by Sarah Burton
“I’m so glad you came, my dear,” she said very softly. “But I am afraid I must be going.” Frederick, Godfrey and Joe came in quietly and stood by me as her breathing slowed until it stopped and then with a great emotionless sigh her life was over. We all shed tears, but Joe wept most bitterly of all, repeating “She was so good to me,” and it was most touching to observe how Frederick comforted him, like a true brother.
73
We made a sad table at dinner. The four of us had not eaten together in all the time I had been there, and now none of us had any appetite. The Potters and the maids were all upset too and there were many red eyes round the house. Godfrey and Frederick began to discuss the funeral arrangements. My sisters were to be informed at Frederick’s insistence, as apart from those present these were my aunt’s only surviving relations. He did not look at me while he spoke of them. My brother-in-law Reverend Grimwade would, he guessed, assume control of the service.
“Dr Rookham and Mr Fluke will of course want to come. Do you have anyone you should like to bring, H?” asked Frederick, for once looking me straight in the eye. “For moral support perhaps?” I could not detect whether there was an edge to the moral part, for he was cold with grief.
“I… I… I had not thought to go myself… ” I began.
“Oh, but you must!” exclaimed Godfrey.
“Yes, H, please,” implored Joe. “For us.”
“H must do as she sees fit, of course,” said Frederick, returning his attention to his plate. “But if she prefers not to come alone, that is quite understandable.” I could not tell whether this was an attempt at kindness, so I could represent myself to my family as a respectable married woman, perhaps, or a hint that I should.
“Thank you,” I said at last. “I will think on it.”
In my room at Lincoln’s Inn Fields that night I thought on it to the point of not being able to sleep. In the end I got up and decided to go home. I was going in the morning anyway and tossing and turning here all night was only so much time wasted. I wanted my own bed and my little family about me. I had only brought a small bag with me, so quickly packed, and then crept along to Godfrey’s room to see whether he was awake. Under the door I saw that a light burned within, so I opened the door as quietly as I could and you may imagine my surprise to find not one sleeping figure, but two in Godfrey’s bed. Intrigued (or spying, as Evelyn would doubtless have observed), I moved closer to see who his bedfellow was.
You may imagine my astonishment when I realised that it was Frederick! And this was no convenient bunking together of companions for the night, either. For a start, Frederick had his own perfectly serviceable room, and for a finish, the way Godfrey’s arms encircled him, his leg casually thrown over Frederick’s – and the pair of them as naked as the day they were born – this was love! I made my way back to my room as quietly as I could and found myself wiping tears from my face. I was happy that Godfrey had a special friend and Frederick had a special friend, and then of course many things Godfrey had said fell into place. Frederick was such a capital fellow from the beginning in his book, and it explained why, though Frederick had always been very kind and affectionate to myself and Evelyn, I recalled there had been a strictly brotherly quality to his dealings with all women of whom he was fond, and I never saw him flirt. Even Godfrey flirted. But then, I reflected, Godfrey was another kettle of fish. And I confess my tears were mixed, as I finally admitted a little part of me had once been hoping one day to be something more than I was to Godfrey. I had a little picture in my mind of a day in the park when he and I had been playing with our god-daughter and Godfrey had looked at me in a tender way that seemed to say that we could, in another life perhaps, have been a real family. I admitted to feeling a sharp bright pang of what must have been jealousy.
I scolded myself for my self-pity, and quickly scribbled a note to Godfrey. It only told him I had gone home and I awaited advice as to the funeral details, and I had thought mischievously of adding ‘aha!’ or some such foolery to show I had found him out, but I decided leaving the note on the table beside his bed would be quite mischief enough.
I found a carriage easily and realised my happiness about my discovery was now unmixed. I slipped into the house at St James’s without waking anyone and crept to my bed feeling most surprisingly contented, considering that my aunt had died that day. I fell asleep comforted by the warmth entwining Godfrey and Frederick, and hoping my aunt had found her second husband in Heaven and that they both now lay together as newlyweds in a fragrant bed of mixed spices.
