Authors: Anna Jacobs
They’d said that before, but now the words suddenly sank in and Nell resisted the tugging arms. ‘A gas explosion?
The cooker wasn’t working. That’s why I was out at the shop.’
‘You’ve had a lucky escape,’ one woman said.
Lucky. Nell tested the word in her mind, then shook her head. She didn’t feel lucky.
Then she thought of something else. ‘I need to see my daughter’s body.’
There was dead silence round her.
‘Where have you put her?’ she demanded. ‘Have you laid her down gently? Is she decently covered?’
Mrs Garrett put an arm round her shoulders and she couldn’t shake it off.
Beside her, Mr Garrett cleared his throat, then said, ‘It was a bad explosion, Nell. There … isn’t much left of them. You don’t want to see them.’
A man next to him said, ‘I covered the remains up, missus. It’s all as decent as we can make it.’
‘Show me my daughter.’
He shook his head.
‘I’m not going till I’ve seen her, held her …’
He closed his eyes for a moment, then said huskily, ‘There isn’t enough of her left to recognise, missus. You shouldn’t see it. You should remember her as she was.’
Only then did the full horror sink in.
Nell heard someone begin screaming, dreadful
high-pitched
wails. Her limbs wouldn’t move. She closed her eyes, wanting only blackness, oblivion.
It was a long time before Nell opened her eyes again, and even before she’d remembered, she knew she didn’t want to wake up. ‘Where …?’
‘You’re in our house,’ Mrs Garrett said. ‘You must stay here till we can think what to do.’
Nell stared round and realised she was lying on the sofa in the front parlour, a room where the minister saw people who were in trouble.
She was in trouble, couldn’t have imagined worse. But he couldn’t help her. No one could.
She looked at the two kindly people standing watching her, saw their mouths opening and shutting, and closed her eyes again. Refused to listen. Refused to think.
Wished she had been killed too.
Mrs Garrett looked at the doctor. ‘She’s not answering, but surely she’s conscious?’
‘Her mind is too upset by the horror of what’s happened. I’ve seen it before. I’ll give her something to make her sleep.’
‘She’ll still have to face it when she wakes.’
‘The human mind is a wonderful thing. It can start to heal itself, even in sleep. And she’ll be calmed a little by the sleeping draught. But you should watch her carefully. She might want to harm herself.’
When they’d tipped the liquid, a little at a time, down Nell’s throat, Dora waited until her guest had fallen into an uneasy sleep, then went to seek help in looking after her own children. There was no lack of offers when members of the congregation understood what she was doing for the poor bereaved woman.
After that she went back to sit beside the sofa on which they’d laid Nell. The doctor’s potion had done its work and the poor lass was breathing deeply. But her sleep was troubled, even so.
Dora clasped her hand and wept for her.
When her husband joined her, she said simply, ‘I can’t understand why a loving God would do this to her, to anyone.’
‘It’s beyond my understanding too. A severe test of our faith.’
‘If it’d been
my
only child … and you as well … I don’t know how I’d have faced it. We’ve had our losses, but not so terrible.’ She mopped her eyes again. ‘I’m not leaving Nell to wake up alone. Mrs Rayner’s taking charge of our children. That nursery maid is too young to be left unsupervised. I’m staying right here beside poor Nell.’
‘I’ll bring a mattress down for you to sleep on, then.’
She nodded, then fell to her knees to pray for her young friend.
As she stood up again, she remembered suddenly that all Nell’s thoughts had been for her child, not a word about her husband. That didn’t surprise her. Cliff Greenhill had been a weak reed, and selfish with it. He hadn’t cared greatly for his wife and child – not that Dora had seen, anyway – and she hadn’t forgotten the bruises where he must have hit Nell.
But still, he had family back in Swindon and they should be informed of his death. She’d look into that tomorrow, ask Nell for their address.
