‘Come on, be finishing your food,’ Harriet snapped at her sisters, instantly regretting her tone.
Ann, having not touched her breakfast of herring, cheese and bread, burst into tears. It had been the same every meal since Harriet had told them that their mother had died. ‘It don’t be fair, Hattie!’ she wailed. ‘Not Ma and Pa.’
Harriet leant across and comforted her youngest sister. She looked across the table and witnessed the struggle that Keziah was also having against her own emotions, trying as she was to be brave.
‘What’s going to be happening to us, Hattie?’ Keziah asked quietly.
‘Like I be a-saying, I don’t be knowing. We certain-sure can’t be staying here, though.’
Christopher placed his hand on Keziah’s. ‘It be alright, Keziah. Trust me. Now come on, let’s not be feeding all this to the pigs again’—he tried to laugh but it sounded exactly as forced and fake as it was—‘Them swines be eating better than us!’
‘The pigs be gone,’ Keziah mumbled. ‘Mr Colbran packed up and left, took his piggeries and all.’
The table returned to an almost painful silence, with food being picked over and pushed around on each of the four plates.
‘I want to see Ma,’ Ann murmured. ‘And say goodbye.’
Harriet shook her head. ‘No, it ain’t right. Not after what happened. No.’
Ann ran from the table, sobbing noisily, heading towards the stairs.
‘Christopher, stop her!’ Harriet cried.
Christopher jumped up and rushed to the stairs behind her. He reached out and grabbed her arm. ‘No, Ann!’
‘But I be a-wanting to see her! She be my Ma,’ Ann yowled, pulling against him.
‘Ann!’ Harriet yelled. ‘Butter-my-wig, Ma’d be seething were she seeing you like this. Stop.’
Ann yanked her arm free and rushed for the street door, pulling it wide and dramatically, hurrying outside.
Christopher hastened for the door.
‘Leave her be, Christopher,’ Harriet advised. ‘She be a-coming back when the time be right.’
Christopher nodded and was about to close the street door when a large shadow passed behind him and stopped.
It was a coffin, being carried by Mr Vine and his apprentice. They carefully stood it on end before stepping inside the parlour. The man and boy, in matching grubby linen smocks and overalls, reached for their hats.
‘Miss Lovekin. Christopher,’ Mr Vine mumbled uncomfortably, fiddling with his long black and grey beard. ‘It ain’t the best money can buy, but it be suitable enough to take your Ma to her final rest.’
Harriet strained a smile. ‘Thank you, Mr Vine. How much do I be owing you?’
‘No charge. Your Ma and Pa were great friends to me—they be fine Americans—and it be pleasing to know that Eliza Lovekin be buried in the last American coffin.’
‘The last?’ Christopher asked.
‘We’re packing up—ain’t signing no seven-year lease and paying rents to King George for a property what I built on land from the sea,’ Mr Vine ranted.
‘Fegs, there be nobody left soon,’ Christopher breathed.
‘Do you be a-knowing yet when the funeral be?’ Mr Vine asked.
Harriet shook her head. ‘Soon.’ As far as she was concerned, the sooner the better. Following Harriet’s formal identification of the body, the coroner had ruled yesterday that Eliza Lovekin had been murdered.
The news of Eliza Lovekin’s murder had spread around the America Ground like a toxic river, bubbling up in each and every parlour, shop, yard and workshop. That the constables had no clue as to the identity of the killer only hastened the mass exodus, as fear grew that the murderer was an American who worked and lived among them.
‘Right, let’s be a-getting it upstairs,’ Mr Vine instructed his apprentice.
‘No need,’ Christopher said, ‘just be putting it in here and I be doing the rest.’
Mr Vine frowned. ‘Do you be sure you want to…’—he shot a look at Harriet then lowered his voice—‘be a-doing that by yourself?’
Christopher nodded.
Mr Vine looked surprised but relieved, as he stepped outside and began to lift the coffin in.
‘Down there be fine,’ Christopher directed.
Mr Vine gently placed the coffin down. ‘Do you be certain-sure you be wanting help getting up them stairs?’
‘No, thank you, kindly.’
Mr Vine and the apprentice bowed their heads solemnly and left the house.
Christopher closed the street door. ‘Can you be a-helping me get this upstairs then I be getting her…I be doing the rest.’
Harriet smiled faintly at Keziah. ‘Then we best find that sister of ours. Why don’t you be looking for her now?’
Keziah sat, staring at the floor, unblinking.
‘Keziah?’
Without looking up, Keziah traipsed sullenly from the house.
The coffin was light and Harriet was surprised at the ease with which they guided it up the thin staircase. The door to her mother’s bedroom had remained locked since the murder; Harriet removed the key from a piece of ribbon around her neck.
She unlocked the door and swung it wide, trying not to look at the body which, apart from the examination by the coroner, had remained in exactly the same position. Just like her father’s body, Harriet couldn’t bring herself to look at the soulless face.
Harriet, unable to control her emotions, began to sob and Christopher pulled her into his embrace. In his arms, she instantly felt safe. She relaxed and held him for several seconds before kissing him lightly on the lips.
‘What be happening to us all, Christopher?’ she whispered.
‘It be all alright in the end, it will,’ he answered, kissing her.
Harriet broke away. ‘I best be finding Ann,’ she murmured, softly running her fingers down Christopher’s cheek.
She hurried down the stairs and outside, grateful to be free from the stifling and oppressive house. The day was bright with thin patches of white cloud, peppered
