It was rumored that the one who had committed the crime might report it to a well-known newspaper reporter, and make a fee from it.
Did that also include murder?
I had no doubt that Burke had his own sources scrabbling about the streets of London, those of a low sort. Perhaps those same criminals who took him information.
It did explain how he was able to be the first one to write about the latest crimes for the Times.
Might that include the murder of Charlotte Mallory?
Seven
Lily wantedto attend the funeral for Charlotte Mallory.
“I never been to a proper funeral before. Leastwise not for one like her,” she said when we spoke of it.
“She was my friend. I hear it helps sometimes, being able to say good-by and all.”
“Then by all means, you should attend,” my great-aunt told her when we had the conversation. “I liked her very much as well. We shall both go. I will have Mr. Hastings bring round the coach.”
The funeral service was at St. Paul’s church in Knightsbridge, with burial service at Brompton in Kensington.
I had been to funeral services before, for one reason or another, in spite of my long-held preferences for a Viking send-off. However, this was Lily’s first experience with the rituals of the upper classes.
Her previous experience with such things had been in Edinburgh, when one of the ‘ladies’ who worked at the ‘Church’ had succumbed to a malady and was taken off to burial in a common grave.
There didn’t seem to be any memory before that, perhaps of some relation, before she was taken in by the madam at the ‘Church,’ first to run errands, as so many orphaned children found themselves, then as a ‘ladies’ maid’ as when I had encountered her there.
Brodie and I arrived separately at St. Paul’s church where we joined Lily and my great-aunt. I clasped Lily’s hand as we entered the church.
“I never seen nothin’ like this,” she whispered, as we took our places inside the church. “It’s like a castle.”
It was quite imposing and beautiful, I suppose, if one was into that sort of thing, with that tall edifice now draped in clouds. Inside, tiled panels around the walls of the nave depicted different religious scenes, lit by dozens of candles in tall sconces. Pews lined both sides of the chapel.
“Sir Edward and Lady Mallory,” my aunt whispered with a look at the front pew as the service began with the casket front and center. And beside Lady Mallory, was a young gentleman whom I presumed to be Charlotte’s fiancé, Daniel Eddington.
Lady Mallory was dressed all in black as was the custom, with a veil over her face, frequently reaching under with a handkerchief. Sir Mallory was stoic, if a bit distracted, with a frown amid thick jowls that I imagined those in the Queen’s court confronted in his profession as barrister.
He seemed impatient, even perhaps annoyed, as if the service was an intrusion, leaning forward to pass some comment along to Daniel Eddington who merely nodded.
Charlotte’s fiancé was a pleasant-enough looking young man in spite of his somber expression and the frown under a neatly clipped mustache. I could only imagine how difficult this must be for all of them, when it was a wedding they had been planning with those invitations Charlotte had picked up from the print shop.
I had expected some long, drawn-out sermon about the cruelties of life and was surprised not only at the brevity of the service, but the tone as well.
The Anglican priest spoke of qualities of those who brought light into the lives of others, then spoke specifically of Charlotte’s gift of music that she shared with her family and students.
It was very uplifting in spite of the circumstances as the priest described a young life ended too soon. Afterward, the casket was removed with the Mallorys following behind for the burial service in Kensington.
Coaches lined the thoroughfare as we arrived at Brompton Cemetery. The rain that had held off through the morning seemed to wait as we accompanied Lily and my great-aunt to the graveside.
There the priest from Brompton Chapel gave a brief service for all those who had gathered. There must have been thirty or forty in attendance to pay their last respects at the graveside. No doubt due to the Mallorys’ standing not only in society, but Sir Edward’s legal work.
Mourners filed past… couples, older gentlemen with whom he had no doubt served as a barrister, Mr. Eddington briefly responding as he stood as before with Sir Edward. Both men were stoic and somber, greeting those who passed by with a brief nod. Mrs. Mallory, small, with sagging shoulders, occasionally nodded at someone she apparently knew, a gloved hand reaching out.
“So many flowers,” Lily commented. “It looks like all the flowers in London are here.”
“Hmmm,” Aunt Antonia replied. “Sir Mallory is quite well known.”
Lily frowned as we joined the other mourners.