She pushed the mattress closer to the sofa and lay down to sleep, but it was an uneasy slumber and she kept waking with a start to check her companion. She was relieved that Nell didn’t regain full consciousness during the dark hours of the night. It was the hardest time to face bad news.
As dawn gilded the edges of the blinds, Nell stirred, lying staring up at the ceiling for a few minutes, so that Dora, who was watching her carefully, wasn’t certain whether she really had regained consciousness.
When she spoke, all she said was, ‘I thought it was a nightmare, but it isn’t, is it?’ Then she turned her head into the pillow and wept, heart-rending sobs that brought tears to her companion’s eyes too.
Dora could only crouch beside her, patting her, trying to make her feel less alone. But she wasn’t even sure Nell noticed.
They couldn’t persuade her to eat anything, but she drank several cups of tea over the course of the morning.
Mostly she lay staring into space, her eyes blind with sorrow, an occasional tear leaking out.
Dora could think of no words of comfort – what comfort could you offer to a mother who had lost her only child in this dreadful way, who didn’t even have a proper body to mourn over, couldn’t press a final kiss on her child’s cold brow as Dora had once done when she lost a little son to measles? All she could do was clasp Nell’s hand from time to time and continue to pray for guidance and support from a higher power.
Later the next morning some men turned up at the minister’s house. Mr Garrett opened the door to them.
‘We’ve been salvaging what we could from the Greenhills’ house,’ one of them said. He indicated some dusty objects on a handcart. ‘Where shall we take them?’
‘Better leave them here with me. Is this all there is?’
‘All that’s worth keeping. The rest is in pieces. We’ve still
got to check the cellar, but the way down is blocked at the moment. We’re trying to make everything safe because that damned landlord won’t spend a penny on doing it unless the insurance pays. We don’t want our kids playing among the rubble and getting hurt.’
‘Could you bring the things round to the back garden? They can stay in the shed till Mrs Greenhill’s ready to go through them. Are any of her clothes left?’
‘Only a few. They’re dusty and some of them have been torn by flying debris. There are a couple of books which were in the trunk, and a tin box. You’ll have to break that open, I should think, it’s so battered I doubt the lock will work, even if she has the keys.’
‘Well, you’re doing a good job. If anything else turns up, save everything you can. Who knows what she’ll want to keep?’
‘How is she, sir?’
Mr Garrett shook his head. ‘Still in shock, I’m afraid, lying staring into space, weeping sometimes.’
‘It doesn’t bear thinking of, does it? They’re taking up a collection to help her with the funeral costs. Can we bring the money to you?’
‘Yes, of course. I’ll put in a guinea to start it off.’ He wished he could offer more, but this was a poor living. ‘Thank you for doing this.’
The man shook his head sadly. ‘It was all we could think of to do for her.’
‘What about the … bodies?’
He shuddered. ‘They’ve taken what’s left to the undertaker’s. You’d not recognise them, sir. Best they be buried together, the undertaker said.’
Mr Garrett didn’t hesitate, shook his head. ‘I don’t think she’d want that. Ask them if they can put the baby’s remains in a separate coffin.’ As the man opened his mouth to protest, he added hastily, ‘She’ll want the baby kept separate. I know the family. I’m sure that’s what she’ll want.’
‘If you say so, sir.’
Septimus supervised the transfer of the box and other bits that had been retrieved, leaving them in the garden shed for the moment. As he watched the men walk away, he felt desperately sad. And helpless. His wife had told him how strained relations were between Nell and her husband, and he’d seen for himself how the fellow neglected his family. He’d also seen a bruise once, the mark of a man’s rough handling. It could only have been Cliff. You couldn’t help wondering if there had been other bruises in hidden places. Some men treated their wives so badly. No wonder Nell hadn’t asked what had happened to him.
When he went back into the front room, he whispered to his wife, ‘I’ve just thought. We should send for her sister Renie.’
That caught Nell’s attention. She turned towards them and said, ‘No!’ in a firm flat voice.
‘But you need your family with you at this sad time, dear.’
