A True Love of Mine

by Margaret Thornton

  Keep her warm and covered up at all times, had been William’s instructions. The constant sweating was nature’s way of bringing the temperature down. But Bella left her uncovered. Moreover, she went across to the window and drew back the curtains, then pushed up the central sash window until there was a gap of about a foot above the sill. The mist was thickening now; she could scarcely see across to the other side of the road. A chilly blast of air swept across the room and over the bed where Clara was lying. Bella stood for several seconds looking at her. The violent and dangerous thoughts which had lingered at the back of her mind for so long and had recently come to the forefront, now, in that moment, took complete control of her. She eased the sodden pillow away from Clara’s head, gently though, so as not to waken her, and stripped off the pillow case. There was a clean dry one lying over the back of a chair where William must have left it in readiness. Quickly she slipped it over the feather pillow.

  But she did not replace it beneath Clara’s head. She stood at the side of the bed, the pillow grasped firmly in her hands. She held it motionless about a foot or so away from the patient’s face. Her mind was a blank, empty of coherent thought, as she stood there – she did not know for how long – probably no more than twenty seconds… Then she heard a voice behind her.

  ‘What are you doing? Why is the window open? And why has me mam got no covers over her? Aunty Bella…what are you doing?’

  Chapter Seventeen

  Bella felt herself freeze… Yes, indeed; what was she doing? What on earth had possessed her? She turned round to see Maddy staring at her in horror.

  ‘Aunty Bella…’ she said again. ‘What are you doing?’

  Bella’s face felt stiff, as though the muscles would not respond, but she managed a sort of a smile. She hoped that the frenzy and the hatred she had been feeling only a few moments ago did not show in her eyes. But she feared that the feeling of guilt which was rapidly taking hold of her now would be all too obvious.

  ‘Oh…hello, Maddy,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t expecting you back so soon…’ She stopped, realising too late that that was a foolish thing to say. ‘I mean…has school finished early?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Maddy in a flat voice. ‘They said we could come home ’cause it was foggy and it’s going to get worse…Don’t you think you’d better cover me mam up? And why have you opened the window?’

  ‘To let some air in,’ said Bella, walking briskly to the window and closing it. ‘There we are…that’s enough, I think, but it was so very stuffy in here. A room where somebody is poorly has to be well ventilated, you see, or else the germs might spread even more.’ She went over to the bed and pulled the covers around Clara’s still sleeping form, tucking them in around her shoulders.

  ‘There we are,’ she said again. ‘She’ll feel rather more comfortable now.’ She rested her hand on Clara’s head, to give emphasis to her words. ‘Your poor mother was so hot and sweaty; that’s why I was letting her cool down a bit. See, her hair’s all damp. Could you pass me that towel, please, dear? Yes, it’s hanging on the end of the bed…and I’ll wipe her forehead.’

  Bella was still holding the pillow, which she very gently eased beneath Clara’s head. ‘I was just putting a nice dry pillowslip on when you came in,’ she said. She took the towel from Maddy and realised, to her dismay, that her hands were trembling. She grasped the towel more firmly, but her movements as she wiped the invalid’s face and forehead were soft and soothing. She was talking all the while, although it was a one-sided conversation.

  ‘All this sleeping will do your mam good. I expect by tomorrow she’ll be feeling much more like herself. I wonder if she will feel like eating something tonight. What do you think she might like, Maddy? Is there anything that we might tempt her with?’

  Maddy was still staring at Bella with a puzzled expression on her face. ‘I don’t know…’ she said. ‘Haven’t you already decided what we’re going to have? I thought you were seeing to the meals while me mam’s poorly.’

  ‘Yes…yes, of course I am. We’re having lamb’s liver and onions with mashed potatoes and carrots. And an egg custard afterwards.’

  ‘I don’t like liver,’ said Maddy in an expressionless tone. ‘I thought you knew that.’

