Hope at Holly Cottage (22 page)

It was as she shovelled on more coal that she heard Queenie’s gasp, a sort of low rattling as she drew air into her lungs. Anna dropped the shovel and flew to her side. Queenie clung to her, staring up at her, mouth and eyes wide open.

‘Cheel,’ she managed in an unearthly cackle, and then she fell limp in Anna’s arms.

Oh, dear God. Please, God, no. Anna wanted to shake life back into her. But Queenie had perhaps just lost consciousness. Yes, that was it. So she rocked her gently instead. Back and forth. Silently. Tears meandering down her cheeks and dropping like cobwebs onto Queenie’s grey hair.

‘Oh, good Lord.’

Anna lifted her head, and through her tear-blurred vision saw Olive’s familiar shape in the doorway. She had evidently thrown on some clothes, as she was fully dressed, though her hair was all awry.

‘Clifford told me as soon as he’d spoken to the doctor. He’s on his way.’ The other woman caught her breath as she came into the room. ‘Oh, God. Queenie. She’s not …?’

Anna stared up at her. Numbed. Her senses deadened to
everything but fear and grief. And yet she was alive to every sound in the cottage, every flicker of the oil lamps.

Olive hadn’t been able to say the ultimate word, and Anna shook her head fiercely. ‘No. No, she’s not. She’ll be all right till the doctor comes,’ she assured her, smoothing Queenie’s grizzled head.

Olive sank down beside them and gently felt Queenie’s wrist for a pulse. She said nothing, but after a moment or two, replaced Queenie’s gnarled hand in her lap and patted it.

‘He won’t be long, Dr Franfield,’ she murmured quietly.

Anna nodded and went on rocking Queenie’s lifeless form, willing her to live, trying to pump her own life force into the woman she loved so dearly. And so they waited. In the crystal silence of the night.

They heard the rumble of an engine, the sound of running feet. The beam of a torch, the figure of a tall man in the doorway.

‘Dr Franfield,’ Anna gulped in relief.

He crossed the room and Anna relinquished Queenie from her arms, carefully laying her head back on a cushion. She watched, every nerve taut, as the doctor listened to Queenie’s chest, his brow knitted in concentration. His practised fingers felt beneath the folds of her jaw, then he took a small torch from his bag, and lifting each of Queenie’s closed lids, shone it into her eyes. Flicking it back and forth a couple of times. Then laid the flat of his hand on her forehead. And all the time, Anna held her breath, praying. Please, God …

Dr Franfield sat back on his heels, his cheeks drawn in. And the bud of hope withered and died in Anna’s breast.

‘I’m so sorry, Miss Millington. Anna,’ he said gravely but
with the deepest kindness. ‘There’s … nothing. She’s already beginning to turn cold. I should say she passed away about twenty minutes ago. Shortly after your neighbour called me.’

His words, heavy with sympathy though they were, were shards of glass in Anna’s heart. ‘Are you sure?’ she demanded at once, her voice touching on hysteria. ‘There must be something—’

The doctor slowly shook his head. ‘It’s too late. I’m afraid she really has gone.’

A terrible ache swelled up in Anna’s throat, strangling her with sorrow. As tears filled her eyes and began to drip down from her chin, she gathered Queenie in her arms again and held her. So close. As if she could never let her go.

Dr Franfield put a comforting hand on her shoulder and then got to his feet. ‘Could you make us all some tea, please, Mrs … er …?’

‘Olive.’ The woman heaved with an oppressive sigh as she, too, stood up. ‘A good friend was Queenie. For many a long year. A sort of institution, you might say. Born in this cottage she was. And always said she’d die in it, too. It’s what she would have wanted.’

Their voices floated over Anna’s head, as did the sounds of Olive making tea. Queenie. Oh, Queenie, you can’t have gone. We had so much to look forward to. Charlie growing up, going to school. Queenie, don’t leave me. Please.

Her words were in her head, reverberating in her skull. Or perhaps she moaned them as she continued to rock Queenie in her arms. No. No. This hadn’t happened. Why, oh, why?

She angrily shrugged off the good doctor’s hands when he tried to lift her. He waited a moment, then dropped down on his haunches beside her.

‘You have to let her go, now, Anna,’ he whispered gently. ‘She was a lovely lady, but now she’s gone. And you must think of Charlie. You’ll have him to care for in the morning, and it’s already growing light.’