‘I don’t want anyone. I just want … to be left alone to bury my daughter.’
‘And husband,’ he added gently. ‘You’ll have to let his family know.’
She was silent for so long he wasn’t sure she’d heard him,
then she said, ‘Will you send them a telegram, please?’
‘I’ll need their address.’
Mr Garrett noted it down and sent the telegram within the hour, telling the Greenhills their son had been killed in an accident, offering his condolences and asking if they wanted to come to the funeral.
‘We should wait to bury them till Cliff’s family can be there.’
‘We can wait to bury him, but I’m burying Sarah as arranged,’ Nell said harshly. She’d prefer to do it like that, anyway, keep Sarah to herself. She needed to stay on good terms with the Greenhills, though, in case her sister Mattie tried to contact her through them. She wasn’t even sure they’d come. They’d been very disapproving of her marriage and Mrs Greenhill had accused her of taking their Cliff away from them and ruining his life.
‘Are you sure?’ he asked.
‘About my Sarah, yes. They can do what they want with Cliff’s body. I shan’t be weeping over him. It’s all his fault. I begged him to have the gas cooker repaired, but he wouldn’t spend money on anything but himself, if he could help it.
He’s
the one who killed our daughter, killed her as surely as if he’d stabbed her in the heart.’
Septimus didn’t argue with her. If what Nell had just said was true – and there was no reason to doubt it – he too felt sickened by the thought that this accident could have been prevented.
How much worse must that knowledge make it for her to bear her grief?
A brief telegram arrived from Cliff’s mother the following day.
C
AN’T COME.
H
USBAND GRAVELY ILL.
N
EPHEW
F
RANK COMING INSTEAD.
A
DVISE ADDRESS AND WAIT FUNERAL FOR HIM.
Mr Garrett sent another telegram, then arranged lodgings for the nephew, whose name none of them knew, with one of his parishioners. He also contacted Cliff’s cousin George.
Nell was still refusing to contact her sister, and since they didn’t have an address for Renie, they could do nothing about that. But it was sad that she’d not have any family with her at the funeral.
When they buried Sarah two days later, Nell was supported by the Garretts, with former neighbours and members of the congregation standing behind her.
People from the nearby streets came to the funeral too, to pay their respects, but Nell didn’t acknowledge them, seemed more like a sleepwalker that day.
‘Did you see her eyes?’ one woman whispered to her companion. ‘No light in them at all.’
‘Others have lost children,’ her companion said. ‘She’ll have to pull herself together. Life goes on.’
‘Others haven’t lost their children in such a terrible way.’
‘No. You’re right there. I’ve cried a few times thinking about that poor child. I used to see her at the shops, always smiling, such a bonny little thing.’
Nell stood by the grave for so long that Mr Garrett signalled to the other people to leave, even his wife. He waited patiently for Nell to move, and when she did, offered her his arm.
As they walked slowly out of the chapel grounds, she said abruptly, ‘I want a headstone for my Sarah. The best money can buy.’
‘My dear, you haven’t much money left and your neighbours have given as much as they can afford.’
‘I’m not expecting them to pay for it. I shall save up for a headstone myself.’
He sighed. ‘I’ll speak to Portermans about how much it’d cost. They’re the best monumental masons.’
‘An angel in white marble to watch over her.’
That evening, there was a knock on the door and Mr Garrett went to answer it.
A young man stood there, looking so much like a larger, stronger version of Cliff that it gave the minister a nasty shock. He pulled himself together. ‘You must be Cliff’s cousin.’
He nodded. ‘Frank Greenhill.’
‘I’m Septimus Garrett. Please come in.’ He led the way into the front room where he usually talked to parishioners in trouble. ‘Do sit down.’
‘Where is she?’
‘Mrs Greenhill, do you mean?’
His voice was deep, with a harsh edge to it. ‘Cliff’s wife. We don’t think of her as a Greenhill. She isn’t one of us.’
‘She was a good wife to him.’
