Ladies of Class
Chapter One
Laura Clayton’s last day on earth was as ordinary as
any other, right up to the few moments before she came
to her messy end.
The only unusual thing about it was that she awoke
to brilliant sunshine dancing on the bedroom window.
March had been a spiteful month, not only coming like a
lion but roaring its way through with no let up in the
constant rain and lashing gales. It seemed to have no
intention of going out like a lamb, but on this Saturday,
the 31st, it finally relented.
“I don’t believe it!” Laura said aloud, scrambling into
a housecoat and hurrying to look out at the phenomenon.
But it was true and everything in the garden, which
yesterday had looked dreary and sullen, was nodding and
smiling and perking up in the unaccustomed brightness
and warmth.
Laura was a happy person and, being a
countrywoman at heart, was never too affected by
changes in the weather, but she loved her garden. As
always, her eyes, after the first quick look around, came to
rest on the flowering cherry tree. She thought how much
the buds would be enjoying the sun and pictured in
imagination its glory when in full bloom.
When her husband died five years previously, all
Laura’s friends expected she would sell the house with its
large garden and move into something smaller. She
fobbed them off with vague promises to consider it.
To her son, Alec, she said, “they’d think I was mad if I
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Majorie Grace Patricia Bridget Owen
told them I couldn’t bear to leave my lovely cherry tree,
but that is the truth. I think it’d miss me if I went away.”
Alec wasn’t too sure if he understood his mother, either,
but his young wife said it made sense to her. So being
outnumbered by his women folk, he wisely held his
tongue.
Laura, bathed and dressed, went to the kitchen,
picking two letters off the mat as she went. Looking at
the handwriting with pleasure, she left them unopened
until she was sitting down to her coffee, toast, and
marmalade.
One letter from Alec was short but the other,
although reasonably brief, caused her to exclaim with
surprise and to need another reading to grasp it. She was
just coming to the end of it for the second time when the
sound of the side gate closing dragged her thoughts away.
A glance at the kitchen clock showed her it was later
than she’d thought, and here was Milly to prove it.
Milly Patcham, born a cockney and still with the
dialect to prove it, opened the kitchen door and bustled
in, talking as usual. She always began the conversation
half way down the path, and Laura never knew what the
beginning of the sentence was. In fact, sometimes it took
her quite a while to guess what the topic of conversation
might be.
Thirty years of Milly’s ministrations had given both
women a respect and affection for the other and, allowing
for a difference in upbringing, they could honestly look on
each other as friends.
“—said to ‘im ‘e ought to look after ‘er better. No
business to be luggin’ them ‘eavy bags about, and so I told
‘er, too.”
“Whom are we talking about this time?” Laura asked
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Ladies of Class
in a resigned tone.
“Bert the milkman, acourse. Yer know ‘is wife’s due
any day. Two misses she’s ‘ad already, and she didn’t
ought to be takin’ any chances. Saw ‘er in the
supermarket yesterday. You’ve been lucky this time, I
said. Don’t push yer luck. If yer doesn’t watch out, you’ll
be ‘avin one o’ those mongrels!”
“Mongols not mongrels,” Laura corrected her
patiently. “What a cheerful thing to say to the poor girl.
Anyway, I saw her myself a day or two back, and she
looks perfectly well to me.”
“That’s as may be, madam dear. But you read some
funny things in the papers. Never ‘eard about all this
when I was young—must be all to do with this
population explosion I shouldn’t wonder.”
Laura smothered a laugh and stored this new
‘Millyism’ in her memory to tell Alec.
“Sit down and have a cup of coffee before you start
work. Forget all the gloom and misery. I’ve had a piece of
good news in the post this morning—well, two in fact—
but the most important is that Alec’s coming tomorrow.”
“Oh that’ll be nice, madam dear. Is ‘e bringing the
wife and baby? ‘Ow long are they staying?”
“Only Alec and just a flying visit. He’s going abroad
on Monday for the firm, starting early, so thought he’d
break his journey here and stay the night.”
