‘He’s not the only one – a finer woman I’ve never known. She was true to her word, was Miss Charlotte, and never let you down. The world’s a sadder place without her. Come, Ethan, let’s away and check this horse.’ Jethro nearly choked on his words.

Mazy watched as her husband and son strode back into the shadows of the stables. The thunder rumbled above her. ‘God bless you, Charlotte Atkinson. You’ve left more than one broken-hearted man down here, if you did but know it. My Jethro worshipped the ground you walked on.’

2

2

The curtains at each house along the winding small streets of Austwick were pulled in acknowledgement of the passing of Charlotte Atkinson. Villagers lined the cortège route and bowed their heads, removing their caps and bowlers as the family passed them in the carriage on the route to the church – a route that Charlotte had taken many a time, in good times and bad.

‘Look at the people!’ Isabelle gasped to Danny. ‘There are so many attending, they are even standing outside the church gates. I hope it doesn’t rain, for their sakes.’

‘It doesn’t surprise me. Our mother knew everyone, and everyone knew her. What did you expect, our Isabelle? After all, she was one of the most powerful women in the district.’ Danny looked out of the carriage as it pulled up at the church’s gates.

‘It isn’t about the power, lad; it’s that she was loved and always tried to do right by people. She could have made or broken half of the families in this district, but she showed each one the respect they deserved. If you and Isabelle both do the same as you go through life, then you’ll earn just as much respect as your mother.’ Archie stood up and waited for the coachman to open the carriage door, then looked out at the ancient market cross on the small green next to the church. The cross he had chased Charlotte around, when they were children. Where had the days gone?

The vicar stood at the church entrance and shook hands with the family, before nodding to the undertaker to follow him into the building. He was nervous as he looked around the packed church, which was full of dignitaries, family and those who had come to pay their respects to the once-humble farm lass from Crummock. He had never taken a burial service like this and expected not to have to do so again; not for a while anyway, he thought, as he looked over at the fragile Archie Atkinson as he started the service.