He winced, then said, “But I cannot.”
Her smile fell. “What has happened? Have I done something to ...?”
“You have done nothing. Nothing but make us all completely devoted to you. You have not only become beloved mother to my daughter, but beloved daughter to my father as well.”
“But you do not share their ... affliction?”
“Oh, I am indeed afflicted, Charlotte. But...”
“But?”
“I am afraid I have dreadful news. I thought to wait until after ...” He waved his hand in direction of the dining room but guessed they both knew he included much more than the festivities in his statement. “But I find in good conscience that I cannot keep it from you a moment longer.”
“What is it?”
“Your cousin Katherine is dead.”
Charlotte gasped.
“She died in childbirth, her infant with her.”
Charlotte sat, stunned, her hand covering her mouth.
After a few silent moments, Daniel rose. Charlotte still sat there, unmoving. She did not ask him to stay, nor assure him the news had no bearing. He knew too well that it had changed everything.
Although society did not expect women to attend funerals, Charlotte knew Katherine would expect her to be there. So, dressed in black, her face concealed behind a veiled hat and umbrella, Charlotte walked slowly past ranks of rain-speckled headstones, toward her cousin’s gravesite. She watched from a distance as four black horses with black feathers on their heads brought the hearse into the churchyard, followed by a long procession of mourners. Six strapping men, William Bentley among them, carried the lacquered coffin to its final resting place. Charlotte slowly joined the rear of the congregation. In front of her, the mourners wore black—the few other women in black gowns and mantles and swarms of men bearing black armbands and gloves.
There were so many people in attendance that she barely caught a glimpse of Charles through the crowd and didn’t see Edmund at all. The church bells tolled their sharp death knell, and with each clang, Charlotte felt her heart bang against her ribs.Poor lamb, she thought, the epitaph seeming to fit not only Edmund but Charles, and even Katherine as well. Her cousin wouldn’t be there to nurture the little boy she loved, nor see him grow to manhood. And being so young, how much would Edmund even remember of the woman he’d called mother—a year from now? Five years hence? Charlotte’s mother-heart grieved for Katherine’s loss as well as that of Charles and Edmund.
The same priest who’d conducted Katherine’s churching only a few years ago now officiated over her funeral. From her place in the back, Charlotte could not make out much of anything he said. A talented soprano sang a hymn so beautiful and haunting that the mourners wept more under its power than the cleric’s words preceding it.
Why do we mourn departing friends?
Or shake at death’s alarms?
’Tis but the voice that Jesus sends,
To call them to His arms... .
Charlotte wept as well.
She had not planned to go to Katherine’s home in Manchester Square with the honored gentry, close friends, and family members who were traditionally invited to do so after the ceremony, to partake of a cold supper and a “cheerful glass.” But she felt oddly compelled to do so. She was family, after all, a close cousin to Katherine. Tradition would expect her to wear black mourning clothes for six weeks for a first cousin; would it not expect her to pay her respects in person as well? Frankly, she was surprised she had the courage to ring the bell.
She certainly had no intention of approaching Charles. In fact her hands shook at the thought of it. She did not want him to think she was “waiting in the wings” nor expecting anything from him. She merely felt it was her duty, and yes, her right, to attend, if only for a few moments. Knowing her cousin as she had, she knew Katherine would be affronted beyond words if Charlotte did not at least make an appearance.
So with trembling hands she handed the butler her wrap and umbrella but kept on her veiled hat and followed the man up the stairs. Still holding her things, he said apologetically, “I’m afraid we’ve an overflow of coats, m’um. I shall have to put your things there, behind that screen, with the others. If you need help finding them again upon departure, I shall endeavor to aid you in your search.”
“Thank you.”
The drawing room was already filled with people huddled in small groups, some talking soberly and others less so, clearly enjoying the promised glass of cheer. Charlotte sat in a row of chairs near the door, content to observe the gathering. She did not see Charles or Edmund. They were perhaps in the adjoining sitting room. Nor did she see her father, which she found puzzling. She wondered if he was ill—could not imagine another reason why he would not attend. She recognized several people, but no one it seemed had recognized her. She breathed a sigh of relief.
Relaxing a bit, she allowed her head to swivel as she surveyed the remainder of the large room. Her heart pounded. There was her sister, Bea, holding Charles’ arm as the two walked into the room. And there, his head barely visible through the assembled throng, was Edmund. Several mourners clustered around Charles as he entered, clearly offering condolences. Even from this distance, Charlotte could see there was a terrible pall over his features.
Bea leaned close to Edmund, her arm resting across his shoulders as she whispered some confidence. Her sister comfortingherson? For some reason the idea of it—the reality of it—made her feel queasy. Edmund ran off suddenly, disappearing through the crowd, and Bea returned her attentions to Charles.
Charlotte realized she could walk right up to Charles and say a few kind words. If she could manage to ignore her sister’s inevitable icy glare, she might even accomplish the feat with her emotions under rein. She sighed. Even if Bea were not standing guard at Charles’ side, Charlotte knew she would not have the courage.
She rose from her chair and turned to leave. As she stepped briskly into the passage, she nearly ran right into Edmund. He looked at her, head cocked to one side.
