Lynne Francis - Sarah’s Story - An emotional family saga that you won’t be able to put down

Daniel looked even more uncomfortable.

‘Ah, Mr Gibson no longer lives at the lodgings. I think perhaps he has gone to work at a mill on the other side of town and taken lodgings there for convenience.’ Despite his best attempts to dress up the truth, it soon became apparent that Mary had revealed less than she might have done in her most recent letter.

There was a silence while Sarah and Ada digested this news then Ada said crisply, ‘Do you mean he has left the family, Daniel? Is that what has happened?’

Daniel blushed scarlet. ‘I really couldn’t say for certain, Mrs Randall.’

‘Humph!’ Ada looked down at her plate, chasing a few crumbs around with her fingertips, then reached a decision. ‘I must go to Manchester. Sarah, you will be all right here on your own for a few days, won’t you? I think that I must see with my own eyes what is happening.’

The half-hour before the carter was due to arrive passed in a flurry of activity. Sarah tried hard to maintain polite conversation with Daniel whilst running up and down the stairs, helping Ada to pack a few things together and searching in the larder for provisions to send to her mother and sisters.

‘Why was she not more honest in her letter?’ Ada was hunting through her cupboard of remedies. ‘I could have prepared something for her if I’d had a better idea of the situation, and of their struggles. As it is, I will just have to take whatever I think may come in useful.’

Sarah barely had time to tie the remedies securely into a cloth bundle before the carter was at the door.

‘Sarah, take care.’ Ada, distracted, was tying on her bonnet as Sarah handed her another shawl for the journey. ‘I’m sorry to leave you like this but hope to be back before the week is out.’

Sarah, overwhelmed by all that had happened that afternoon, tried very hard to remember her manners. ‘Daniel, it was very nice to meet you and so good of you to have come all this way.’

‘I can assure you, the pleasure was all mine. I wish you every happiness in your marriage, Mrs Bancroft, and hope that I may be lucky enough to be in a position to visit again.’

‘Do come. Perhaps you may have cause for another visit to the mill here.’ Sarah was preoccupied, speaking half over her shoulder as she handed her grandmother’s belongings up to her while she settled herself behind the carter.

Daniel sprang up into the front seat and doffed his cap. ‘Goodbye. Goodbye,’ he called. She sensed that he wished to say more but the carter shook the reins and they were off. Sarah watched the lamp on the cart as it dwindled away into the gathering dusk and was visible no more, then she went into the kitchen and began clearing up through force of habit.

She looked out into the darkness, aware that she needed to light the lamps inside, and thought of both her husband and her grandmother somewhere out there, wending their separate ways to great cities. Now she was left totally alone on her wedding day and it seemed like a cruel blow. She sat down suddenly at the table, rested her head on her arms and burst into tears.

While Ada was away a spell of damp, cold weather swept in. It brought with it a morning fog that frequently lingered until midday unless there was any autumn sunshine to burn it away. Darkness seemed to arrive each day by five o’clock, and on some days it felt as though it barely got light at all.

The change in the weather also brought a steady stream of visitors, all looking for Ada. Mostly elderly, they were out of breath by the time they had climbed the hill out of the village to reach Hill Farm Cottage. At first, Sarah wondered whether their appearance was due to curiosity at the state of affairs surrounding her marriage, but she quickly realised that in all cases the visit was prompted by a need for a consultation with her grandmother, caused by a flare-up of rheumatism or the onset of a troubling cough.

Sarah invited in each arrival and, when they had regained their breath and offered their congratulations on her newly married state, they had (without exception) turned querulous over Ada’s unexpected absence. Sarah could only reassure them that she was expected back any day now and offer to pass on a message about the nature of their illness to her grandmother as soon as she returned.

It wasn’t long before Sarah was regretting, yet again, her lack of literacy. If she had only paid attention to her letters she could have written down the name of everyone who called, as well as the nature of their business. As it was, she was reduced to memorising the details and forcing herself to recite them out loud each morning on waking.

The arrival of the week’s end found Sarah in a state of anxiety. She had expected her grandmother’s return by now, but there was no sign of her and no word from her. Once again, Sarah had cause to regret her inability to read and write. Otherwise Ada might, perhaps, have sent her a note of explanation. But she knew only too well that her granddaughter would be unable to read it.

Sarah took to imagining what might be happening in Manchester. She convinced herself that Ada must have felt the need to stay on to nurse her daughter and granddaughters back to health. Surely there could be no other explanation? But as a new week began, her conviction was sorely tested. She found it hard to put on a brave face for the trickle of visitors who continued to arrive and her assertion that she expected her grandmother’s return any day now sounded, even to her, as though it had a hollow ring to it.

She tried not to dwell too much on the fact that, although she was married now, it had made no difference at all to the way she lived her life. She was lonely by day, with Ada away, and lonely at night, when her thoughts turned to Joe. How cruel it was that her new husband was forced to be away from her at this time, when she had need of him! Her vision of how contented they would be in their domestic routine remained untested; indeed, her own routine fell to pieces with no structure to her days and too much time to spend in wild imaginings.

By the time Ada did come home, one week and a day after her departure, Sarah was frantic with worry over what might have happened to her family. She had also become consumed with anxiety as to how she would be able to pay the rent or afford food and household necessities should her grandmother fail to reappear.

One look at Ada’s face, however, was enough to make the angry words that had rushed to Sarah’s lips die there. Her grandmother was in no fit state to be on the receiving end of Sarah’s distress at being left without news for so long. Ada’s face was grey with fatigue and her eyes were sunken hollows, suggesting that she had struggled to get enough sleep while she had been away. She had lost weight; as Sarah helped remove her travelling shawl she could feel the sharpness of her grandmother’s collarbones beneath her hands and, on giving her a wordless hug of welcome, she was startled by how frail Ada felt.

‘Come and sit by the range. You look worn out by your journey. The kettle has not long boiled. I’ll make some fresh tea.’

Sarah bustled about, filling her grandmother’s silence with a pointless running commentary on mundane domestic things. She was desperate to ask about her sisters and her mother but Ada’s continued silence didn’t encourage questions. Finally, with tea set down in front of her grandmother, along with a slice of bread and butter on her favourite plate, Sarah felt she could wait no longer.

‘How are they?’ she asked tentatively. ‘You were gone so long I became worried. Were they very sick?’

Ada sighed deeply. Sarah was sure that she must be thirsty after her journey but she hadn’t even reached for her cup.