Читать книгу The Factory Girl - Nancy Carson - Страница 9

Polling day was always more like a carnival than the serious election of a new government, and the one in 1929 was no different. Children were not at school, and they followed the candidates around, creating a din, banging draw tins and dustbin lids with sticks, and each getting a penny for doing it. This was designed to get the people out to vote. Coloured rosettes were in abundance, pinned on coats everywhere; red, white and blue for the Conservatives, yellow for Labour. Folk had put posters in their windows hailing one or other of the candidates, and even shop windows and pubs advertised their favourites. Carts and their horses were decorated in the colours of their owners’ political persuasions, as were any available lorries and vans. They toured the streets, some urging people to vote for Cyril Lloyd, the Tory candidate, others for Oliver Baldwin, the renegade Labour son of the Conservative Prime Minister, who had held a political meeting the previous evening in the Board School at Kates Hill.

Spirits were high, people were loud in acclaim of their preferred contender and even louder in their revilement of the opponent. Newspapers were full of electioneering, praising one party, denigrating another, and had been for weeks. Today, the people would decide it all, one way or the other. The trouble was, it would not be known who would form the government till some time tomorrow. Meanwhile, the public houses fared remarkably well out of it.

Billy collected Henzey at about half past eight that evening after taking his mother and father to vote. The weather was picking up encouragingly and, because of the lighter evenings, they decided to go for a ride out to Baggeridge Wood where it would be peaceful and quiet, away from the palaver of electioneering. Henzey was looking forward to having Billy all to herself for a while. He was feeling guilty, however; he wanted to take her home early, and told her so as they sat in the car under a tree watching the sun go down over Wolverhampton.

‘Oh, Billy, why?’ she said, with bitter disappointment. ‘I thought we might go to the Town Hall after to hear whether Cyril Lloyd or Oliver Baldwin won the Dudley seat.’

‘I can’t, my sweetheart, sorry. I’ll have to pick my father up from The Gypsy’s Tent just after ten. He’ll be legless. He’s the same every polling day.’

‘But I can wait in the car while you fetch him. Then we can take him home together.’

Billy sighed inwardly, wishing to show neither his frustration nor his guilt. ‘No, I’d best drop you at home first. God knows what sort of state he’ll be in. I don’t want you to see him like that. His language will be foul, especially if he’s had a rough time with his Labour mates – he’s ever likely to spew up in the car. I’m sorry, my angel, but it’s for the best. Besides, I suppose I’ll have to stop and have a drink myself. I won’t be able to get away that quick.’

‘Well, it’s hardly been worth seeing you. If you’d said so before I wouldn’t have bothered. I could’ve gone to the Town Hall with Florrie Shuker, or our Alice. Or even with Jesse.’

‘And how long have you been so interested in politics?’ There was sarcasm in his voice.

‘I’m not particularly interested in the politics,’ she said, ‘but it’s a nice atmosphere, with all those people late at night waiting to hear who got in. I just thought it’d be nice to be a part of it – with you, Billy. Still, it doesn’t matter.’ She sighed disconsolately. ‘Your family comes first.’

Henzey was acutely hurt. The men at work had been talking about going to the Town Hall later. It was a lovely idea and she’d been certain she could persuade Billy to take her, too.

‘Henzey, if I don’t get my dad home he’ll probably be set upon, just for wearing a red, white and blue rosette. It’s a rough area and, besides, when he’s had a drink he wants to fight every bugger, especially Labour folks.’

That bit was true. But it was only half the story. The other half he had no intention of confessing. Billy still possessed a jacket belonging to Nellie Dewsbury and he had already arranged to return it to her that night. Earlier, she had called at his house to see him, to ask when he could return it. He was not at home, but his mother innocently agreed an arrangement for him to deliver it to her on the night of polling day, as Nellie had suggested. Billy knew that Walter Dewsbury and his wife would be involved in the electioneering, so they would not be at home, and he recognised at once the intention in Nellie’s scheming. He was unable to resist what was a very tempting offer, especially as he had been celibate for so long.

Henzey saw little profit in arguing. In accepting his excuses she resigned herself to losing that battle and Billy delivered her home. After a quick goodnight kiss, off he went. She entered the house forlorn, pouting and disheartened, but never doubting his fidelity. The thing that upset her most was that it would be another two whole days before she would be with him again. Now she would not see him till Saturday night when they went dancing.

