Read Online Sons and Daughters by Margaret Dickinson - Free Book Online

they heard the vicar’s footsteps on the stairs. Cuthbert came into the room looking white faced and slightly dazed. Peggy rose at once and poured him a cup of tea. He sank down into a chair at the table and gulped it gratefully. Then he sat, staring into the middle distance, almost as if he was unaware of the other two people in the room.
    ‘So, Vicar,’ Joe prompted at last. ‘Where’s he want to be buried, then? Lincoln, with me mam?’
    Cuthbert jumped visibly and blinked rapidly. ‘Er – well – no,’ he stuttered, avoiding meeting their eyes. ‘Er – it seems he has a plot already purchased in the churchyard. Next to Mrs Crawford.’
    ‘Next to Mrs Crawford?’ Joe was shocked. ‘A’ ya sure?’
    Cuthbert pursed his mouth. ‘Oh yes. He was adamant. I must look it up in the records, he said. It was all done properly over twenty years ago.’
    ‘But surely, Mr Crawford must have reserved a plot next to his wife? I mean . . .’ Peggy faltered.
    Cuthbert shrugged, but still he avoided meeting their gaze. ‘I presume he’s reserved one on the other side, perhaps. I – don’t know. I’ll need to look it up.’ He rose hurriedly, took his leave and was gone.
    Through the window, Joe watched him go. ‘Ya know summat, our Peg. I’d say yon vicar couldn’t get out of here fast enough.’
    ‘He’s only young. Mebbe he’s not got used to attending the dying yet.’
    ‘Mm,’ Joe said, but the sound expressed his doubt.
    The Warren family gathered around old Harry’s bed as he slipped away. Lily cried openly and there were tears in the boys’ eyes, though they fought hard not to let them fall. Young Tommy was dry eyed but solemn faced. It was the first time someone close to him had died, but he couldn’t remember his grandfather as anything other than a grumpy, bedridden invalid. He had no memories of happier times as had John and Jackson, and even Lily. Peggy and Joe, though sad, couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief, too. The old man had suffered dreadfully, but now he was at peace.
    ‘You know, love,’ Joe said later that night, ‘if you want to help Mary Morgan out now and again, I wouldn’t mind.’
    ‘What about Tommy? He needs a firm hand. He runs wild as it is.’
    Joe smiled. ‘He’s all right. He can’t get up to much mischief that one of us won’t hear about.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Lily was telling me that he arrived at the manor the other week with two other lads, looking very sheepish. She reckons they’d got into a fight with young Georgie Thornton.’
    Peggy gasped. ‘Oh no! We don’t want to make an enemy of the new squire.’
    Joe chuckled softly. ‘Seems the boys all ended up playing together, so no harm done, eh?’
    ‘Not this time, mebbe. But we’d better keep our eye on him. He’s Jackson all over again. Allus in trouble.’
    ‘Well, Jackson’s not turned out so bad, now, has he?’
    ‘No,’ Peggy agreed. ‘But even so . . .’ She said no more, but Joe’s approval of her helping out at Buckthorn Farm had made her think. If it gave that poor lass a bit more freedom, then she’d do it willingly. The thing was, would that miserly old devil agree to it?

 
Nine
     
    The church was packed for Harry Warren’s funeral. Foreman for Buckthorn Farm for much of his adult life, he’d been well known and liked in the district. Farmers whom he’d met at the weekly markets years before in Ravensfleet, and even from farther afield, attended. Miles Thornton was there as a mark of respect for the family, even though he’d never known Harry.
    Osbert Crawford did not attend. His absence was whispered about, but when they surrounded the newly dug grave, many thought that perhaps he couldn’t bear to see his wife’s grave right next to the yawning hole.
    The headstone bore the wording: Alice, beloved wife of Osbert Crawford. Born 1 August 1876, died 6 June 1905.
    ‘Two days after our mam,’ Joe murmured, standing with Peggy and his family as they lowered