‘Well, she isn’t his wife anymore and the less we have to do with her the better.’
‘She’s suffered a tragic loss and I hope you’re not going to add to her grief.’
‘If I see her grieving for my cousin, I’ll be surprised. She only married him to get away from that father of hers.’
‘Did you tell her father about the accident?’
He shrugged and said nothing.
‘I’ll go and fetch Nell, then after you’ve spoken to her, I’ll take you to the lodgings I’ve arranged. Would you like a cup of tea? You must be tired.’
‘Yes, please.’
Mr Garrett paused in the hall, worried about this young man, because although Frank had been polite enough, he seemed very hostile towards poor Nell, and she didn’t deserve any more trouble. But still, he couldn’t refuse to let the newcomer see her.
Nell looked up as Mr Garrett came into the room. She’d wanted to go to bed early but her kind hosts wouldn’t let her. They insisted she needed to be with people.
‘Who was it, dear?’ Mrs Garrett asked.
‘It’s Frank Greenhill. He wants to see Nell.’
There was silence, then she got to her feet. ‘I suppose I’ll have to.’
‘I’ll stay with you while you talk, my dear, then I’ll take him round to his lodgings.’
She shook her head. ‘I can tell him about the funeral arrangements on my own. I’ll call you when I’ve finished.’ She was afraid of what Frank might say. She couldn’t imagine the Greenhills being kind or supportive, because they hadn’t approved of her marriage in the first place.
Feeling apprehensive but determined not to give way, she went into the front room.
When Frank stood up, she shivered. He was tall and
muscular, not scrawny, but still, he had such a look of Cliff. Of course, he hadn’t gone into upholstery, was working in the carriage-making section of the Railway Works, where you had to be much stronger.
‘Well, at least you’ve been crying for him,’ he said. ‘When are the funerals?’
That unkind comment shook her and for a moment she couldn’t answer, then she pulled herself together. Frank would be gone soon and she need never see him again. ‘I buried my daughter today. Cliff’s funeral is tomorrow.’
He frowned. ‘Why aren’t you burying them together? They usually put a child in its parent’s coffin when they die together.’
‘She deserved her own coffin. Heaven knows he kept her short of everything while she was alive.’ She knew it was a mistake to criticise Cliff the minute the words were out of her mouth, because Frank seemed to swell up with indignation.
‘I didn’t think you could be as bad as my aunt said, but you’re worse. Did you care for our Cliff at all? Or were you just looking for a way to escape from your father?’
She didn’t answer, couldn’t seem to draw breath, felt suddenly nervous of him. Which was ridiculous. What could he do to her here, in the minister’s house?
‘Cliff’s funeral is at two o’clock,’ she said and turned to leave. ‘Mr Garrett will tell you the details. We were waiting for you to come.’
‘Wait a minute!’ He strode across to block the doorway. ‘His mother wants to know what you’re doing with Cliff’s things? She wants something to remember him by.’
‘Most of our things were destroyed in the explosion,
which blew the whole house apart. There wouldn’t have been an explosion at all if Cliff hadn’t been too mean to get the cooker repaired. Make sure you tell his mother that as well.’
‘You heartless bitch! As if I would.’
She thought for a moment he was going to thump her, but he let his bunched fist drop. Still, it was right for them to have some memento of Cliff. ‘You can have his tools, if you want. They were at the place he worked. They’re no use to me.’
‘There’s money too. He was a saving sort of fellow. I’ll speak to you again after the funeral, when you know what he left you. They ought to have a share of that too, to help them in their old age, because he won’t be able to do that now.’
She couldn’t bear to go on speaking to him, so left the room and let Mr Garrett take him to his lodgings.
She shuddered as she got ready for bed. She’d hated being in the same room as Frank Greenhill, not because of his resemblance to Cliff but because of his size. He was a big man, with an expression on his face like her father’s. The sort who would hit you as soon as look at you.
