to him, little sparrow. He waits no longer.’ Then she left the room and locked the door. She muttered, ‘Like shades in love and death’s oblivion lost,’ and then disappeared into the night.
I heard Jack’s anguished yell the next day. Being fleet of foot I arrived before the household staff and came across Jack clutching a white piece of paper given to him from the hospital orderly. Tears were streaming down his face and he collapsed to his knees moaning. I hesitated, then ran to him and tried to hug him. He shuddered, then seeing me, grabbed me with a wild strength, holding me so tightly I could barely breathe.
I was so upset at his outburst that I began crying too without really knowing why. Meg came running in, followed closely by the cook and my mother.
‘Jack. What has happened?’ my mother asked softly.
Jack stared mournfully at her, his eyes bloodshot and puffy. The suffering in his face caused her to step back. He raised his right hand holding the sodden letter out to her. She stiffened and came towards him to take the letter and read it. We all stared at her wondering what had caused him so much misery. She sighed handing the letter to Meg.
‘I’m so sorry, Jack,’ she said, touching his back gently. ‘She was a good woman. May her troubled soul rest in peace.’
My eyes widened and I frowned, guessing at the contents with horror. Was my visit to Magda in any way connected to the sudden demise of his wife? Had I unintentionally provoked some ancient curse and wished her dead without realising? The timing was surely more than coincidental and I shivered, feeling cold to the core. I wanted my mother and managed to wrestle out of Jack’s arms to race into hers. She hugged me sweetly, mystified at my abject dismay. How darling her son was to be so sad for his friend Jack. She kissed my head and cuddled me more. She loved my sensitive spirit.
The guilt sat thickly inside my gut. I had a hairy, black spider crawling inside me, reaching into my limbs and weaving threads of darkness around my organs. Why did I have to be so nosy? If only I could leave well enough alone for once instead of sticking my fat beak into it. I would have given anything to have the power to undo what was done but it was too late now. I glumly stared over at Meg as she read the letter. She padded over to Jack and cuddled him, oblivious of the eyes watching.
‘My poor Jack. My poor Jack. I’m sorry, my love,’ she cooed into his ear, nestling his head deep into her bosom. He burrowed in seeking sanctuary whilst sobbing. I peeked at my mother with interest to see how she would react to this open display of affection. She seemed unperturbed. I guessed she had known all along about their relationship but had remained discreet about their privacy. I hugged her again with love.
My father had been in the office and was unaware of the drama unfolding in the courtyard. It was only when my mother sent the cook to inform him that he arrived and stared in confusion at Jack and Meg embracing with tears.
‘What’s happened, Elizabeth?’ he asked quietly in her ear. She whispered to him with me still entangled around her legs. He nodded occasionally and rubbed his chin with his fingers. He looked to the couple and back at her in askance. She nodded sadly as it dawned on his face. He stood thinking before approaching the couple awkwardly.
‘I’m sorry to hear the bad news, Jack. Dreadful business, dreadful. Rebecca was unwell for an interminable amount of time and we all know how much you cared for her.’ He watched Jack unfurl from Meg to stand and shake Charles’ hand.
‘Thank you, Master Charles. I appreciate your kind words.’ He rummaged in his pocket for a handkerchief to wipe his eyes and blow his nose.
‘I understand that you would like some time off to attend to the funeral arrangements. We would be honoured to assist in returning her back to the estate and burying her next to your son George.’
Jack’s eyes filled again and he jutted his chin out and nodded. Then he turned and walked back to his cottage. Meg made to go after him but a sober glance from Jack stopped her in her tracks. He stared right through her with soulless eyes and shook his head. A sob caught in her throat and she falteringly turned back towards the house with my mother. I was at a loss as to what to do next so I clasped my mother’s hand and followed her. My father beckoned to the hospital orderly to come inside and wait whilst he wrote a note arranging the return of Rebecca’s body to Jack’s cottage. Silence filled the courtyard.
Rebecca’s body arrived the next day on a hearse pulled by two black horses. The funeral had been arranged in three days to allow Rebecca’s family to arrive. The coffin was cautiously unloaded and carried into Jack’s cottage where the table lay bare waiting. I watched from my window, peering at the black drape covering his windows. He was dressed in black and bowed his head as the coffin passed him.
I had never seen a dead person before and I was concerned that Mother wished for us to pay our respects to Jack and his departed wife Rebecca. Her matter of fact tone with regards to viewing the body stunned me into mute submission and I had nodded dumbly when she advised we would visit after supper. And now that time had come.
‘Meg?’
‘Yes, Charlie.’
‘Meg, what do dead people look like?’ I asked timidly.
She thought for a while, aware I was studying her like an eagle. I was shrewd about any dishonesties she was hoping to expel from her mouth. I wanted the clear bare truth to prepare me for what lay ahead.
‘Well, Charlie, they look the same as when they were alive, just not moving or breathing.’
I needed more information. It was too simple. I waited.
‘In fact, some relations have been known to take photographs of their loved ones as if they were still alive as a memorial of their passing.’
Now really, she had gone too far with that one. I was sure that was a falsehood. She noticed my doubting face and straightened defensively.
‘It’s true! I have seen the photographs myself. They sit them in chairs and paint their eyelids to make them appear alive. Ask your mother if you don’t believe me. It is quite the going thing to do.’ She sniffed.
I narrowed my eyes. ‘Don’t mind if I do, Meg.’ And I trotted out of the room to search for my beloved mother, leaving Meg biting her lip. I found her in the kitchen, preparing some tea cakes to take to Jack.
‘Mother? Is it true that people sit their dead loved ones in chairs and take photographs of them?’ I asked her. She frowned at me.
‘Who told you that?’
‘Meg.’
‘Well, she shouldn’t be filling your head with such things. But strange as it sounds, my son, it is true. It is a sign of respect and love to have them forever captured in their last portrait.’
Meg
