by Emma Hornby
‘Any idea as yet when the wedding will be?’ Lizzie chirped, bringing Laura back to the present. Plonking herself down at the table, she reached for the teapot. ‘Sure, I’d be happy to bake your bride’s cake for the occasion.’
‘The lass here’s what you might call a master confectioner in t’ making,’ said Joyce. ‘Never have I tasted owt as light and delicious as what Lizzie here creates. Am I right, Mrs Price?’
‘Oh, that you are, wench.’
The girl blushed a pleasant shade of pink. ‘Go on with youse! Sure, they’re not that good,’ she insisted modestly, but it was clear she was delighted with the praise and passionate about her craft.
‘Thanks, aye. That’s kind of thee.’
‘My pleasure, Laura. Now then,’ she added, turning to the old woman, ‘do you want owt doing, Mrs Price?’ And she was up again, shifting from foot to foot, as though being idle was for her an impossibility. ‘Owt fetching from the shops, like? A bit of dusting or sweeping in here, mebbe?’
Mrs Price was about to answer but Joyce interrupted her – something outside had caught her attention. She rose slowly with a frown. ‘What the …?’
‘What is it?’ Laura followed her gaze to the window. Spying Nathan crossing the cobbles sent her guts lurching in cold dread. God above, Ambrose had done it.
‘What’s that lad of mine doing home, then? He’s barely been gone a few minutes!’
‘I’ll go,’ Laura murmured as Joyce moved to the door.
Hands thrust deep in his pockets, Nathan was pacing back and forth across the tiny yard, his face a picture of disbelief and confusion. He didn’t seem to hear her saying his name and only paused when she touched his arm. He stared down at her blankly.
‘Lad?’ Though she knew exactly what troubled him, she asked anyway. ‘What’s wrong? Why you not in work?’
‘Your uncle. He … He’s let me go.’
She closed her eyes in despair.
‘Why, lass? Why would he do it?’
I loath you so much I can taste it, she inwardly raged. Why are you doing this to us?
‘He gave no reason, none at all. Just told me to collect my things and leave, for he didn’t need me no more. I just don’t understand it. Why now? You’d think with me soon to be family and all … It’s ruined everything.’
His devastation – and that she was the cause – crushed her. ‘Nay. Nay, it hasn’t, it—’
‘We can’t marry now. Least not yet. How will we afford a wedding, a home of our own, with no brass coming in?’
‘Nathan, lad.’ She struggled to hold back her tears. ‘I’m sorry …’
‘Hey, nay. Don’t you be blaming yourself just ’cause he’s your kin.’ Regaining his composure in the face of her anguish, wanting to reassure her because that was the positive sort of person he was, he took her hands in his and brought them to his chest. ‘The man’s a swine; this is his doing and his alone.’
‘We … crossed swords. Earlier, when I went to inform him of Father’s passing.’ She tried to pick her words carefully so as not to give away the whole truth. She couldn’t bear Nathan – couldn’t bear anyone – knowing … that. God no. ‘He don’t like the idea of us wedding. So you see, I can’t go round there and try to appeal to his better nature on this, can’t reason with him to take thee back on, for he’d not budge.’
‘Reckons I’m too beneath thee, eh? Pompous owd goat, he’s nowt else. And anyroad, I’d not go back to his crummy yard now for a gold watch. He’s never taken to me, that’s the top and bottom of it. It’s a miracle he’s kept me on this long.’
‘I hate him, Nathan. I hate him!’
‘Well, he don’t do hisself no favours, does he? He makes it nigh on impossible to like him; he’d try the patience of a saint, aye. But ’ere,’ he added, smiling now, ‘you’re not to worry none. We’ll find a way. As for your father’s funeral … this won’t affect nowt. I intended to pay for it myself out of what I’ve been saving. We’ll give that good fella a decent send-off, you’ll see.’
‘You’d do that for me?’
‘’Course, aye.’
‘I don’t … don’t know what to say.’ Now, her emotion spilled over; she covered her face with her hands. ‘You’re so kind, so kind … I don’t deserve thee.’
‘Now that’s daft talk. I’m the lucky ’un, bagging thee. You deserve all I can humanly offer and more besides. I’d do owt for you, Laura. I love you.’
