Dancing the Charleston Read online

  The crowd nodded approvingly, on the verge of applause. There were two more Daimlers full of elderly posh folk, and the household staff walked along behind, all in severe black, even the little kitchen maid who was not much older than me. Ella raised her eyebrows at Aunty as she passed.

  Aunty gripped my hand. ‘Come along, Mona,’ she said, pulling at me to follow the servants into the church.

  ‘But we can’t go in, Aunty! All the village folk are staying outside!’ I said, horrified.

  ‘We’re not village folk,’ she said, and pulled harder.

  I had to follow her, cringing when I heard the murmurs behind us. The church was only half full, so there was plenty of room in the pews, but Aunty didn’t quite have the courage to go and sit in the rows directly behind the chief mourners. We sat right at the back, in the shadows. I fervently hoped no one would spot us if they looked round.

  The deep sad sound of the church organ made me quiver. Lady Somerset’s coffin stood in front of the altar, taking pride of place. The vicar started the service, his voice slow and solemn like the music. I hunched down in case he recognized me as the girl who’d cheeked him.

  Next there was a hymn. Mr George and his wife didn’t sing at all, and neither did Stanley, but Mr Benjamin sang beautifully, and Barbara threw her head back and drowned out everyone else. Aunty didn’t sing, thank goodness, but she mouthed the words, pointing along the lines in her hymn book.

  The vicar started talking about Lady Somerset, saying how respected she had been in the local community. The village children had loved the splendid treats she laid on at Christmas time. He spoke as if she’d made all the buns herself and wrapped every present, and gone down on her knees and played with each and every one of us.

  After a while I grew bored and started going through the hymn book for something to read. Aunty glared at me when I flicked the thin pages, though I hardly made a sound. Barbara’s children were fidgeting and whispering now, but they weren’t being told off at all. Mr George’s children sat stolidly, scarcely moving, though Cedric picked his nose when he thought his mother wasn’t watching.

  At last the service was over and there was another sombre tune on the organ while the undertakers and Mr George and Mr Benjamin carried Lady Somerset out again. They took her over to Sir William’s large tomb. I was glad she wasn’t being buried near Mother – Lady Somerset would have been a very grim companion.

  Aunty and I hung back, watching as her coffin was awkwardly levered inside. I couldn’t help thinking it was a terrible waste of the white-and-gold brocade robe. I wondered if Aunty thought so too, but knew she’d be shocked if I asked her.

  When they closed the tomb again, Mr Benjamin placed white lilies against it in an artistic way. Barbara had picked some cow parsley, and all four of her children sprinkled it around the tomb. Aunty sniffed disapprovingly. Unlike Mr Benjamin’s beautiful lilies, cow parsley was a common weed. Even Stanley looked embarrassed, and Mr George sighed impatiently. His wife told Cedric and Ada to bow their heads in respect, and then led them away.

  The youngest child hung onto a big cow parsley stem, twirling it round like an umbrella. Mr Benjamin shook his head, took it away and tapped it lightly on the little boy’s head.

  ‘Monkey!’ he said fondly. Then he looked up, saw us lurking behind a big tombstone and nodded in a friendly manner.

  ‘Hello, Miss Watson. Hello, Mona.’

  I was thrilled that he knew my name, and bobbed him a curtsy.

  ‘My, don’t you both look smart! Thank you so much for coming. I know just how much my mother relied on you, Miss Watson,’ said Mr Benjamin. ‘It was wonderful of you to make her that splendid robe in such a short space of time.’

  He smiled at us both, while his handsome friend looked at us curiously.

  ‘I am so sorry that you’ve lost your mother,’ Aunty murmured. ‘I don’t know how we’ll all manage without dear Lady Somerset.’

  ‘Thank you. I dare say there will be changes now,’ said Mr Benjamin. ‘And, of course, there will be someone new at the manor.’

  He glanced at his sister-in-law, Mary, holding her children’s hands as she picked her way delicately through the tufty grass.

  Mr Benjamin raised an eyebrow, and then joined his friend. Mr George was the only one left beside the tomb now, his eyes closed in prayer. Aunty hovered. When at last he blew his nose fiercely and walked away, she took a step forward.

  ‘Don’t, Aunty! He’s not friendly like Mr Benjamin,’ I hissed, but she didn’t listen.

  ‘I’m so sorry about your mother, Mr George,’ she said, bowing her head.

  He looked at her, frowning.

  ‘I’m Miss Watson, sir, Lady Somerset’s dressmaker,’ she said. ‘And this is my niece, Mona. We live in Gatekeeper’s Cottage.’

  ‘Yes, I know you do,’ said Mr George. He hadn’t wiped his nose properly and it looked most unpleasant.

  ‘It was your dear mother’s dying wish that we should stay there,’ Aunty went on.

  Mr George gave her such a dreadful look that I felt sick. ‘So you say,’ he said curtly.

  Aunty flushed. ‘It was in front of witnesses, sir.’

  ‘Well, we shall have to wait and see,’ he snapped. ‘This is hardly the time or place to discuss such matters, but I would start making plans for the future, Miss Watson. We shall have to wait until my mother’s will is read, but I very much doubt that there will be any mention of you or your charge.’ And he walked off briskly.

  Aunty put her hand to her chest. Her eyes were screwed shut, as if she was in terrible pain.

  ‘Are you all right, Aunty? Don’t trouble yourself about him. He’s a horrible pig. And did you see his snotty nose?’

  ‘Mona!’ Aunty said faintly.

  ‘Don’t take on so. Mr Benjamin likes us. He’ll let us stay,’ I said, squeezing her hand.

  ‘Yes, but he’s not the one who’ll inherit the estate. If it doesn’t go to Roland, then it’ll be Mr George – and now I’ve put his back up! Oh Lord, why did I go and accost him? You were right to warn me, Mona,’ said Aunty. ‘Now he’ll turn us out just to make a point.’

  ‘He can’t do that. Lady Somerset agreed we could stay. In front of witnesses, like you said.’

  ‘In front of Ella. He’ll never take the word of a maid,’ said Aunty, looking desperate.

  I had to take her arm and help her out of the churchyard as if she was an old lady.

  Mrs Higgins was gathering up her children. ‘We’re going home for a spot of tea, Miss Watson,’ she said. ‘Somehow funerals always make you hungry, don’t they? Would you and Mona care to join us? We’ve got nothing fancy, but I’ve made a big lardy cake.’

  I held my breath. Mrs Higgins’s lardy cake was amazing – rich and curranty and liberally sprinkled with sugar, light in the mouth but wonderfully heavy in the stomach, keeping you full for hours.

  ‘That’s very kind, Mrs Higgins, but I’m afraid we have to get home,’ said Aunty.

  ‘Oh!’ I said, unable to help myself.

  She hesitated. ‘Well, I have to get back to my work – but I dare say Mona could stay a little while, if you don’t mind having her.’

  ‘Of course we don’t. She’s a dear little thing, and such lovely manners. She puts my kiddies to shame,’ said Mrs Higgins cheerily. ‘She’s a credit to you, Miss Watson.’

  Aunty nodded awkwardly and then darted off. I watched her scurry away like a little black beetle, and I knew I should give up on the lardy cake and go with her. She was very worried now. I wondered if we really would be turfed out of the cottage, but I couldn’t bear to think about it just yet. I wanted to lark around and have fun, and so I went and joined the Higgins family.

  I had a big slice of lardy cake while we all discussed the funeral, solemn when talking about Lady Somerset, but shrieking with laughter at Barbara and her shabby artist and all her wild children. I gave an imitation of Mr George, making him snort like a pig, and Mrs Higgins said I had him spot on, and I was