The sob welled up in her chest as a cruel hand squeezed her heart. The sexton took up his spade and dug into the waiting mound of dirt. Soft thuds rose from below as earth hit the hard wood.
The regular beat shattered Dawn’s stoic mask. Her knees buckled as sobs racked her body. Mr Stevens and Aggie rushed to her side, each taking an arm, and half dragged, half carried her to a bench seat. She did not care that she made a spectacle of herself. Let them gossip and talk. Those present would probably already be writing notes in their diaries to come back for her sad little funeral in the not-too-distant future.
Tears ran freely down her face as her body convulsed. The housekeeper fossicked in her large purse and produced the bottle of tonic.
“Here love, this will help.” She pulled out the cork and held it up to Dawn’s bloodless lips.
The spectators had their fill of the drama, and sated with gossip, they drifted away through the tombstones and trees. Only the grate and thud of shovels thrust into dirt and emptied over graves broke the silence.
Bit by bit, Dawn’s sobs subsidised as the tonic took effect and smoothed over the sharp barbs inflicted by the day. Sorrow diminished as the liquid stole the worst of Dawn’s grief and pain and left the numb, sleepy feeling in its place.
“What will I do without them, Aggie?” Dawn whispered to the housekeeper.
“We will manage, as we always have, love,” the older woman replied.
Mr Stevens coughed into his hand. “There are things that must be discussed, Miss Uxbridge, but you have endured quite enough for today. I shall call on you tomorrow.” Then he rose and went in search of a hansom cab to carry Dawn and the housekeeper home.
After the funeral, the next day continued dull and dreary. Watery sunlight tried in vain to penetrate the clouds, and the air was bereft of warmth. Dawn couldn’t even muster the enthusiasm for a walk in her beloved garden, and instead lay on the chaise in the parlour, staring at the grandfather clock. The pendulum swung back and forth. First one way and then the other as the remaining seconds of her life ticked by. If she breathed her last while lying there, would the pendulum still and fall silent?
As a young child, everyone had tiptoed around her. She recollected one period when she spent months confined to bed. Even standing upright had made her heart plunge and her vision turn black. Other children might have found escape in books and tales of adventure, but Dawn turned to nature. She read of fantastic gardens and wild jungles around the world. She learned of plants that would grow in one place but not another. She studied the unique lengths a plant could reach to defend itself or simply to show off.
Famous landscape designers through the decades revealed their master plans in the heavy books her father sourced for her. To Dawn, Capability Brown and his masterful manipulation of nature was more breathtaking than a broad-chested hero in a romance novel.
A knock sounded on the front door and drew Dawn away from her melancholy walk through memories. A moment later, Sarah cracked open the parlour door.
“Mr Stevens to see you, miss,” she said and then retreated.
The solicitor carried his overcoat and his bowler hat. He dropped the coat over the back of a chair, but his fingers played with the brim of the hat. “Miss Uxbridge. I hope you are somewhat recovered from the sad events of yesterday.”
Dawn swung her feet to the ground and gestured to her father’s favourite armchair.
“I have been deprived of my parents, my only companions in this world. It is not a matter of recovering, but of simply enduring until my time also arrives to embrace death.”
His eyes widened and his moustache waved up and down. “Quite.”
He dropped his hat to the side table and perched on the edge of the chair. “I do not wish to add to your distress.” He leaned toward her. “But there are things that must be discussed.”
Dawn waved a hand at him. “I am sure one of Father’s clerks can run the bookkeeping business for now. I fail to see that anything can be of any great urgency.”
The solicitor coughed and fidgeted in the chair. “Unfortunately that is not the case. You find yourself cast in somewhat dire circumstances. Your father had a substantial debt, and the creditor is demanding payment.”
“No,” she whispered. The blood drained from Dawn’s head and left her dizzy. She pressed the heel of her palm to her forehead. Her father was an accountant who built his business on keeping accurate ledgers. How could he possibly have any noteworthy creditors, let alone a large one? Were quills and ledgers so expensive? “No, that is quite impossible. Father was renowned for the reliability of his service. How on earth could he have accrued debts?”
Mr Stevens shifted in the chair and laced his fingers to keep his hands still. “Your father was a most devoted husband and father, and he was always looking for ways to make your life easier. To that end, he leveraged the house to invest in a rather high-risk venture. It is my understanding that on the fatal day, he was called to an urgent meeting of the investors to hear that the venture had failed and all the funds were forfeit. Your father had lost the house.”
Dawn slumped back on the chaise. Her mouth made the shape of no, but the single syllable couldn’t force itself out of her dry throat. Tragedies continued to mount up at her feet.
The house was only bricks and mortar, and one roof was much like another. But the loss of the house meant the loss of the garden. When they had moved in twelve years before, the backyard had been barren. As she planned, planted, and nurtured, so too had Dawn’s health improved and then stabilised. Now her life’s work would be snatched away from her. Would a new owner appreciate the calm, green sanctuary she had created, or would it all be ripped out for brightly coloured geraniums and frivolous pansies?
“You are a pretty young woman. Is there perhaps a suitor who could be persuaded to bring forward his case? Marriage would ease your pain and transition you into a new life,” Mr Stevens said.
Dawn emitted a high-pitched laugh and then covered her mouth before she started a bout of hysterics. “I have lived a quiet life with only short forays beyond these walls. I never entered society because my parents did not think it…worthwhile. There is no suitor, not even a close acquaintance upon whom I could impose myself. I have no one and now, nothing.”
His eyebrows raised and a small smile emerged under his moustache. “Well, not quite nothing. While your situation is dire, you will not be destitute and cast into the street. There will be a small sum left once the house is sold and the debt settled. Enough perhaps for you to take a modest cottage in the country. However, you will need to find some occupation to supplement your means.”
He meant she would have to work. Dawn’s fingers curled into the back of the chaise to keep her upright. There were few avenues open to women in her situation. Governess and companion were the main ones, followed by work as a seamstress labouring long hours in the dark with only a feeble light. She might find employment as a shop girl or work in one of the new factories, but that wasn’t far above going into service.
No one would hire a governess with delicate health. Her charges would run riot, and she would never be able to keep up with games or the required exercise. Even companions were expected to be robust individuals who carried parcels and scurried about at the beck and call of their patron. Factory work was out of the question; she simply wasn’t sturdy enough. That left finding work as a seamstress for long hours and little pay. It might have to suffice. A cottage would not be so terrible, particularly if it came with a garden, no matter how small.