When Muriel and May got home from their wonderful evening out, they were met with a very different atmosphere.  May’s mother was in tears.  The Kings were both at the house with her, and the girls were ushered into the front room and told to sit down.

“I am afraid, my dear,” said Mr. King looking at May, “that we have some bad news for you. Shortly after you left for the dance this afternoon, your father was taken suddenly ill, and collapsed.  Your mother called us over, and we got the doctor out, but he was pronounced dead when the doctor arrived. It must have been a heart attack, which was very sudden, so he would not have suffered.”

May now understood her mother’s tear drenched face.  She herself felt almost too stunned to cry, she could hardly take it all in.  “But he was so healthy. He was only 57. He swam each day in the Severn. He can’t have died,” and then she started crying too.  Her mother put her arms around her, and the others drew away to leave them their privacy. 

“I think perhaps we should go home now, but come back early tomorrow to see how we can help,” said Mrs. King, and her family, very much affected by this neighbourhood tragedy, let themselves out the door and walked to their own house, next door but one.
May’s brother Tom had not been home when his father died, so one of the tasks for the King family the next day was to go to Tom’s friend’s house where he had stayed the night, and inform him of what had happened. 

The funeral was scheduled for a week’s time – on Saturday the 31st of March, and was held at their local church, Holy Trinity in Scrub Hill Road which was built in stone in 1866 and a cruciform shape and in the late decorated style. There is an open turret rising from the intersection of the roof and containing 1 bell, which started tolling as the service began for the 57 years of Thomas Stinton’s life. The service was conducted by the Vicar, Rev. George Hough, who had been at the church since 1887. The service was packed as Mr. Stinton had been a well known and popular man.  Those from his work, as well as those from the mill where Mrs. Stinton’s father Mr. Smith worked were present at the funeral. Also, Henry Griffiths and Mr. A.S.Allen who had been registrars when he worked for the treasury, Mr. J.A. Smith, who’d been the High Sheriff from Bromsgrove, Mr. E. Swain from Droitwich, Mr. W.W. Betts from Bromyard, Mr. F.A. Powell and Mr. I. Cameron from Great Malvern, and Mr. F.G. Griffiths and Mr. E.L. Harrison from Worcester.  Mrs. Stinton herself had many friends from the Choral Society, and they came to the service too, including Mr. Edward Elgar, who held Mrs. Stinton in high regard as a gifted soprano.

The burial was in Astwood Cemetery, just up the road from Rainbow Hill.

Muriel tried hard to console May, who kept saying that while she was in her finery enjoying herself, her father was at home dying, and she felt so guilty. “There is no way you could have known,” although sincerely offered, didn’t really help much.

Tom returned to school, and May gradually came out of her mourning, but for her, and of course for her mother and brother, life would never again be the same.  Luckily her mother’s brother Sidney Smith lived nearby and often stopped in to help with all the paperwork that comes as part of a death in the family.  When the will was read, it was obvious that Tom Stinton had invested well, and there would be no problem of the family having to vacate their very pleasant house to look for a cheaper place to live.

It was hard on Muriel too, for even through the ball at Perdiswell House had been a huge success, she didn’t feel she could talk about it with May or relive her glories at the ball. However she had kept an article from the paper to show May when she felt that she was able to go back to a normal life. This is how the ball was described in the local newspaper, Berrows Worcester Journal, the week after the ball.

“The dining-room, which was converted into a ball room for the occasion, was most profusely decorated with choice flowers, palms and ferns. The guests, who numbered upwards of 80, comprised a contingent from the staff of the 1st Worcester Regiment, to which Lieut. Walker, who is at present at the front in the South African War, is attached.
Amongst the ladies of the house was Miss Eva Walker who was very gracefully attired in black satin and old lace and who wore a magnificent tiara of diamonds. Miss Florence Walker, her younger sister was very prettily dressed in a pale blue and white costume with turquoise ornaments, and a visitor, Miss Poulett looked very charming in a dress of ivory and Cambridge blue.

"Miss Eva Walker and the steward opened the ball, and the dancing was kept up with great zest until the early hours of the morning. The scarlet tunics of the military added picturesqueness to the scene. During the interval a sumptuous repast was provided by the hospitality of Mr. Henry Walker.”

May seemed to enjoy reading the article but of course it brought back her memory of what had happened after the ball and she started crying again.

To change the subject somewhat, Muriel said. “I couldn’t believe it when I read that one of the guests was called Miss Poulett. That of course was very similar to the name of my relatives with “royal blood” as mentioned in the letters to my grandmother. Surely this girl must be a relative in some way. Poulett or Paulet could not be a very common name. Finding out more about Miss Poulett shall become part of my quest.”  