Henzey opened the door to the dairy house.

Something was wrong. Whether it was a manifestation of her discontent or her cheerless mood playing tricks, she could not tell; but there was a strange atmosphere. Normally this new home of theirs was vibrant since they moved in, embracing them like a benign, old uncle, who had once lost them and suddenly found them again. It was a happy house, but now it felt cold, empty and peculiarly sad. It was something she could never have defined. Just a feeling, but a weird feeling.

She heard lowered voices upstairs, and called out, ‘Yoo-hoo!’

Lizzie answered. ‘Henzey? Is that you?’ She came to the head of the stairs, looking anxious. ‘Thank God. Is Billy with you?’

‘No, he’s gone.’

‘Damn. We could have done with him to fetch the doctor. Looks like Ezme’s had another stroke.’ She walked downstairs towards Henzey, her voice still low. ‘She’s in a bad way, Henzey.’

‘I can fetch Donald. It’s only five to ten. I’ll be all right.’

‘Let’s hope he’s still sober. I’d ask our Herbert to go, but he’s out God knows where. Alice and Maxine should be back any minute. You’d better go, our Henzey. But be quick. And be careful. You know what they’re like on election night. If you see any fights walk on the other side of the horse road.’

So Henzey went out again. As she rushed down Cromwell Street, she saw Alice and Maxine coming the other way with two boys. She explained what had happened, that she was on her way to fetch the doctor. Seeing it as a way of staying out later, Alice agreed to accompany Henzey. Maxine said she would let their mother know where Alice was.

‘How come you’m ’ome so early?’ Alice enquired.

‘Billy had to go early to fetch his father from the pub.’ Henzey tried not to sound concerned.

‘Oh…An’ ’ave a drink ’imself, I daresay.’ Alice’s tone was tinged with cynicism.

‘I daresay. That’s up to him. I can’t dictate what he should or shouldn’t do.’

‘Yer can try. I would. If he tried to get rid o’ me early I’d play hell up. You’m too soft with ’im, Henzey. Yer let ’im boss yer about an’ everythin’.’

‘No, I don’t.’

‘Yes, yer do. Just ’cause he’s got a motor and a pocketful o’ money. He thinks he’s everybody.’

‘I think you’ve got a tainted view, Alice,’ Henzey said, ruffled by Alice’s observations, even though she recognised that there was an element of truth in what she said. ‘He doesn’t think he’s everybody at all, and he certainly doesn’t own me.’

‘Have yer slept with ’im yet?’

‘Alice! ’Course I haven’t slept with him. What do you think I am?’

‘Nor let ’im do anythin’ to yer?’

‘Course not!’

‘Huh! You’m a bit slow. I thought you was potty about ’im…Or is it ’im what’s slow? Mind yer, I’d want ’im slow. I wun’t want ’im to touch me. I think he’s a smarmy sod. He gives me the creeps.’

‘Good,’ Henzey replied indignantly. ‘For goodness sake, Alice, if you can’t say anything nice about him don’t say anything at all. Keep your opinions to yourself…Quick – let’s cross over the road…’

Two grown men, the worse for drink, tumbled out of The Fountain public house fighting. Had they been sober they would merely have agreed to differ. As fists flew the pub emptied as all the patrons followed the men outside, cheering and jeering, inflaming the situation. Somebody smashed a glass, and in an instant, most of the other men seemed to be involved, flailing their arms like persons drowning.

‘Quick, let’s get out of the way,’ Henzey said to Alice, and they both ran, diffusing their argument.

Soon, they were back home, riding into the yard in Dr Donald Clark’s Morris. Henzey could smell drink on him. Even she could tell that it was a bad time to call Donald Clark out when he’d had three or more hours of solo drinking. Yet his brain and his body seemed immune to the effects of whisky. He drove his car capably enough and his speech, though limited to just a few monosyllables, did not sound slurred. Henzey felt sorry for him. Why should a man so patently intelligent try and dissolve his brain in alcohol? What was it that drove him to it? What demons lurked inside his head provoking him to consume the stuff at every opportunity? From what was he trying to escape? What was he trying to blot out from his mind?

They entered the house and Donald stumbled on the first step as he went to climb the stairs. Quickly he righted himself and went on up with his bag while Henzey remained downstairs with Alice and Maxine.

