The Fleethaven Trilogy (110 page)

The girl heard her grandfather gasp. ‘Esther, how can
you say such a thing?’ He was staring at his wife, a strange
expression on his face; a mixture of anger, disgust and,
yes, pity too. ‘How
can
you?’ His voice dropped to a
hoarse whisper.

Esther stood up with a swift, angry movement. ‘Oh, I
can. I can,’ she almost screamed at him and then suddenly,
the floodgates of her tears broke open and she gave a howl
of such misery that no one present was left in doubt any
longer as to the depth of her suffering at the death of her
daughter. Anger, resentment, bitterness, all the tumult of
emotions were there, yet deep down Esther was heartbroken.
She raised her arms to Beth who took her into her
warm embrace. ‘How – could she – do it to me? To me?’
she wept against the other woman’s shoulder.

Beth made no reply now, but rocked her like a child,
only murmuring, ‘There, there, lass. Let it come. Let it all
come out.’

As release came to her grandmother, Ella too broke
down and turned blindly to her grandfather, who picked
her up in his strong, comforting arms and carried her outside
towards the warm dryness of the loft above the barn.

‘We’ll leave them alone for a while, Ella love. You and
me, we’ll go up here and we can have a little talk.’

They didn’t say much for some time until Ella’s sobs had
subsided. He set her down in the warm, prickly hay and
lowered himself to sit beside her, wrapping his arms around
her to still the shivering that came more from her distress
than from the cold. She snuggled into his chest and he
stroked her hair, saying nothing until at last she raised her
head and asked, ‘What did she mean about her own mother?’

‘Oh, Ella,’ he sighed. ‘It’s a long, long story. Things that
happened so many years ago now, yet your grannie can’t
forget, nor, I’m afraid, quite forgive.’

‘To do with my mum, you mean?’

‘Well, partly, love, yes,’ he said gently.

She hiccuped and sniffed, brushing the back of her hand
across her swollen eyes. Her grandfather fished into his
pocket and pulled out a clean handkerchief and she blew
her nose hard.

‘What?’ she asked again.

He sighed. ‘I can’t tell you it all, love, not now. It’s
really something your grannie ought to tell you about
when you’re older.’

Ella stared at him through the gloom of the hayloft.
‘That’s what Mum . . .’ Her voice trembled afresh at the
mention of her beloved mother who was lost to her for
ever now. ‘That’s what Mum always said when I asked
questions. “I’ll tell you when you’re older,” she always
said. But—’ The tears spouted again. ‘She won’t be here
now to tell me, will she?’ Ella laid her head against his
shoulder and wept again.

At the funeral neither Ella nor her grandmother cried; they
refused to do so. They set their faces against a show of
emotion, each with her jaw clamped firmly shut against
the lump burning in her throat.

They did not take Kate to Suddaby. She was buried in
the churchyard in Lynthorpe.

Ella travelled in the leading funeral car, sitting between
her grandparents, feeling overawed and lost amidst all the
black clothes and sad-faced people. She wished she could
have been allowed to travel in the third car bringing Peggy
Godfrey and Mavis and Isobel, her mother’s friends from
her days in the WAAF just before Ella herself had been
born. All three were Ella’s godmothers; she and her mother
lived with Aunty Peggy, and Mavis and Isobel had visited
often. Aunty Mavis was married with three children of her
own, all several years younger than Ella, but Aunty Isobel
had made a career in the service and was now quite a high-ranking
officer. She was in her smart blue uniform today.

Ella would even have preferred riding in the second car,
carrying the Eland family, to sitting in silence between a
stiff-faced Esther and Jonathan whose own grief seemed
today overwhelming, though he held Ella’s hand, clutching
it tightly. She sensed that today he needed her comfort
more than she had need of his.

As the slow procession drew to a halt outside the church
gate, Ella glanced up at her grandmother who returned her
gaze. Today, of all days, Ella thought, I must be a good
girl and not annoy Gran, if only for Mum. For a moment
they stared at each other and then Esther, almost as if able
to read Ella’s thoughts, gave a slight nod, for once approving
of the way the young girl was conducting herself.