His words were soothing, a soft balm. She raised her head that was buried in Queenie’s shoulder, and with the greatest care, laid her back on the floor. She sniffed, her heart dragging in pain, and ran the back of her hand across her dripping nose. Yes. Charlie. Of course. He’d be awake soon. To Queenie, Charlie had been her own lost baby Charlotte come back to her. So Anna must pull herself together for both their sakes.

Goodbye, Queenie. My dearest, dearest …

Dr Franfield helped her to her feet and Olive led her away. Over her shoulder, she saw the doctor lift the quilt over Queenie’s still, lifeless face.

‘’Eenie?’

Charlie looked up expectantly, head cocked to one side, as he sat in his high chair. Anna gazed across at him, choking on the grief that raked her throat. She felt empty, her heart scoured of feeling. Nothing but the all-encompassing misery that held her imprisoned in a hostile grey shroud from which she felt she would never break free.

First her dear, innocent mother, then her poor father whose life should have been oh, so different, and now … Anna felt as if her heart would quite literally break. She was aware of it beating too fast, nervously, as if it would soon give out. She felt strange, shaky, wanting to lie down and yet she knew she wouldn’t sleep. And although she tried to resist the agony of it, her eyes kept being drawn to the spot on the floor in front of the armchair where only hours earlier Queenie had died in her arms.

Dr Franfield had been wonderful. ‘She was a great lady
from what I knew of her,’ he said kindly, for he was a great believer in talking openly about the deceased. In not letting the pain of bereavement fester inside. ‘Quite a character.’

Anna nodded, since speech seemed beyond her. But then, to her surprise, she found herself saying, ‘But she was only sixty-four.’

William Franfield raised an eyebrow. ‘Really? She looked so much older.’

‘Yes, I know. I think it was the hard life she’d always led. Up here. Out in all weathers.’

It was William’s turn to nod. ‘And had she always been in good health?’ he asked gently.

‘She had seemed sort of tired to me recently,’ Olive put in.

Anna looked up a little sheepishly. ‘And she’d had a few funny turns. As if she’d lost herself. Just for a few seconds. I put it down to thinking about things in the past. Memories. But yesterday morning, she had a terrible shock. She got a letter. We’ve got to move out. The cottage has been condemned.’

‘Good Lord!’

‘You can imagine how Queenie felt about that. She was livid. And then she went all peculiar. Nearly fainted, and she said everything went dark. It was over in a matter of moments. I wanted to call you, but she wouldn’t have it.’ She met William’s steady eyes, her already thrumming heartbeat accelerating painfully. ‘If I’d
made
her see you yesterday, she wouldn’t have died, would she?’

William frowned at her. ‘Now, don’t you go blaming yourself. From what you say, she might have had one or two very tiny strokes. I’d probably have found something not quite right and given her something for it. But this was
a massive heart attack and nothing would have prevented it. So, no more of that sort of talk.’ He leant across and squeezed her shaking hand. ‘Now, is there anyone else you’d like me to call for you?’

Ethel. Of course, Ethel. And her mum. But the luxury of a telephone was beyond them or any of their neighbours in Ford, so it was out of the question. It would have to be a telegram later on in the morning when the rest of the world had woken up.

‘No, not really,’ she mumbled.

‘I’ll stay with her,’ Olive said protectively.

‘Well, if it’s all right with you,’ the doctor began, rising to his feet, ‘I’ll use your telephone again. To call the undertakers,’ he added under his breath. ‘I could give you a mild sedative, Anna, but you’ve got Charlie to look after. I’ll call again later, after my rounds. And you might want to say your last goodbyes,’ he suggested delicately.

And so daybreak had ticked on into morning. The July dawn sent shafts of sunlight spilling into the cottage. Anna drew back the curtains, folded back the quilt and let the rays fall on Queenie’s peaceful face. Like an angel. The undertakers came, two mature men, solemn and respectful in dark suits. She kissed Queenie’s cold, marble forehead one last, final time.

Olive had stayed a little longer, but then had popped back home to wash and dress properly and make Clifford his breakfast since nothing must break his routine. The world outside was turning again, birds singing. The occasional vehicle passing on the road. All so normal. And yet never again would it be the same.

Charlie had woken and Anna hugged him tightly as she
lifted him from his cot. She must be jolly and bright for him. He was eighteen months old. He would forget.

‘Queenie’s … asleep,’ she answered him. And at that moment, Olive returned, eyes red-rimmed so Anna knew she had been crying. Odd that. Anna’s own tears wouldn’t come.

