by Evie Grace
A quiver of fear ran down Rose’s spine. She couldn’t believe that her uncle could be that wicked.
‘So there is nothing to be done? There is no proof. If we ask Mr Kingsley what happened to the will, either he’ll deny he had anything to do with it, or he’ll blame one of Mr Bray’s clerks for mislaying it.’
‘All is not lost. Not yet anyway,’ Aunt Marjorie said. ‘I’ll make an appointment to see Mr Bray. There is a ghost’s chance that he has this second will somewhere in his files. In the meantime, we must do what we can to restore your mother to her old self.’
For the next couple of weeks, Aunt Marjorie stayed on at Willow Place, and she and Rose did their best to make Ma well again. They took her out for walks through the water meadows and around the Dane John for fresh air and a change of scene, but Ma couldn’t put her grief aside even for a minute. Everything from the weeping willows to the grey stones of the Westgate reminded her of Oliver. Ma began to struggle to breathe when she exerted herself, which put paid to their expeditions. It was as though she was losing the will to live.
Why was it that when you had been wakeful all night, dawn came bringing an irresistible desire for sleep? Rose closed her eyes and dreams of happier times came creeping into her mind: a vision of Pa playing bagatelle with them one evening, surreptitiously moving the ivory pegs so that Minnie won, and Donald’s brief outburst of fury when he realised he’d been duped; Pa taking her and Arthur right up to the top of the Dane John after the twins were born to look out over Canterbury and the surrounding countryside. Exhausted, she had fallen asleep in his arms as he had carried her home. She remembered feeling safe and loved – until a bloodcurdling scream brought her back to the present.
She sat up abruptly at the sound of a second scream, after which she fell out of bed, feeling as if her heart was about to pummel its way out of her ribcage. She tore down to the next floor to Ma’s room where the door was wide open and Jane was just inside holding her hand to her mouth as if trying to keep the screams inside her. There was a jug of water on the floor, a dark stain spreading across the rug. Aunt Marjorie was at Ma’s bedside, holding a candle to her face.
‘Be quiet, Jane,’ she snapped. ‘I can’t hear myself think.’
‘What’s wrong? Ma?’ Rose pushed past the maid and joined her aunt.
‘I’m sorry, my dear,’ Aunt Marjorie said, her eyes red, as if she had been crying.
‘She is gorn. The mistress is gorn to join the master,’ Jane exclaimed.
‘It can’t be true. She seemed to be getting better,’ Rose said, her chest so tight that she could barely breathe.
Aunt Marjorie moved to take the hairbrush from the dressing table and hold its mirrored back to Ma’s face. Rose leaned in, anxiously looking for the circle of haze that would prove she was alive after all and Jane had made a terrible mistake.
‘Well?’ Rose whispered.
Her aunt felt for her mother’s wrist and shook her head.
‘How can that be?’ Rose sank to her knees, holding on to her mother’s ice-cold hand. How could they have lost two parents in the space of less than three weeks?
‘Jane, go and find Mrs Dunn. Tell her to call the doctor. Rose, you must be brave. Go and find Arthur, and wake the twins. I will stay here.’ Aunt Marjorie, for all her ability to hide her emotions, was in tears this time.
How did you break such news to your siblings? Rose went to find Arthur first, but he was already on his way from his bedroom, having been roused by the disturbance.
‘What’s going on? This racket is enough to wake the dead.’
Rose reached out for his hand in the near darkness.
‘I wish that was so. Arthur, it’s Ma,’ she whispered, her voice breaking. ‘She’s …’
‘How?’ he gasped.
‘I don’t know. We must call for the doctor. He’ll be able to tell us, not that it makes any difference now.’ She gazed at her brother – the trail of a tear shone from his cheek, but he dashed it away. ‘I’m sorry – you have lost two mothers …’
Ignoring her, Arthur spun on his heel and walked in the direction of the twins’ rooms. ‘We must be strong for the twins.’
They knocked on their bedroom doors and called them on to the landing.
‘We have bad news,’ Rose said, wondering how they had both slept through Jane’s screams.
‘No?’ said Minnie, as if she could read her sister’s mind. ‘Not Ma as well?’
