“Perhaps you forget that I have no mother to ask advice of,” Maude said. “Nor a sister, nor even a maid, now.”
“I don’t have a sister either! Have you forgot that?”
Maude looked mortified at her slip, and if Livy had allowed her to apologize, as she seemed about to do, their argument might have blown over. But of course Livy couldn’t resist pressing her point. “All you think of is yourself. Have you spared a thought for poor Mama, who has lost a daughter? Is there anything worse than losing one’s child?”
“Losing one’s mother, perhaps,” Maude said in a low voice.
These comparisons were so odious that I finally had to step in-wishing I had done so earlier. (I often wish that, when it is too late.) “Livy, would you like to walk with your mother down to the carriage?” I asked, at the same time giving what I hoped was a sympathetic look to Maude.
“Papa, how often must I remind you-it’s Lavinia.” Livy turned her back on Maude and went over to her mother. I was about to say something-what, I did not know-but before I could, Maude slipped away and ran up the path farther into the cemetery.
Later that night, I could not sleep and came downstairs with my candle to get out Cassell’s and The Queen. I have never looked in women’s manuals before-thankfully I have little to do with household sorts of things. But at last I found what I was looking for-both manuals say that a child mourns its parent and a parent its child for the same period of time-one year.
I left both books on the table open to those pages, but when I came down the next morning they had been put away.
Maude Coleman
I could not stop shaking. I have never been so furious.
What I hated most were the horrid things I said as well. Lavinia brought out the worst in me, and it is much harder to live with that than with her remarks. I have learned to expect her to say silly and stupid things, and I have usually managed not to sink to her level, until now.
I sat for a long time by the sleeping angel. I had not known where I was running to until I ended up there. And that is where he found me. I suppose I knew he would. He sat down at the end of the slab of marble but did not look at me or say anything. That is his way.
I looked up into the bright blue sky. It was an obscenely sunny day for a funeral, as if God were mocking us all.
“I hate Lavinia,” I said, swatting at some vetch that was growing at the base of the angel’s plinth.
Simon grunted. “Sounds like something Livy would say.”
He was right.
“But you ain’t Livy,” he added.
I shrugged.
“Listen, Maude,” he said, then stopped.
“What is it?”
Simon tapped his finger on the marble. “We’re digging your ma’s grave now.”
“Oh.” I could not think what more to say.
“It’s too early to be digging it. For a funeral meant for the day after tomorrow, in sandy soil? We should be digging it tomorrow afternoon. Else it could cave in, sitting there an extra day. Dangerous enough as ‘tis. Shoring don’t always work in sand. And Ivy May’s grave so close. Don’t like to dig two graves close together like that at the same time-the dirt don’t hang together so well on that side. No choice about it, though, is there?”
“Who told you to dig Mummy’s grave now rather than tomorrow?”
“The guvnor. Told us this morning. Our pa tried to argue with him but he just said to get on with it once Ivy May’s funeral’s done. Said he’d handle the consequences.”
I waited for Simon to continue. I could see from his face that there was something he would eventually tell me, laying it out step by step in his own time.
“So I had a little look round. Couldn’t see nothing from the work map in the lodge. Then I heard that the chapel here’s been booked for tomorrow morning. Now I knows the other graves dug for tomorrow’s all got coffins coming from outside. Don’t say which the chapel is for.”
I shook my head. “Mummy’s service is at St. Anne’s on Friday afternoon. Daddy told me.”
“Then one of the mutes at Ivy May’s funeral just now told me they’re doing a funeral at the chapel here tomorrow,” Simon continued as if I had not spoken. “Has to be your ma. Hers is the only grave ready with nothing to go in.”
I stood up-it hurt to hear him talk about Mummy like that, but I did not want him to see how much his words upset me. “Thank you for telling me,” I said. “I’ll try to find out from Daddy if something has been changed.”
Simon nodded. “Just thought you’d want to know,” he said awkwardly.
I wondered if Simon knew that Mr. Jackson had asked me about cremation-he seemed to find out about everything else. If he did, though, he didn’t say. At Ivy May’s grave Mr. Jackson had caught my eye, and to his unspoken question I’d simply shaken my head. He must have guessed by then anyway that Daddy had said no-otherwise he would have heard from us.
Instead I asked Simon about something else-something I was sure he knew. “What happened to Ivy May that day?” I said, looking straight at him. “No one will tell me.”
Simon shifted on the marble. For a long time he didn’t say anything and I wondered if I would have to repeat myself. Then he cleared his throat. “Someone strangled her.”
His answer was so stark that I could feel my own throat tightening. “A man?” I managed to say.
Simon nodded, and I saw from his face that I should not ask more.
We sat for a moment without speaking.
“I’m sorry ‘bout your ma,” Simon said suddenly. He leaned across and quickly kissed me on the cheek, then jumped off the grave and was gone.
Back at home I ran into Grandmother in the front hall, inspecting a bouquet of flowers that had arrived-lilies tied with green, white, purple, and black ribbons. “Suffragettes!” she was muttering. “Just as well we-” She stopped when she saw me. “Back already from the meal?”
“I haven’t been to the Waterhouses’ yet,” I confessed.
“Not been? Get you over there, then. Pay your respects. That poor child’s mother is gray with grief. Such a terrible terrible death. I hope they catch the man who-” She stopped herself.
“I will go,” I lied. “I just… need to have a word with Mrs. Baker first.” I ran downstairs so that I would not have to tell her why I was not going to the funeral meal. I just could not bear to see Mrs. Waterhouse’s face sucked dry of life. I could not imagine what it must feel like to lose a child, and to lose her so awfully and mysteriously. I could only compare it to how I felt losing my mother: an aching emptiness, and a precariousness about life now that one of the things I had taken for granted was gone. Mummy may have been absent or remote these past few years, but she had at least been alive. It was as if Mummy had been shielding me from a fire and then was suddenly taken away so that I could feel the scorching flames on my face.
For Mrs. Waterhouse, though, there must be simply a feeling of horror that I could not begin to describe.
Was one worse than the other, as Lavinia seemed to suggest? I did not know. I just knew that I couldn’t see Mrs. Waterhouse’s dead gaze without feeling an abyss open in myself.
Instead of going to the Waterhouses’ funeral meal, I went down to ask Mrs. Baker about ours. Since she was preparing it, she of all people would know if there had been a change in the arrangements.
She was stirring a pot of aspic on the range. “Hello, Miss Maude,” she said. “You should eat-you haven’t touched your food these last few days.”
“I’m not hungry. I-I wanted to ask if everything will be ready for Friday. Grandmother wanted me to find out for her.”
Mrs. Baker gave me a funny look. “Course it will.” She turned back to the pot. “I just spoke to your grandmother this morning. Nothing’s changed in two hours. Beef jelly will set overnight, the ham’s to be delivered this afternoon. It should all be ready by the day’s end. Mrs. Coleman wanted me to get everything ready early so I can help her with other things tomorrow-she’s not happy with the temporary help. Not that I do just anything. I won’t work on my knees, no matter what.” She glared at the pot. I knew that she missed Jenny, though she would never say.