  Normally Bella would have retorted that little girls should eat what they were given and not be so fussy, or words to that effect, but she found herself answering in a very different vein. ‘Oh dear, don’t you, Maddy? Well…perhaps you could have some bacon instead. I was thinking of cooking some bacon as well to make it more tasty.’

  To her relief Maddy seemed to relax a little. She shrugged. ‘I can eat it if I have to; liver, I mean. Mam always gives me just a tiny bit. She doesn’t like it much either, but we have it because she says it’s good for us.’

  Bella laughed. Even to her own ears the laughter sounded false and hollow. ‘Oh, deary me, yes! Grown-ups are always telling you what’s good for you, aren’t they?’ Maddy did not smile back. Clearly she was not ready yet to be all friends together. She was still eyeing Bella suspiciously.

  At that moment there was a slight movement from the bed and the sound of Clara’s voice. ‘What time is it? Oh dear, I’ve been asleep again, haven’t I? Is it night-time? It’s so dark in here…’

  Bella felt a great sigh of relief escape from her. ‘You’ve had a good long sleep,’ she said cheerfully, ‘and I’m sure you’ll feel much better for it.’

  ‘I’m thirsty,’ said Clara. ‘My mouth and throat…they’re so dry. And there’s a nasty taste in my mouth. But perhaps it’s the taste of the medicine. Do you think so?’

  ‘I expect so,’ replied Bella soothingly, although she knew it could be no such thing. ‘What about a nice drink of blackcurrant juice? And I’ll stir a spoonful of honey into it. That’s good for a sore throat.’

  ‘Where’s William?’ asked Clara, raising her head a little and looking round the room. ‘Oh…hello, Maddy love. I hadn’t seen you there. But it’s so dark. Oh dear, I’m in such a muddle I don’t know whether it’s night or day. Where’s William?’ she asked again.

  It was Maddy who answered. ‘He’s busy working with Grandad and Patrick. But I ’spect they’ll be finishing soon because it’s going dark already. It’s real foggy outside, Mam; that’s why we finished school early. It’s not four o’clock yet. You can’t see anything outside, the fog’s that thick.’

  Clara glanced towards the window. ‘So it is. Could you close the curtains, love, and shut it out? And, Bella, perhaps you could light the little lamp at the side of the bed, please? You’re ever so good, looking after me like this.’

  ‘Not at all; I’m only too pleased to help,’ said Bella as she applied a match to the gas mantle on the bedside lamp. ‘There, that’s more cosy. It’s certainly not a night for being out and about, is it?’ Even as she spoke they heard the sound of the foghorn booming out from the lighthouse at the end of the harbour pier. ‘Pity the poor sailors on a night like this. Maddy, would you like to come with me and we’ll see to your mother’s drink, then you can bring it back to her. I’d best be making a start with the meal soon. I dare say the menfolk’ll want it a bit earlier tonight.’

  Stop prattling, woman! she chided herself. She knew she must act normally and get on with the task that had been entrusted to her, that of looking after the household…and Clara. The enormity of what she had so very nearly done was coming home to her now. If she had not heard Maddy’s voice at that moment, if the girl had returned from school only a few minutes later…would she really have pressed the pillow down on to Clara’s face and smothered the life out of her? Surely she would not have gone through with it? It must have been a moment’s madness, a temporary derangement of her mind that had caused her to act in such a way. Was it also a temporary madness that had made her withhold Clara’s medicine and open the window to let the cold air blow over her uncovered body? Had she really intended to bring an end to the life of the woman who had befriended her for so long? But this was als
o the woman who had been married to the man that she, Bella, had loved for nearly all her life…

  Once again the wicked thoughts that had caused the unbalance in her mind were threatening to control her. But she was not going to let them rule her any longer. And the more she thought about it the more she convinced herself that she could not have gone through with her plan to kill Clara. Something would have stopped her. If it had not been Maddy’s appearance, then she would have come to her senses at the last moment.

