Farewell to Lancashire (27 page)

‘Go yourself. You’re looking pale. A walk will do you good.’

Dot went, but wasn’t happy, because although she liked to get out of the house, she’d still have to get through her work once she got back.

‘Mr Studdard to see you, ma’am,’ she announced an hour later.

‘What? Oh yes, show him up.’ Isabel stood up, waited for the undertaker to come in and gestured to a seat.

‘They’ve left now, so it’s time to bury Mr Blake,’ she said.

He smiled and nodded.

‘A small funeral. I shall only be inviting a dozen or so guests.’

His smile faded a little.

‘And as cheap as we can decently make it. As a widow, I dare not waste my money. After all, a fancy funeral won’t bring my husband back, will it?’

‘No, Mrs Blake.’

After he’d left Isabel went back to staring out of the window, talking to herself and even arguing with herself at one stage.

Dot rapped on the half-open door.

‘What do you want now?’

‘The Vicar is here to see you, ma’am. About the funeral.’

‘Oh. Right. Show him up.’

Isabel watched the Vicar approach her with the smile he always adopted for his better class of parishioners, and was nearly betrayed into laughing at the thought of what he’d say if he knew what she’d done. She composed her face into a suitably sad expression, gestured to a chair opposite hers and waited for him to speak.

‘Mr Studdard has arranged a funeral for tomorrow, my dear lady. Is that not a little rushed?’

He reminded her she’d have to send out invitations. ‘I let my grief overwhelm me,’ she said in a soft voice, ‘and now realise Joseph should have been buried before.’

‘But not in such a rush. Shall we say the day after tomorrow? That will give you time to send out invitations.’

She didn’t see why she should change things to suit him. She was only going to suit herself from now on. ‘Unless
you
are not able to officiate – I won’t be put off with a curate – I’d rather get it over with tomorrow.’

He opened his mouth as if to protest, so she stood up. ‘I’ve made my mind up,’ she said firmly. ‘Tomorrow.’

When he’d gone, she rang for Dot. ‘Tell the shop boy I need him to deliver some letters in half an hour or so. I must send out invitations to the funeral tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow, ma’am? But—’

‘Are you daring to question my orders?’

‘No, ma’am, certainly not, ma’am. Tomorrow. Do we – um, need to provide refreshments?’

‘No. Just a glass of sherry for each mourner and some of those fancy macaroon biscuits. Get Harry Prebble in the shop to send them up.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘I’ll ring when I have the invitations ready.’

She took out some notepaper and scribbled notes to those she regarded as friends, blotting each one carefully, remembering as a girl having to use sand to dry the ink. Modern inventions like blotting paper made life a lot easier.

When the invitations were ready, she handed the envelopes to Dot, and went to get out the new mourning clothes she’d had made, stroking the heavy twilled silk with a loving hand.
I’m enjoying being a widow, being in charge here, doing as I please,
she thought, and swished the skirt to and fro for the pleasure of hearing it rustle.

It was a pity they couldn’t have the reading of the will for a few days yet. Why the lawyer had to choose this time to go to London, she didn’t know. But that was only a formality. Who else could Joseph have left the shop and other properties to but her? They’d gone to him from Isabel’s family and now they’d be returning to a Horton again. She’d change the sign on the shop back to ‘Horton’s Emporium’, in big gold letters.

‘You’ll like that, Father, won’t you?’ she murmured, smiling when he agreed with her. ‘And I’ll make you proud of me. I’ll work very hard. You should have let me go into the shop. You would have done if I’d been a boy. That wasn’t fair. But better late than never.’

Humming, she went to stand by the window.

Dot worked hard to get everything straight in the kitchen, glad her mistress only wanted a chop and a boiled potato for tea. She ate her own chop afterwards with relish. Mrs Blake didn’t even tell her what to eat these days, so Dot had decided to have the same as her mistress.

Her meal was interrupted by responses to the invitations and she sighed as she took the notes upstairs. Her feet were killing her.

She wasn’t looking forward to the funeral tomorrow. It’d be nothing but hard work for her but she hadn’t dared ask her mistress if they could hire extra help to serve the sherry and open the door to guests. The master would have thought of that. He’d been a kind man and she missed him.

As Isabel got ready the following day, Dot brought in a note from the Vicar’s wife, asking if she would like the loan of a maidservant to help with the guests after the funeral.

Isabel dashed off a quick reply, thanking her for this generous offer of help.
‘But I’m bringing up one of the shop men to help.’

Harry Prebble had been very helpful and it had suddenly occurred to her that she needed someone to serve the sherry. He’d been properly grateful when she offered him the chance to run the shop. He was twenty-five, after all, old enough to have a bit of sense. Joseph had thought more of the other young man – what was his name? Zachary, that was it. Zachary Carr. Such a tall, lanky creature, he didn’t
look
like a manager. But Joseph had always said he was a good worker, so she’d let him stay on.

The funeral went well and was over quickly, thank goodness. She kept the veil over her face during the short ceremony to hide the fact that she couldn’t even pretend to cry. And when she bent to pick up a handful of earth to scatter on his grave she felt such triumph, such joy in her new status that it was a minute before she could let go of it.

When they returned to the house, she managed to contain her emotions until the guests had drunk a glass of sherry and left.

Thanking Harry for his help, she closed the door on them all.

Then she could hold it in no longer. She began to laugh and couldn’t stop, laughing on and on until she cried.

Downstairs, Dot and Harry from the shop were each raising a glass of sherry in a toast to their dead master when the noise started. They stopped drinking to listen.

‘She’s laughing!’ he said in astonishment. ‘Today of all days!’

‘She laughs a lot. Though it’s not real laughter, is it?’