And what did he mean about Cliff’s money? That was nothing to do with him. Any savings left were going towards an angel for Sarah’s grave, not to the Greenhills.
Her husband’s funeral was a quiet affair the following day. It was the cheapest money could buy. Nell couldn’t escape going to it, not unless she wanted to create a scandal, especially not with Frank there. She stood stony-faced by
the grave and couldn’t shed any tears. As far as she was concerned, Cliff was a murderer.
Afterwards, Frank came up to her. ‘When’s the reading of the will?’
‘He didn’t leave one.’
‘Have you looked?’
‘Have you seen the remains of our house? No? Well, go and look yourself. There’s nowhere to search.’
‘There was nothing in his toolbox.’
She looked at him in shock. ‘You’ve got it already?’
‘Yes. I asked my landlady where he worked. It’s only got his tools in it, though.’
‘Then there’s nowhere else to look.’
‘You’ve not arranged anywhere for the mourners to meet for a drink?’
‘No. I can’t afford to. If you’ve got the toolbox, I’ll say goodbye to you. You’ll be wanting to get home to Swindon and your work.’ She turned and left him, glad to see the back of him.
After breakfast the next day, Mrs Garrett sent the children upstairs with the young nursemaid, then looked expectantly at her husband.
He turned to Nell. ‘Isn’t it time you looked at the bits and pieces they retrieved from your house, my dear? You let my wife sort out the clothes that were still wearable, but you’ve refused to touch the metal box.’
‘Because it’s
his
box. I didn’t want to touch it till he was buried. Anyway, I can’t do it today. You said you’d come with me to the savings bank to ask about the joint account Cliff and I had. Perhaps there’ll be enough money
in that for a headstone for Sarah.’ She still had her own savings book, because it’d been hidden in the lining of her shopping bag, as usual, but it seemed only right that
he
pay for the headstone.
As she and the minister were walking to the bank, Nell noticed the weather for the first time in days. It was sunny, a beautiful spring day. That seemed wrong. She’d rather it was raining.
When they were ushered into the manager’s office, she explained about the joint account and the bank book being destroyed.
He looked down his nose at her. ‘Do you have proof of who you are, young woman?’
‘I can bear witness to her identity,’ Mr Garrett said. ‘Mrs Greenhill is a member of my congregation and has been for the past two years.’
The manager’s expression softened a little. ‘And you have a joint account with your husband. Now that he’s dead, the money in that will revert to you, of course. Do you know how much was in it?’
‘I can’t remember. I haven’t looked at it for a week or two.’
He consulted a big ledger. ‘There’s not much, only a few pounds. Your husband recently withdrew most of the money and deposited it in his own savings account.’
‘
What?
’ The anger flared so fiercely that for a moment Nell felt to be burning up with it. Cliff had even stolen her money, as well as killing her child. It wasn’t till Mr Garrett laid one hand on hers that she got control of herself.
‘The remaining money in his personal account must
surely belong to Mrs Greenhill now,’ the minister said.
‘Is there … um … did he leave a will?’ the manager asked.
They both turned to Nell.
‘Not that I know of. Even if there had been, it’d have been destroyed in the explosion.’
‘Ah. Yes, of course. In that case, we shall have to ask a Justice of the Peace to approve payment to you. Are there any children?’
She couldn’t answer that. Her throat closed up if she so much as thought of Sarah.
Mr Garrett said, ‘No children. The little daughter died in the explosion as well.’
‘Oh. I’m sorry. Then we can settle this very simply, without causing you any more pain than necessary,’ the manager said.
There was silence and she realised they were waiting for her to respond, so she forced out a ‘thank you’ and that seemed to satisfy them.
The manager’s office felt to be closing in on her, and once the paperwork had been dealt with, she stood up abruptly. ‘Can you … bring me the money we agreed on, Mr Garrett? I’m not… myself. I need air.’
She stood up and fled, running down the street to the minister’s house like a madwoman, heedless of how people stared at her.
