by Lyn Andrews
Maria was going straight to work after seeing Hans off so Sophie had taken the opportunity of giving the bedroom he’d used a thorough clean and had changed the bedding. Bella was moving back into her room that evening. After lunch Emily had arrived as it was her week for visiting Bella and the two children were playing quite happily upstairs in the playroom so Sophie took the opportunity to cut out two dresses that had been ordered. Hetty as usual was having a nap.
‘They got off all right?’ Sophie asked when Maria returned that evening and Sophie was preparing the meal.
‘Yes, they’ll be safely with Mam now.’ She sighed. ‘Oh, I miss him already, Sophie. I’ve got so used to being with him every day . . .’
‘Mam will take good care of him, Maria, and the time will pass quickly enough.’
‘I know but—’
‘Go up and get changed and tell Bella and Emily that tea is almost ready,’ Sophie instructed. She wanted to take her sister’s mind off Hans. ‘Would you tell Hetty too, please?’
Maria sighed again but nodded and left the room.
Sophie was pouring the boiling water from the kettle into the teapot when Maria ran into the kitchen.
‘Sophie! Sophie, come quickly! There’s something wrong with Hetty!’
Sophie’s eyes widened and she put the kettle down. ‘What is it? What’s wrong with her, Maria?’
‘I . . . I can’t wake her, Sophie, I think . . . I think she’s . . .’
‘Oh, my God!’ Sophie cried and rushed into the hall, followed by Maria, who was pale and shocked.
The old lady was still in bed. Her eyes were closed and the magazine she’d been leafing through had fallen to the floor. Sophie took her hand, feeling for a pulse.
‘Hetty! Hetty, are you ill? Hetty, can you hear me?’ she pleaded frantically. She could feel no pulse and as she looked closer she realised Hetty wasn’t breathing. A sob caught in her throat. Hetty was dead, she knew she was, and she’d died up here . . . alone.
‘Shall I go for the doctor, Sophie?’ Maria asked, a note of panic in her voice.
Sophie nodded, the tears welling up in her eyes. ‘Yes, but . . . but he won’t be able to help her. She . . . she’s dead, Maria. It must have been another stroke, but . . . but he’ll know.’
‘Oh, no! Oh, Sophie, she was fine this morning . . .’ Maria broke down and the two girls clung together. ‘She was so good to us, Sophie,’ Maria sobbed.
‘I know and she . . . she was all alone when she . . . went, Maria. Oh, I wish I’d been with her, I should have been with her.’ Sophie was trembling with shock and grief. She wished Arthur were here.
‘What will we do, Sophie?’ Maria asked tearfully.
Sophie realised she had to try to pull herself together. Bella and Emily were upstairs and Maria was looking to her for comfort. She wiped her eyes. ‘You go for Dr Franklin and I . . . I’ll go up to Bella. I’ll have to find the words to tell her that her dear, kind, lovely Aunty Hetty has gone to heaven.’
The next hours seemed very unreal to Sophie, they reminded her of the way she’d felt when she’d learned that Andrew had disappeared, but this time she didn’t have her mother to help her get through them. Dr Franklin had come and had confirmed that Hetty Foster had indeed had another stroke but assured both girls that she wouldn’t have suffered, which was a blessing. Upon learning that Arthur Chatsworth was away, he had signed the death certificate and had suggested that Sophie contact the undertakers, gently assuring her that they would take care of everything. He also suggested that she go through Hetty’s papers to see if she had left any instructions regarding which firm, if any, she had a preference for.
‘We’ll have to let Arthur know, Sophie. Will I send a telegram to Mam?’ Maria had asked and she had agreed. It wasn’t something that could be left until Arthur returned tomorrow. He had to know what awaited him.
Bella had been very upset and tearful but having Emily with her had helped, Sophie thought as she went through the papers in the drawer where Hetty had kept them. Oh, she hated doing this, she thought, but thankfully she had found a business card with the name, address and phone number of a firm of funeral directors. When Maria returned she would go to the local public telephone and call them. Her sister was going to call in to inform their aunt on her way back and she knew Lizzie would come as soon as she could and she’d be very grateful for her support. She felt so utterly confused, bereft and alone. If it hadn’t been for Hetty Foster she wouldn’t have been able to do so well with her business, she wouldn’t have been able to give Bella such a comfortable home. Hetty had loved the child and Bella had looked on the old lady as a grandmother for she hadn’t seen Sarah for a long time.