‘This is my fault,’ Donald said. ‘I did wrong – I wore her out. I was mean to her and Pa, and this is my punishment. I’ll never forgive myself, and I’ll never play cricket again.’
Numb with shock, Rose made tea for everyone and then the visitors began to call again at Willow Place.
Aunt Temperance came first.
‘Mr Kingsley was on his way to the tannery when he met Mrs Dunn, who told him she was on her way to call on the doctor to prevail upon him to visit our dear, dear Agnes. Mr Kingsley in turn sent the trimmin’s boy to find me to give me the news.’ Aunt Temperance grasped Aunt Marjorie’s hands. ‘Tell me. Is it really true?’
Aunt Marjorie nodded. ‘She is gone, taken up to Heaven to be at her husband’s side.’
Aunt Temperance hesitated for just a moment. ‘What was it? What carried her off?’
‘We will await the doctor’s opinion before making wild speculations.’
‘It was the shock. I have no doubt. She has been struck down as punishment for the lies she and my brother told, the scandal they hid from their loving family for all these years.’
‘This isn’t the time for laying blame at anyone’s door,’ Aunt Marjorie said, her left eye twitching as if she was trying to keep her temper. Rose felt a powerful antipathy towards Aunt Temperance, but she managed to bite her tongue until her aunt excused herself, saying she would call again.
Doctor Norris was the second person to arrive – he certified the cause of death as heart failure. Rose hadn’t believed that anyone could die from a broken heart, but the doctor confirmed that the loss of her husband had caused Ma to suffer permanent and fatal injury to that organ on which life depended.
After Doctor Norris left, Reverend Holdsworth turned up. Aunt Marjorie invited him into the parlour with Rose and Arthur while the twins remained with Mrs Dunn and Jane.
‘I’m very sorry for your loss, especially for this one being so close to the first.’ The vicar rubbed at his earlobes while he spoke. ‘We shall pray for the soul of Mrs Cheevers at St Mildred’s on Sunday, and ask the Lord to have mercy on the poor children. Suffice to say that God has His reasons for taking them up on the wings of the angels. It is all part of His higher purpose.’
‘We thank you for your kindness and consideration,’ Aunt Marjorie said, her eyes swollen from crying. ‘There is something we need to discuss with you. I would normally not raise the issue until a later date when the initial shock has passed, but it is terribly pressing. I expect you will have heard – there is some difficulty with Mr Cheevers’ will. There was a second, more recent will which would have solved the family’s difficulties, but it has disappeared.’
The vicar nodded. ‘I’ve heard that his estate has been entailed to his sister, a most unsatisfactory state of affairs.’
‘We talked to Agnes before her—’ a sob caught in her throat before she continued, ‘—premature demise, but unsurprisingly she didn’t want to speak about it. She was too unwell, and embarrassed perhaps.’
‘She was a very private person,’ the vicar said.
‘All things considered, I don’t believe that Agnes and Oliver were married, but we need to be absolutely sure – for their children’s sake. I’m clutching at straws, Vicar, but did you marry Oliver Cheevers to Agnes Linnet or Agnes Berry-Clay as she was known then?’ Aunt Marjorie asked. It seemed strange to Rose to hear her mother called by an unfamiliar name.
‘As far as I’m aware, the couple concerned never entered into the state of holy matrimony. It was quite intentional. When your mother
arrived in Canterbury, there was much speculation and gossip about her history. As is common in these cases, interest waned as the next scandal brewed, but when I advised Mr Cheevers to go ahead with a wedding ceremony for just such an eventuality as this, he said he didn’t want to set them all off again. He felt that Agnes had been through enough, and they were already living as man and wife by then. In his view – wrongly, in my opinion – they were as good as married.
‘He told me they would go elsewhere and marry quietly, but I always suspected that they didn’t wed.’ A sad smile crossed his face. ‘Agnes wore her wedding ring but once a week. I never saw it on her finger except on Sundays.’
‘I still can’t believe that Oliver, who ran a business and was part of so many charitable organisations, wouldn’t have managed his own affairs. You are absolutely sure they were never married?’ Aunt Marjorie repeated.
‘I have no reason to think that they were,’ the vicar confirmed. ‘I certainly didn’t marry them at St Mildred’s.’