“Bet you’re pleased about that. It’ll be like old times
to ‘ave Alec all to yourself, won’t it?”
“Milly! You’ll make me feel guilty saying things like
that,” Laura protested. “I love my daughter-in-law dearly
as you well know. But yes, I’ve got to admit it’ll be lovely
to have him on his own. Anyway, I’ve got a little problem
I want to discuss.”
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Majorie Grace Patricia Bridget Owen
Milly’s eyes lit up with avid curiosity, and Laura
could have kicked herself. Milly was a treasure beyond
price and as loyal as they came, but she was an inveterate
gossip. If anyone had accused her of being a mischief-
maker, she would have been scandalized, but there was
no doubt about it—her unruly tongue had caused more
than one bit of bother in the town. Everyone knew Milly,
and Milly knew everyone.
Wisely, Laura made no comment but said briskly,
“come on, drink up. We’ve got work to do—blankets and
sheets to get out for Alec’s bed. I’d like his room ready
before I go out. I’ve a full day ahead and dinner with the
vicar tonight, so there won’t be much time.”
That got Milly moving and for the next couple of
hours, the two women worked companionably together
until Laura glanced at her watch.
“I’ll have to be off. Hairdressing appointment. Will
you finish up by yourself?”
“Acourse, madam dear. Now, does yer want me to
leave anything for yer lunch?”
“No, thanks. I’ll probably get a bite at that new café
on the High Street. Then I’ll finish the shopping, get a
bottle of Scotch for Alec, too. Pity I don’t like it, or there
would have been some in the house.”
Hurriedly she changed her skirt and top, threw on a
raincoat, and went down into the white-painted hall.
“'Ang on a tick! It’s turned cloudy. Yer needs an ‘ead
scarf, ‘specially if you’re going to the ‘airdressers. I put
one in the ‘all drawer the other day.”
She rummaged about while Laura waited
impatiently. In her haste, she pulled the whole drawer
out, scattering the contents on the carpet, amongst them
a small dog collar.
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Ladies of Class
“Oh, blast!” she said, quickly trying to shuffle it out of
sight, but Laura had seen and the tears came into her
eyes. She picked the little collar up, stroked it
affectionately, sighed, and put it back in the drawer.
“It’s no good. I’ll have to get another dog. When old
Sammy died, I swore never again, but I do miss him about
the place.”
“Now, madam dear! You know you said you
wouldn’t, and when young Alec was ‘ere, ‘e told me not to
encourage you if you started talkin’ about one. You nearly
break yer ‘eart and make yerself ill when they die. Don’t
do it.”
Laura snuffled and blew her nose. Looking at Milly’s
anxious face, she gave a watery smile. “I’m an old fool,
aren’t I? But as a matter of fact, I’ve already broken the
news to Alec that I’m thinking of having another. So far
he’s made no comment, but I expect I’ll get round him.
Goodness! Look at the time. I must fly. I’ll see you on
Monday.”
Milly wasn’t to know it was the last time she’d ever
see the woman whom she’d learned to love and respect.
* * * *
Later on, when it became vitally important to work
out Laura’s subsequent movements, it was the easiest job
imaginable. Practically every minute could be accounted
for—she was so well known. More to the point, there
was barely a minute when she was alone, even taking a
neighbour in while she was dressing for her dinner with
the vicar, in order to complete plans for the next
Women’s Institute sale of work.
Laura lived in the oldest and nicest part of the town;
the heart of what had been a village when she came to it
as a bride more than forty years ago. But the tentacles of
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Majorie Grace Patricia Bridget Owen
progress had stretched out greedily, snapping up farms,
meadows and woods, spawning streets of Council
houses, a factory estate, and a shopping complex.
Swamping the charm and character Burshill once
possessed.
Her house was in one of four roads surrounding the
original village green, now a more formalized park, with a
covered-in swimming pool, children’s playground, and
made-up paths. But most of the trees had been left, and
cricket was still played in summer. The neighbouring
houses had maintained their standards, and although
Laura was saddened by all the changes, she still loved her
house…and her cherry tree.
