Gypsy - Lesley Pearse [38]
Sam looked so peaceful and untroubled, curled up in the narrow truckle bed. It hadn’t occurred to him yet that old Mr Langworthy’s death might bring them more trouble, and she was reluctant to air her fears because he’d seemed so happy since he began working at the Adelphi.
‘Time to get up, Sam,’ she said softly, and shook his arm.
He opened his eyes and yawned. ‘Already! It feels as if I’ve only been in here an hour or two.’
‘It’s six o’clock and it’s been snowing,’ Beth said, struck by how handsome he was becoming. His face had filled out, he’d grown a little moustache, and his long eyelashes drew attention to his lovely blue eyes. She felt a little pang in her heart that before long he would find a sweetheart and she’d have to take second place.
He smiled and leapt out of bed, rushing over to the window like a child. Wearing just his woolly combinations he looked slightly ridiculous. ‘I love snow,’ he said, turning to grin at her. ‘In parts of America it comes in November and lasts right through till spring.’
‘I can’t think of anything worse,’ Beth said archly, kneeling down to pull out the ash box under the stove. That wasn’t true — she loved snow as much as he did and some of her best childhood memories were of going tobogganing with him — but she was tired of his constant references to America. ‘The water in the kettle should be warm enough for you to wash and shave. Your clean shirt is hanging on the bedroom door.’
‘You’re becoming like an old maid,’ he retorted.
Beth, Kathleen and Cook could only find room to stand at the back of St Bride’s, for they had been last in the procession of mourners following the six carriages taking family members to the church, and now all the pews were full. With the thick snow as a backdrop for the black plumed horses and the coffin banked high with flowers, it had been an impressive sight. Beth had expected that the snow would deter a great many people, but it looked as if half of Liverpool’s population was there.
Once the first hymn, ‘Abide with Me’, had been sung and the prayers had begun, Beth’s thoughts wandered to Sam’s remark earlier that morning. She supposed she had become like an old maid. Everything she did, or even thought about, these days was centred round Molly or the Langworthys. She didn’t care anything for how she looked, her clothes were hand-me-downs, she didn’t even go and look in shop windows any more, not just because she couldn’t afford to buy anything, but because she had nowhere to go to wear such things.
Before her father died she spent a great deal of time indulging in romantic daydreams, but she never did now. There was no point: she was never going to go to balls and parties or drive around in a carriage and pair wearing a fur coat and diamonds. Even the more humble dreams that Miss Clarkson had prompted, training to be a teacher, a nurse or working in a shop, were ruled out now because she had to take care of Molly.
In truth the only time she ever escaped into fantasy was when she played the fiddle. Alone in the coach house she could imagine she was wearing a beautiful, brightly coloured silk dress, with glittery pins in her hair and pretty shoes on her feet. For an hour or so she could float with the music, all responsibilities falling away.
As Reverend Bloom began to speak about Mr Langworthy, Beth came out of her reverie.
‘Theodore Arthur Langworthy wasn’t born with a silver spoon in his mouth,’ he said. ‘His father was a poor Yorkshire farmer, and he expected his eldest son would follow in his footsteps. But young Theodore had other plans.’
Beth had known nothing about Mr Langworthy’s background, not even that his name was Theodore, and it was difficult to imagine the bedridden old man as anything but sick and frail.
‘Already