‘Eeh, lad.’ Though she didn’t, couldn’t for the life of her, say it back – she wanted to so much, but the words just wouldn’t form – she portrayed her gratefulness to have him in a hug. ‘I were contemplating selling Kenneth and the cart to cover costs. After all, with Father gone, there ain’t the use for them … now …’ She licked her lips in excitement as a thought occurred. ‘That’s it.’
‘What is?’
‘Have you been to see Father’s employer yet?’
‘Nay. I planned to call in t’ undertakers then on to Mr Howarth’s yard during my dinner break today. Why? What you thinking?’
‘I’m thinking you could take over the round.’
‘Me, deliver coal?’
‘Aye, why not? You said yourself that toiling in black gold is your life – well, you’d still do that, only you’ll be humping sacks of the stuff rather than shovelling it. There’s the horse and the cart sitting there ready. And I’d accompany thee if you’d like, till you learned the ropes. What d’you say?’
‘I say it’s a bloomin’ marvellous idea.’ Nathan’s grin stretched from ear to ear.
‘Come on, then.’ Taking his hand again with a smile, she hurried him out of the court. ‘There’s no time like the present.’
She’d show Ambrose. If he believed he could best her that easily, he had another thing coming.
Thirty minutes later, it was settled.
The job was Nathan’s if he wanted it. Laura could have cried with relief.
Mr Howarth had offered his condolences regarding Amos and shrugged when the idea of the younger man taking over his position was put to him. So long as someone was available to keep his customers supplied with fuel, he was satisfied with the new arrangement.
‘You’ll not let no one turn your thinking, sir, will you?’ Laura had beseeched tentatively as they were leaving. ‘My uncle, you see, he … don’t much care for the lad here – not that there’s a reason for it, you understand? – and well … he might try and twist thee into letting him go. But there’ll be no truth to owt his mind might concoct as reason for it. He’s nobbut a rotten liar, that’s all.’
‘I judge a man on what I see with my own two eyes, lass, not what’s fed to my ears by others,’ he’d assured her. ‘If the lad passes muster, then we shan’t have a problem.’
And that had been that. After thanking him, she and Nathan had continued on their way for the undertakers with easier hearts.
At one point during the journey guilt had crept in to dim her quiet happiness a little. Father wasn’t even resting in the ground yet and already they were filling his shoes. But she knew her feelings to be unwarranted. Amos would have accepted wholeheartedly, would have urged them to strike before the grass grew under their feet. Moreover, he’d have been delighted that Kenneth was to stay in the trade, and particularly in the family. They had made the right decision.
Choking tears came immediately they entered their next port of call; Laura gulped them back desperately, but it did little good. The oppressive room, three walls of which were lined with coffins of varying size and quality, pressed down on her like a physical thing, making it difficult to breathe, and she almost turned tail and ran at the magnitude of her reason for being here. Father was dead. Then an arm went about her and stayed there, its warm firmness holding her safe, and she nodded. So long as Nathan was by her side, she could see this through.
The sombre-faced undertaker listened to their request with small nods and expertly timed sympathetic sounds. That he’d been in the industry of death for
many years and knew exactly how to handle strangers’ raw grief was clear to see. He knew precisely what his customers wanted even before they did.
‘Plain deal wood, I think.’ He spoke to himself, scribbling notes into a large, leather-bound book. ‘Unlined. No coffin furniture.’
‘Coffin furniture?’ Laura asked.
‘That’s right, my dear. Raised metal embellishments to the sides and lid. Such ornamentation lends a classical kind of charm. Images of angels, urns of flowers, even death’s heads and crossbones, that sort of thing.’
And a bonny penny that would cost, no doubt. Amos would have been horrified at the extravagance. She shook her head. ‘Nay, thank you. Summat simple, as you say.’
‘Yes, yes. That can certainly be arranged. Now, may I have the deceased’s particulars, to be engraved on the breastplate? Name, age and date of passing, if you please.’
‘Amos,’ she murmured. ‘Amos Todd.’
The undertaker lifted his eyes from his desk. A small frown pulled at his dark brows. ‘Amos Todd?’
‘That’s right.’