74
I spent the next few days looking after Mary as much as possible, to enable Janey and Thomas to have something of a holiday. I had decided I would go to Aunt Madge’s funeral, and I would go alone. I knew I could have taken Jasper, and would have been protected by the cloak of wealth and status his presence would afford, but my new resolve was strengthened by having been reconciled with Aunt Madge, which had made me realise that, in the end – at the end of life, that is to say – none of the things I had worried about her worrying about really mattered. It is said that good timing is everything, and though I had happened to come home at the time that reconciliation with my aunt was easiest, it had in a sense buoyed me up, as I felt I was on a tide of change. And if I cared about what people thought of my actions, I simply had to take that on the chin. I had done my best, in the circumstances, and though I may have lived a wicked life longer than I needed to, I had begun my wicked ways as an alternative to starving to death, and was now barely qualified to lead any other. Please understand that I do not mean I in any sense walked in pride – quite the reverse – but I was prepared to bear any humiliation my family felt entitled to pile upon me. I am what I am, I thought, as they are what they are. We were all only trying to do our best. The only difference, in my case, was that I had done my best with an eye to the watchman on the corner, as they say.
On the appointed day, needless to say, all this confidence deserted me, and I lay in bed for as long as possible, until Janey shouted at me to get up, for she and Thomas were intent on coming with me for “immoral support”, and Janey never liked to be late. (It might be fashionable to be late, she maintained, but it was still late.) Though I intended to wear a plain black dress, Janey laid out my new black silk and a beautiful black lace mantilla I had never worn and indeed had forgot I had, and said if I was going to do this, I was going to do it in style, with my lady’s maid and my footman in attendance. So we left Mary with Mrs Snags, who approvingly remarked that we looked like a regular household for once, and put our best feet forward.
As it turned out, we were late anyway, as our coach lost a wheel about a quarter-mile from the church, giving us all a horrid jolt, and Thomas decided it would be quicker to walk the rest of the way, and took a shortcut he knew which turned out to be a shortcut to getting entirely lost, and it was only when we ended up exactly where the coach had broken down that he finally capitulated to Janey’s repeated entreaties to merely ask of someone the right road.
The service was already well underway by the time we arrived at the church, and the sight of my brother-in-law in the pulpit made me instantly queasy and I found myself trembling. It might as well have been my dead father standing there, as nothing about Reverend Grimwade’s chilly exterior suggested that something so vulnerable as a human heart might beat beneath. How Frederick had been persuaded to accept this arrangement, I had no idea. I saw Reg and Ted Potter behind everyone else, and we took our seats with them. Then I began to look about me and recognised the family members I had not seen for so long. Clarissa must have arrived early to ensure they would occupy the front pew, as she was ever careful to make everyone aware of her vast importance in the world. Next to her I saw Diana and Mr Pincher, the wife-beater. Behind them was a woman I judged might be Grace – dear long-lost Grace – who had a small child with her, and next to her a gentleman I did not know.
On the other side of the aisle, and directly in front of me, I could only
see the backs of a number of gentlemen, among whom I knew must be Frederick, Godfrey, Joe and Mr Fluke. As I was trying to identify others I knew, I recognised the unforgettable nape of a neck I had kissed many times and my heart lurched as I knew it to belong to Charlie. Looking more carefully I saw that Lord A sat beside him. And beside him was that great dunderhead Jasper! Why on earth were they here? And I was sorry that I could not see my sister Frances anywhere.
Janey had been strictly prohibited from speaking, a precaution amply justified by the fact that her whispered remark that my sister Clarissa (who had turned round to see who was there) had “a face like a slapped arse” was perfectly audible even to my brother-in-law in the pulpit. I scowled at her and Thomas pinched her so hard she squeaked, but she was silent for the rest of the service, except for exclaiming, “Blind me, not another bleeding hymn!” before ‘All Praise To God Who Reigns Above’. But fortunately, this blasphemy was largely covered by the noise of the congregation scrambling to its feet.