The Vicarage, to which she was headed for her
dinner engagement, was diagonally opposite on the
further side of the green, standing beside the parish
church, half empty these days. The Reverend George
Amberley and his wife, Julia, were old friends, and the five
minute walk across the grass was a two-way passage in
constant use from both houses. This evening, mindful of
her long skirt and high-heeled shoes, Laura kept to the
paths, her W.I. companion walking with her as far as the
Vicarage gates where she said goodbye.
Julia Amberley opened the door before she knocked
and greeted her affectionately. George’s melancholy face
peered out from a door to the right of the hall.
“Hullo!” Laura said cheerfully at the sight of his
woebegone visage. “And what’s the matter with you this
time?”
Julia laughed. “How well you know my dear old
hypochondriac. But he really had got something to worry
about tonight—a bit of bronchitis rattling around, and
he’s afraid it’ll keep him out of the pulpit tomorrow. As if
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Ladies of Class
it would! I’d be expected to produce a death certificate if
George didn’t turn up on the dot.”
George gave the two smiling women a reproachful
look. “It’s nothing to joke about, my dear. I ought to be in
bed resting for my big day. You know the Bishop’s coming
for the evening service. I don’t want to be croaking away
in his presence.”
“Good thing Laura knows you. Otherwise she’d be
feeling most unwelcome. If you want to go to bed, go. We
shan’t miss you.”
With a martyred air, George refused. “I wouldn’t
dream of doing such a thing when we have a guest in the
house.”
“Come now,” Laura rallied him. “I’m one of your
oldest friends, and I shan’t mind in the least. You know
how beastly your attacks of bronchitis can get. I’d hate to
have it on my conscience if your voice deserted you for
the all-important service tomorrow. Please go to bed to
oblige me.”
George was finally persuaded and took himself off
upstairs. By doing so, he helped to forge the last link in
poor Laura’s destiny. For this he’d never forgive himself.
After the two women had eaten and Julia nipped up
to peep at the invalid—“sleeping like a baby,” she
reported—they settled down by the fire, heavy curtains
drawn against the chill March night, for a comfortable
gossip.
“I hope we’ll see you in church tomorrow evening.
Help to swell the congregation a bit and impress the
Bishop.”
Laura was apologetic. “I’m afraid not. Alec’s coming
on a flying visit.” She explained the circumstances,
adding, “So you see, I’d like to spend the evening with
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Majorie Grace Patricia Bridget Owen
him. We’ll have a lot to talk about.” She said nothing
about the special topic she wanted his advice on. This led
to a cozy chat about their respective families, and time
passed quickly.
At ten o’clock Laura said she’d be on her way,
knowing her friend would want to attend to George’s
needs for the night. When Julia opened the door to let her
out, she uttered an exclamation. “Good grief! Look at
that!”
To their equal surprise, a dense fog surrounded them,
thick and impenetrable as a London pea-souper. Totally
unexpected.
“Must have been all that glorious sun we’ve had
today,” Laura commented. The lunchtime cloud had soon
gone away.
“You can’t go home in this. It’s horrible. Oh, why on
earth did George have to get his rotten bronchitis
tonight? He’d have escorted you back.”
“Stop clucking. It’s only a five-minute walk away, for
goodness sake. I’m a big girl now and not likely to get
lost.”
Julia wasn’t happy about it, but Laura insisted; she
went off with a cheery “goodnight,” and was immediately
swallowed up in the fog. She kept to the paths which
were as familiar to her as her own garden, but she found
the silence more eerie than she would have imagined.
Even distant traffic noises were hushed, and she felt
completely isolated in a strange world. She pushed
doggedly on and, without any trouble, found herself
turning onto the path, lined with tall trees, which would
lead her out almost opposite her own house.
Suddenly, surprisingly, a figure stepped out from
behind one of the great horse-chestnuts and stood in
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Ladies of Class
front of her. Laura wasn’t of a nervous disposition, but
she was startled. Then, coming face to face with the
apparition, she recognized it.
“Oh, it’s you!” said Laura.
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