‘Is she hysterical with grief?’

‘Not her!
I
think she’s glad to be rid of him.’

‘She’s asked me to be the manager. But she said she was going to keep a close eye on things.’

‘If you take my advice, you won’t cross her. She’s mean when she’s crossed.’

He topped up their glasses from the decanter and passed hers back. ‘We’ve more than earned this today.’

With a giggle, she accepted it.

‘He’s bound to have left it all to her, isn’t he?’ Harry sipped thoughtfully.

‘Who else is there?’

‘What about those nieces of his?’

‘He’d never dare leave anything to them. Anyway, they’ve gone off to Australia, haven’t they?’

‘Three of them have. Who knows where the other one is?’ As the laughter upstairs stopped abruptly, he drained his glass and took two mints out of his pocket, handing one to Dot. ‘Don’t want her to smell it on your breath, do you?’

When he’d gone, Dot chewed her mint thoughtfully. By the time Mrs Blake came down to check on her, she was washing the glasses, setting them on a linen cloth on the wooden draining board after she’d rinsed them.

Mrs Blake stood in the doorway watching her. ‘Take good care of my glasses. They’re the best ones.’

She turned and left without giving any other further orders.

I don’t need telling that
, Dot thought resentfully.
I know my job.
As she got on with her work, she glanced uneasily upstairs from time to time. Silence wasn’t a comfortable thing in this house. It meant she didn’t know where the mistress was. She felt uneasy today and couldn’t help glancing over her shoulder from time to time.

She’d write to the employment agency a friend had told her about in Manchester, she decided. It didn’t matter where they sent her, she couldn’t stay here, not now. Who knew what her mistress would do next?

For the first few days after the ship set sail, the weather was either stormy or further storms were threatening. Whenever she was allowed, Pandora went up on deck for a breath of fresh air, holding tight to the rail and laughing as the wind whipped her hair out of its tidy bun. She saw the Isle of Wight disappear behind the
Tartar
several times, only to see it reappear a short time later. It seemed as if they’d never be able to leave the English Channel. She wished they didn’t have to, was already missing Lancashire.

There was much grumbling among the single women, who had been locked down in their quarters for a good part of the time.

On one occasion the weather was so bad that no one needed to tell any of them they were in danger. Some women were violently ill, others quarrelled or prowled up and down the narrow area between the long table and the tiny cabins. The air smelled foul when you came down from the deck and the mood was equally unpleasant.

Pandora didn’t suffer from seasickness and since Maia did and Xanthe was looking after her, she was left mainly to her own devices. She was very bored. She’d been told there was a small library on the ship for the use of passengers, but nothing had yet been organised and the books were stored in the purser’s area, so she couldn’t borrow one yet.

She watched as the doctor came to attend to the sick people, though he wasn’t able to help them much. He, it seemed, was in charge of the emigrants and Matron fussed over him as if he was a god.

A clergyman who was travelling to the Swan River Colony also came to visit the single women and prayed with those suffering as much from terror as from seasickness. Poor Mr Millett had something wrong with his face, which twitched horribly, but he was of a kindly disposition, so everyone soon learned to ignore his strange appearance.

The cabin passengers were allocated a different part of the deck for exercise but Pandora only saw one or two people using that area during the bad weather, mostly gentlemen. And few of the other women came up, either, on the rare occasions they were allowed out of their quarters.

It was with great relief that they heard, ten days after they’d first set sail from England, that the ship had left the Channel behind.

‘At last we’re on our way,’ Xanthe said.

‘And we’re going to be even further away from Cassandra,’ Maia added.

Pandora didn’t say anything. She’d tried to catch a last glimpse of the land, but failed, and now she felt bereft. She’d never have left England if she hadn’t been forced, never! The others didn’t seem to care about leaving Lancashire, only about leaving Cassandra, but she cared about both those things.

Mrs Barrett was so seasick that for the first week Cassandra’s time was mostly occupied in looking after her. Mr Barrett was also affected, but not nearly as badly as his wife. Even Cassandra felt a little nauseous at times. It wasn’t too bad, just came and went, so she tried to ignore it. She had to repay the Barretts for bringing her, so couldn’t give in to any weakness.

It wasn’t until they left the English Channel that she had a chance to ask if they’d told the Captain yet about her taking their maid’s place.

‘No. And I’ve been wondering if it’s really necessary,’ Mr Barrett said.

She stared at him in astonishment. ‘Of course it is! I want to see my sisters.’

‘Can’t you just – pretend to make friends with them?’

‘No, I can’t.’ She didn’t even have to think about that. It was bad enough that she had to pretend she’d been married and use a false surname. It was unthinkable to deny her relationship with her sisters. And anyway, she was years younger than the maid she’d replaced. It would be bound to come out at some stage that she wasn’t Hilda.

Mr Barrett breathed in deeply, looking like a bird with its feathers ruffled. ‘You’re being very uncooperative, Lawson.’

‘I’m sorry, sir, but it’s important to me. My sisters are the only relatives I have left now.’

‘Very well, then. I’ll seek an interview with the Captain. You’d better hold yourself in readiness to be questioned by him. I hope you realise the risk you’re taking with this. What if they send you back to England?’

That made her think again, but she still came to the same conclusion. She was tired of deceit. As much as she could, she wanted to be herself again, openly and freely. And anyway, from what she’d heard since she came on board, they were short of women in the Swan River Colony, and desperately needed maids and wives. Why would they get rid of a perfectly respectable female?

She often wondered how Reece was getting on there, hoped things were going well for him, hoped he’d be glad to see her. Seeing him again was a wonderful thought and sustained her through some dark hours.

As the two women waited for Mr Barrett to return, Cassandra tidied the cabin and Melissa watched her.