It was only when Dr Rookham got up to deliver the eulogy that the atmosphere was truly imbued with the memory of Aunt Madge, for he spoke with great warmth of her kindness, her hospitality, and her humour, and it was most affecting to see Joe’s shoulders shaking, and Frederick put his arm round him, and Godfrey put his arm round Frederick.
When it was time to follow the coffin out to the churchyard, Clarissa again assumed precedence over her sisters, fairly pushing Diana and her husband out of the pew, so that she was only behind Frederick at the head of the file of mourners. We, of course, would be last to leave, being at the back, and my sisters seemed to know me as they passed me, though I was glad I was veiled, for I hardly knew what face to wear. Diana had clearly given no good account of me, for Clarissa threw me a haughty look of disgust, while Diana herself treated me to a baleful glare. Grace and her friend were obscured from view by Godfrey and Joe; then came the elderly gentlemen, followed by Lord A, Charlie and Jasper, each of whom honoured me with a slight bow as they passed. I still could not fathom what, or who, had brought them there.
It began to rain as Reverend Grimwade finished the ashes to ashes etc. and after the last amens had been said, Frederick addressed the assembly, entreating everyone to cross the road to the Lamb and Flag, where we would partake of custard tarts and claret, two of his mother’s favourite things, and hear the will read. I gained the opportunity to snatch Godfrey aside and quiz him about this as we made our way thither, as I had not thought of the will, and he said it was going to be done next week, but Clarissa had asked if it could be done today, to save them all the trouble of coming back into town again.
“Pfffff!” said Janey. “No wonder it was such a good turnout.”
75
When we had all filed into a large and pleasant upper room in the Lamb and Flag there was a brief hiatus as everyone stood around not quite knowing what to do, as it was for Frederick to set the tone and he and Godfrey and Joe with the aid of the Potters were involved in a complex negotiation with the landlord about an insufficiency of chairs. Grace and her man friend had gone into another room, presumably to see to the child, and I took the opportunity to remove my veil. I was suddenly aware that every pair of eyes in the room was trained upon me.
“Well,” declared Lord A, who was the sort of man likely to have an easy pleasantry for every occasion, “bless me if we are not all got here like characters at the end of a play!”
“Well said, sir!” said Jasper. “And if it were a comedy, it should by rights end in a wedding!” he offered amiably, looking rather meaningfully at me, and seeing no help there, grinning round the company.
“If it were a comedy,” Clarissa’s husband intoned disapprovingly, as though he were still in the pulpit, “and not a funeral.”
Jasper looked suitably abashed, and Clarissa and Diana tut-tutted like a pair of hens. The uncomfortable silence descended once more. I had decided I would not make the first move towards any of my family, for fear of embarrassing them, but would be receptive to any approach, and of course most earnestly hoped for this. Everyone seemed to be looking at me again, except for Clarissa and Diana, who had their heads together most ominously.
For once in her life, perhaps in recognition of the awesome atmosphere, Janey only muttered: “Who do you have to fuck to get a drink round here?” and in one elegant movement Thomas stood on her foot, while drawing out a chair for me, saying:
“Will you have a seat, mistress?”
This prompted the other gentlemen to see the ladies seated and after a brief murmuring and scraping of chairs everyone fell again into a merciless silence.
At that moment Grace and her gentleman came in, and Grace, bless her, fairly fell upon me, showering me with endearments and greetings, and we kissed and wept a little, and then I was not a little surprised to be most familiarly embraced by her friend, and seeing I was somewhat taken aback, Grace said: “It’s Frankie, you silly! Your sister Frances!”
And indeed it was. The boy who had walked away from our house in Hunsdon to go for a soldier had come to London a man! Not that she was in any actual sense a man, of course, but she wore man’s clothes and carried herself like a man.