Maria returned with Lizzie, who then sent her niece out to phone the undertakers.
‘It was so sudden, Aunty Lizzie,’ Sophie confided as Lizzie made a pot of tea.
‘But she didn’t suffer, Sophie, and she was a good age, a very good age indeed,’ Lizzie reminded her.
Sophie nodded.
‘Things will be better in the morning, luv, once the undertakers have been and you’ve had some time to get over the shock and some sleep. I’ll take Emily home and then when Mr Chatsworth gets back tomorrow you can decide on the details of the funeral. I’m sure he’ll see to all the formalities such as going to register the death. I’ll come tomorrow afternoon to discuss everything with you.’ Lizzie paused. ‘Did she leave a will?’
Sophie looked at her blankly. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Was there anything with her papers?’
‘I didn’t look. I . . . I felt terrible going through them. They were all her . . . private things.’
Lizzie patted her hand. There would be time enough for all that when Arthur Chatsworth got back. At least he was the kind of man you could rely on.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
SOPHIE WAS VERY RELIEVED when after lunch the following day Arthur arrived back. He was very shocked and upset, he told her. He’d been unable to believe it at first, until Sarah had given him the telegram to read. He told Maria that Hans had told him to tell her that he was so very sorry he could not be with her and that he had great respect for Miss Foster.
‘Mr Coyne, the funeral director, suggested they should take her to their chapel of rest where we could go to pay our respects, but I . . . I couldn’t send her away. This was her home and she loved it,’ Sophie informed him.
He’d nodded his agreement. ‘You did the right thing, Sophie. She was happy here – with us. How is Bella taking it?’
‘She cried a lot last night but she’s much better now. I took her in to see Hetty, they’ve laid her out in her bedroom, and Bella said she just looks as if she’s asleep, which she does. That seemed to help Bella and she’s put the card she made for her eightieth birthday in the coffin beside her.’ Sophie wiped away a tear. ‘She said she could show it to Jesus in heaven. She doesn’t really understand that it’s only Hetty’s soul that will be heaven.’
Arthur swallowed hard, feeling the tears prick his own eyes. ‘You can leave all the formalities to me, Sophie. First thing in the morning I’ll go down to Brougham Terrace and register the death then I’ll call in to Coyne’s. We’ll have to decide today on the details. I’ll go along after Evensong to see the vicar, I presume she will want the service at her church and to be buried in the churchyard.’
Sophie nodded. ‘Aunty Lizzie said she’d call this afternoon, to discuss what she called the “funeral tea” and what flowers we’d want.’ She sighed heavily. ‘Oh, there is so much to think about and I’m still so shocked and confused.’
He patted her hand. ‘We all are, Sophie. We all owe her so much. At least she knew she was held in great affection and she derived so much pleasure from her last Christmas and the birthday party you organised for her. Her last days were happy ones. You must take comfort from that.’
It was a sentiment expressed by Lizzie too when she arrived later that afternoon with Martha Ryan, who had come to offer her condolences.
&nb
sp; ‘You couldn’t have done more, Sophie.’
‘It was little enough, Aunty Lizzie, after everything she did for us.’
‘Well now, have you sorted out the arrangements?’ Lizzie was businesslike.
‘It’s to be on Friday morning at ten. The service is to be at Christ Church and she’s to be buried in the churchyard,’ Sophie informed her aunt.
‘How many will there be coming back to the house afterwards?’ Lizzie enquired.
‘Just us and the ladies from the church.’
‘And Jim and myself and our Katie, Miss Foster gave her that lovely tablecloth, remember, when she got engaged.’
‘And Pat and I will come too and we’ll go halves with Lizzie for a wreath,’ Martha added, feeling it was little enough to support Sophie in her loss. If things had been different, Frank would have been here to do it, she thought sadly.
‘That’s very good of you, Mrs Ryan,’ Sophie replied, thinking of Frank and wanting to ask about him but knowing this was neither the time nor the place.
