Grace was grateful for their support and told them so.
‘Are you nervous about facing the people here again?’ asked Ann.
Grace drew her shoulders back. ‘No. Not any more. Not with my family beside me.’
The walk to the village was soon filled with banter and laughter born from a strong family bond. Their arrival at the granite church went largely unnoticed as most of the congregation was already inside. Aunt Molly, Uncle David and her pregnant sister, Mary, were waiting for them by the open oak door. After welcoming her with a hug, Daniel indicated, with a nod of his head, for Molly and David to lead the way into the church. They did so, with the Kellow family following close behind them.
The church was much cooler inside, its large stone walls absorbing any heat of the day. Heads lifted and turned in their direction. As Grace and her family walked up the central aisle they were accompanied by a ripple of whispers. They took their seats, but the whispers continued. Grace felt their eyes upon her but resisted looking back, however she could not avoid hearing what they were saying and her heart began to race. Shortly after she had come home, she had returned to work at Kellow Dairy. Her father’s employees had accepted her far easier than she had expected, but sitting here, amongst those who did not depend on her family for employment, was a different matter. As if he had heard her worried thoughts, her father patted her hand to offer comfort. And his simple gesture of reassurance did, filling her with the strength to distance herself from their gossip. She had expected to feel humiliated, but surrounded by the love of her family gave her strength. The whispers finally died away as the vicar walked in.
Reverend William Smith had been part of the village for as long as she could remember. He had cultured a fine reputation for empathy, sound advice and common sense. Rumour hadit he liked a tipple now and then, and was once escorted home a little worse for wear from the village’s only remaining public house. However this weakness only endeared him into the community and where he led, others followed. He made a point of smiling at Grace and her mother. Grace was grateful as, without uttering a word, he had given his approval to her presence and shown that it did not matter how she came into the world. She was accepted by him and, in turn, should be accepted by the village.
Grace heard another whisper behind her. It was fevered and hurried and Grace had to concentrate to catch every word. She began to smile. She had been afraid of how others may see her, but in truth their opinion did not matter at all. Gossip was fickle and would always burn itself out in the end. Already it had passed from her appearance today, to the colour of her green hat. It seemed that it was much admired and the woman wondered where she had bought it.
* * *
The service passed quickly and it was not long before they were stepping outside into the bright daylight. The breeze had grown stronger in their absence, so although they did stay for some minutes to talk, few lingered as long as they would if the weather had remained fine. As they were leaving, the vicar approached, his ministerial robes blowing widely in the wind.
He addressed her father. ‘Daniel . . . this is a special day. I can’t recall the last time I saw you inside my church. Will you be coming again next Sunday?’
Her father took his teasing in good humour. He shook the vicar’s hand. ‘You know me well enough to know the answer to that.’
The vicar laughed and turned to Grace. ‘It is good to see you again, my dear. I heard you had taken up a position as acompanion to Miss Danning. I assume it is due to the tragedy you have returned to Trehale.’
Her father answered before the words sunk in. ‘Tragedy? We know of no tragedy.’
The vicar grew concerned. ‘I’m sorry.’ His eyes darted from one to another. ‘I thought you must already know about Miss Danning’s accident. It was in the newspaper.’
‘What accident?’ asked Grace as she felt her father’s hand beneath her elbow to tell her that he was near should she need him.
The vicar showed them the door of the church. ‘Perhaps we should step back inside for a moment.’
Her father agreed, but Grace resisted. ‘I have a feeling that the stone walls won’t soften the news. Please, tell me now.’
The vicar looked to her mother for guidance. ‘Please, Reverend Smith. My daughter would like to know.’
The vicar relented. ‘The horse pulling their trap bolted off a cliff. The bodies were found later that day. I’m so sorry to be the bearer of such news.’
Grace tried to reply but found she could not speak. Words in response to such shocking news seemed inadequate somehow. Even the act of breathing seemed impossible. It was as if by doing so would make her worst fear come true. He had spoken of bodies. Not Talek. Please not Talek. Instinctively, her brother and sister drew nearer as if protecting her from those around them.
She heard her mother’s reassuring voice, yet strangely it seemed so far away. ‘We are glad it was you who told us, vicar. You spoke of bodies? Who was the other occupant?’
‘Mr Henry Ward. I believe he was in business with her brother. I understand Miss Danning’s funeral will be held tomorrow.’
Grace finally gasped for breath, but it was too late. Her knees buckled, the church tilted and the vibrant green grass of the graveyard dimmed to charcoal black and blocked out the sun.
* * *
Clay miners and their families lined the road to the nearby cemetery. Miss Amelia Danning, who had become reclusive since her accident, had begun to slowly re-emerge. She had been spotted out on several occasions: a carriage ride or two escorted by her brother and her new companion; or more recently in the company of the late Mr Henry Ward. She had even attended the village celebrations that finally laid the rumour to rest and proved it to be true — the accident had severely crippled her and she was wheelchair bound. And now this, her life cut tragically short by the same horse.
The miners and their families waited patiently for her cortege to appear and take her to her final resting place. Everyone had a memory of her to share as they waited, because before her accident she was often seen and her cheerful disposition and kindness had firmly found a place in all their hearts. The crowd fell silent as the cortege came into view. Some of the miners had come straight from the pit, their clothes still caked in clay, while others had walked from the village. Hats were removed, gazes lowered and children hushed as the hearse passed by. Only the occasional sob or prayer broke the sombre silence of the waiting crowd paying their respects.
Talek watched the faces from his carriage window. From the turnout his sister had been well loved, but he couldn’t help wondering if they thought it was a blessing she had died. These men and women would not be attending the service itself. They knew their place and the seats inside were reserved for Amelia’s friends and family, and not those she employed. Yet Talek could not help thinking their grief was as deep, if not deeper, than thefriends who had abandoned her. These men and women had got to know her well when she was able-bodied, something Talek was only now learning to do.
The funeral service passed in a blur, the interment even more so. Talek caught glimpses of people he recognised, many were distant relatives, yet there were some faces he could not place at all. Where were all these people when Amelia sat at home alone? None took it upon themselves to visit her. Surprised, he realised, as he looked at their sombre faces, that he didn’t feel anger towards them any more. In fact he almost felt sorry for them as they had missed out on her company over the past year. In the society they lived in, disability of a young woman was hard to look upon and people did not know how to react. It was something to be ashamed of and hidden away. He had never felt ashamed of Amelia, only helpless that he could not make her better. He had failed her, as she had failed him in the end.
At the wake he circulated, thanking individuals for attending and talking fondly of his sister, whilst inside he felt a growing resentment for their presence once again. Nothing seemed to make sense to him. Searching for some respite from their sympathy, he went to his study. It was quiet and dark inside as the heavy drapes were still drawn in mourning. It seemed an absurd tradition. Amelia would have hated the sun and sky to be blocked out. He marched over to the drapes and flung each one back in turn, before opening the window and taking a deep shuddering breath. The cool air filled his lungs and made his head spin, forcing him to rest his hands on the wall for support until his head cleared. He bowed his head in deep thought. He felt rudderless. What was his purpose now? What was the aim of it all? First Margaret, then Grace, now his sister. They had all gone. Was he cursed? As if by some cruel joke, Grace’s voice came from the direction of the door.
‘I thought I was the only one to hide behind a curtain.’