Henzey heard hushed voices upstairs again. Soon, Donald came down with Lizzie and Jesse. After a few minutes they heard him saying good night and Jesse thanked him over and over for coming out to his mother. Then they walked into the sitting room where the three girls were already sitting, waiting for news. They heard Donald’s motor car start up and move off.

‘How is she?’ Henzey asked.

‘She’s bad, poor soul,’ Jesse replied quietly. ‘She’s sleeping. Somehow, I don’t think she’ll pull through this as easy as she did the last one.’

Lizzie said, ‘You can never tell with a stroke, Jesse. She might be as right as rain tomorrow.’

Jesse shook his head. ‘But then again she might not.’ He sat down on the sofa and sighed heavily. ‘Fetch us a bottle o’ Guinness in, Lizzie. I could murder a drink.’

‘I’ll get it,’ Maxine said. ‘Mom, would you like one?’

‘Yes, go on then, our Maxi. It’ll help me sleep.’ She looked at Jesse. ‘This means we won’t be able to go to the Masonic do on Saturday. Had you forgotten it?’

‘Bugger me! You’m right, Lizzie. And I’ve really been looking forward to that. I don’t suppose they’ll be in a rush to ask me again if we don’t show up at this one.’

‘Oh, ’course they will,’ Lizzie consoled. ‘It can’t be helped, your mother being poorly. Anyway, you can always go without me.’

‘Don’t be daft, Lizzie. I couldn’t go there without you. Not on Ladies’ Night.’

‘There’s nothing to stop you both going, Jesse,’ Henzey said. ‘Billy and me could stay in and keep an eye on Ezme while you went out. If anything were to go wrong Billy could always drive down to Donald’s and fetch him.’

Jesse and Lizzie looked at each other seeking consensus. Lizzie knew how much going to the Masonic Lodge on Saturday meant to him. He did not want to miss it, and if there was a way they could both attend he would take it gladly. Lizzie nodded and Jesse shrugged his consent.

‘I imagined you’d want to go dancing,’ Lizzie said.

‘Well we would normally, but it’s not important. Billy won’t mind.’

In any case, after giving precedence to his family tonight, he could hardly complain if she made a similar appeal on Saturday. She was not motivated by vindictiveness, since she felt not one ounce of malice, but she thought that she could help Jesse and, in so doing, might feasibly make Billy realise that he had hurt her by dumping her at home so early. Perhaps he should be made to realise that.

‘Henzey, you’re a treasure,’ Jesse declared.

‘Well…as I’m such a treasure…can I go to the Town Hall and wait for the election result?’

‘Not on your own you won’t, madam,’ Lizzie answered. ‘And neither Jesse nor me can go now, on account of Ezme.’

Jesse said, ‘Didn’t her Uncle Joe and Aunt May say they were going? She could go with them.’

‘She could, but then she won’t want to get up for work in the morning.’

‘I shall be up like a lark.’

‘As long as that’s a promise. If they’re not still at home, they’ll be up The Junction. Put your hat and coat back on.’

Uncle Joe and Aunty May lived next door to number 48, where the Kites used to live before moving across the road to the dairy house. Henzey found them in The Junction as her mother had suggested. They were about to go to the Town Hall with Tom the Tatter, who had his best suit on with a grubby old cap and a dirty, white muffler. Phyllis Fat and her husband, Hartwell Dabbs, had decided to go too, as had Colonel Bradley, who was a woman, but cursed and drank like a navvy.

‘Ain’t yer courtin’ tonight, our Henzey?’ May asked.

‘I’ve done my courting tonight, Aunty May. Now I’m going out to enjoy myself.’

May chuckled at Henzey’s apparent indifference to courtship.

They walked steadily to the town, through the Market Place, where one or two revellers were sitting on the empty market stall trestles, some with their heads in their hands, the worse for drink. Others were singing noisily.

By the time they reached the new Town Hall, all lit up with electric lights, a sizeable crowd had gathered. There were intense debates between some on the vices and virtues of the three main parties. Half a dozen constables broke up a brawl between a Labour supporter and a Conservative supporter and then their truculent wives, who were pulling each other’s hair out in handfuls. Others laughed at the political fervour of some of their fellow citizens.

‘Just look at them daft buggers,’ Tom the Tatter said from under his cap and unkempt hair, which always seemed as one single unit.

‘What they arguin’ about, I wonder?’ May said.

Hartwell replied, ‘I ’eared ’em. The Labour chap was on about gettin’ rid o’ the peers.’

