“I’d like to say something to her mother and father, but I don’t know what’s proper.”
I offered what I thought might be meaningful for her as well as for Sir Edward and Mrs. Mallory.
“Perhaps a word or two about what Charlotte meant to you. That she was a friend as well as your instructor.”
She seemed to think about that.
“Come along dear. I shall go with you,” Aunt Antonia told her. “At my age, I’ve had a good deal of experience with this sort of thing.” She glanced over at me.
“Not that I intend to have a funeral for others to wail and carry on over,” she added.
With a look from Lily, I decided to accompany them.
“I’ll wait for ye at the coach,” Brodie told me. “Take my umbrella.” He handed it to me. “Ye seem to have left yers behind, as usual.”
It was just a light rain, one he and Munro would have called a fine soft rain, but I knew quite well what London weather could turn to.
I caught up with Lily and my great-aunt as they reached Sir Edward and Mrs. Mallory where they stood beside the white casket as others moved ahead, some placing flowers atop the casket.
Lily glanced at me and I nodded my encouragement as my great-aunt expressed her sympathies first, then waited for Lily to say what she wanted to say.
“Miss Charlotte was my friend,” she began hesitantly, then seemed to find the rest of the words.
“I wanted ye to know that she made the most beautiful music I ever heard.”
Not an eloquent speech but simple words from the heart. I was very proud of her.
Mrs. Mallory acknowledged her with a nod from behind her veil. Beside her, Daniel Eddington nodded, while Sir Mallory remained silent.
“Come along, dear,” Aunt Antonia told Lily. “Or we will be thoroughly soaked with the rain.”
It had definitely decided to make an appearance as Lily took my great-aunt’s arm and they made their way from the burial site along the footpath back to the coaches, with others who paused to place bouquets of flowers on the casket.
There were more lilies and orchids with other winter flowers, in arrangements of all manner, size, and shape. It certainly seemed that Charlotte Mallory had touched many lives. Or perhaps it was in deference to Sir Mallory, as many of the mourners were older and perhaps professional associates.
He obviously knew a great many people and it seemed that they had come to pay their respects—ladies in appropriate mourning attire, with men in fine frock coats and top hats crowded under umbrellas as they paused, spoke briefly to Sir Mallory then moved on.
Eager to join Lily and my aunt, I might have missed it among the sea of lilies and orchids, except for the bold color amid white, pale pink, and lavender. Stark contrast to the usual funeral arrangements that surrounded it, a single red rose lay across the casket.
A red rose! A coincidence?
I left the line of mourners and immediately looked about for anyone who might have placed it there. Who would have left a single red rose?
Possibly Daniel Eddington? Mourning the loss of the young woman he hoped to marry?
Yet I had seen him place a bouquet of lilies on the casket just before my great-aunt had given her condolences.
“Mikaela?”
Brodie had doubled back, no doubt after Lily and my great-aunt had arrived at the coach.
“The rain has set in and her ladyship and Lily are waiting.” He took one look at my face.
“What is it?”
I kept my voice low as other mourners passed by. “There, atop the casket.”
That dark gaze narrowed as he saw the rose.