He sifted through some papers to the side of him, extracted one and ran his gaze over it. ‘Amos Todd,’ he said again. ‘Of number five Ebenezer Court, Manchester?’
‘Aye, but …’ Laura looked to Nathan in bewilderment. ‘How …?’
‘A Mr Ambrose Todd arrived here requiring my services for the self-same departed man not half an hour ago.’
Well, of all the …
‘Let me see,’ the undertaker went on, running his finger down the page. ‘Ah yes. Carved oaken coffin, black crêpe lining, decorative brass screws and handles … It’s all here.’
She breathed deeply. How dare he! She’d let it be known in no uncertain terms only that morning that she wanted nothing from him. This ostentatious gesture was nothing more than a means to salve his conscience. She’d sooner sell every possession she owned, the very clothes off her back, to pay for her father’s send-off than be beholden to her uncle. He just had to meddle, couldn’t help himself. Well, she’d soon rectify that.
She turned back to Nathan, intent on insisting they wouldn’t accept this, her uncle’s blood money, when she suddenly remembered. It wasn’t her funds that were paying for this, though, was it? It was the lad’s here. How could she ask him to hand over his hard-toiled-for savings still now? Then Nathan was speaking and she could have wept all over again:
‘Sir. This ’ere’s Amos Todd’s daughter and my wife-to-be. We’ll be covering the fee the day. You can return his brother’s money in full, for it’s not needed.’
‘But lad, is tha sure?’ she whispered, grasping his arm.
Nodding, he dropped a feathery kiss on to her brow. ‘I am.’
‘Indeed. Well.’ Clearly puzzled, unused to such scenarios – and no doubt somewhat piqued that profit from this funeral had plummeted considerably, though he did his professional best to mask it – the undertaker cleared his throat. ‘Of course, if you’re sure.’
‘We are, aye.’
‘As you wish. Now then, where were we …’
‘I’ll pay you back,’ Laura told Nathan earnestly, drawing him to a halt when business was conducted and they emerged outside. ‘Every copper coin, I swear it.’
‘Now don’t talk daft. What’s mine is yours, now, lass.’ He laughed. ‘That ain’t much and never shall be, I’ll be bound, but you’re welcome to it all t’ same.’
She really had struck gold with him. So why couldn’t she answer even to herself whether she loved him? And did it matter?
Folk from across all walks of life seldom married for that one, unadulterated emotion alone. More a question of convenience, in all its forms. Be it for security, companionship or a means of escape, unions were often gone into on the whisperings of the head rather than the heart. And in time, if you were lucky and treated well, what you started out with usually grew into something deeper – love, hopefully.
Would she learn to love him? Laura pondered as they made the short journey home.
Again, she hadn’t the answer. But she was willing to give it a damn good try.
CHAPTER 13
AS NATHAN HAD vowed, Amos Todd was laid to rest on a crisp November morning in a manner befitting the person he’d been: decent and dignified. They had done him proud, as he deserved.
Nathan and Daniel, along with their neighbours the two Johns, had carried the light-wood coffin with its posy of pale flowers atop through the court to the cart, where Kenneth, his polished harness adorned with bows in black ribbon, was waiting to pull his master on his final journey. A fitting tribute, they all agreed.
Laura had sat up front with Nathan, who took the reins, whilst the small trickle of mourners – Mrs Price, supported by Joyce and Lizzie; Daniel; the Johns and Mr Anderson – followed on foot. Mrs Anderson and Bee O’Brien had stayed behind to prepare the food they had managed to scrape together for the funeral tea. As the poor did in such times, Ebenezer Court’s residents had contributed what precious pennies they could spare to the burial collection; Laura was humbled by their generosity.
Throughout the service, she’d kept one eye on the church door, convinced that at any moment her uncle would make his grand entrance, but he didn’t, and the emotionally wrought event was eased somewhat by its smooth running, for which she was thankful. Her snubbing of him with the undertakers looked to have worked. It seemed at last he’d got the message, and this lent her strength. He could put as many obstacles in her path as he chose – she refused to be cowed, to be beaten. That she had an ally now – her future husband – and wasn’t alone in this was a comforting thought.