“Blind me!” everyone heard Janey whisper to Thomas, “And I thought my family were a rum lot!” In all the tumult, Grace’s little boy began to cry. “Give it here,” said Janey, taking the child easily from Grace. “Talk to your sister. We’ll be downstairs,” and Thomas obediently followed her out.
“Well, what are you doing now?” I asked Frankie.
“I keep a little inn at Wapping,” she said. “The Mermaid.”
I knew it well from the old days. It was in Damaris Page’s stamping ground and a favourite resort of the faithful old sea captain I had entertained at Mother Cresswell’s.
“Well, it’s no life at sea for a woman,” she continued, as it turned out she had been to sea many times as a soldier, “but I know what sailors want when they come ashore – grog and home comforts.” Then she lowered her voice and added, for my ears only, “I give ’em the grog, and Gracie takes care of the home comforts, one way and another.”
I wondered briefly whether she was well acquainted with my old sea captain but decided this was neither the time nor place to ask.
“Well, it’s so good to see you Frankie,” I said, “and you, Grace. And what a dear little child you have.”
“Oh we both dote on him, don’t we Grace? He’s down to inherit The Mermaid. Well, there ain’t no father to be certain of and we don’t want him going for a sailor, that’s for sure,” said Frankie, who I realised was oblivious to the prevailing sense of decorum, or perhaps, was above or below it, for although Diana and Clarissa had done their best to encourage a babble of light conversation to obscure our proceedings, one could almost see ears bending towards our corner.
“I guess you’ve had no easy journey either,” Grace said quietly to me. “I was very sorry to hear about Evelyn. It must have been very hard for you, you and her being so close. And then you having to fend for yourself, as it were.” At this she squeezed my hand.
Very touched by their delicate acknowledgment of my history, I thanked them and then Frankie rejoined, confidentially, “Listen H, Grace and I aren’t really wanted here,” and though I began to protest she continued. “No, H. We only came to pay our respects to Auntie and in the hopes of seeing you. Why don’t we wait below and see you after? Catch up a bit? If you’ve a mind?”
I said that I very much had a mind, as I had a thousand questions, and Frankie asked me to give their very earnest condolences to Frederick before latching Grace’s arm on to her own, and with a polite nod and a slight bow towards Clarissa and Diana in turn, they were gone. Clarissa and Diana both looked mightily affronted by being acknowledged publicly by such disreputable specimens as these two sisters, and more than ever seemed to me nothing more than a pair of silly chickens clucking in disapproval. The overall effect had been to make me care less than ever for their opinion. Frankie and Grace had
shown me more affection in a single minute than they had deigned to dispense so far. My heart was hardened enough to bear anything from them now, or so I thought.
“Thank God they are gone,” I heard Clarissa say to Diana’s husband.
“Monstrous,” he agreed.
76
Fortunately, Frederick and Godfrey now returned, Frederick apologising for the delay. And with the arrival of the host, and the circulation of the claret, the conversation became easier. My heart sank as I saw Frederick, with Godfrey in tow, approach Clarissa – now the poison would start to flow in earnest. After an exchange of introductions and condolences I heard Frederick ask, quite loudly, as though to ensure everyone heard the conversation: “Will you not greet your sister, Clarissa?”
“There is no sister of mine present but Diana,” said Clarissa, delighted at the opportunity to show her quality. Godfrey looked as though he would say something, but bit his lip.
“But surely you have seen your sister, H, is here?” Frederick pressed on, mercilessly, affecting puzzlement.
“I do not recognise her,” said Clarissa.
“She is dead to us,” added Diana, wishing to be in at the kill.
Godfrey could hold his tongue no longer.
“How can you be so heartless? If you were a man I should knock you down!” he exclaimed, furious.
“If you were a man I should let you!” rejoined Diana’s husband.
“Well, I suppose it would save you the trouble, you brute!” snarled Godfrey.