Martha patted her hand. ‘For heaven’s sake, Sophie, call me Martha.’
‘So, there will be twelve of us, including Bella, or are you going to send her to school?’ Lizzie asked.
Sophie shook her head. Bella would be upset but she would never forgive her if she didn’t let her say goodbye properly to her Aunty Hetty.
‘We’ll just have to see what we can get, Martha, in the way of fillings for sandwiches,’ Lizzie said gloomily, wondering if they would ever be able to purchase things without the blasted ration books or would they go to their graves with the flaming things. Hetty Foster hadn’t lived long enough to see the end of rationing. ‘But don’t worry, Sophie, we’ll manage.’
Martha raised her eyes to the ceiling, wondering if Lizzie would ever give up saying that. She doubted it.
‘Did Mr Chatsworth have a look through her papers for anything “official”, like?’ Lizzie asked. Jim had said that Hetty Foster’s ‘estate’, as these things were called officially, might have to go through probate as she had no next of kin, although he wasn’t too clear on what exactly probate was. But he’d expressed some concern about Sophie being able to continue to live in this house; after all, she wasn’t related to the old lady.
Sophie nodded, fully aware of what her aunt meant. ‘He did and she has left a will, which he is going to take to Hetty’s solicitor tomorrow. Then after the funeral is over, he will go with me for it to be read. He said he’s . . . he’s certain that she has left me . . . something. Not that I want anything, not that I expected anything. She gave me . . . us . . . so much.’
‘Of course she did, luv, but you have to go through these legal . . . things,’ Lizzie assured her. She sincerely hoped that Hetty Foster had indeed remembered Sophie in her will, otherwise she would have no alternative but to have her niece and her little family move back into Harebell Street and how they would manage with all Sophie’s work stuff she didn’t know.
Friday morning was overcast and dull and Sophie hoped it would not rain. She wore her black and white checked dress with a black jacket over it and a small black hat. Maria had a navy jacket over her dress and a navy hat and Bella wore her blue velvet dress, it being the only one of a suitably dark colour. Arthur wore his good dark grey Crombie overcoat although it really was too warm, and his dark suit and a black tie, which made his white shirt look brighter. His black bowler hat had been brushed and his boots were highly polished. They were all going in one car; Lizzie, Jim, Katie, Pat and Martha were going in the other. Even though she had no real family at least she was going to have a decent send-off, Sophie thought sadly as she went downstairs – stairs Hetty Foster would never descend again.
In the church there were many friends and acquaintances of Hetty’s. In his sermon the vicar praised Hetty’s virtues and said she would be sadly missed by both himself and his congregation.
Thankfully when they stood in the churchyard the sun at last broke through the clouds and Sophie felt it was a good omen, a sign that Hetty was happy and at peace. Bella had shed a few tears in church and was now clinging tightly to her hand but at least she wasn’t sobbing heart-brokenly. Lizzie had remarked that in her experience children were remarkably resilient. That had surprised Sophie who hadn’t heard her aunt utter anything so profound in all the time she’d known her, but she’d thought that possibly Lizzie was right.
The funeral tea had been a quiet affair with just Hetty’s friends and themselves and before she took her leave Martha had informed her that Frank would be home in two weeks but that she would do everything in her power to prevent him from annoying Sophie.
‘He doesn’t annoy me, Martha, far from it,’ Sophie answered sadly.
‘Oh, you know what I mean, Sophie, but this is a difficult enough time for you as it is without our Frank making it harder. I wish . . . things were different, Sophie, believe me I really do,’ Martha added, seeing the tears on Sophie’s lashes and knowing they were not entirely for Hetty Foster.
‘So do I, Martha, but . . .’
Martha squeezed her hand. ‘Don’t give up hope, luv.’
Sophie managed a smile. ‘I won’t, but it’s not easy.’
Martha’s expression changed. ‘You never know, luv. That one might get run over by a bus one of these days although I doubt it. Her kind seems to survive and flourish – like weeds!’
Maria, who had been listening, frowned, thinking that Martha Ryan wasn’t being particularly tactful and judging by the look on her Aunty Lizzie’s face, she didn’t think so either.