‘From Dudley?’ Phyllis asked.

He shrugged. ‘From anywhere, I reckon.’

‘Why, the saft sod. There’s ne’er a pier in Dudley. Where’s ’e think ’e is? Soddin’ Blackpool? Yo’ can tell ’e ai’ a local mon.’

The Town Hall clock struck midnight.

‘Shouldn’t be long now,’ Colonel Bradley commented, looking up at the sky as if the darkness might yield a clue as to any likely change in the weather. She took a hip flask out of her jacket pocket and took a slug of whisky. ‘Come and stand by me, young Henzey. You’ll get a better view here.’

Henzey did as she was invited.

‘I shun’t get too excited yet,’ Phyllis Fat crowed. ‘There’s still some more dignit’ries what ai’ in yet. ’Ere’s some more on ’em now by the looks o’ things.’

Three limousines pulled up. Henzey, standing on the steps of the art gallery opposite with Colonel Bradley, noticed the Mayor and his family alight from the first car. The second one disgorged Councillor Walter Dewsbury and his wife. Next out of the same car, to her surprise, came Andrew Dewsbury and she shuddered as she recalled his birthday party. She waited and craned her neck to get a look at Nellie, but Andrew was the last person to get out of the second motor car. Nellie obviously had better things to do. The third vehicle deposited somebody Joe maintained was Alderman Hickinbottom, and his wife.

Another quarter of an hour passed before the Mayor, with Councillor Dewsbury, Alderman Hickinbottom and half a dozen others, stepped out onto the balcony above the Town Hall entrance. One man started to blow into the huge microphone in front of him. After they’d all shuffled into suitable positions, the returning officer looked round, nodded, blew into the microphone again, then announced the count. Oliver Baldwin had taken the Dudley seat for Labour and there was raucous cheering.

Next day revealed how the general election had ended in stalemate. Labour had won most seats but the Conservatives had polled most votes. Stanley Baldwin remained at 10 Downing Street and it was hinted that he would reshuffle his cabinet. Because it was up to the Liberals to decide who should govern, it was far from over yet. Many reckoned that the lowering of the voting age for women from thirty to twenty-one, the ‘flapper vote’, had helped Labour.

On Saturday evening, Billy arrived at the dairy house to collect Henzey. He wore a navy blue three piece suit, white shirt and Paisley tie. As Henzey opened the door to him he handed her a bouquet of roses and kissed her.

‘To say sorry for last Thursday night. Am I forgiven?’

‘You didn’t have to bring me flowers, Billy. They are beautiful, though. Thank you.’ He stepped inside. ‘Before you say anything else, I’ve got a confession to make – I went to watch the election results after with Aunty May and Uncle Joe.’

‘Oh?’

‘At least I’ve got an idea what our new MP looks like. I wish you’d been there, though. I saw the Dewsbury family, but Nellie wasn’t with them.’

‘Wasn’t she?’ he grunted evasively, then followed her into the sitting room. He sat down next to Alice, who had her nose in a book. She greeted him summarily. ‘Aren’t you ready yet, Henzey?’

She shook her head.

‘How long shall you be?’

‘We’re not going anywhere, Billy. Leastwise I’m not. Mom and Jesse have already gone out and I have to look after Ezme. I don’t mind if you still want to go out without me, though. Let me just go and put these roses into a vase, then I’ll explain.’

Herbert was out with Edgar Hodgetts, his pal, and Alice and Maxine both said they had arranged to meet a gang from Oldbury at the roller skating rink. Henzey returned with her blooms in an earthenware vase, which she put on the table. She sat down beside Billy on the sofa and explained more fully what had happened.

‘You don’t mind do you, Billy?’

‘Oh, I can hardly mind after what happened on Thursday. So how is the old duch?’

‘She’s ever so poorly. Doctor’s been again today. Anyway, how was your dad on Thursday? Was he drunk, like you said he’d be?’

‘As a bobowler. It’s a good job I went to fetch him. Mind you, he’s been drunk ever since he heard the result.’

‘Would you like a drink? I’ll get you a bottle of beer from the kitchen if you like.’

He said he would, so she fetched a bottle and glass and poured it for him. He took a long drink, then put his glass on the floor at the side of the sofa while she took the empty bottle out. She came back sipping a glass of sherry.

‘Might as well have a drink myself, even if we are stopping in.’

She sat beside him again. He stood up, took off his jacket, threw it over one of the armchairs and sat beside her again companionably.

