by Anna Jacobs
‘Yes, of course.’ Nell knew Mrs Garrett was convinced that ten-minute rests were what kept her going. And she certainly looked refreshed whenever she managed to snatch even this small amount of time for herself.
Feeling guilty, but no less determined, Nell went to stand in the hall and listen, to make sure Mrs Garrett wasn’t coming down again. She heard the bedroom door open and shut, then the bedsprings creak.
Now was the time to do it.
Slipping across to the old-fashioned kitchen stove, she pulled out Cliff’s will, and without a moment’s hesitation, thrust it into the heart of the fire. She watched as it was quickly consumed, then used the poker to disperse the blackened flakes of burnt paper.
Whoever the witnesses were, there was nothing now to show that the will had ever existed. But even if the witnesses came forward, she would feign ignorance, say she’d never even seen a will, that it hadn’t been among his papers. Then it occurred to her that Cliff wouldn’t have shown them what the will said anyway. As she’d found out to her cost after they married, he was the most secretive person she’d ever met.
She stayed kneeling on the rug in front of the fire, feeling a chill that came not from the wind that was rising outside or the grey clouds starting to cover the blue sky, but from the way her husband had behaved to her.
Shamefully. Cruelly. He hadn’t cared for her at all, had only wanted to use her.
If she didn’t need to keep in touch with his family in case her sister Mattie contacted them, she’d never speak to any of the Greenhills again.
She was glad Frank had gone back to Swindon. She didn’t want him finding out about the insurance policy and she’d hated being with him. The way he’d looked at her, even though she was newly widowed, had shocked her to the core. It wasn’t just the hostility, it was … lust. She shivered at the thought of him even touching her.
When Mr Garrett returned, Nell showed him the papers she’d found.
‘Wasn’t there a will?’
‘There’s no sign of one.’ That was more or less the truth – now.
‘Do you understand about the insurance policy, my dear?’
‘I think so. Cliff’s death means they’ll have to pay me a thousand pounds.’
‘Yes. You’re very fortunate that he was so thoughtful.’
She didn’t comment on that, didn’t want to tell any more lies to this decent man. ‘I don’t know how to claim the money, though.’
‘We can check that with the insurance agent who sold it to him. See, his name and address are here.’
‘Oh, yes. If I do get the money, that means I can get a proper headstone made for Sarah. One with an angel on it, to watch over her.’
‘Will that comfort you, my dear?’
She stared at him, then shook her head slowly. ‘Nothing will really comfort me, but it seems right to mark where she lies. Um …’
‘Is there something else?’
‘There’ll be a lot of money left. What shall I do with it?’
‘You must put it in the bank, where it’ll be safe until you need it and where it will earn you interest. Have you any idea what you’re going to do with yourself once you’ve sorted out your daughter’s headstone?’
She shook her head. ‘Not really. I can’t seem to think clearly.’ She indicated the pile of papers. ‘Will you help me deal with these, please?’
‘I’d be happy to. And you’ll stay with us for the time being?’
‘Yes. I’m grateful for your help. Without you, I’d have been lost.’
‘And Nell … don’t you think it’s time you told your sister what’s happened?’
‘I suppose so.’ She wasn’t looking forward to that.
She wrote a letter to Renie that night, keeping it short. The first tear took her by surprise, and others followed before she could move her head away, so that the ink ran together and words were blotted out. If Renie saw that, she’d quit her job and come running. That mustn’t happen. She didn’t want her own tragedy to spoil her sister’s life.
Nell started again, taking more care with the second letter, ending by begging Renie not to come rushing up to see her.
I won’t be staying here, anyway.
Until she wrote those words, she hadn’t made up her mind about what to do. Now she knew she’d be moving on. She desperately wanted to get away from the pitying looks and hushed voices – and from the memories.
She received a long loving letter from Renie by return of post, and read it only once, because it hurt so sharply to dwell on what had happened.
She kept dreaming of Sarah, woke murmuring her child’s name, wept into the privacy of her pillows every night.
The Garretts gradually resumed a more normal life. The two children not yet at school spent their days playing with their mother and the young nursemaid.
Mrs Garrett seemed to understand that Nell didn’t want to look after the little ones, so let her help with the housework, which the daily maid, a grim-faced widow of about forty, was grateful for.
In between undertaking various spring-cleaning tasks, Nell went with Mr Garrett to see the bank manager, talked to the local Justice of the Peace, and dealt with the insurance company. She learnt to speak crisply and not let Mr Garrett speak for her, or else the men she had to deal with treated her like a slow-witted child.
She kept busy enough to go to bed every night tired, so she got some sleep, but she couldn’t get tired enough to ensure a full night’s sleep. She’d lost weight, knew she looked strained, but pride made her keep herself neat in the new clothes she’d had to buy to replace those lost in the explosion.
But wherever she went, she took care not to pass the end of Cassia Street, making long detours if necessary to avoid it. She didn’t want to see any sign of what had happened in Willow Court. Mr Garrett said the local council had ordered the rest of the buildings in the court to be pulled down, because they were unsafe. People weren’t allowed to build such courts nowadays. They were not only old-fashioned, but unhygienic.
