Over the next days, Connie had an endless stream of visitors all wishing to pay their respects and offer their condolences. Somehow Connie greeted each of them with dignity. The tears had dried up for now but she seemed to be a mere shadow of her former self, barely eating and seemingly only existing on endless cups of tea.
‘I’m really worried about her,’ Flora confided to the cook one evening after she had helped Connie prepare for bed. ‘I think even the tears were better than seeing her as she is now. She hardly says a word but just floats about the house like a lost soul.’
‘Ah, well that’s the thing wi’ grief,’ Cook nodded, setting her chins wobbling. ‘There’s different stages you ’ave to go through. I were the same when I lost me ’usband. First there’s the tears an’ the shock, then it turns into like a dull acceptance. An’ the thing is everyone takes losin’ someone close to ’em differently. It’s worse for that poor girl, cos her father were the only one who ever really showed her any affection. When her mother were alive she just went through the motions to save face. But Connie an’ her dad adored each other, see, so she’s bound to take it ’ard. The only thing you can do is what you’re doin’ now. Just be there for ’er. She’ll come out of it ’opefully once the funeral’s over, but it takes time.’
Flora could only bow to the woman’s superior wisdom and hope that she was right, but it didn’t stop her worrying all the same. And now there was the funeral to get through tomorrow and Cook had been baking from morning till night to prepare food for any of the mourners who might wish to return to the house after the service. Briefly she wondered whether she ought to decorate the Christmas tree that had arrived the day before. It transpired that Mr Ogilvie had ordered it to be delivered shortly before the accident. Normally Connie and Flora would have spent the whole afternoon giggling as they decorated it with the pretty glass baubles that were packed safely away each year, but today it merely stood propped up against the wall in the hallway. No one even had the heart to stand it in a bucket of earth, let alone decorate it.
‘We’ll chuck that tree out into the yard in a while. No point leavin’ it standing there droppin’ its needles all over the place if we ain’t goin’ to dress it,’ said Cook.
Flora nodded absently, wondering if cook was a mind-reader and wishing with all her heart that the next day could just be over.
It dawned grey and overcast. The snow had thawed and what was left of it was slushy and slippery underfoot. The dressmaker had rushed to make Connie a black dress with a wide sleeve that would slide over the plaster on her arm and the girl stood lifelessly as Flora helped her into it. Her bruises had faded from an angry purple to dull yellows and greys that made her look sallow and ill but the doctor had informed her that she would need to keep the cast on for at least another four weeks. Connie didn’t seem to care. In fact, Flora was concerned that she didn’t seem to care about anything anymore. It was as if she had locked herself away in a little world of her own where no one could reach her, but again Cook promised her that this was normal. ‘She’ll come out of it eventually,’ she had assured her.
Now Flora piled the girl’s hair up onto the top of her head and placed a bonnet with a short black veil on her and they were ready to go. At Connie’s insistence she too was dressed from head to toe in black and although the gown Connie had bought for her was the best she had ever worn, Flora felt uncomfortable in it.
When they stepped outside the first thing they saw was a glass hearse pulled by four magnificent coal-black stallions with plumes on their heads. Inside the hearse was Mr Ogilvie’s coffin, the finest that money could buy: lead-lined and carved from rosewood with solid brass handles. Even the sight of this didn’t prompt a reaction from Connie, and she climbed silently into the carriage behind it, closely followed by Flora who she had insisted should accompany her. A fine drizzle had begun to fall and when they reached the church a thick fog obscured some of the gravestones from view.
Throughout the service Flora kept a close eye on her mistress, who stood woodenly, not even attempting to join in the prayers or the singing. Finally it was over and the pall-bearers lifted the coffin and followed the solemn-faced vicar out into the graveyard. The fog gave an eerie feel to the proceedings and Flora thought the mourners looked as if they were floating between the drunkenly leaning gravestones. By this stage, Connie was gripping her hand so tightly that it was all Flora could do to stop herself from crying out. And then at last the coffin was lowered into the gaping grave, the final prayers were conducted and it was all over.
Slowly the mourners drifted away to be swallowed up by the fog but Connie stood staring down at her father’s final resting place. Flora wondered what thoughts must be going through her young mistress’s head. Was she remembering happy times she had spent with him? But then Connie suddenly turned abruptly and walked away without so much as glancing back. Flora looked back just once from the lychgate and shuddered as she saw the gravediggers shovelling dirt into the grave, blocking the light of day from the dear man who lay there for all time.