‘I’ve missed you this last couple of days, Henzey. I really have.’

She snuggled up to him. ‘Ooh, tell me again.’

He chuckled. ‘I have, honest. I’ve really missed you. I’ve been thinking about you all the time. I don’t mind that we’re stopping in tonight. At least I’ll have you to myself.’ He took another quaff of beer.

Henzey took a sip of her sherry and smiled contentedly. ‘You know, I like this house,’ she commented, looking round her. ‘It’s so much bigger than the one we lived in over the road, isn’t it?’

‘Your mother’s got it nice.’

‘Oh, it’ll be even nicer in time. You should see upstairs now.’

‘I’ve seen upstairs. Well, I’ve seen the new bathroom.’

‘You should see the difference now. Come up with me and have a look. I’ve got to go up and check on Ezme again, anyway.’ She took another sip of sherry and put it on the table as she arose from the sofa. Billy followed her upstairs.

Henzey gently opened the door into Ezme’s room and walked over to where she lay. The old lady seemed to be sleeping soundly enough, but grunted once.

‘God, she looks pale,’ Billy whispered.

‘Poor old soul. If I ever get like that I hope they’ll put me down. I never want to suffer. I’m too much of a coward. I remember my dad…’

Billy took her hand. He led her out of the room and out of the mood. ‘Nice, big landing,’ he said brightly. ‘Now show me your room. I’ve never seen your room.’

She feigned primness. ‘My room? Hey, I’m not sure that’s quite the proper thing for a young lady to do,’

‘Oh, it’ll be all right, Henzey. I shan’t disgrace you by being indiscreet.’

She laughed and, still with her hand in his, she led him along the landing to the room at the end, overlooking the back of the house. It was small and, in it, was a new single bed with a pale blue bedspread, a dressing table, covered with an assortment of make-up and bottles of perfume, and a tall cane whatnot standing in a corner bearing a cyclamen in flower. The walls were painted in a cool, pale blue and the woodwork was white. A photograph of her father as a very handsome young man hung on the wall opposite her bed.

‘I say, this is really nice,’ Billy enthused. ‘Did you pick the colours yourself?’

She sat on the bed, looked around her, and nodded. ‘I like it. It’s all my own. A whole room to myself. I can still hardly believe it.’

He sat beside her. ‘It’s cool, like you.’

‘What is?’

‘Blue. It suits you. Reflects your personality…and it matches your eyes.’

She flashed a smile at him for the compliment. ‘Think I’m cool, do you? D’you mean cold?’

‘No. Definitely not cold, Henzey. Not you. Cool. Sometimes a bit aloof. Like when I got here and you said I could still go out by myself if I wanted. As if you didn’t care.’

‘Oh, Billy, is that how I seem?’ She looked at him earnestly, and she wrapped her arms around him. ‘Billy, I do care. Maybe more than it shows. Maybe more than is good for me.’

He saw the love shining unmistakably at him through her soft, sincere eyes, and he kissed her. His lips felt so good. It would be forever impossible to have a surfeit of his kisses. She could happily kiss him till eternity. She offered no resistance when he pressed her backwards so that she was lying on the bed; no resistance at all. Gently he rolled on top of her, their lips still touching, and she realised the joy of having his weight upon her. After a while they broke off their kiss and his lips brushed her throat and her neck, as light as the touch of a feather, then lingered at her ear. As she felt his warm breath she experienced sensations up and down her spine that she could not control. She could feel him pressing against her, urgently, and her heart beat faster at the pleasure of it all. They kissed more, lingering, savouring each other’s lips. He rolled on to his side and she shuffled to face him, smiling trustingly. His knee slid between her thighs and she liked the feel of it. But the familiar mental barriers arose inside her head like intruding demons.

With no hesitation Billy unfastened the buttons at the front of her blouse and she knew that from this moment, unless she stopped him, there would be no turning back. The familiar fear of getting into trouble taunted her, though she desperately wished to fight it. Now Billy’s hands, so smooth, so caring, were inside her brassiere, gently fondling her breasts. It was such bewildering pleasure. As she felt his mouth on hers again she thought of her mother, and what would happen if she allowed herself to give in to her physical desires and got into trouble as a result. While she desperately wanted to be whisked along on this tide of passion, she wrestled with the years of indoctrination. She was being pulled one way by apprehension, the other way by yearning. It was like a tug of war.