‘Then we are in the mire as I thought.’ Aunt Marjorie was almost in tears. ‘They have left their children dependent on the goodwill of their aunt, Oliver’s sister. If she should set herself against them, they will be all but destitute.’
‘I’m sorry about that, but we must trust that God will forgive the gentleman in question and provide for his orphans,’ the vicar said loftily.
‘Why did you allow Mr Cheevers to continue to worship at your church, knowing that he was living in sin?’ Aunt Marjorie said, asking the question Rose wanted answered.
‘Your cousin could be very stubborn – once his mind was made up, there was no changing it. Besides, there are other unmarried couples in this parish who live as husband and wife. It is not as uncommon a situation as you might imagine. Think on this, Miss Treen – it is easier to keep one’s flock safe and spiritually secure when the sheep are inside the fold than when they’re out of it.’
‘I understand that, but I wish you had been more forceful with your sermons on the importance of marriage. Oh, it is done now. It is too late. We must do the best with what we have.’ Aunt Marjorie stood slowly, plagued by her aching joints, and the vicar followed suit.
‘I shall intrude no longer,’ he said. ‘Good day, Miss Treen, and Miss …’ he hesitated as though he had forgotten her name, ‘… Rose.’
Rose winced. She was Miss Cheevers to the vicar, not plain Rose, and then she realised he was unsure how to address her. She felt uncomfortable. Ashamed.
‘Destitute? Is it really that bad? Does Ma have nothing of her own?’ Rose asked Aunt Marjorie when the vicar had gone, Jane having shown him out.
‘I don’t think so. She came here to Canterbury many years ago with nothing. She worked at the school on a voluntary basis, so she will have no savings, no nest egg tucked away.’
‘Did you ask Mr Kingsley about the missing will?’
‘He claims that he never saw it. It wasn’t among the papers he took to the solicitor’s office. We have to accept his word on it. But I did take the opportunity of asking him to search his conscience as a loving and much-loved uncle, and question the fairness of the terms of Oliver’s bequest.’ She sighed. ‘All we can hope for is that when your Aunt Temperance has had time to think about it, and Mr Kingsley has had the opportunity to put pressure on her, she will change her mind. She must see that she should give up all claim to her brother’s estate when there are children involved. She is always most concerned about what society thinks of her – the last thing she would wish for is to lose the respect of her peers by demonstrating a callous disregard for a family’s entitlement.
‘Because, in spite of that will, you are morally entitled to Oliver’s estate. He lived with your mother for over sixteen years as husband and wife. The twins are his children by blood. There can be no question that he ever intended to leave everything he had to that insufferable woman.’ Aunt Marjorie shook her head. ‘Oh, I know I shouldn’t be rude about her, but she’s always had ideas above her station. She’s driven Mr Kingsley to drink over the years because she’s never satisfied with his efforts, but that’s enough of the Kingsleys. We have to make sure that you, Arthur, Donald and Minnie are provided for, and we keep the roof over your heads.’
‘Are you suggesting we’ll have to move out of Willow Place?’ Rose glanced around the parlour at the curiosity cabinet, at the curly-haired porcelain doll which had been Minnie’s sitting on the child’s chair in the corner because Ma had been unable to give it away when Minnie had decided she was too old to play with it, and at the second copy of the family photograph on the wall. It was as if Pa had had a premonition that it would be the last one they would have taken together. It was a shame that he hadn’t used that insight to hurry Ma down the aisle at St Mildred’s or make sure his most recent will was safely filed, she thought rather bitterly.
‘What am I thinking of, entertaining such an idea at this time?’ Aunt Marjorie said quickly. ‘Let’s put these thoughts aside and concentrate on the present.’
It was too late for that, though. In spite of her aunt’s reassurances, their future was far from certain.
Chapter Eight
The Best Way Forward
Ma’s funeral was a quiet affair compared with Pa’s, with only the vicar, Arthur and the Miskins, Rose and the twins, the two aunts, Mr Kingsley, a few of the parents from the school, a couple of workers from the tannery and her friend Evie and husband John in attendance.