Things to do. Charlie’s bath. The goats, the hens. Olive went into Princetown for her. Sent telegrams to Ethel and to Carrie. Called into Daisy, Gladys and Betty, the Crow sisters, in their new home. Various others who knew Queenie so well.

William Franfield returned as promised, accompanied by his wife, who Anna already knew, of course, as she was his receptionist. But now she introduced herself as Deborah.

‘I’ll help you arrange the funeral,’ she smiled sympathetically. ‘I assume there’s little money, but we can fill in some forms. I’ll do everything I can to help, and you can ring me any time. You might have to bear with me on occasion, mind. Our son gets married in two weeks’ time, and our daughter will be arriving from America with her husband and baby the day after tomorrow. We’ve not met our grandson so we’re very excited.’

Deborah Franfield failed to suppress her proud smile, and Anna realised the good lady was trying to encourage her with talk of happier events. She indeed felt pleased for them. Fleetingly.

‘Is that Dr Franfield junior?’ she asked, vaguely remembering the handsome young man who had once stood at the bottom of her and Carrie’s beds in the maternity home.

‘Yes. The sad part is that immediately after the honeymoon, they’re going straight off to Germany for three years so that Edwin can do his National Service. He was able to defer it
while he did his medical training, but they’ve caught up with him now. And it’ll be three years instead of two because he’ll go in as a medical officer on a short commission. But at least they’ll be in married quarters together. We’ll miss them both terribly, though.’

‘I’m sure you will,’ Anna answered mechanically. But not as much as I’ll miss Queenie.

‘And I’ve had to get a long-term locum,’ William grimaced. ‘Still, seems a good chap I’ve taken on.’

And so the day went on. So much to do. To arrange. As well as care for Charlie. Ethel appeared in the afternoon. Mabel had gone to Dingles as soon as she had read the telegram. Ethel had managed to get the afternoon off and the following day so that she could stay with Anna overnight. Other people came and went. Shaking their heads. Couldn’t believe Queenie had gone. There was no word from Carrie, and William didn’t return again in the evening as promised.

‘Probably on an emergency,’ Ethel decided, wisely nodding her head.

It wasn’t until that night that Anna’s frail hold on herself snapped. The glass bubble in which she had existed all day, watching everything going on around her as if this was all a dream and she wasn’t part of it, suddenly shattered. And she wept and howled her grief in Ethel’s arms until there were no more tears to shed, and her heart and soul lay empty and withered in her breast.

She moved through each day, trying to remember all the things she must do. Feed the hens. Bring in some water. Get dressed.

‘Bickit, Mummy?’

What? Oh, Charlie. I’m sorry. ‘Here you are, darling.’ Forgetting he had already had two biscuits that morning.

The undertaker came the next day and she thanked God Ethel was there. It was Ethel who arranged things with him while Anna sat in the chair, her face pale and her eyes like mud. Later, with gentle understanding, the vicar asked what he could say about Queenie during the service, but he could drag little from the girl who sat like a hollow shell in the chair, while her friend who had opened the door to him had to fill in what she knew of Queenie Witherspoon.

‘So where are you going to live?’ Olive asked her the day after Ethel had left.

Another night with scarcely any sleep, drifting into the shadows. Dark smudges beneath her eyes. Food sticking in her throat. Her limbs not wanting to move. Oh, she just wanted to sit in a chair and sink beneath the waves that washed over her.

Olive’s insistent gaze drew her attention. What had she said? Oh, yes. She shook her head.

‘I really don’t know.’

‘Well, you’re obviously going to have to move from here. I’m afraid I can’t offer you a home. Clifford, well, you know. I’m sure Gladys and her sisters would have had you if they’d still been living next door, but their new house is so
small
.’ She paused, working her lips. ‘What about the place Queenie was offered? Perhaps you could have that. We could go to the Duchy’s offices—’

‘I couldn’t afford it. Not on my own.’

‘Oh, dear. Well, you’ll have to find
somewhere
.’

‘I’ve got a month. I’ll start looking after … after the funeral.’

‘All right.’ Olive was satisfied, for now, at least. ‘And I’m happy to help you. But, Anna, you must pull yourself together. For Charlie’s sake.’

Charlie. Oh, God, where was he? Anna snatched at her breath, then almost collapsed with relief. Of course. Taking his afternoon nap. Safe in his cot. Yes, Charlie must come first, no matter what.