  But what had Maddy seen? A pillow being held over her mother’s head; had she realised the significance of that? The open window and the drawn-back bedclothes…all of which Bella had tried to explain away. But was there a doubt lingering in the child’s mind, and if so, would she tell anyone? Her father, her brother, or might she even tell her mother that her friend had been trying to kill her? If she did, then surely they would dismiss it as nonsense and tell her she was imagining things. It was well known that she and Maddy had never really been the best of friends.

  She had to make sure, though, that she behaved in an exemplary manner now. She would do her damndest to make amends for her fleeting loss of sanity. She set to with determination, scrubbing the potatoes clean and then peeling them.

  The family were well satisfied with the meal of liver and bacon. Clara did not have any of it – Maddy had said that liver was not her mother’s favourite meal – but she managed to eat a small amount of egg custard.

  Tomorrow would be Saturday and Bella knew that William would be seeing to Clara’s needs himself throughout the weekend. So there would have been no opportunity anyway to inflict any further harm on the patient. That was what the more rational part of her mind was telling her. And with the resumption of the medicine and the loving care that surrounded her Clara would get well again. Bella convinced herself that this would be so, and that it was what she was now hoping and praying for. She turned cold with fright at the thought that she might well have been accused of…murder! But Clara was going to recover… By the next morning, however, Clara’s condition had worsened. She had had a restless night and William, still sleeping on the sofa in the upstairs lounge, had been back and forth all night attending to her needs. As soon as daylight dawned he sent again for the doctor.

  Dr Metcalfe looked grave as he examined the barely conscious patient. He shook his head. ‘It is as I feared might happen. She has developed pneumonia. There are some particularly virulent germs flying around at the moment, but I hoped with the constant care she has been getting that she might have avoided this complication.’

  ‘Do you mean…? She will recover though, won’t she?’ asked William. But the doctor did not give him the reassurance he was seeking.

  ‘All I can say is that the next twenty-four hours will be critical,’ he replied. ‘By that time the fever might have broken, or…’ he paused ominously, ‘there is the possibility that it…might not do so. I do want you to be prepared, Mr Moon, but in your job, of course, you do know something of these matters, don’t you?’

  William looked at him in desperation. ‘You mean…her chances are not good? But I thought she was getting better. She seemed to be, last night.’

  ‘And with constant care she might pull through,’ said the doctor. ‘The medicine every four hours, that is essential. I’ll call again tomorrow unless you need me sooner. Don’t hesitate to call me if you do.’ His face was grim as he went out of the door.

  ‘My darling Clara…’ William whispered, leaning over his wife and taking hold of her hand. ‘Please don’t leave me. I couldn’t live without you…’

  Bella, hovering outside the door, heard him speaking in a low voice to his wife. She could not catch his words, but she could tell from the doctor’s expression that the news was not good. She hurried away, not wanting to encounter William face to face, or Maddy either, who was curled up in an armchair with a book. Bella knew that she would be best employed in the shop that morning, until it was time for her to prepare the lunch. Keeping busy would help to occupy her mind and, hopefully, steer it away from the terrible frightening thoughts that were plaguing her.

  It was a gloomy sort of day both outside and inside the house. The fog of the previous day was still lingering and the members of the Moon family were dispirited. A pall of anxiety hung over the household. They half-heartedly ate the meals that Bella prepared for them, and when she had seen to their requirements she made herself scarce, returning to her own rooms above the shop. Whatever had she done? Would she ever be able to forgive herself?

  William kept a constant vigil by his wife’s bedside, sponging her flushed face and clammy limbs from time to time, as the doctor had directed, before covering her up warmly again. Her parched lips could only sip at the drinks he gave her and the medicine which, alas, seemed to be having little effect.

  In the early hours of Sunday morning William fancied that her breathing was easier. He had not tried to sleep, but had sat in the chair near the bed all night, attuned to every slight movement. As he took hold of her hand she opened her eyes.

