Читать книгу Charles Augustus Fenton - Alana Whiting - Страница 20

Rebecca’s body arrived the next day on a hearse pulled by two black horses. The funeral had been arranged in three days to allow Rebecca’s family to arrive. The coffin was cautiously unloaded and carried into Jack’s cottage where the table lay bare waiting. I watched from my window, peering at the black drape covering his windows. He was dressed in black and bowed his head as the coffin passed him.

I had never seen a dead person before and I was concerned that Mother wished for us to pay our respects to Jack and his departed wife Rebecca. Her matter of fact tone with regards to viewing the body stunned me into mute submission and I had nodded dumbly when she advised we would visit after supper. And now that time had come.

‘Meg?’

‘Yes, Charlie.’

‘Meg, what do dead people look like?’ I asked timidly.

She thought for a while, aware I was studying her like an eagle. I was shrewd about any dishonesties she was hoping to expel from her mouth. I wanted the clear bare truth to prepare me for what lay ahead.

‘Well, Charlie, they look the same as when they were alive, just not moving or breathing.’

I needed more information. It was too simple. I waited.

‘In fact, some relations have been known to take photographs of their loved ones as if they were still alive as a memorial of their passing.’

Now really, she had gone too far with that one. I was sure that was a falsehood. She noticed my doubting face and straightened defensively.

‘It’s true! I have seen the photographs myself. They sit them in chairs and paint their eyelids to make them appear alive. Ask your mother if you don’t believe me. It is quite the going thing to do.’ She sniffed.

I narrowed my eyes. ‘Don’t mind if I do, Meg.’ And I trotted out of the room to search for my beloved mother, leaving Meg biting her lip. I found her in the kitchen, preparing some tea cakes to take to Jack.

‘Mother? Is it true that people sit their dead loved ones in chairs and take photographs of them?’ I asked her. She frowned at me.

‘Who told you that?’

‘Meg.’

‘Well, she shouldn’t be filling your head with such things. But strange as it sounds, my son, it is true. It is a sign of respect and love to have them forever captured in their last portrait.’

Meg was right again. I should have known better by now.

‘Is Jack going to do that?’ I asked.

‘No. Jack has chosen to leave her in the coffin. That is where we are going now.’

No escape. She carried her basket of cakes over her left arm and held my hand tightly in her right. She had correctly identified my unwillingness to visit and was not tolerating any mutiny. I was going to do my duty whether I liked it or not. And I liked it not one bit.

The smell assailed my nostrils as soon as we entered the cottage. The cloying sweetness from the wave of flowers that nearly buried Rebecca, could not quite camouflage the rotten meat smell emanating from her body. I was queasy immediately and had to fight the rising gorge of bile coming up my throat. The windows held no relief as they were blackened and shut tight. There was a very real tangible presence of death in the air and I hated it. My mother pretended there was nothing wrong and made sympathetic chat with Jack whilst presenting her cakes. We both secretly dreaded that he might insist we stay for tea and were relieved when he seemed content just to listen and nod quietly. I needed a distraction.

I looked at Jack’s clock and was puzzled. I had recently learnt how to tell the time and something was definitely not right with his. This was his Nanny’s clock, passed down through the family with the greatest of pride to the eldest son. He had let me, on the times I was being very good, turn the lever for winding the clock up. I had developed a possessive interest therefore in its maintenance and felt almost offended to see it stuck on quarter past nine. Clearly it needed attention. I cleared my throat.

‘Excuse me, Jack. You haven’t wound your nanny’s clock today.’

Jack looked uncomfortable and glanced at my mother. She gave me her stern look.

‘Hush, Charles. Mind your manners.’

‘But… It’s not the correct time,’ I protested.

‘What did I just say to you?’ she growled. I scowled but kept my peace looking at something else that perturbed me. Jack had also covered his mirror with a sheet. Now what was that all about? I stared at it with confusion written all over my face. This wasn’t right either. Why would you cover a mirror? The whole purpose of a mirror is to be able to see yourself in it and he had made that very hard to do indeed. It really wouldn’t do in my mind at all. I turned to my mother and opened my mouth to form the question. My mother is the dearest, gentlest and most softly spoken woman, but the glare she gave me at that precise point in time was strong enough to block the words from coming out of my mouth. I literally was not able to let them out, even if I wanted to, due to the force of her glower. She had seen me studying the mirror and had correctly guessed what I was thinking. I realised then that self-preservation was more important and anyway, I could always ask Meg later. She knew everything. I closed my mouth and remained silent.