She nodded when he told her, because he seemed to regard it as good news, but what did she care about the news? It was too late to save her daughter.
By the end of June, the insurance money had been paid and Nell had over thirteen hundred pounds in her own savings bank account. As soon as the angel tombstone had been erected over her daughter’s grave, she intended to leave the North and make a new life for herself.
But though she racked her brain, she still couldn’t think what exactly to do. All she knew was that she felt much better out in the open air and that she wanted to go back to Wiltshire eventually and look for her older sister Mattie.
News of the money spread quickly through the little town, people marvelling that a young woman should have so much. A few even congratulated her on her good fortune, but she told them it wasn’t good fortune to lose a child, and after that had happened a few times, no one else said anything.
Chapter Eight
Frank stared at the envelope his aunt had handed to him when he got home from work. His cousin’s bad luck had been his good fortune because he’d gone to live with them to help out. His aunt certainly knew how to make you comfortable – and how to do it without spending extravagantly.
‘Go on, lad! It’s from Lancashire. Open it,’ his uncle said.
He ripped off the side of the envelope to find a grubby piece of paper, with a badly spelt message printed on it.
Dear Mr Greenhill
Everyone’s talking about it. It seems your cousin had took out insurrence on his life and his wife got the lot. £1,000.
She’s still staying with the minnister.
I look foward to receeving payment for this information, as we agreed.
J. Styles
Frank glared at the piece of paper, unable to speak for anger. His hunch had been correct. He knew Cliff wouldn’t have left his family unprovided for. Greenhills always looked after their own.
Only she wasn’t their own.
He
passed the piece of paper to his uncle, who read it and cursed. His aunt snatched it out of her husband’s hand, read it and wailed aloud.
Then they both turned to him.
‘You’ll have to do something about it, Frank.’
‘What can I do?’
‘Go and see her. Tell her she owes us some of that money.’
‘Why should she pay us?’ Frank wouldn’t, if it was him. But he did like the idea of getting hold of some of that money. ‘I’ll have to think about it. I can’t keep taking time off work or I’ll get the sack.’
‘You’ll think of something. You always were a clever lad. She’s not going to get the better of us Greenhills.’
He couldn’t stop thinking about it. She was rich now. If he didn’t do something, another lucky fellow would get Cliff’s money.
It was a talk at the Women’s Afternoon Club at the chapel which gave Nell an idea about what to do next. She’d only gone to get away from Mrs Garrett’s kind fussing, not even knowing what this month’s talk was about.
It turned out to be about hiking, which was a popular summer activity with some people. It wasn’t one Nell had ever considered taking up, and even if she had, no one she knew could afford to get away and walk for days on end. Even though they had holidays from work, most people had families and children, which left little, if any, money to spare. No, as far as she was concerned, hiking was for richer people.
Lucky them!
Only … she was comfortably off now, some would say rich. She could do what she wanted. She began to listen more carefully.
The speakers were two vigorous-looking women from Manchester, a Mrs Petherby and a Miss Porter, who were neither young nor old. They produced slides of the places they’d been to see, showing the audience their special knapsacks and walking boots. They were full of suggestions about how even married women with children could occasionally escape into the countryside for a few hours to get some fresh air into their own and their families’ lungs. Which just showed how little they knew of ordinary people’s lives.
When the talk was over, Nell sat where she was for a moment or two, much struck by what they’d said. She wasn’t poor now, so she could do what she wanted.
If she dared.
She went across to the speakers and waited patiently till they’d been supplied with cups of tea. She listened with interest as they answered other people’s questions. There was no hurry. Time was something she had too much of.
When her turn came, she said, ‘I might like to do some hiking, but I’m not sure exactly what I’d need or how to set about it.’ After a moment’s hesitation, she added, ‘My husband was killed suddenly and I think time to myself in the open air might help me recover.’
The older of the two women, Mrs Petherby, at once took Nell aside. ‘Let’s talk about this more privately. Flora, love, keep folk away from us for a while.’
Her companion waved one hand and turned to deal with another lady who’d come up to ask something.
‘Have you the money to do this?’ Mrs Petherby asked bluntly.
‘Yes. My husband had an insurance policy.’
‘You look as if you need a restful time.’
Nell could only manage, ‘I do.’
‘Why don’t you come to us in Manchester and stay a night or two? We’ll take you shopping, help you set yourself up for hiking and show you how to plan a route.’
‘You’d do that?’
The speaker gave one of her jolly laughs. ‘I’m the founder member of our local Fresh Air Movement. I want to make the world a healthier place.’ Her voice grew softer. ‘And when life troubles me, I get out into the open air to work out what to do. It always helps. My husband died a few years ago, you see, after only a year of marriage, so I know how you feel. I still miss him. Thank goodness I had my sister Flora to turn to. Don’t you have any family, dear?’