This time, they went to the cemetery to say farewell at the graveside. Pa’s headstone hadn’t arrived from the stonemason’s and there was time to ask for Ma’s name to be added to save money. ‘At least they are side by side,’ people kept saying, but it was no consolation when they should have been together still in life.
Holding Minnie’s hand throughout the service, Rose turned away when some of the mourners threw handfuls of earth on to the coffin as it lay in the ground, but the words ‘ashes to ashes, dust to dust’ lingered in her mind as they walked back to Willow Place for a small wake with wine and sandwiches. Aunt Marjorie had invited the vicar to join them, in part to lend his authority to the reading of Ma’s will. Would it save them from the Kingsleys? She knew she was clutching at straws, but she had to have hope.
Back at Willow Place, Jane and Mrs Dunn served refreshments to the Reverend Holdsworth, the Cheeverses, Kingsleys and Miskins, while Aunt Marjorie took Pa’s chair at the head of the dining-room table. She put on her pince-nez and opened an envelope which she had found with Rose’s help in the drawer of Ma’s dressing table.
When everyone was settled, Aunt Marjorie spread the paper out in front of her and began to read.
‘This is my will made on …’ She seemed to struggle to work out the date. ‘In the event of my death all my worldly goods are to pass to Mr Oliver Cheevers, except for the following: the costs of my funeral expenses – to be modest, not ostentatious.’ Aunt Marjorie took a gulp of wine to steady herself. ‘I leave these specific articles in my memory to the people listed separately.’
‘Well, go on. We are in suspense,’ Aunt Temperance said.
‘To my dear Nanny, the manual of etiquette, which she bought me to replace the one she had given me in the past, and my pair of bronze vases.’ Aunt Marjorie had to compose herself again, reminding Rose of her close attachment to her mother. ‘The half a sixpence and silver chain to my daughter Rose.’ She remembered how the twins used to grab the chain around Ma’s neck when they were babies and it would break, and Oliver would take it to the jeweller’s to have it repaired. She hadn’t worn it much since then, and Rose wondered why something so underwhelming had been so special to her.
‘And the point lace that I worked by myself I leave to my daughter Minnie.’ It appeared that Ma had had little she could call her own. ‘To Donald, I leave the watercolour I made of him when he was three years old. To Arthur, the fine fountain pen given to me on the occasion of my thirtieth birthday.’
‘Is that the end of it?’ Aunt Temperan
ce said, as Aunt Marjorie fell silent. ‘Is that all she had?’
Aunt Marjorie nodded and folded the papers up again. She removed her pince-nez and dabbed away a tear.
‘She had nothing except those assets I have mentioned, her clothes and a small sum of money in the bank which will cover today’s costs, but you can be sure that she will have riches in Heaven.’
‘Amen,’ said the vicar, perhaps a little disappointed that Ma had left nothing to the church.
‘That is all. Please, enjoy the Cheeverses’ hospitality for as long as you wish.’ Aunt Marjorie stood up and turned towards Aunt Temperance. ‘I need to talk to you and your husband in private. Shall we retire to the parlour? Rose and Arthur will join us.’
‘What, now?’ Rose said, surprised that her aunt was in such a hurry.
‘It is urgent. I want to know that everything is settled before I return to Ramsgate.’
Mr Kingsley picked up the decanter from the tantalus and carried it into the parlour with him. Aunt Temperance appropriated a plate of sandwiches. Arthur, Rose noticed, said goodbye to the Miskins.
‘What about us?’ Minnie and Donald said together.
‘I would be very grateful if you would stay and act as host and hostess for our guests,’ Aunt Marjorie said.
‘You are treating us like children,’ Donald grumbled. ‘We are old enough to have a say in our future.’
‘Then prove to me that you can behave like a young gentleman, and do as you’re told.’ Aunt Marjorie pushed the parlour door firmly shut in his face.
Arthur stood leaning against the wall beside the fireplace, his hands in his pockets. Rose sat down on the chaise beside Mr Kingsley. Her aunts took the fireside chairs.
‘I have called this meeting to discuss how Rose and the twins are going to manage without the guidance and love of their parents,’ Aunt Marjorie said. ‘I assume that you will continue with your plans to marry Miss Miskin, Arthur.’