It would not have been seemly to leave as soon as we had entered, so my mother politely sat and battled on as a mark of respect to her dear stable hand. I was soon in no fit state to speak anymore, fearing if I opened my mouth the vomit would gush out onto his floor. I stared morbidly at Rebecca instead and was aghast to see a fly walking over her face, exploring her eyelid with its long black tongue. It buzzed quietly, sometimes hovering over her before returning to inspect her corpse again. I remained mesmerised as the fly circled to and fro on her lifeless cheek before defecating a little black spot on her cheek bone. What a foul and depraved thing to see. I was torn by the fact that Rebecca’s dignity duly owed in death was demeaned by the dirtiest insect on the planet. The same insect that flew merrily and fed from piles of dung and rotting food scraps had just tainted the sad and lonely face of Jack’s wife. I should have indignantly swept the nasty little beast away and cleaned the soiled spot but I remained bolted to the chair. There was no honour in my cowardice but I soothed my sickly guilt by mentally cursing and threatening the fly with all manner of things. As usual, my imaginings were vivid and bloodthirsty and soon I was sidetracked towards fighting a duel with the fly monster that had developed into a six-foot beast. We had moved onto a pirate ship with silver-sparked cutlasses and thick snake-like ropes hanging from the sea-battled masts. I had the black winged monster at my mercy, little pieces of wings breaking into dust with every touch of my weapon. That fly monster was a fool and a cad for soiling Rebecca and he shall never be able to do it again. As I brought the cutlass down for the final death my reverie was shattered.

‘Charles! Charles. We are going now. Give your respects to Jack.’ My mother was looking at me strangely and I guessed correctly the battle had played out on my expression. I quickly glanced at Rebecca’s face and was warmed to see the fly had gone. I was the victor.

‘Charles!’ Jack had even woken from his gloom and was looking at me in askance whilst mother reprimanded. I reddened and hurriedly walked to Jack and shook his hand, muttering my condolences. He accepted the handshake and returned back to his darkness. We left the cottage and stepped back into the fresh, sweet sunshine with mutual relief. I hurried up to find Meg. She was busying herself with the mourning clothes for both me and her to wear at the funeral. I had been so excited about this shadowy ceremony that I had badgered my parents to let Meg take me until they’d relented. It was not the done thing for the master and mistress to attend the funeral ceremony, but they had kindly allowed Jack use of our coach to travel to the cemetery behind the funeral hearse. Since I was the master’s son, I had the privilege of riding in the coach with him, as long as Meg would be responsible for my welfare. My mother had warned me that it would be a sombre and sad event but I refused to listen and could only see the coach ride into town with my sweet Meg and the food that would be provided after. The downside was wearing the suit that now lay, freshly ironed, on a hanger. I groaned at my sacrifice to comfort before remembering why I had come to see Meg. I had questions to ask.

‘Meg, why is Jack’s clock not wound up?’

Meg sat on my bed and sighed.

‘Jack has stopped the clock at the time it was felt his Rebecca passed away. It is a sign of respect to her death.’

This didn’t really make sense to me, but I let it slide.

‘And Jack covered his mirror. Why did he do that?’

Meg paused, not really sure if she should tell me. I crossed my arms.

‘It is believed that if a dearly departed is by an uncovered mirror, their soul can become trapped within it. The sheet is a protection against that happening.’

My jaw dropped. This concept filled my head with images of her soul swirling around the mirror, pushing at the surface to try and escape. I wasn’t sure if Jack had covered his in time and on reflection, I was CERTAIN I remembered a slight tapping behind the sheet when we were visiting. I was horrified and quickly hid my head under the pillow on my bed, scared that the soul was locked in forever. Meg heaved the pillow away exposing my terrified face.

‘Charlie! Get out from under there. You’ll smother yourself in that cushion.’ She stroked my face and kissed my cheeks.

‘Oh Meg, it’s awful. When we were visiting Jack I swear I heard Rebecca’s soul tapping on the mirror. She’s caught in there and she can’t get out. She’ll be trapped forever!’ I groaned.

Meg squeezed me into a warm cuddle. ‘It’s all right, Charlie. She wanted to leave this world, so I just know she wouldn’t try looking into any mirrors. She was a clever lady.’ She smiled wretchedly and kissed me again. ‘She’s at peace now, Charlie. Her soul has departed.’

I calmed down, listening to Meg’s wise counsel. Her words made sense to me but nevertheless I would be giving that mirror a wide berth from now on. My mind stewed on this information, while Meg spoke again.

‘Probably best you don’t tell your parents what I just told you. They might not like me telling you this sort of thing. All right then, Charlie?’

I nodded and considered the strange day I had experienced. Now only the funeral remained.