She also remembered that her quest was to marry the man, who now had a name, John Day, and she needed to make her next plan of action.  She asked May if she would be up to accompanying her to church in Perdiswell the following Sunday.

“I thought you had got over your infatuation with Mr. John Day,” said May. “You had most of the men at the ball swooning over you. Does that not satisfy you?”

“I know in my heart that Mr. Day is the one for me, and I must keep up my quest to make it happen,” replied Muriel. “I would like to see and meet Mr. Day at a time when we can be free to get to know one another. I think after Church on Sunday would be a marvelous opportunity.”

“But we cannot impose on Eveline and her mother again. How will we get there?”

“I have looked into this and there is a train station at Fernhill Heath. That will be less than a mile to walk to the church. I have enquired from the local vicar what the church times will be there, and they are at 8 and 11 a.m. and 6.30 p.m. We should have great opportunity to get to the eleven service, and then to chat with Mr. Day afterwards.”

So with her mother’s permission, who felt that she needed to be getting out and about again, May agreed,  and Sunday morning found the friends at Scrubhill Station. The journey to Fernhill Heath was only a matter of ten minutes, it being the first stop out of Worcester itself.  The girls caught the 10 a.m. train, which left them ample time to find the church before the service.

When the arrived at Fernhill Station, they asked the station master, who was wearing a badge with his name, Mr. Fredrick Price for directions to the church.

“Can’t miss it,” he said. “Up that road to the left, and over the next hill, then take the turning on your right and there it is. You will see it long before you arrive.”

The girls thanked him for his kindness and started on the trek.  It was as he said, only a short walk, and they easily spotted the tower of the church. 

“It doesn’t matter we are early,” said Muriel. “We can look at the church building and find out its history. And it is always interesting to look at the dates and names on the tombstones in the cemetery.” Then remembering the recent visit to the cemetery, she bit her lip and wished she hadn’t mentioned it.

St John the Baptist Church was an ancient building and Muriel, who had studied church architecture at school, knew it to be of the perpendicular style.  The bell tower was particularly impressive. The east window was fine stained glass, but the rest of the windows were clear.

Inside, (as the girls decided to go in, as it was still quite nippy outside despite it being late April,) they saw that the organist was practicing. Having a music background and being a pianist herself, May went up to her, “What a wonderful organ. I wonder what date it is?”
The organist looked quite taken aback at being addressed so boldly by a stranger, “It was presented to the church by the late Sir Henry Wakeman when the church was restored in 1886.”

“Ah, I see we have visitors,” said a kindly male voice. “Can I offer you girls a tour as we are still have some time before the beginning of the service. Let me introduce myself. I am Rev. Alfred Stevenson Porter, and this has been my church for the last 18 years. Where do you girls come from?”

It was Muriel who answered, “We come from Worcester, Lansdown Crescent, but we were recently at the ball held by the Walkers at Perdiswell Hall, and we heard about your wonderful church, and thought we should like to see if for ourselves.”

Suddenly through the door came John Day and the girls couldn’t stop themselves looking longingly in his direction. He was as handsome as they remembered, as tall and dark and as wonderful.

“Good morning Rev. Porter,” John said, “and I do believe I have seen these young women before. Are you not Miss King who spoke so eloquently at the Queen’s Memorial Service? But I am afraid I do not know your friend, although she was with you on that occasion as well.”

“Let me present my best friend, Miss May Stinton.”

“How do you do, Miss Stinton,” said both men together.

“Ah, Mr. Day, since you know these young ladies, I will leave the history of the church in your capable hands and go to prepare myself for the service.”

Things could not have worked out better from Muriel’s point of view. She smiled brightly at John and told him that they had met his grandmother, Mrs. Duncan and his aunt Eveline at the ball a few weeks before.  He said he had heard that they had been there, and had asked after him, for which he was very obliged.

“Now let me give you a short lecture on the church before I have to get ready to help with the service.  The mosaic you see in the chancel is that of the descent of Christ from Jesse. You have heard in the gospels about Him coming from the Root of Jesse. That is a sort of family tree.”

“I too am interested in plotting my family tree, Mr. Day,” added Muriel, “And I might have found a likely candidate for a relative in the visitor we met at the ball. Do you know anything of Miss Poulett, who was there?”

“No, I am sorry, I have not made that lady’s acquaintance, but I shall enquire from my various family members to see if they can be of some use in the matter.”

