her would be even worse. ‘I’m going to London for a while,’ she said, after a pause of some seconds. ‘Just to look around, see how the land lies. There is nothing here for me.’
Amy was cross, though she sat on several automatic responses. And was she surprised? Could she place a hand on her heart and say that she had never expected this kind of behaviour? But, oh, how many times she had shielded Eliza from Margot’s bouts of adolescent temper, and here came the repayment. ‘So, you have given no thought to your family. I have to open that shop, because so much of Mother’s money – our money now – is invested there. With your eye for design, we could make a real success.’
Eliza raised her shoulders, said nothing.
‘Give me a year,’ Amy pleaded.
‘I’ll give you a year when I have one to spare.’
‘Don’t be clever,’ Amy almost snapped. ‘You have no money to start you off. You—’ She staggered back a pace. Camilla’s brother had just made his exit to the south. ‘Does Rupert Smythe have a hand in this?’
‘No.’ The lie slipped so easily from Eliza’s tongue.
‘Then how are you managing to pay for accommodation? Come with me into the hall. This is no place for a discussion of this nature.’
‘You started it.’ Eliza followed her sister. Today, at last, she would tell the truth and shame Satan. She inhaled deeply. ‘I took the fire opals and the sapphires,’ she said. ‘They were the pieces Mother wanted me to have. Worry not, I did not touch yours or Margot’s. The jewellery Mother had not mentioned individually I had valued and sold one third. The rest is upstairs.’
Amy was appalled. ‘How could you?’
‘Quite easily, I assure you. This grey, miserable place is not for me. I shall be working in theatre.’
Amy laughed, though the sound conveyed no merriment. ‘You and a thousand other starry-eyed hopefuls. There are many talented people in London, most of them cleaning floors or serving coffee.’
‘I shall not be one of them.’
Camilla stepped into the hall. Her beetroot-red face clashed wildly with her hair, and she was mauling a napkin in nervous fingers. ‘Amy?’
‘This is a private conversation.’ Eliza was suddenly alert.
‘And I’ve listened to one too many of those lately.’ Camilla spoke now to Amy. ‘I haven’t known whether or how to tell you, and I’m sorry for eavesdropping just now, but Eliza has been plotting with my dear brother. They will be sharing a flat in Bloomsbury.’
‘So,’ Amy’s eyes flashed dangerously, ‘you are also a liar, Eliza.’
Eliza glared at Camilla. She was a great ugly lump of a girl with wild hair in an unforgivable shade of red. The face, too, had little to recommend it, while Camilla’s large-boned body was almost as straight up and down as any man’s. ‘You know, Camilla, if you are going to spread gossip, you should try, at least, to keep up with events. I shall not – repeat, not – be living with Rupert. I have made my own arrangements.’
Camilla offered no response.
Amy, whose temper was rising towards the fury mark, stepped into the space between the other two women. ‘In case it has slipped your mind, our mother is recently dead,’ she said quietly. ‘When she was alive, you behaved like a true angel, all sweetness and light. Well, there is no longer anything of the truth in you, Eliza. You refuse to help me and Margot, because you care for no one save yourself. Leave. Just go. And please don’t bother to come back.’
Eliza raised perfect eyebrows. ‘Oh, I’ll be back. When Mulligan hands back the house, the hydro, or whatever, I shall claim my share. We shall never live in Pendleton Grange again.’
Amy leaned against the wall, the movement unsteady enough to warrant a hand from Camilla. ‘Careful, Amy,’ she said, fingers cupping her friend’s elbow. ‘I decided weeks ago that neither of them is worth a candle.’ She turned on the other girl. ‘You, Eliza, are a selfish, foolish woman. My brother, who treated Margot so badly, is another damned idiot. You should do very well together.’
Eliza, slightly dismayed by Camilla’s damning of Rupert, maintained her stance. Families like the Smythes never spoke badly of themselves. Why should Camilla break the mould by refusing to stand by her brother? ‘Rupert and I simply happen to be departing at the same time, that is all. I have taken an attic room in the house where Rupert has a flat.’
Camilla laughed. ‘My brother is probably interested in your body. He usually gets what he wants, then runs away.’
‘He won’t touch me,’ declared Eliza firmly.
Amy broke away and ran upstairs. She was what Elspeth Moorhead would term ‘sick to the back teeth’ of everything. She sat on the edge of her bed, tears coursing down her face. And what would Mother have made of this? Margot decidedly off-colour, Eliza about to escape to London, Amy sitting in her bedroom while there were guests downstairs. It was hopeless, hopeless!
Someone tapped on the door. ‘Go away, please,’ she called.
The door opened. ‘Amy?’
‘I told you to go away. Is there no privacy to be had?’
James strode in. ‘I saw you . . . I was concerned because . . . I saw you running up the stairs. Is this you weeping?’
‘No.’ She rubbed the heel of a hand across her eyes.
He sat next to her, placed a weighty arm across her shoulders. ‘Come away, now, Amy, for you’re tougher than this.’
‘Am I? Is that how you see me? Oh, I’m the oldest, the most sensible. Amy Burton-Massey – she found her father hanging, you know, never batted an eyelid, looked after her mother, her sisters.’ She turned on him. ‘Well, it’s not like that. Margot – there’s something wrong with her, and Eliza, the fragrant, beautiful Eliza, is going to live in the same house as Rupert Smythe. I’ve to open a shop, and I’m scared stiff. There’ll be no help except for the woman you found—’
‘She’s good. I picked up her references and she’s always up to date with the latest—’
Amy jumped up, pushed his arm away in the same movement. ‘Oh, good for you. No one cares about how I feel, and I’ve had enough of everything and everyone.’ She knew that she sounded childish.
‘So, you’ve put your name down for a tantrum. Well, go ahead and scream, because I’m used to children.’
Her temper teetered, fizzed over into the room. ‘Stop being so understanding. You might just as well stop all the hydro business, because Eliza is going to insist on an immediate sale if and when you return Pendleton Grange to us. So forget it, James. Sell up and go home.’
‘I will not.’ He could scarcely believe his ears. Eliza so cruel? She was capable of coldness and distance, he knew that. But would she go so far as to ruin her own family? Well, he would see about that. The Grange, the farms, the properties in town were all his, and he could cut Eliza off if he so chose. Couldn’t he? Oh, why and how did these women wrap themselves around his heartstrings when he was so determinedly uninvolved?
Amy examined his face, saw pain there. ‘Another of her many victims, James? I advise you to fall out of love with her at once, because she has no need of your affection.’
‘What?’
‘Ah, so you are in love with her.’
He didn’t know what to say, how to answer without betraying himself. Sometimes, he longed for the peace and quiet of home, for the cold winds off the ocean, the bright sunsets, those famous mists that belonged solely to the west coast of Ireland. Even a classroom full of difficult children would have been preferable to standing here feeling like a total imbecile. He was, he told himself sternly, a free man. Yet no, no, there were ties that bound him to . . .
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