Looking at the young woman before me, I could hardly believe she’d be an appropriate candidate. She didn’t look like she’d have the strength, or the experience. She couldn’t have, at her age. There were obvious benefits to that, too. She’d be more trusting, more malleable, for one; unjaded by other roles and employers.
“I...Iamlooking for someone very particular. It’s more than your average funeral director’s apprenticeship. It would involve actually living here, working odd hours, immersing yourself in the role as if you were part of the fabric of the house. That’s...that’s what I’m looking for,” I said. “Absolute dedication.”
“I can be that person, Mr Crowthorne,” she said, in that old-world voice of hers.
Her surprising directness sent a thrill to the pit of my belly. I shifted in my seat, hoping to disguise my increasing admiration. It was wrong, to look at this young woman that way. She had to be twenty years younger than me. Twenty years too young.
But something about her vulnerable appearance, juxtaposed against that maturity in her voice, wasirresistible to me. She was vulnerable, yet capable, and eager to prove her worth. A dark part of me wanted to exploit that, knowing that our power imbalance alone could be conducive to the dedication I was looking for. She’d be loyal. Grateful. Like Margaret, she might spend her whole life in Crowthorne House, serving this great entity that had provided funereal services since 1891.
But I was better than that. I had to be better than that.
“What experience could you have, at your age, to suit a funeral home?” I asked, clearing my throat. “With all due respect, you look...well. You can’t be more than nineteen, albeit you speak as though you’re twice that.”
“I’m twenty-one,” she said. “I’m very experienced with death – all aspects of death. I deal with the animals as they expire, which they do en-mass, sometimes, when the snow comes hard and they roam from their paddocks. I’ve dug out their bodies with my hands and a shovel before now, and I’ve burned them in makeshift graves. I’ve no fear of death.”
I was impressed, and looked at her small hands and slender arms and wondered how on earth she could manage a farm – even a small one – herself.
“You didn’t have any help at all?”
She hesitated, as if I’d asked something uncomfortable. Her eyes dipped to her hands, playing with her fingers. “There’s a lad who helped me recently, toward the end of my mother’s life. He’s taking care of the animals now.”
“I see.”
I wondered what had gone on with him, this lad she spoke about, which made her blush furiously andlook even more uncomfortable than she had out on the pavement.
“My father died at home of a heart attack eighteen months ago. I took care of my mother until she passed, and I was with her then, too. As I say, I am experienced, sir. I’ve no fear of death,” she said.
“I’m sorry to hear of your loss,” I replied.
She nodded solemnly. We shared a silence. When I spoke again, I was determined to break through that stoic shield of hers.
“You’d better tell me, then, why you came here in the middle of the night, laden down with bags. I want the truth, no embellishments.”
She stiffened, considering the question, still toying with her hands in her lap. When she looked up, her eyes were glistening with tears.
“I couldn’t stand being there any longer,” she said fearfully, her mouth pressing into a small, grim line. “I saw the opportunity for a fresh start, away from the Dale, away from the house, and I...I want to take it.”
She seemed so otherworldly in every aspect that I almost didn’t believe I’d woken up, and thought that I must be still asleep, still dreaming.
“I could even give you personal assistance,” she said, her voice barely rising above a croak. “As well as the apprenticeship. I’m experienced in that, as well.”
“In what way exactly?” I asked, alarmed at what she might be getting at.
“I noticed your gait as we walked in, sir. I can see it now. Your back gives you grief,” she said, with a new confidence. “My mother would get terrible muscle crampsthat would keep her awake with the agony. I know how to massage out the knots, how to press and manipulate the muscles to soothe them, how to stretch and bend to –”
“That’s enough,” I said, my face flooding with heat from the embarrassment. “I need an apprentice, yes, not a physiotherapist.”
“But I can be that,” she said, her eyes meeting mine. She was so desperate, I could tell that, but she was also...so earnest. So true.
Like somebody who could be trustworthy, and loyal to me.
“Please, Mr Crowthorne. Let me help you in every way that I possibly can,” she said.
I wiped a hand over my face to disguise my shock. How could it be that the universe had dropped this peculiar creature on my doorstep? One who wanted to solve all my problems, just like that?
“You look exhausted,” I said finally, after tearing my eyes from her to stare for a few moments into the fire. “I can show you to the guest room, and we can discuss a trial run in the morning.”
“Oh!” she gushed, clasping her hands together. “Thank youso much, sir.”