“The church has 380 sittings, of which 190 are free. Being the only Anglican Church for some 5 miles around, we normally get a good turnout for this service on Sundays, and I would expect the church to be more than half full. We now have open benches but before the restoration in 1887, the church had enclosed pews.  We have a new north aisle and vestry as a result of that restoration.  And if you have time after the service, I can take you up the staircase to the rood loft.  One gets a most wonderful view of the countryside from there.”
“Oh yes, thank you,” said May, finally coming into the conversation, “we do not have to catch the train back to Worcester until mid afternoon.”

“What will you do for lunch?” asked John.

“We brought some sandwiches and thought to have a picnic overlooking a wonderful view,” Muriel put in.

“I must go and get robed up now, but I will meet up with you after the service,” promised the young Mr. Day.

Muriel and May took seats fairly near the front of the church, but expecting there to be some protocol in the order of who sits where, they asked the organist if they would be all right to sit where they had chosen. She said it would be fine.

The church did fill up quite quickly, and amongst the faithful, the girls recognized many of those they had met at the ball.  Eveline and her mother were there, and Mr. Walker and his daughters. Several other women they felt they had seen at the ball but didn’t know their names. But they smiled and nodded as if they were firm friends.

Even though it was the fourth Sunday after Easter, the service was still filled with Easter music. “Ye choirs of New Jerusalem”; “At the Lamb’s High Feast We Sing”; “Come see the Place Where Jesus Lay” and “Jesus Lives, No Longer Now Can Thy Terrors Death Appall Us.”

The congregation sang with gusto and the walls reverberated.  The sermon was uplifting, if not very original, and the girls felt very happy to be with this congregation. Of course their main thoughts were with what was going to happen after the service.

When 12.30 came, and the service ended, Muriel and May proceeded out of the church, shook hands with Rev. Porter, and then spoke to Mrs. Duncan and Eveline, who were very curious as to why the girls were at church.

“We wanted to see if we could meet John Day,” said Muriel, boldly, “and knowing he was likely to be at the church today, it seemed too good an opportunity to miss.”

Mrs. Duncan looked shocked but Eveline only laughed. “You seem like a woman who knows what she wants and is determined to get it.”

“Mr. Day will be meeting us after the service, to show us the rood loft,” added May, not wanting to be left out of the conversation.

“Let me introduce you to the other Days who are here,” said Eveline, and she drew them over to a large family who had just come out of the church. “Caroline, here are my friends from Worcester, who came to the ball with me. This is Muriel King, and her very best friend, May Stinton.”

“How do you do, Miss King, Miss Stinton. I do hope you are enjoying our country service and our fresh clean air. There is such a fog around big industrial towns that one can hardly breathe.  We have now moved to Worcester but continue to come her on Sunday as much for the fresh air in the country as for the service.”

“How do you do, Mrs. Day.  We are very pleased to have attended your lovely church here today and to make the acquaintance of all of you.”

“Let me introduce my children to you,” said Caroline Day. “My eldest son, John was serving the vicar during the service, but I daresay you will see him later. This is my next son, Harold who is 17, then comes George, 15, then Mark, 14, then our only daughter, Una who is 11. We also have a baby Steven Robert, but we call him Bobs. He is only a year old so he is at home with his nurse.”

Muriel and May shook hands which each child in turn, all of whom looked shy and reserved. John was without a doubt the most outgoing of the family.

“My husband, Mr. Day was unable to attend the service this morning, as he had important work he needed to attend to, but perhaps we will see you another time, and you can meet him then.  We will say goodbye for the present,” and off the Day family walked to their waiting carriage.

By now the rest of the congregation had come out of the church and were making their farewells to friends and heading on their way home for lunch.

“I understand Mr. Day will take you to see the rood loft,” said the vicar to the girls, “so he can lock up the church afterwards and bring me the key at the vicarage. I hope we will see you again in our congregation,” and smiling at the girls, he too left.

The staircase to the loft was built into the wall, and half way up, was the Rood or Crucifix and a platform where the Gospel and Epistle could be read and the sermon given, but the staircase continued on up to the loft above The girls felt more than a little nervous of their footing, but when they arrived at the top and stepped out into the loft floor they felt their anxiety had been a small price to pay. The view from the window on this glorious day was for miles - farms, trees, hills, and you could even see the Cathedral in the distance. 

They climbed down again, and John Day spoke, “I hope we might see more of you on some other occasion. I will be going back to Oxford soon for the Trinity term, but will be back again in a few month’s time. Perhaps if you came up on a Sunday later in the summer, we could plan a picnic together. I could bring my brother Harold and we could make a foursome.”

“Oh, that would be wonderful, Mr. Day,” said Muriel. “I will eagerly await seeing you and of course your church and congregation again.”

“So until then, I must say good bye and have a pleasant picnic and journey home.”