‘None who could take me in.’ Nell didn’t tell her that she hadn’t missed Cliff in the slightest, that it was a relief to be rid of him. She hadn’t told anyone that, because she felt guilty, but she couldn’t change how she felt. ‘Are you sure it’d be all right?’
‘Of course I am. We women must help one another in this modern world, because the men won’t, will they?’
Nell had never thought of it that way. ‘Then I’d love to come. When would suit you?’
‘How about the day after tomorrow? That gives you time to prepare. Unless you have something else to do here still? Only it’s best to take advantage of the summer if you want to go on a long hike.’
‘I’ve attended to everything that was needed. I’m just … searching for something to do. All I know is, I don’t want to stay here and I feel better in the open air.’
‘That’s a good start.’ Mrs Petherby pulled out a business card and handed it to her. ‘We’ll see you the day after tomorrow, then. Come in the afternoon, it doesn’t matter exactly when you arrive. I’d better go and speak to other people now, or someone’s sure to take umbrage.’
She clapped Nell on the back and walked back to join her companion.
Nell looked down at the business card. She’d seen such things but no one had ever given her one before. It was usually men who dealt in business cards, not women. She looked across the room, envying the two smiling speakers their confidence and knowledge of the world.
And that last thought, more than anything, decided her to do it. If she went out into the world, she was bound to learn so much. Why, she’d only ever seen Swindon and this part of Lancashire. She knew little, even about her own country.
Anyway, what had she to lose?
By the time she got back to the Garretts’ house, it was teatime.
After all the clearing up and getting the children to bed, it was late enough for her to excuse herself and go to bed as well. She needed to think good and hard.
She didn’t mention what she was going to do – not yet. In the morning the sun was shining and Nell stood by the open dormer window, breathing in the fresh air, admiring the oasis of greenery the garden offered.
To her surprise, she’d had the best night’s sleep since … it had happened. And she felt even more certain of her decision. Going away would set her free. Strangers wouldn’t know what had happened to her, would just treat her normally. And oh, how she longed for some quiet time in the fresh air!
Her kind hosts stared at her in shock when she announced her plan after breakfast.
‘My dear, you can’t possibly go off on your own!’ Mrs Garrett said at once. ‘I know this is 1912 and young women have a lot more freedom than I ever had, but it’d be dangerous. Oh dear, I wish I’d never suggested you went to those talks.’
Mr Garrett was more thoughtful once the first shock was over. ‘If you had someone to go with you, it might be a good idea, but I really can’t allow you to go on your own.’
She didn’t say that she was twenty-three years old and he wasn’t her guardian. She didn’t want to get into an argument. Then the solution came to her.
‘I’ll still go over to stay with Mrs Petherby and her friend, though, to find out as much as I can,’ she said. ‘Even if nothing comes of it, going to visit them will be a change, won’t it? I’m sure that’ll be good for me.’
He nodded at once. ‘Good idea. Then you can come back and we’ll discuss it. If we can find a lady hikers’ club nearby, you can join it and get in some practice.’
‘Are there such clubs? I’ve never heard of anything like that.’
He hesitated, then said in an apologetic tone, ‘There are quite a few clubs of various sorts, but these are usually for women of … um … better means than you had before. Now that you have some money, and with my wife and myself to sponsor you, there are quite a few clubs you might join. I’m fairly sure there’s a lady hikers’ club in Rochdale – or was it Oldham? Anyway, if you’re going to visit Mrs Petherby, that’ll give me time to make enquiries.’
She went up to her room, deciding to wash a few garments by hand be
fore she went. The maid was happy to let her use the outer scullery and mangle, where a woman came once a week to do the family’s laundry. Although the day was quite cloudy, there was a brisk wind and the clothes dried quickly, so Nell heated the flat iron and soon had them dealt with.
To her relief, two ladies called on Mrs Garrett in the later afternoon to discuss a charitable matter, so she could go up to her room and pack, safe in the knowledge that no one would be likely to come in and find out what she was doing. They’d expect her to take an overnight case, but not all her clothes. Indeed, Mrs Garrett had told her where to find one in the attic and to borrow it.
She also took the opportunity to sew a pocket into her handbag for the new bank book, which had a frighteningly large amount of money in it.
That made her wonder if she was wise to take that bank book with her. Maybe she should move some of the money into another savings account and send this bank book to the Garretts for safe keeping, or to her sister? No, not Renie. The Garretts would be safer, since they weren’t likely to move away.
That reminded her that she had to tell Renie what she was doing, so she wrote a long letter about it. This time she didn’t cry all over it … well, not much. She’d been in luck. The monumental masons had already had a beautiful white marble angel ready, except for the wording. So it now stood keeping watch over Sarah.
With everything settled, Nell felt calm and emotionless, divorced from everything. She wasn’t sure whether that was good or not, but it was how she felt. Doing something was certainly easier than weeping all the time.
As the train pulled into Manchester’s Victoria Station early the following afternoon, Nell felt suddenly nervous, for all the calm certainty she’d experienced during the past two days about what she was planning. Now that she was on her own in a strange city, she became all too aware of how vulnerable she was.
