Lovers Meeting Read Online Free Page B

tutting and shaking his head mournfully in the background. Peggy lifted Josie and held the child to her breast, let the older woman lead her to the parlour while Herbert fetched a nip of brandy. She was glad of any sympathy and comfort at that time. She could give little to Josie who could not understand why her father would never come back to her, and cried.
    Herbert Entwistle handed Peggy the brandy and assured her, smirking, ‘We’ll help all we can, m’dear. You can depend on us.’ He arranged for an undertaker, who slipped Herbert a commission. And the evening before the funeral Peggy, deathly pale in her black ‘widow’s weeds’ and with hands shaking still, asked Herbert, ‘May I speak to you in private, Mr Entwistle?’
    He bobbed his head, expansively granting a favour now. He knew there was little money to be had out of Peggy Langley. ‘O’ course. Come into the office.’
    The office, where Mrs Entwistle kept her records, was little bigger than a cupboard. There was a small table and two straight-backed chairs. They sat and Herbert waited while Peggy twisted her wisp of a handkerchief into knots, until he prompted impatiently, ‘What is it, then?’
    Peggy admitted, ‘Will you write a letter for me, please?’ Like many more, she was illiterate. Unlike many, she felt it keenly.
    Herbert’s sense of superiority made him confident. ‘O’ course I will.’ He coughed, then went on apologetically, ‘Trouble is, I have to charge.’ He ended vaguely, ‘Professional rules, y’know.’
    Peggy, still embarrassed, said quickly, ‘Oh, aye.’
    Herbert looked in the drawer under the table and found some sheets of writing paper, a pen and a bottle of ink. The nib was rusted but he scraped it clean with a thumbnail and wiped it on the leg of his trousers. Then he dipped the pen in the ink and poised it over the paper with a flourish. ‘Who is the letter to?’
    ‘Mr William Langley …’
    The letter Peggy dictated hesitantly was simple and short. It informed William of the death of his son, David, expressed Peggy’s sympathy and her own grief and concluded, ‘Yours sincerely, Peggy Langley.’
    Herbert addressed the envelope and said, ‘There y’are, ma’am.’ He ventured, ‘That’ll be sixpence.’ And added quickly as Peggy hesitated, ‘That’s for postage as well.’ So Peggy paid him and he ushered her out, assuring her, ‘You can leave it to me, ma’am, don’t you worry.’ Then he burnt the letter in the kitchen fire and pocketed the money.
    The funeral was in the morning. There was a cold wind numbing their faces and a spit of rain as the few mourners gathered around the coffin with the clergyman officiating. The widow was in black with a veil, and the child stood by her. Josie was very straight in the back and her white face was turned up to look at her mother. That showed because everyone else looked down at the grass and clay of the churchyard. The only other mourners were the Entwistles, Herbert carefully long-faced and his wife dabbing at tears caused by grief – or the wind.
    They all rode back to the boarding house in the solitary cab. Josie still could not comprehend the disappearance of her father, was bewildered and unhappy. She hated the Entwistles, the boarding house, the cemetery and the cab. She whispered to her mother, who sat clutching a handkerchief, ‘Are we going to America now, Mam?’
    Peggy shook her head. ‘No. We’re getting on a train to London.’
    ‘Is that like America?’
    ‘Better. You’ll see.’ But Peggy had no such confidence.
    The cab waited outside the boarding house and the Entwistles got down, but the cabman went in and emerged within minutes carrying a portmanteau on his shoulder. He heaved this up on to the roof then climbed up on to the box and picked up the reins.
    Mrs Entwistle wailed, ‘I hope everything turns out all right for you, dear.’ Herbert smirked and nodded agreement. He knew Peggy had paid her bill, had seen the money change