“Thank you so much,” said May. “You have been so kind.”  He turned and looked at May, and gave her a very warm smile.

“I am so glad you enjoyed it,” and off he went to the Vicarage.

The girls were on cloud nine as they walked back towards the station. They found a bench overlooking a small stream, and sat and ate their sandwiches, each wrapped up in her own thoughts.  They had all along assumed that the train would follow the usual pattern and offer a mid afternoon train home, but when they arrived at the station, it was locked and empty. In checking the notices about train times, they realised that the Sunday schedule was different and they would have to wait until 5.25 for their journey home.

“We could walk of course,” said May. “It can’t be more than four miles.”

“I dressed up for today and my shoes are not stout,” said Muriel. “I would rather wait for the train. Why don’t we go over to Little Perdiswell. We can call on Eveline and explain our circumstances, and I am sure she will have pity on us and invite us for a cup of tea.”

So off the girls trudged down the road.  It was as they expected, and Eveline and her mother Mrs. Frances Duncan were very welcoming, having nothing else planned for the afternoon. As Mrs. Duncan was herself a recent widow, May didn’t mind when Muriel told the family about Mr. Stinton’s death the day of the ball.

“My dear girl,” said Mrs. Duncan. “How very dreadful for you.  You will remember that ball with guilt for the rest of your life.”

They all sat in stunned silence for awhile and then Muriel decided it was up to her to change the subject.

She  said, “Mrs. Duncan, I know you spent many years in Mauritius. “What was that like? Did you enjoy it?”

“Well, yes and no, I suppose is the answer to that.  The climate of Mauritius is wonderful, and the scenery is too, but one is very limited in what one can do. There were no theatres, no concerts, no good restaurants. Socialising tended to be with the same few ex-patriots who had gathered there for commerce, and they all seemed like they were having a very lazy life, which made us uncomfortable. Of course, we had many servants, and I did not have to do the many things that I had to do once we returned.  I spent my time educating the children, as the schools were not up to our standard, and I didn’t want to send them back to boarding schools as so many of the families did those days. 

“We of course were there because my father-in-law James Duncan was quite an important personage. He was born in 1802 in Aberdeen Scotland, and when he grew up, he was gardener at Howick to Lord Grey, son of the prime minister. When Lord Grey became Secretary of State for the Colonies, he sent him to Mauritius as director of the botanical gardens. It is the largest botanical garden in the southern hemisphere. The main gates received an award in the Great Exhibition.

“James and his wife Sarah and family arrived on Dec 28 1849, when my John was only 13.  James found the gardens to be a jungle, without even being enclosed by a fence. In 1850 he reported on the gardens to Lord Grey, and with his permission, in a few years he transformed the layout of the gardens. He introduced new species to replace the old spice plants (his French predecessor’s idea of what a garden should have) planted avenues of palms and created lawns.  The marshy grounds near Monplaisir he turned into a pleasant lake with islands in the middle. The Pamplemousse River was dammed to form a pond and the gardens extended. In 1863 he published a catalogue of plants cultivated in the gardens, mentioning numerous recent additions, including hundreds of palms, many ferns, orchids, begonias, gloxinias, roses, azaleas and camellias. He left Mauritius in 1866, but he didn’t stop thinking about the place and sent a list back to them of 32 sorts of trees for replanting in Mauritius.

“My husband was a civil servant in Mauritius . I was originally from Cape Town and our family moved there because of the sugar industry.  John and I met there, and married.  We had twins who were born there on Halloween night 1858, and poor John Frances only lived a few days. Charlotte died when she was just over two, tragically getting drowned in a paddling pool.   George was born in 1860, and in 1862, I had Caroline.  When we arrived back in this country, we settled in Colne, Wiltshire where we had a nursery on Curzon Street, and Eveline was born there in 1872. My Son George is now a clergyman, and is the Rector of Shipton on Cherwell, outside Oxford.”

“There is a funny story about him. He was supposedly relegated to be a perpetual curate because he refused to ring the bells for the wedding of the 2nd Duchess of Marlborough, perhaps because there was a divorce involved,” said Eveline, with a giggle.

“No need to bring up that,” said her mother sternly.

 Muriel’s ears perked up at the sound of royal lineage. May poked her, “Please don’t say it,” she whispered.

Frances and Eveline, who was very small and mousey and hardly said a word, greatly enjoyed telling the girls about their past lives – and showing them all sorts of pictures of the Pamplemousse Gardens, and their home in Colne, and of course pictures of Caroline and George when they had been children, taken in Mauritius.

It was soon time for the girls to thank their hostesses for a pleasant afternoon, and once again make their way to the Fernhill Heath station where they caught the 5.25 and got back at 5.32.