Chapter Two #2
I opened the wooden panel hiding the hot-water machine, cups and saucers, and the stash of tea, coffee, sugar, and long-life milk. During the day we used fresh milk, but for now, long-life would have to do. I stirred the tea and placed it down in front of her with a saucer.
She sipped it immediately, barely testing the temperature before she committed to drinking. I could see now that her hair, pulled back in a loose bun, was wind-swept and tangled. She’d had a long journey, and a difficult one at that.
“I read that there was snow coming up your way,” I said. “Did you have much trouble with the weather?”
“The wind was the real kicker,” she said, between sips of her tea. “Icy winds. Autumn comes in fast and takes you by surprise in the dales. The winds did significant damage to my house.”
She spoke in a peculiar way, like somebody much older, I thought.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. “I’ve a lot of connections up your way. I’ve a branch out there, in fact. You needn’t have come so far to make your arrangements. I know more than a few contractors. If you like, I could arrange for someone to come and look at the damage.”
Offering help was good for business. If I was helpful, she’d be more likely to enlist our services for her loved one, even at a premium cost...at least, that’s the lie I told myself.
The fact was I’d known her only moments, and I already had a yearning to help her. I wanted to protect her like a young woman I once loved to a painful degree.
“That’s kind of you,” she said. “Actually, the branch you mentioned...that’s why I’m here. They dealt with the burial of my mother just yesterday.”
I sat down on the opposite couch and rested my arms on my knees. I winced, briefly, at the pain pulsing in the small of my back. Her eyes watched my hand as I rubbed the sore spot, and I felt that she was observing and analysing every movement I made.
“The Lockett funeral?” I asked, recalling the entry on my roster. “That was your mother?”
“That’s right,” she said, placing her cup and saucer down on the coffee table. “I was given a card with your contact details. They said you were looking for an assistant. Someone very particular.”
My heart beat away inside my chest in a blind panic, bleating out questions – like why on earth she would turn up in the middle of the night to apply for a job?
She’d understood my needs correctly. I was looking for someone particular; someone I could train and mould to my specifications.
Someone who would live in the house, get to understand it and the ways we operated.
Someone who could stand working with me, and who could ignore the rumours amongst my peers about my past; about the fire that tore down the west side of the house.
Locals, for that reason, tended to steer clear of me.
Looking at the young woman before me, I could hardly believe she’d be an appropriate candidate.
She didn’t look like she’d have the strength, or the experience.
She couldn’t have, at her age. There were obvious benefits to that, too.
She’d be more trusting, more malleable, for one; unjaded by other roles and employers.
“I...I am looking for someone very particular. It’s more than your average funeral director’s apprenticeship.
It would involve actually living here, working odd hours, immersing yourself in the role as if you were part of the fabric of the house.
That’s...that’s what I’m looking for,” I said. “Absolute dedication.”
“I can be that person, Mr Crowthorne,” she said, in that old-world voice of hers.
Her surprising directness sent a thrill to the pit of my belly. I shifted in my seat, hoping to disguise my increasing admiration. It was wrong, to look at this young woman that way. She had to be twenty years younger than me. Twenty years too young.
But something about her vulnerable appearance, juxtaposed against that maturity in her voice, was irresistible to me.
She was vulnerable, yet capable, and eager to prove her worth.
A dark part of me wanted to exploit that, knowing that our power imbalance alone could be conducive to the dedication I was looking for.
She’d be loyal. Grateful. Like Margaret, she might spend her whole life in Crowthorne House, serving this great entity that had provided funereal services since 1891.
But I was better than that. I had to be better than that.
“What experience could you have, at your age, to suit a funeral home?” I asked, clearing my throat. “With all due respect, you look...well. You can’t be more than nineteen, albeit you speak as though you’re twice that.”
“I’m twenty-one,” she said. “I’m very experienced with death – all aspects of death.
I deal with the animals as they expire, which they do en-mass, sometimes, when the snow comes hard and they roam from their paddocks.
I’ve dug out their bodies with my hands and a shovel before now, and I’ve burned them in makeshift graves. I’ve no fear of death.”
I was impressed, and looked at her small hands and slender arms and wondered how on earth she could manage a farm – even a small one – herself.
“You didn’t have any help at all?”
She hesitated, as if I’d asked something uncomfortable. Her eyes dipped to her hands, playing with her fingers. “There’s a lad who helped me recently, toward the end of my mother’s life. He’s taking care of the animals now.”
“I see.”
I wondered what had gone on with him, this lad she spoke about, which made her blush furiously and look even more uncomfortable than she had out on the pavement.
“My father died at home of a heart attack eighteen months ago. I took care of my mother until she passed, and I was with her then, too. As I say, I am experienced, sir. I’ve no fear of death,” she said.
“I’m sorry to hear of your loss,” I replied.
She nodded solemnly. We shared a silence. When I spoke again, I was determined to break through that stoic shield of hers.
“You’d better tell me, then, why you came here in the middle of the night, laden down with bags. I want the truth, no embellishments.”
She stiffened, considering the question, still toying with her hands in her lap. When she looked up, her eyes were glistening with tears.
“I couldn’t stand being there any longer,” she said fearfully, her mouth pressing into a small, grim line. “I saw the opportunity for a fresh start, away from the Dale, away from the house, and I...I want to take it.”
She seemed so otherworldly in every aspect that I almost didn’t believe I’d woken up, and thought that I must be still asleep, still dreaming.
“I could even give you personal assistance,” she said, her voice barely rising above a croak. “As well as the apprenticeship. I’m experienced in that, as well.”
“In what way exactly?” I asked, alarmed at what she might be getting at.
“I noticed your gait as we walked in, sir. I can see it now. Your back gives you grief,” she said, with a new confidence.
“My mother would get terrible muscle cramps that would keep her awake with the agony. I know how to massage out the knots, how to press and manipulate the muscles to soothe them, how to stretch and bend to –”
“That’s enough,” I said, my face flooding with heat from the embarrassment. “I need an apprentice, yes, not a physiotherapist.”
“But I can be that,” she said, her eyes meeting mine. She was so desperate, I could tell that, but she was also...so earnest. So true.
Like somebody who could be trustworthy, and loyal to me.
“Please, Mr Crowthorne. Let me help you in every way that I possibly can,” she said.
I wiped a hand over my face to disguise my shock. How could it be that the universe had dropped this peculiar creature on my doorstep? One who wanted to solve all my problems, just like that?
“You look exhausted,” I said finally, after tearing my eyes from her to stare for a few moments into the fire. “I can show you to the guest room, and we can discuss a trial run in the morning.”
“Oh!” she gushed, clasping her hands together. “Thank you so much, sir.”
“We’ll talk about pay, too, and all the other bureaucratic details that I haven’t the patience for in the middle of the night. Your board and bills are included, so you’ll be on a lower rate.”
“Absolutely,” she said, standing up, unable to hide her joy.
She seemed so eager to please me, even though we’d only just met.
Her dualities intrigued me; how she could be so naive and trusting in some ways, yet so otherworldly and mature in others.
How she could expose my desires to both ensnare her and protect her, all at once.
I sensed there was a lot more to her story than simply needing a place to stay; a place to run from the loneliness of the dales, now that her parents were gone.
For now, I was keen to provide her with a safe, warm bed for her to rest in. She’d come such a long way.
I gazed at her, momentarily, as she stood swaying by the fireplace, awaiting my instruction.
Her sombre eyes ignited my curiosity.
Her grateful smile broke my frozen heart.