The following Monday morning Arthur accompanied Sophie to the offices of Grey, Corbett and Entwhistle in India Buildings. It was a very apt name for him, Sophie thought as Mr Grey ushered them into his office. His hair was grey, as was his suit, and his office also seemed to be decorated and furnished in similar shades.
‘Mrs Teare, Mr Chatsworth, please do sit down,’ he instructed formally, sorting through the papers on his desk and extracting the one he had been looking for. ‘Ah, yes. “The Last Will and Testament of Miss Henrietta Sybil Foster”, which she made on the sixteenth of August last year. Duly signed and witnessed, everything is in order.’ He cleared his throat and began to read the contents aloud.
Sophie sat in stunned silence as she learned that Hetty had left Arthur a sum of five hundred pounds. That she had also left both Maria and Bella bequests of five hundred pounds each and that the rest of her estate, which comprised the house in Laurel Road, its contents and a sum of £1,250, was to go to herself. She hadn’t expected anything like this. Maybe a piece of jewellery or a trinket as a keepsake but . . . over a thousand pounds! ‘You are sure, Mr Grey?’ she finally managed to stammer when he’d finished reading.
‘Absolutely positive, Mrs Teare. It’s all here in black and white and perfectly legal. I will have all the necessary paperwork drawn up concerning the transfer of the deeds of the house. You will all be able to draw upon the funds as you see fit, except the child of course. You, Mrs Teare, will be in charge of her legacy until she comes of age.’
Arthur, himself taken aback that she had left him such a generous amount, stood up. ‘Thank you for your time, Mr Grey.’ He extended his hand and the solicitor shook it.
‘Good day to you, Mr Chatsworth, Mrs Teare . . .’
When they were outside the building Sophie burst into tears.
‘Whatever is wrong, Sophie?’ Arthur asked, full of concern.
‘Oh, Arthur! I never expected her to leave everything to me. It’s . . . it’s just too much! Oh, bless you, Hetty! Bless you!’
He smiled, handing her his handkerchief. ‘I knew she had, Sophie. She told me but swore me to secrecy. She said you had turned that house into a happy home for us all and she wanted you to have it. I honestly didn’t think she had left me anything and I didn’t want her to. She welcomed me into her home and I was content with that.’
Sophie nodded, feeling a bit calmer and suddenly realising that she was now quite well off. Her
future was secure, she could provide a much easier life for her mother, and there was a nest egg for Bella too. And Maria. Maria now had five hundred pounds, which would ensure that she could marry Hans and not have to live in virtual poverty. ‘Oh, Arthur, we are all so very, very lucky. This means that Maria can marry Hans; that Mam won’t have to work any more and will be comfortable in her old age. That Bella’s future is secure and that I . . .’
He smiled at her. ‘That you are now quite a well-off young woman, Sophie.’
She took his arm as they walked toward the tram stop, still unable to take it all in. Oh, she had so much now and she had dear, kind, thoughtful, generous Hetty to thank for it all. If she could have had Frank at her side then her happiness would be complete, she thought, but then told herself that she was wishing for the moon and it was ungrateful to want more. There was nothing anyone – not even Hetty – could do to resolve that situation.
Maria could hardly believe it when she arrived home that evening. ‘Five hundred pounds! She’s left me that much!’ she cried when Sophie told her the news.
‘She’s been so very generous to us all, I’m still finding it difficult to realise that now this house belongs to me,’ Sophie added.
Maria’s hands were pressed against her cheeks. ‘Oh, Sophie! I can go home now . . . home to Hans. We can get married; money won’t be a problem.’
Sophie smiled at her but Arthur looked a little more serious.
‘It won’t last for ever, Maria. You should think about how best to use it,’ he advised.
Maria sat down opposite him, more thoughtful herself. She and Hans did have a future but he was right and she trusted his judgement. ‘Should I put most of it in a bank account or some kind of savings scheme? We won’t need a great deal for the wedding and we’ll rent somewhere to live, nothing grand.’
He considered this. ‘You could, it would gain interest in time but would it not be better to put some of it into a . . . venture that would provide you both with an income to live on?’