Frank saw her running down the street and wondered what she was fleeing from. But no one followed her. He hefted his bag in his hand. He’d been going to catch a train back, but she’d come out of the bank and he wanted to know
what she’d found there. It must have been something to do with Cliff’s savings.
He didn’t believe her about the will. Cliff would definitely have made one, and he wouldn’t have left everything to
her
, either. He had too much sense.
Frank decided not to stay in the lodgings Garrett had found for him, but find some of his own. No need for them to know he was still here. He could afford to spend another day here.
He sent a telegram to his aunt and uncle asking them to notify the people at work that he was helping the poor widow. He paused as he thought of her. Even though she was grieving, it had still surprised him how pretty she’d grown. He hadn’t expected to fancy her. Not that he’d do anything about that. But still …
He banished that thought. Before he went back to Swindon, he had to find someone who’d keep an eye on her and let him know what she was doing – especially if she seemed to have inherited any money.
That bitch wasn’t going to profit from a Greenhill’s hard work, not if Frank could help it.
When she got back, Nell entered the house via the kitchen and went up to the attic to think about what she’d found out. Cliff had taken most of the money out of their joint account and put it into his own account. Why? What had he been planning to do with it? And where was his bank book? Had that been destroyed in the explosion? Or was it in the tin box?
She became aware of footsteps coming up the stairs, slow footsteps, so it must be Mrs Garrett, who was rather
stout and found two flights of stairs trying. Nell sat up and turned to face the door.
‘Are you all right, my dear? Septimus said you ran out of the bank.’
‘I couldn’t bear to talk on and on about money when my Sarah lies dead.’ Impatiently she brushed away another tear.
Mrs Garrett came across to sit beside her on the bed. ‘It’s early days yet. Your grief is still fresh and sharp, but believe me, it will ease.’
‘I’ll never forget Sarah.’
‘Of course not. Any more than I’ve forgotten dear little Robert, who died when he was two. But it
will
ease.’
‘I didn’t know you’d lost a child. I’m sorry.’
‘It’s been several years now. Many women go through this. There is no choice but to carry on with your life.’
Nell couldn’t argue, but now she understood why Mrs Garrett seemed to know what to say to her. ‘You’re very kind. I’m nothing but a burden.’
‘You’re not a burden and you’re welcome to stay here as long as you wish. If you help me in the house, as you suggested, you’ll be more than paying your way. I don’t think you should do anything until you’ve … well, come to some form of acceptance and thought carefully about your future.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Now, there’s something else that needs doing. You’ve not yet looked at the box they retrieved from your house. You really should go through it. I gather you told the bank manager there was no will, but you don’t actually know that until you’ve checked the box, do you?’
‘I can’t face it today. I’ll do it tomorrow.’ She wished she could just hurl the box into the nearest reservoir and forget about it. ‘Isn’t that the front door?’
‘Yes. But my husband will answer it. Come down and join us for a cup of tea when you’ve washed your face.’
The following day Nell decided to get the ordeal over. News had come of the sinking of the
Titanic
, a horrendous tale, with over fifteen hundred lives lost. She listened to people discussing it. They lowered their voices when she was nearby, as if that would make any difference.
One man had lost his wife and four children. Four! Nell couldn’t imagine how he could survive that. Somehow the thought of him helped her to start coping with her own loss, though she didn’t tell people that, or they might think her heartless.
It had stopped raining and was a beautifully sunny day. ‘Would you mind if I opened the box outside?’ she asked. ‘It still smells bad.’
‘Good idea,’ Mr Garrett said at once. ‘I’m a firm believer in the restorative power of sunshine.’
She sat on a wooden bench looking at the box for a long time. It still had a sort of burnt yet sour smell. Someone had wiped the top of the box clean. Of what? She shivered. Mr Garrett had taken an axe to it, which had left one side gaping. She knew he was worried that she might hurt herself if she tried to use the axe. Or even that she’d try to take her own life if left with free run of his tools, so he’d locked his shed.