  ‘William…’ she murmured. ‘You’re so good to me…’ Then her eyelids flickered and her lovely brown eyes closed again…for the last time.

  As he knelt there holding her hand her body gave a convulsive shudder and a harsh rasping sound came from her throat. As it stopped her head lolled sideways and her hand slipped away from his gentle grasp.

  ‘Oh no…my darling, don’t leave me!’ he cried. He laid his head against her breast, although he knew that her heartbeat was stilled, and that his own heart was breaking.

  William could not have said how long he stayed there, kneeling by the side of his wife’s body. Fifteen minutes, half an hour… The passage of time had no meaning for him now. In those first dreadful moments after the stark reality dawned on him that his beloved Clara was dead, he felt that life would never again have any meaning for him. Clara had been his love, his best friend, his very life.

  Eventually, when his sobs and weeping had subsided a little, he rose to his feet, looking down on his wife’s lovely face and her golden hair curling over her forehead and around her ears. He knew that there was one last service that he must perform for her. He would trust no one else with the task of laying out her body and preparing her for her last resting place.

  He stooped and kissed her forehead, then crept through the silent house and down the stairs, not wanting to awaken the rest of the family. It would be time enough in an hour or two, when he had completed this last act for Clara, for his father and his children to be told the devastating news.

  The workshop was a creepy frightening sort of place in the darkness of night and early morning; at least it might seem so to those unused to the trappings of death. But William, accustomed to the sight of partially made coffins standing on end and the piles of shrouds and coffin linings, scarcely noticed his surroundings. He collected the items he needed: a laying-out board and trestles on which to stand it, and a temporary shroud to cover his wife’s body before she was laid in her coffin. And that coffin would be the very best he had ever made.

  Back in the bedroom he lifted her body off the bed and on to the board. He filled a bowl with warm water then, tenderly and lovingly, he washed her face and body. It was fitting that, in death as he had been in life, he should be the one to share such intimacy with her. He covered her with her temporary shroud then crossed her arms over her breast. It was here, in her own bedroom, where she would lie until they finally laid her to rest.

  Her limbs were still flexible, but William knew that in a few hours’ time the stiffening of the body, the rigor mortis, would take place. His father, a long time ago, had told him of the belief that if the body did not stiffen in an hour or two, then it was a sign that someone else in the family would soon die. But William had long ago dismissed this as an old wives’ tale. There had been cases, of course, of broken-hearted spouses very quickly following their husbands or wives to their graves. They had dealt with such a few themselves, but William�
��s practical nature had, hitherto, made him scorn such fanciful ideas.

  How different it was, though, when the deceased person was his own wife. He laid his hand on her forehead; the coldness of death had still not taken hold of her. Her eyes were closed; that had been the first thing he had done, to close her warm brown eyes that he had seen so many times glowing with love for him. He would never be able to look into their loving depths again.

  He realised, though, as he gazed down on her, that this was not Clara at all. This was just an empty shell that until only a short while ago had held the vital warm-hearted spirit that was the real Clara. Now, that spirit had departed from her and – if what he had always tried to believe was true – she had gone on to a better place. His despair was so great at that moment that he wished he might soon join her there. Perhaps the old tale held some truth and her still-pliant limbs were a sign that she was waiting for him to be with her in the unknown realms beyond this earthly life.

  But his innate common sense prevailed. He had a son and daughter. They would be as distressed as he was at this dreadful turn of events. Only a few days ago his wife and their devoted mother had been alive and well, seeing to all their needs in her cheerful and unassuming way. She was – or had been, he reminded himself – the very linchpin of their life. And it was for Patrick and Madeleine that he had to go on living. And for his father’s sake, too. Isaac would be broken-hearted at the untimely death of his daughter-in-law who was as dear to him as any daughter might have been. Daylight was creeping through the chinks in the curtains, but they must remain closed as must all the other curtains at the front of the premises, as a mark of respect. William breathed a heart-rending sigh. It was time to go and break the news to the rest of the family.