The service was taken by a vicar who had known Kate
well in her childhood and therefore the address he gave
was personal and full of loving memories of the woman
they had all lost. His words brought comfort, but the worst
moment of all was when they stood in the draughty,
windswept churchyard and watched the coffin being lowered
into the ground. The vision of the old man lying in
his coffin danced before Ella’s eyes and merged to become
her lovely mum, lying in the deep darkness of the ground,
her eyes closed, her face alabaster white, her hands neatly
folded; so still and silent for ever. The girl shuddered and
a soft moan escaped her lips. It was the final parting, the
last goodbye, and Ella found herself clutching not only her
grandpa’s hand, but in that terrible moment she reached
out and grasped her grandmother’s too.

She heard a sob and glanced up to look at her grandmother.
But Esther was dry-eyed, staring down at the
coffin.

Beyond her the Eland family stood huddled together
and, with a shock, Ella saw that it was her uncle Danny,
supported by Rosie and his mother, who was sobbing as if
his heart would break.

Ella had never, ever, in her life seen a man cry and the
sight of Danny Eland crying openly and unashamedly at
her mother’s graveside was to be engraved in her memory
for ever.

Back at Rookery Farm it was a little easier. There seemed
to be a sense of relief that the time they had all dreaded –
the funeral – was at least over. But now there was the
future to face without Kate and that wasn’t going to be
much easier.

‘We should be at home,’ Esther said, as she allowed
herself to be ushered into the front parlour at Rookery
Farm by Beth, her reluctance obvious for everyone to
see.

‘Now, Esther, I know it goes against the grain for you
to accept help . . .’

Esther shot her a look, but Beth only smiled. ‘But you
can hardly put on a spread at your place with the house in
the state the flood’s left you.’ She shook her head. ‘At least
we’ve been spared that. This is little enough we can do to
help. Besides,’ Beth’s voice dropped low, ‘we need to do
something, Esther. We’re grieving for her too, y’know.
Why Danny, he’s beside hissen. I dun’t think he’ll ever get
over it – not properly.’

Ella saw a long look pass between the two elderly
women. Then Esther nodded and whispered, ‘I know,
Beth, I know.’

Suddenly she seemed to become aware of Ella listening
to every word being spoken and she said, quite sharply,
‘Go and ask if you can help yar aunty Rosie, Missy.’

And as if to take some of the edge from her grandmother’s voice, Beth Eland smiled at Ella and added, ‘She’d
be glad of your help, lovey.’

In the huge farmhouse kitchen, Peggy Godfrey, Mavis
and Isobel were already supposedly ‘helping’ Rosie, though
only Peggy was buttering rounds of bread to make sandwiches.
Isobel stood near the sink lighting a cigarette with
fingers that trembled and Mavis was leaning against the
dresser, her arms folded around herself, at least as far
round as her arms would reach. Mavis was large and
comfortable and jolly; except that today, she was not jolly.

As Ella entered, she felt their gaze all come to rest on
her and, in turn, she returned their stares. Peggy dropped
the knife she was holding and came round the table to
gather Ella into her arms. Ella hugged her in return,
comforted by the waft of the flowery perfume Peggy always
wore. It reminded her sharply of her home, for it was the
scent that lingered on the landing outside Peggy’s bedroom
door. As always, Peggy was smartly dressed, though black
did not really suit her pale, rather thin, face. And her
make-up, usually so carefully applied, was a little blotchy.
Peggy straightened up, and, resting her hands lightly on
the girl’s shoulders, looked down into Ella’s upturned face.

‘You all right, Ella?’ she asked softly.

Peggy’s kindness threatened to overwhelm her but Ella
nodded and asked, ‘Am I going back with you, Aunty
Peggy? Am I going home?’

There was a silence in the kitchen, only the ticking of
the clock on the mantelpiece and the hiss of the kettle on
the hob broke the silence.

‘I – I don’t know, love. We’ll talk about it later.’ She
turned back to her buttering.

‘Hello, pet.’ Rosie smiled brightly as she emerged from
the pantry carrying out cups, saucers and plates, fruit cake
and pastries.

‘Gran said I was to come and help,’ Ella said.

‘Well, you can carry things through to the parlour, if
you like. Start with these plates and then come back for
the other things. I’ll put everything I want you to take
through here, look, on the corner of the kitchen table.’

‘Aunty Peg.’ Ella moved closer to the table and took
hold of the plates.

‘Mmm?’ The knife flashed across the rounds of bread,
smearing a film of butter across each one.

