It came as a surprise to Frank when Pete Southie, standing outside the shop’s back door holding his head, said, ‘I’m tellin’ you, Frank, there’s no sign of either of them. Grave’s fresh dug, but no one’s around, and no horse and cart.’
Frank firmly expected Rosie to be back any time now—he’d already closed the shop for the afternoon. One night away from home to tend to family matters was enough and now she should be back to tend to him and his bakery. He undid his apron, hung it on a hook inside and took in the state of the place—abominable. Rosie would have her work cut out, so she’d better show herself soon.
Annoyed, he stepped outside and pulled the door shut. ‘Perhaps they’re visiting someone,’ he said, though he couldn’t think who.
‘Don’t think so. The beds are stripped.’
Frank frowned. ‘Maybe the women thought to make a new start, burning the bed linens or something.’
‘Mate, even the mattresses are gone. Oilskins gone, food, the billy, all gone.’
Folding his arms and now uneasy, Frank eyed Southie. ‘What were you doing out there?’ This bloke—a man Rosie always said had a shady gleam in his eyes—smelled of the day’s sweat, and cow shit. Frank rarely let him inside the shop.
‘Payin’ my respects. What else?’
‘So you went inside the house?’
‘I yelled out, walked around the place. Thought I’d check in there when I, uh, heard nothin’.’
Simple enough explanation from Southie but where was Rosie, and his sister-in-law, Elsa? ‘Well, I can’t do much about it, now. Rosie’s got our Peppin and the cart, so I’ve got no transport. ’Sides, I reckon they’ll be back directly. Hard to hear that you’ve lost your only remaining brother and then you have to bury your father. I expect they’ve gone visiting some lady friends for tea and tears.’ But inside, Frank knew.
Southie rubbed his ear. ‘Well, if you say so, Frank. But if they’re not back tonight, I’m happy to go look for them for you. I’m fair taken with Miss Elsa, as you know.’
Frank wasn’t thinking of Southie’s matrimonial quest. He was trying to think if there’d been anything Rosie had said that he might have missed. All he remembered was that she was going to purchase a coffin. Sometimes the smithy delivered them. ‘The coffin maker. Let’s go see if Mr Benson is still in his shop.’
Outside, Frank tugged at his collar. He shouldn’t have needed to. The autumn air of the late afternoon had cooled. The crisp breeze brought in the whiff of seaweed and salt as gulls squawked overhead.
As they neared the forge, Frank could hear Mr Benson banging the hammer, shaping a tool on the anvil. The smithy looked up, nodded and waved. He dropped the hammer onto a bench nearby. ‘Afternoon to you,’ he yelled.
Frank lifted a hand in greeting. ‘Afternoon. Did you deliver a coffin out to my father-in-law’s place yesterday?’ His chest felt peculiar in the dense air of the forge.
‘Your missus and her sister took it in the cart. My boy went with them and helped dig the hole.’ Mr Benson’s yell brought Henry out from behind a doorway. ‘There he is.’
‘Hello, Mr Putney.’ Henry ignored Pete Southie.
‘Lad, you buried my father-in-law yesterday?’
Henry glanced from Frank to his father. ‘Miz Putney said it were to be done quick.’
Frank blew air into his cheeks and held it there a moment. ‘I see. Yes, of course.’
Mr Benson yelled, ‘Somethin’ amiss, Mr Putney?’
Frank shook his head. ‘I don’t—’
‘Did they say they were going somewhere, young Benson?’ Pete Southie cut in.
Frank felt his chest grip. The heat was overwhelming, even at this time of day, worse than the heat from the ovens in the bakery. Too hot. He ran a finger along his collar and loosened off the top button.
Henry Benson stared at Southie then scratched his forehead. ‘Don’t recall that. Looked to me as if they were gonna settle in. No mention of returning to town here, otherwise I’da got a lift. I walked back in.’
Frank felt sweat on his scalp. I need to get out of here.
Southie stepped forward, a menace in his tone. ‘How long were you out there for, boy?’
Henry lifted his chin. ‘Long as it took.’
Mr Benson yelled, ‘Here, Mr Southie. My lad was back well by sundown. What’s your issue?’ A frown creased his brow.
‘Pete,’ Frank grabbed Southie by the arm. ‘I have to get out of here.’
Southie shook him off. ‘What did you get up to out there, boy?’
Frank felt a pain shoot across his chest. Too hot in here. Have to get out. All he could think of was that Rosie had left him. It all added up. The overnight stay, the horse and cart gone, bedding and other items gone. She’s run off.
‘I got up to digging a deep hole to put Mr Goody into and then—’
Frank turned, reeled towards the doorway, banging against benches and walls as he stumbled. Once outside, he slumped to the ground and took deep breaths. The pain in his chest had gone, and now cold shudders racked him as the sweat cooled all over his body.
Pete Southie strode out. ‘Frank. What the hell happened?’ He squatted, dropped a hand on Frank’s shoulder.
‘Get me back to the bakery,’ Frank wheezed.
‘Jesus, you’ve gone all white in the face. Is it a heart attack? I’ll get some help—’
‘Not a heart attack. Just get me back to the shop. Had one of these before, it’ll pass. It’ll pass.’
Southie hauled Frank up and dropped a shoulder under his arm. ‘What is it then?’ he grunted, trying to get Frank fully on his feet. ‘Shit, yer a heavy bastard.’
Back at the shop, Frank lurched in the back door and waved Southie away. ‘I’ll be right. It passes, and I have medicine I must take.’
Southie stood in the doorway. ‘Anything else you need, Frank?’
‘I need a horse. I need to get to the Goody hut,’ Frank said, his chest easing. ‘If my wife has gone somewhere, I need to know her father’s will is safe.’