When they arrived back at the house, many of the mourners were already there, wandering about with cups of tea or a glass of spirits in their hand while Mrs Merry had Gertie circulating amongst them with plates of sandwiches and tempting treats that the cook had baked, but the minute she and Connie entered the room a hush fell. The next second, people were vying to offer their condolences and say what a lovely man her father had been. Connie listened, nodding her head when it was required as she walked through them to her father’s favourite wing chair by the fire. Flora hovered close by.
‘Shall I get you something to eat?’ she asked in concern. ‘A sandwich, perhaps? Or I could get Gertie to make you something warm? Your hands are frozen through.’
‘Thank you … but no … I’m not hungry at the moment.’ Then seeing the concern on Flora’s face, she added, ‘Perhaps later.’
Flora continued to stand close to her young mistress’s side, wishing that the mourners might all disappear in a puff of smoke, but it seemed they were all keen to take advantage of the feast spread out before them and it was almost two hours later when the last of them finally departed, leaving only Mr Wainthrop behind.
He smiled at Flora then pulling up a chair close to Connie he asked, ‘How are you feeling, my dear?’ The second the words had left his lips he realised how ludicrous they must sound. The poor girl had just buried her father, how could he expect her to feel?
‘I’m all right, thank you.’
She managed to raise a weak smile so he rushed on, ‘Well, I’m sure that you must be ready for a little time to yourself now so I shall be off too. And may I say that your father would have been very proud of the dignified way you conducted yourself today. I just wanted to let you know that I have written to your aunt in New York and the moment I get a response I shall be round to show it to you. Meanwhile, you have no need to worry about anything. I shall continue to pay the household expenses as your father requested and I shall ensure that you receive your allowance each month. But is there anything else I can do for you? Anything at all?’
‘No, thank you, Mr Wainthrop,’ she replied woodenly and so with a nod towards the girls he rose and left the room, closing the door softly behind him.
‘Flora … I think I’d like to be on my own for a while now, if you don’t mind,’ Connie said and Flora nodded understandingly.
‘Of course. Just ring when you need anything.’ Flora discreetly hurried away and was soon in the warmth of the kitchen where Cook was sitting with her swollen ankles on a stool by the fire and a cup of tea perched on her ample bosom.
‘Eeh, I’m glad that’s over. How is the poor lass?’ she asked Flora as the girl fetched a cup and lifted the teapot.
Flora shrugged as she poured the stewed tea and added sugar. ‘Quiet as a mouse,’ she answered. ‘I think I’d rather have had the tears but then perhaps she’s got none left.’
‘Hmm, well soon she needs to decide what’s happenin’ ’ere,’ the cook huffed. ‘If she’s goin’ off to her aunt’s in New York an’ closin’ the ’ouse up we’ll all be out on the street wi’out a job.’
‘That isn’t her fault,’ Flora said defensively. ‘She wouldn’t be going by choice. It was her father’s express wish that she stayed with her aunt until she comes of age but we just have to wait and see what her aunt says now. Mr Wainthrop has written to her and is waiting on a reply.’
‘I dare say yer right.’ Cook looked suitably shamefaced. She’d worked for the Ogilvie family for years and just didn’t want things to change, but sadly she knew that this was inevitable now and she wondered what the future had in store for them all.
Christmas was a dismal affair as was the New Year with no celebrations of any kind in the Ogilvie house. The staff crept about like ghosts so as not to disturb Connie who seemed to have locked herself away in a world of grief. The one bright spot for Flora was when she managed to slip away for a few precious hours on Christmas Eve to see her family and spend a little time with Jamie.
‘I can’t stay long,’ she apologised to him breathlessly when they met at their usual meeting place. ‘Not with Connie in such a state.’
‘I understand,’ he answered sympathetically. ‘The poor girl must be distraught, but here I have something for you.’ He presented her with a little box that contained a small silver locket on a delicate chain and Flora’s face lit up.
‘Oh, Jamie, it’s beautiful,’ she breathed as he fastened it about her neck. ‘I shall treasure it forever.’
Jamie looked at her tenderly. ‘It looks beautiful on you,’ he said, kissing her softly on the lips. ‘I knew it would.’
Flora stroked his cheek, gazing into his beautiful blue eyes and thanked God that she had him in her life.
And then on a cold and frosty morning early in January Mr Wainthrop arrived with news.
‘I’ve heard from your aunt, m’dear,’ he told Connie who had come down to the drawing room to speak to him. It was one of the very rare occasions she had ventured downstairs since the funeral. ‘And she enclosed a letter for you.’ He handed the young woman an envelope before going on, ‘She is quite happy for you to stay with her so now it will be up to you to decide whether you wish to keep this house on or if you would like me to sell it for you.’
Connie looked around at the familiar room, her eyes dull. She knew every stick of furniture, every knick-knack, every corner.
