A Loving Family by Dilly Court Page B

family than a servant. She would even miss Bertie a little, but the new housekeeper had a motherly manner even if her cooking skills left a lot to be desired. Stella settled back into her seat. They would all do very well without her and Bob would forget her in time, but whether or not she would be able to put them from her mind was another matter. She closed her eyes so that she did not have to talk to the garrulous little woman who was seated beside her.
    â€˜That must have been her sweetheart,’ the woman said in a stage whisper, addressing a prim-looking lady who was dressed soberly in grey. ‘He didn’t want her to go. That was clear. I can spot a broken romance a mile off. What d’you think, miss?’
    â€˜I think it’s none of our business.’
    The woman subsided into silence and Stella continued to feign sleep until they reached Liverpool Street. She lifted her valise from the luggage rack and alighted from the train before the talkative woman had a chance to start up another conversation. She headed for the barrier with her ticket clutched in her hand, but having given it to the collector she experienced a feeling of panic. She was quite literally on her own now and what had seemed an easy thing to do from the security of the farmhouse kitchen was now all too real and frankly terrifying. She had grown used to living in the country and had almost forgotten what it was like to live in the metropolis. She stood motionless while people rushed past her, seeming to come at her from all directions. Costermongers cried their wares in raucous voices, competing with the noise from the shunting yard. Ragged children hung around on street corners, some of them eyeing her as if they were deciding whether she was worth robbing, while others were attempting to sell matches, bootlaces and bunches of watercress to passers-by. Their cries mingled with the clip-clip of horses’ hooves and the rumble of cartwheels.
    A blind beggar clutched her arm as she walked past an open pub door. ‘Got a penny to spare, lady?’
    She fumbled in her reticule and took out a halfpenny, which she thrust into his outstretched hand. ‘I’d give you more, if I had it.’
    â€˜Ta, lady. You’re a good ’un.’ He lurched back into the fuggy atmosphere of the pub and Stella was enveloped in a gust of warm air laden with the smell of beer and tobacco smoke. She walked on, quickening her pace and staring straight ahead. Memories of being mugged for her purse and the simnel cake she had intended as a gift for her mother were still fresh in her mind, and she was not about to let it happen again.
    She had formed a vague plan of action while she was working at the farm and her first task would be to find her father’s family. Her mother had told her about the family feud that had made her great-grandparents turn against their only son, and for all Stella knew they might both be dead. She knew that her mother’s parents had perished during the Crimean War, and having given it considerable thought she decided to try the funeral parlour first. Maud Clifford was said to be a kindly soul although by now, if indeed she were still alive, she would be a very old lady. Stella had a half-remembered notion that there was a stepson who had inherited the business when his father died, and with luck he might still be the owner.
    She hurried on, quickening her pace. It was a long walk but she did not want to spend any of her hard-earned savings on a cab. The day was fine and the sun had even managed to penetrate the dark canyons of the city streets. She tried to be optimistic, but she knew that after so many years it was going to be difficult to trace her mother’s family and even then they might not be able to help.
    She reached Artillery Street soon after midday, and found Clifford’s Funeral Parlour at the far end of the road in the shadow of the brewery, and only a little way from the shunting