The postman came the next day, offering his condolences, since he had heard in Princetown that Queenie had died. Who’d have thought it, eh? Anna thanked him, though his sympathies opened up the raw wound again. She took the post, several envelopes, which was unusual. All sympathy cards with such kind and well-meant words that Anna wanted to cry again. But she mustn’t, though her throat ached with the need of tears. Charlie. Every time he asked for Queenie, she must smile and think of some way to distract him. Even though it twisted the knife in her ribs.

Nothing from Carrie yet. But she expected she would come to the funeral.

But what was this? A London postmark, and, yes, it was Frankie’s writing. Oh, how she had longed to hear from her. To know that she was all right after the way she had turned up on their doorstep in such a state back in the spring. But now Anna felt she couldn’t stomach someone else’s problems. She was in the black depths of despair, and only Charlie, with his winning smile and his new game of bending over like a length of rubber and grinning at her backwards and upside down as he pushed his head between his legs, could pluck her from her misery.

She left the washing-up that was piling up in the tapless sink. What did it matter now Queenie was dead? She herded
the goats past the vegetables and into the front part of the garden. It was more like a field, really. It was no wonder Queenie had scoffed at the idea of a little patch of ground at the house she’d been offered. Was it that letter and the state Queenie had got herself into over it that had caused her heart attack? But what did it matter? Wouldn’t bring her back, would it?

Anna somewhat absently played ball with Charlie in the field, and then he decided that Wilma and Dolly were more fun. They didn’t seem to mind him too much. Anna used to be worried that they might hurt him, but not anymore. It was as if they appreciated that he was a baby. They weren’t giving milk recently. Needed the services of a billy again. But what was the point now?

Anna sat down on the long grass. Frankie’s letter was in her pocket, and
perhaps
she had the strength to read it. And when she thought of poor Frankie’s face and the bruises she had seen before, she felt ashamed that she hadn’t read the letter at once.

My dear Anna and you, too, Queenie
.

Oh. Anna thumped the paper down on her lap. Out in the sunshine, watching Charlie’s antics, she had felt more relaxed, as if she could imagine … She gritted her teeth, steeling herself to read on.

I’m so sorry I haven’t written for so long, but it isn’t always easy. And I’m sorry for descending on you like that as well. But you were both so kind and really helped me. And do you know what? You were right! I took your advice. I spoke to Lady Prue and she made arrangements for me to see a specialist in Harley Street. It wasn’t very pleasant but he couldn’t find anything wrong with me. He said specifically
to Gilbert that it was just a matter of time and we both had to be patient. The only thing he found was that I’m a bit anaemic and he’s given me some pills. Said it might make all the difference, so we’re keeping our fingers crossed. And as for our marriage, it’s made it so much better again. As if we’ve made a fresh start. Gilbert’s never hit me again, and it’s all down to you, Anna, so thank you so much!

I still think we should keep our friendship a secret, though. I could see things going bad again if Gilbert found out. He’d be furious, and I do want to keep on seeing you. We’re driving down on Monday. I’ll try to make some excuse to go into Tavistock on my own on Thursday and meet you at the same place for lunch, if that’s OK. And please bring dear little Charlie with you. But don’t worry if I don’t turn up. It’ll only mean I couldn’t get away. We’ll be down for a couple of weeks and I’ll try to get in contact in some other way.

So, hopefully, until next Thursday, and thank you again for everything,

All my love

Frankie

Anna sat back with a little breath of relief. She had fully expected a tale of woe, her mind conjuring up a sorry picture of Frankie, battered and bruised with purple marks all over her. But things seemed to be looking up. She was so pleased for her, and the thought cheered her up somewhat.

Monday. The funeral was Tuesday. And on Thursday, she and Charlie would catch the bus into Tavistock. She would have to break the news to Frankie, of course, that Queenie had died, but Frankie hardly knew her. She had only met her the once, so perhaps that would make it easier. Not just for Frankie, but for herself.

She looked up as Charlie ran towards her, his cheeks pink from chasing Wilma who had picked up his ball and made off with it. Charlie stood in front of her, his mouth in a cross pout, and pointed fiercely at the frolicking goat.

‘’Eenie!’ he demanded. ‘Ball!’

Anna shut her eyes. When it came to taking anything from Wilma, Queenie was the only one who could do so, and Charlie knew it. Anna bit on her lip, but couldn’t stop herself from bursting into tears.