But desire was gaining the upper hand.

Her blouse was all undone, the shoulder strap of her underslip was halfway down her arm and her brassiere was loose. She wriggled and thought she was going to burst with ecstasy when Billy’s tongue settled on one of her nipples, teasing it unmercifully as it hardened. He undid the waistband of her skirt and opened it up with his delving, free hand. Her underslip was up, baring her midriff, and he nuzzled his face into her soft belly, venturing lower and lower with his mouth. Before she knew it, her skirt was off, slid under her bottom and down her legs. His hand stopped to explore the smooth, bare flesh above her stockings before he kissed her there, too. Her heart was pounding hard, and her breathing was in faltering gasps. She wanted him. God, how she wanted him, feeling his warm, gentle kisses all over her body, tingling, tantalising, so scandalously tempting. What on earth would her mother have to say if she could see her now, down to her underwear, her underslip around her waist, her brassiere there, too, and Billy sprawled over her, kissing her thighs?

It was then, with thankfulness and relief, that she remembered there need be no guilt any more. She had been freed of it. There could be no more threats. Her mother had condoned this sort of thing by her own example. Her mother had behaved like this, also lured by love and by desire; by her own admission; before she was married.

So could she.

She sighed vocally at both the realisation and the astounding sensations Billy was inducing.

‘My angel,’ he breathed, pushing himself up the bed to face her and to lie alongside her again. ‘Have I shocked you?’

‘Shock me a bit more,’ she breathed. ‘Shock me a bit more.’

‘Henzey, I want you.’ His voice was as soft and warm as his kisses. ‘God, how I want you.’

She sighed at the clean, manly smell of his skin. She sighed even more as he slid her knickers down her legs. ‘Oh, Billy, I love you so much.’

As she lay there afterwards she did not know how she felt. Maybe she had expected too much. Maybe she was expecting some magnificent, automatic fireworks display or something, but none came. Billy lay beside her, quiet, still. She could feel the sweat on his forehead as she stroked it while he fought against sleep. She began to feel cold so she pulled up the bedclothes. Her emotions were half delight that she had given herself, that she had committed herself fully to the man she loved so much, but they were also half disappointment. Billy seemed content but where was the satisfaction for her? Still she felt unfulfilled, hungry after what should have been a feast. She was still aching to be loved, still tingling inside. She turned to Billy and he opened his eyes. They kissed briefly and he smiled, his arm going around her, his hand gently squeezing a cheek of her naked bottom. She loved him beyond her wildest imaginings. The feel of his skin against hers was a delight she had never known before, never properly imagined.

‘What time is it?’ she asked.

‘About nine, judging by the light. We don’t have to get up yet, do we?’

‘Alice and Maxi won’t be back before half past ten.’

He kissed her again, more fervently this time. ‘Jesus Christ, I love you, Henzey Kite. I didn’t know how much till just.’

She pushed herself against him. Within a few minutes he wanted her again.

There was a fireworks display after all. Her eyes were closed but she saw bright lights, dancing, shooting everywhere, cascading in plumes, soaring, bursting, lighting her up, making her smile and gasp and sigh profoundly at the beauty of it all.

At last she understood. At last she knew what total pleasure was, what real love was. At last she understood why she had always felt so empty and unfulfilled when they had merely kissed passionately before. At last she was a woman, utter and complete. At last she understood why her mother, and so many others like her, had so easily fallen into the oldest of nature’s traps. Who could blame them? Never had she experienced anything like this. Never had she dreamed that there could be anything so sublime. It was a revelation. And she knew already that she was addicted.

Outside, the light of that first day of June had dimmed. All was quiet except for the sound of a distant motor car and the plaintive barking of a dog on Cawney Hill. She got out of bed, picked up her clothes from the floor, and got dressed. She woke Billy. He, too, slid out of bed and stood, holding her tight before she rearranged the sheets and blankets. While he dressed she tiptoed into Ezme’s room. The curtains were still open and the grey dusk afforded just enough light to see that the old lady still lay undisturbed, exactly as they had left her before they went to bed. Henzey took a match and lit the oil lamp on the bedside table, for Jesse had not seen fit to disturb her with having gas lights fitted in her room while she was so unwell.

In its glow Ezme’s complexion was like wax. Henzey touched her face with the backs of her fingers, half expecting her to react. But there was no reaction. Ezme’s face felt cold as clay. She was dead.