‘Who was the man standing under the trees in the
churchyard?’

The knife was still, suspended in mid-air. Peggy looked
up and stared at her, but the question came from Isobel:
‘What man, Ella?’

Ella glanced round the three faces now watching her,
though Rosie, still bustling between kitchen and pantry,
was ignoring the conversation.

‘While we were at the – the grave, there was a tall man
standing under the trees near the fence. He was still there
when we came away. I think . . .’ Ella hesitated. She had
first noticed the man when she had looked away from
Uncle Danny, whose tears had disconcerted her; embarrassed,
she had turned her gaze away but not back to the
coffin now lying at the bottom of the deep pit – she hadn’t
wanted to look at that either. And so her gaze had
wandered and gone beyond the black-clad figures surrounding
the grave, only to see the motionless figure of the
tall man standing beneath the dripping trees watching
them, his head bowed as if he too were taking part in the
ceremony but did not like to approach too close.

‘Go on,’ Peggy urged.

‘I think after we left he – he walked over to – to the
grave. When we were walking down the path, I looked
back again.’ She lowered her gaze, not wanting to admit
that she had not wanted to leave her mother lying in the
half-frozen earth.

‘What did he look like?’ Mavis put in.

Ella screwed up her face, trying to recapture the picture
in her mind. ‘He’d got a long black coat on and he’d got
curly fair hair, I think, but he was in the shadows under
the trees. I couldn’t see him ever so well. He just stood
there with his hands in his pockets. He never moved, not
till we’d gone, but he was watching us all the time.’

‘One of the undertaker’s men, I expect, just standing
ready but keeping a respectful distance,’ Peggy suggested,
resuming her sandwich-making.

Ella saw Isobel and Mavis exchange a look.

‘You don’t think . . .’ Isobel began but Mavis put her
forefinger warningly to her lips and glanced meaningfully
at Ella.

‘Take those plates through for Rosie, Ella love,’ Peggy
said. Although Ella picked up the plates and left the
kitchen, once in the passage leading to the front room, she
paused and stood listening.

‘You don’t think,’ Isobel was saying again, ‘it was
him
?’

‘How could it have been? How would he know about
Kate’s death?’ Mavis answered.

‘Well, Danny said that she’d gone off that afternoon to
meet someone. She wouldn’t say who. It was all very
mysterious. Perhaps . . .’

At that moment Ella heard Rosie’s footsteps tapping
across the tiled floor of the kitchen towards the door. ‘I’ll
just take these through,’ Ella heard her say and the girl was
obliged to move quickly into the front room before Rosie
caught her eavesdropping. She scuttled into the parlour
and dumped the plates on to the table and turned to hurry
back to hear more.

‘Careful with those plates, Missy. Don’t go breaking
Rosie’s best china.’

‘No, Gran,’ she called back as she rushed to the kitchen,
arriving in time to hear Isobel say, ‘He was the only one
she was really close to at that time. You know he was.’

Again Rosie was coming up behind her and as Ella
stepped into the kitchen both Isobel and Mavis fell silent.
Ella picked up two saucers, the two cups balancing on the
top and turned away again. Once out of the kitchen, she
hovered again near the door.

‘Maybe we ought to try and find him anyway, for the
kid’s sake?’ Isobel was saying.

‘Do you really think so?’ Mavis’s tone was doubtful.
‘He – he never knew about her, did he?’

‘Mmm.’ Isobel drew deeply on her cigarette. ‘You have
a point there, Mave.’ There was a pause and then Isobel
added, ‘Poor little scrap. What’ll happen to her now?’

In the passage, Ella stood perfectly still, holding her
breath, waiting for the answer.

‘I suppose she’ll stay here with Kate’s mother, won’t
she?’

Ella gasped and did not realize the cups and saucers had
slid from her grasp until the crash at her feet and a jagged
piece of porcelain hitting her leg made her jump and cry
out. From all directions, grown-ups came hurrying.

‘Oh, lovey, have you hurt yourself?’

‘Whatever are you doing, child? I told you to be careful.’
This from her grandmother.

Tears blinded her. She wouldn’t live in Brumbys’ Farm
where the wind battered at the house and the sea invaded
it. She wouldn’t stay here with this horrible woman who
did not, and never would, love her.