by Anna Jacobs
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.
He needn’t have worried. If she died, there would be no one left to remember her child. That was the main thing that kept her going at the moment; someone had to remember Sarah.
At last Nell braced herself and emptied the contents of the box onto an old blanket spread on the garden path. She got down on her knees beside the papers, some of which had been slightly damaged at one corner by the axe.
Cliff had kept their birth certificates and marriage certificate in this box, she knew. Well, that was what he’d told her, anyway, though she’d never understood why he had to lock them away from her. She’d not seen any of them since the wedding.
She found other papers saying he’d completed his apprenticeship. She tossed those to one side, starting a pile for burning. What use were they to anyone now? After a moment’s thought, she added his birth certificate to them. She kept her own, which was badly stained with water from their first rainy day in Lancashire, and of course, she kept Sarah’s, which was clean and crisp still. The wedding certificate she hesitated over, then put it in the pile of papers to be kept.
Underneath these, she found a large sealed envelope, with ‘WILL’ scrawled on it. So there had been one. It was another thing he hadn’t told her about. Why so much secrecy?
She opened it to find that he’d written it himself. No mistaking that spindly handwriting. The first sentence was full of long words and sounded very official. He must have bought a book to help him; there were self-help books for all sorts of things.
When she read the second paragraph, she gasped in shock and outrage and scanned the rest quickly. Then she took a deep breath and reread the whole thing more slowly. She couldn’t believe what she’d found. He’d left everything he owned to his parents, to whom he’d also left the guardianship of any children he might have. He said he trusted his parents to look after the money, but feared his wife wasn’t good with it.
Was he allowed to do such a thing? Cut her right out of the will? She didn’t know.
And how dare he tell such lies? She was good with money, always made the housekeeping stretch, never got into debt.
She dashed away a tear that came as much from anger as from pain. She’d stopped loving Cliff even before Sarah had been born, and gradually started to dislike him for his mean penny-pinching ways, always at her expense, never at his own.
The dislike had turned to outright hatred after the explosion, because she believed he was responsible for their daughter’s death. Now, this unfairness towards herself only added to the flaming bonfire of hatred he’d created in her.
She studied the will again. She didn’t think it’d been drawn up by a solicitor, because apart from the beginning and ending, every word sounded just like Cliff speaking. Anyway, he was too tight-fisted to pay a lawyer if he could manage without.
She’d never thought she’d be grateful for that meanness, but she was. Because it meant no one else knew about it.
She studied the other signatures. It had been witnessed by two men whose names were printed beneath black squiggles. No one she recognised. Who were they? Whoever they were, just let them try to have this will found.
She admitted to herself then that she was going to burn it.
It was still a while before she could control her anger enough to continue looking through the papers.
She found a bank book and opened it, looking first at the final total. She felt literally sick when she found that he’d saved nearly three hundred pounds over the years since he’d finished his apprenticeship. She’d gone hungry sometimes so that her daughter would eat well. And there’d been no need. No need at all!
He had never gone hungry. Not once.
Picking up the book she looked at it again. He’d recently deposited twenty-five pounds – the money he’d stolen from their joint account. There was enough to buy a decent terraced house, let alone rent one. They needn’t have continued to live in a slum like Willow Court.
Why did he want so much money? What had he been planning to do with it? Run away and leave them penniless?
A well-worn notebook with hard covers gave her the answer – and a further surprise. It must have been written at work because she’d never seen it before. Maybe he hadn’t always been doing overtime for Mr Rayner, but working for himself in the peace of the cluttered workroom.
The book contained details of upholstery and furniture repair businesses for sale. Advertisements cut from the Rochdale Observer, the Manchester Guardian and the Manchester Evening News were pasted to its pages. There were lists of supplies needed to set up as an upholsterer, carefully costed, wages that would have to be paid to an apprentice or a qualified man. Then there were addresses of manufacturers of upholstery fabrics, webbing and other supplies, with comments on what they were like to deal with and the quality of their goods.
Cliff had been planning to open his own business, but he hadn’t said a word to her about it. Not – one – word.
She realised something else. That was why he’d waited to contact his family. He wanted to present himself to them as a success, not a failure.
For a moment sadness swept through her, sadness for the dreams that would never now come true for him.
But why hadn’t he let her help him? Why keep it such a close-guarded secret?
She didn’t need to think about the answer to that for more than a few seconds. Because he blamed her for his ‘fall’ as he’d called it sometimes. Yet it was he who had forced her and got her pregnant, he who had caused their ‘fall’. He’d never once admitted that, always set it at her door, saying she’d led him on.
She wrapped her arms round herself, feeling both angry and sad, then bent to her task again. What was she going to do with all this stuff? It seemed a shame to just throw the careful calculations away and—
‘Are you all right, Nell?’
She looked up to see Mr Garrett standing near the back door, watching her. Something told her he mustn’t see these papers till she’d decided what to do about them. ‘Yes, thank you. It’s a slow business and very upsetting, but it has to be done. I’m glad now that I’ve started it, though.’
His expression lightened a little. ‘Do you need any help? You have only to ask.’
‘No, thank you. I’ll … um … come to you if there’s anything I don’t understand. It’s just letters and stuff so far. And his bank book. He had some money saved. Will that come to me now, do you think?’
‘In the absence of a will, I’m fairly certain you’ll get the money.’
But there was a will, she thought as she watched the kindly minister walk inside. Mr Garrett wouldn’t have left his wife out of his will. Anyone could see how much he loved her and their children.
Once he’d gone into the house, she spread the will open and looked down at it again. Who’d have thought a piece of paper could hurt you so much?
She’d done it before she admitted to herself what she was going to do: stuffed the envelope
and paper into her bodice. There was no will now, as far as she was concerned. She’d earned the right to inherit his money by her hard work and thrift, by bearing his child. Just let anyone say different!
Underneath the notebook was another envelope, the last item in the box. She didn’t want to open it, wasn’t sure she could cope with another nasty surprise.
It took her two readings to work out that this was a life insurance policy, one covering both Cliff’s life and hers. And the sum payable to the survivor was … a thousand pounds!
She couldn’t breathe at the thought of that huge sum, had to press one hand against her chest to hold her fluttering heart still. Then she looked at the insurance policy again. Perhaps it had run out.
No, it was valid until October.
Did that mean she would get the insurance money?
It was a huge sum, but she would give every penny of it to have her daughter back; yes, even put up with him again if she could only hold Sarah in her arms, tickle her, kiss her.
‘I think you’ve done enough for now, dear,’ Mrs Garrett called across the garden. ‘You’re looking very pale and strained.’
Nell looked down. There were no more papers. ‘I’ve finished.’
‘Was it … did you find any bad news?’
‘Some would say it’s good news. Cliff took out an insurance policy on his life. I’m not sure, but I think it’ll bring me some money. I need to ask Mr Garrett about it. I don’t know how to deal with it.’
Nell folded up the papers and put them back into the shattered box. On second thoughts she put the papers she’d intended to burn back with the others, in case they were needed, then got to her feet.
Mrs Garrett was waiting for her in the kitchen. ‘I’m afraid my husband’s gone out, but he’ll be back in an hour or so. The children won’t be back for a while yet and I’ve let Mary go and see her mother for an hour. Could you just keep an eye on things down here while I have a little rest? You know what to say if anyone comes to the door.’
