Fallen Grace - Mary Hooper [12]
Mrs Emmeline Unwin, wife of George, saw Grace standing still and silent on the station platform with, apparently, no family to support her. Mrs Unwin was an unusual but inspired addition to a modern undertaker’s business, for her sole purpose at a funeral was to comfort those of the female sex who were overtaken by their emotions. She was tall and thin, with a sallow face, small eyes and a smile which showed as much gum as teeth. She nearly always wore black in order to empathise more fully with her clients, and had a score or more fashionable outfits complete with matching hats and veiling. It was her mission to persuade the bereaved that wearing the latest in mourning wear was not so much an expense as a tribute to the departed, and now, wearing the most fashionable crinoline-skirted gown supported by a cage that rocked from side to side, she glided smoothly towards Grace.
‘My dearest girl, are you all right?’ she asked softly, laying a hand on her arm. At close contact, however, she noticed the shabbiness of Grace’s garments and, realising that there was no money to be earned by recommending a marble monument to soothe her saddest hour, immediately saw a different sort of opportunity. ‘Dear child, you appear utterly devastated!’
Grace, even though weary, dropped a small curtsey. ‘I thank you, but I am bearing up quite well.’
‘You have such a soulful face!’ Mrs Unwin lowered her voice. ‘Have you ever thought of going into the undertaking business as a mute?’
Grace looked at her, startled. She wanted to shake off the woman’s hand, but knew that to do so would be very rude.
‘You may think it indelicate of me to speak of such a thing, but I must tell you that I believe you would be perfect for a position as a professional mourner.’
Grace still didn’t reply, so surprised was she.
‘You’re young, yet look as if you have witnessed all the sadnesses of the world. You would make the most marvellous mute!’ Grace not denying this, the woman went on, ‘The funeral business is expanding, dear. We always need faces such as yours. You could come and live with us, become part of the Unwin family.’
Grace shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, but . . .’
‘You’d be paid five shillings per funeral, and when you weren’t working as a mute you could help the girls in the sewing room with the coffin interiors. With a tragic face like yours, you’d be very much in demand at high-class funerals.’
Grace shuddered a little at the thought. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said again. ‘I live with my sister and couldn’t think of leaving her on her own. And I think I would find being a funeral mute too miserable a life.’
‘But ’tis a wonderful thing to bring solace to others!’ Mrs Unwin cried. ‘If we can, it is our Christian duty to do it.’
Grace shook her head once more. ‘I could not, but thank you for thinking of me.’
‘As you wish,’ Mrs Unwin said. She pulled a card from her black velvet muff. ‘But if you ever change your mind . . .’
Grace took the card and curtseyed her thanks, thinking how strange it was that she had never even held a business card in her hand before, but had now been given two in one day. This one was black-edged, like a mourning card, and upon it were engraved the following words:
The blue and black train appeared out of its siding at last and, steaming copiously, drew level with the platform. Mrs Unwin glided off, veils ashake, while Grace climbed into one of the third-class carriages, sat down and forgot her immediately.
The train shunted forward and fell into a rhythm. Sighing with relief that everything had gone just as the midwife had instructed,