Now, after making their solemn way home, all but Nathan filed into Joyce’s house – he’d gone to return Kenneth and the cart to Mr Howarth’s yard. Laura murmured her gratitude for the spread to Bee and Mrs Anderson then went to sit by herself near the fire. She was mentally and physically wrung out, hadn’t thought it possible to shed so many tears as she had. Even now, she couldn’t rid the image of the box holding her precious father being lowered into the winter-hardened ground. He truly was gone from her for ever. The pain of it was indescribable. Dear God, what would she do?
‘Laura?’
She looked up to find Lizzie standing over her, smiling gently. In her hands was a tin jar.
‘I made a little summat for the occasion, thought you could do with a sweet treat,’ the girl told her, revealing a small round honey cake that smelled delicious and was beautifully baked. She’d even gone to the trouble of spelling out in currants on the surface a sweeping ‘A’ for Amos. The sight brought a lump to Laura’s throat.
‘Thank you, lass. Truly.’
‘They favour tiny cobs of coal, don’t they?’ Lizzie said, nodding to the dark fruit lettering. ‘I reckon it would have made your father smile, that.’
‘They do. And aye, it’s a fair nice touch. I only wish Father was here to see …’ She bit her lip as it began to tremble. ‘Ta ever so.’
‘He is here in a sense, have no fear of that. Our loved ones never leave us completely, you know.’ Lizzie gave her shoulder a squeeze then left her to compose herself. ‘I’ll go and cut thee a slice, love.’
‘The O’Brien girl’s a likeable lass,’ Laura told Nathan when he came to sit beside her upon his return.
He nodded then chuckled. ‘Not that our Daniel seems to notice.’
‘Oh?’
‘Lizzie’s been battling for his attention for years. Smitten, she is.’
‘And your brother ain’t interested?’ Glancing across the room, she watched Daniel talking with Mr Anderson whilst, nearby, Lizzie shot him frequent adoring looks from beneath her lashes.
‘He’s fond of her well enough – as you say, she’s a likeable sort – but not in that way, I don’t reckon. Mind, he’s a funny ’un, our Daniel. Quiet and brooding, he is, much prefers his own company to that of others. I can’t ever see him finding anyone he’s drawn to enough to wed, somehow. Not like me, eh?’ He took her ha
nd and caressed it. ‘I’m one lucky fella, aye.’
Laura smiled but couldn’t stop her gaze from flitting back to the other man. There was no denying his aloofness but, still, he was nice enough, had been kind from the start to her. Poor Lizzie, though. She really ought to focus her attention elsewhere, find someone who would reciprocate her feelings. She deserved that, was a real bonny lass and lovely-natured to match. And a great cake-maker into the bargain, Laura discovered later – Joyce and Mrs Price hadn’t been exaggerating. Though in her current state of mind she only managed a few nibbles of the rich slice, she had to agree it was the best she’d ever tasted. Daniel really was missing a sound catch with her. So why couldn’t he himself see it?
‘You’ll be all right the night, lass?’ Nathan asked Laura that evening as she rose to leave with Mrs Price, and she was glad of his concern.
She nodded. ‘It’s sleep I need, I think. I’m worn through.’
‘It’ll do thee the power of good, aye. I’ll see thee the morrow, then, bright and early?’
‘The morrow?’
‘Aye. Mr Howarth’s yard. I start work there in t’ morning, remember?’
What with all that had happened, she’d forgotten about that entirely. ‘Oh aye, ’course.’
‘I’ll manage fine if you’re not up for accompanying me on t’ round as tha suggested …’
‘Nay, I’d like to. Really, I would.’ And she meant it. Though it would be painful being atop the cart beside Nathan and not her father, it was preferable to sitting idle at home with her doomy thoughts. ‘See thee then. And lad?’
‘Aye?’
‘Thanks for today. For everything. I couldn’t have seen it through without thee.’
She dreamed of Amos that night. They were sitting facing one another by the hearth in their room above Mrs Hanover’s shop; him snoozing, her darning by the light of the fire. Comfortable, safe; a scene they had played out thousands of times in years gone by. Then he opened his eyes and beckoned her across.
She knelt by his feet and held his hand, and his lips moved but she couldn’t hear the words he was speaking. She leaned in closer.
