Michael was buried at Abney Park Cemetery; no ray of sunlight fell upon his open grave, but the weather was mild, and among the budded trees passed a breath which was the promise of spring. Joseph Snowdon and the Byasses were Jane’s only companions in the mourning-carriage; but at the cemetery they were joined by Sidney Kirkwood. Jane saw him and felt the pressure of his hand, but she could neither speak nor understand anything that was said to her.
On Friday morning, before she had made a show of eating the breakfast Bessie Byass prepared for her, a visitor arrived.
‘She says her name’s Mrs. Griffin,’ said Bessie, ‘and she has something very important to tell you. Do you feel you can see her?’
‘Mrs. Griffin? Oh, I remember; she lives in the same house as Pennyloaf. Yes: let her come in.’
The woman was introduced to the Byasses’ parlour, which Bessie thought more cheerful for Jane just now than the room upstairs.
‘Have you heard anything of what’s been goin’ on with the Hewetts, Miss?’ she began.
‘No, I haven’t been able to go out this week. I’ve had trouble at home.’
‘I see at once as you was in in mournin’, Miss, an’ I’m sorry for it. You’re lookin’ nothing like yourself. I don’t know whether it’s right to upset you with other people’s bothers, but there’s that poor Mrs. Hewett in such a state, and I said as I’d run round, ’cause she seems to think there’s nobody else can come to her help as you can. I always knew as something o’ this kind ‘ud be ‘appenin’.’
‘But what is it? What has happened?’
Jane felt her energies revive at this appeal for help. It was the best thing that could have befallen, now that she was wearily despondent after yesterday’s suffering.