‘I want to keep the house on,’ she told him listlessly. ‘I know my father wanted me to go to my aunt and I shall do as he wished because I have no choice, but as soon as I reach my majority I shall come home.’
Mr Wainthrop nodded understandingly, wishing there were something he could say to ease her pain.
‘In that case, with your permission, I shall speak to the staff. Sadly, they won’t be needed while you are gone but I shall ask Mrs Merry if she is prepared to stay on as a caretaker. I’m sure she’ll agree to it and then at least you can go knowing that your home is being left in safe hands.’
Flora entered the room then, bearing a tray of coffee and biscuits.
‘I thought you might like something to warm you up, sir.’ She smiled politely and after pouring out the coffee she discreetly left the room.
‘So what’s going on?’ Gertie asked her as she went back to the kitchen.
Flora shrugged. ‘I have no idea but I dare say we’re about to find out.’
She took a seat at the kitchen table and shortly after there was a tap at the door and Mr Wainthrop entered looking decidedly uncomfortable.
Mrs Merry sidled in behind him and seeing that the staff were all gathered together he coughed to clear his throat before telling them. ‘I have come to inform you that Miss Ogilvie’s aunt in New York has replied to my letter and she has agreed to her going to stay with her indefinitely. Mrs Merry, Connie has decided that she will keep this house on in case she wishes to return to it so I was wondering if you would consider staying on to take care of it?’
Mrs Merry nodded, a look of relief on her face.
‘Good.’ The solicitor smiled at her before turning back to the others. ‘Unfortunately, this will mean that the rest of you will no longer be needed.’ He saw the looks of dismay on their faces and hurried on, ‘However, it is going to take me some time to arrange a passage for the young mistress so this should give you all ample time to find another position. A couple of months at least, I should think, and on top of that she has asked me to give you all an extra month’s wages when you do leave.’
This statement went a long way to calming them and Gertie sighed with relief. ‘Well, at least we ain’t goin’ to be chucked out on us arses tomorrow,’ she commented drily, which drew a disapproving frown from Cook.
‘Ah well, I think we all expected this,’ the older woman sighed. ‘But thank you, Mr Wainthrop. Under the circumstances the young miss is bein’ more than fair. After all, it ain’t as if she wants to go, is it?’
‘Quite.’ Mr Wainthrop shuffled from foot to foot. ‘Now, if you will excuse me I should get on but rest assured I shall keep you all informed. Good day, ladies.’ And with that he took his leave.
Once the door had closed behind him, Gertie sighed and, tears in her eyes, glanced around the kitchen. ‘I’ve loved workin’ here an’ I’ll be really sorry to go,’ she said regretfully.
‘We all will,’ Cook pointed out. ‘But there’s no point in cryin’ over spilt milk. An’ you’ve got age on yer side, Gertie, an’ you have, Flora. I heard yesterday as they’re settin’ on in the jam factory if yer can’t get another live-in position. They earn good money there, by all accounts.’
‘I might try there,’ Flora said, but her heart was heavy. She had loved her time working as a personal lady’s maid but then she supposed any job was better than none, although she would miss Connie and the rest of the staff desperately
‘Right, well at least we know where we all stand now so chop chop, let’s ’ave you back to work,’ Cook ordered bossily. Obediently, they went about their duties, although now they were all wondering what was to become of them.
In the drawing room, Connie was unfolding the letter her aunt had enclosed with Mr Wainthrop’s and she began to read.
My dearest girl,
I cannot begin to tell you how distraught your uncle and I were to read of your father’s untimely accident. He was a truly wonderful man and will always be remembered fondly. Of course, you must come to us for as long as you need to, forever if necessary. I have instructed Mr Wainthrop to organise your passage here as soon as is possible and to let us know when we might expect you so that someone can be there to meet you off the ship.
Your arrival cannot come quickly enough for me. Until then, know that I am thinking of you and very much looking forward to seeing you,
With much love,
Aunt Alexandra xxx
As soon as Flora joined her again, Connie handed her the letter and urged her to read it.
‘She sounds nice, at any rate,’ Flora said miserably once she had read it and handed it back.
‘Hmm, but I wonder why my mother and she never really kept in touch,’ Connie said thoughtfully. ‘From what I can remember my mother never had a kind word to say about her. In fact, I can remember she used to get really huffy every time we heard from her. Rather strange considering she was her younger sister, don’t you think?’
‘I suppose she had her reasons,’ Flora said cautiously. ‘And she certainly sounds like she’s looking forward to having you there, which is the main thing, surely?’
‘I suppose so,’ Connie sighed, but she didn’t sound at all convinced.