On Renfrew Street, Day21

Then, after weeks of numbness, Ellen finally thawed. It was painful, but necessary

Ellen could still barely comprehend that Henry had gone down with the Titanic as she waited in the drawing room of the McCallister family home, curious as to why Henry’s mother, Edith, had sent for her. Finally Edith McCallister entered, dressed in black. Her hair was drawn back severely, and her face looked bloodless. “Miss Copley. It is very good of you to see me.”

“I am honoured to be asked, Mrs McCallister,” Ellen answered stiltedly. She had no idea why the grieving woman had called her here, or if she knew about Henry’s proposal of marriage before his tragic and untimely death.

“I know you were very important to Henry,” Edith said as she sat down and arranged her stiff skirts. She gestured for Ellen to sit and she did so. “When he told me he had asked you to marry him, I must admit, I was ambivalent.”

What on earth, Ellen wondered, was she to say to that? She merely nodded. A maid brought a tea tray in and Edith gestured for Ellen to pour.

As she did, the older woman resumed. “You know they have found his body?” Sombre Ellen’s hands shook and hot tea splattered on to her fingers. With effort she kept them steady as she finished pouring them both cups of tea. “I didn’t know that,” she said quietly.

Edith accepted a cup of tea, her pale face sombre as she explained. “Yes, the White Star Line charted a ship from Nova Scotia to retrieve as many bodies as they could. Henry had his passport on him. I suppose he held a hope of being rescued.”

She retrieved a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes.

“We’re having his body shipped back. I couldn’t stand the thought of him being buried in a cemetery in Halifax, with no one ever to visit his grave.”

“I see,” Ellen managed numbly. Edith’s words made Henry’s death more real and horrible. She stared down at her tea, and after a moment Edith continued.

“The funeral will be in a fortnight, after things are settled. You are welcome to attend,” Edith continued, her manner turning rather stiff. “I know Henry held you in great affection, and it seems appropriate for you to be there.”

Ellen could tell this cost the woman a great deal. Did Edith McCallister resent her for her claim to Henry’s affections?

“That’s kind of you,” she said quietly. “Thank you. I will be sure to be there.”

Ten days later Ellen stood in the shadow of Dowanhill Church on Hyndland Street and watched, still numb inside, as the coffin containing Henry’s body was laid into the earth.

She stood apart from Henry’s family, knowing she had no right to include herself in their number, yet feeling closer to him than the other mourners who stood back from the grave to give his family privacy in this difficult moment.

Amy had accompanied her to the funeral, as had Norah, although her landlady stood with a few of the art school professors who had known and liked Henry. Amy stood next to her, and as Ellen watched Henry’s casket lowered into the ground she linked arms with her. Ellen leaned into her friend’s embrace, suddenly feeling so weary she could barely stand.

Afterwards she went back to Amy’s rather than to the McCallister home. Mrs McCallister’s welcome, it seemed, did not extend that far. She wondered what would have happened if Henry had survived. Sympathy Would his parents have accepted her eventually, or would she and Henry have always been navigating the social divide? The answer no longer mattered.

“You look as if a breath could blow you over,” Amy said once they were settled in a sitting-room with cups of tea and slices of cake. Ellen took a small sip of tea and picked at her cake before pushing it away. “I wish it would.” “Oh, Ellen.” Amy eyed her friend with sympathy. “I thought,” she said after a moment, “you didn’t care for him that way?”

“I thought that as well.” A lump formed in Ellen’s throat as she remembered how she’d declared to Amy that she didn’t care for Henry.

She hadn’t told her friend about Henry’s offer or her decision; it had been too private a matter. “The trouble is, I discovered that I did.” “Oh, Ellen.” Pushing aside the tray, Amy took Ellen in her arms. “I’m so sorry.”

Then, after weeks of numbness, Ellen finally thawed. It was painful, but necessary. She pressed her head into Amy’s shoulder and wept.

The next few weeks drifted by in a sea of indifference for Ellen. She attended lectures but she heard not a word; she painted and sketched, but none of it mattered. When Grieffenhagen raged at her, she stared at him, unmoved.

He shook his head in exasperation before moving on, which was, Ellen supposed, as much of a reprieve as she could expect.

Amy tried to rouse her out of her lethargic state, inviting her to a lecture at the house in Blythswood Square. Ellen went, but she felt as if she were a ghost, drifting among the living.

After three weeks of this, Norah took her aside. It was mid-June, and the air was warm and fragrant, the nights long and light.

“Ellen, you cannot go on like this,” she said sternly, as Ellen sat in her sitting-room and picked at a loose thread on her skirt. She did not answer and Norah let out an impatient sigh.

“Do you think you are the only one who has grieved?” she demanded and Ellen looked up in surprise. “No, of course not.”

“Don’t you think other people found the will to go on, Ellen? Learned how to join in with the living?” Hesitation Ellen’s eyes filled with tears. “It has been less than two months, Norah, and Henry was very dear to me.” Norah’s gaze narrowed. “How dear?” “He had asked me to marry him. When he returned from America, I intended to accept.” Ellen’s voice trembled and she pressed her lips together in an effort to regain her composure.

“Now a whole life I might have had is lost to me. I grieve that along with the loss of Henry.”

Norah was silent for a moment. Ellen stared down at the floor. “I want to show you something,” Norah said, and to Ellen’s surprise she turned and left the room. After a moment’s hesitation, Ellen followed.

Norah was in the foyer, buttoning her coat. Ellen gaped. “Where are you going?” “To my studio. And you’re coming with me.” “Your studio!” Ellen exclaimed. She thought of protesting but she could tell that Norah was in no mood to be disobeyed, so she reached for her coat. More tomorrow.

Artwork: Dave Young