“No, Grace, I’m serious. You could be an asset to me. What good would it do to string you along as my assistant when I can see clear as day that you’re capable of so much more?” I asked, folding my arms.
“But it’s only been a few days,” she said, almost in awhisper. “Do you – are yousure, sir?”
She seemed adamant on still using that word. I was loathe to admit it, even to myself, but I liked it.
“I’m certain. I’ve never been more sure in my life. Do you accept? Do youwantto train as a funeral director?”
“Oh, sir,” she said, her voice quavering desperately close to a sob. “You don’t know what this means to me.”
I smiled. “You’ll bring far much more value to me,” I said. “Than I could bring to you. All I’m doing is giving you the tools – it’s you who has to take them up.”
“I will, sir,” she said, almost desperately. “I will.”
My heart warmed, and a knot formed in my belly. She was too good, and she didn’t know it. Far too good for me.
I took her paper towel and mine and dumped them in the bin. I wondered if Grace had any friends, or someone she loved, who she would excitedly relay the news to.
“Do you have anyone special back home, who you’d like to call?”I asked, trying to hide my deep curiosity behind a casual tone.
“No, I don’t.” She looked haunted at the prospect. I thought I saw her shoulders shiver.
“Nobody?”
It was strange for a young woman not to have any friends, and I said that as a man who had always been on the reclusive side – especially after the fire.
“No, sir.”
“You...you don’t have a boyfriend to tell, either?”
She smiled, then, a little bashfully, before turning away from me so I couldn’t see her embarrassment.
“No, sir.”
The answer delighted me more than it should.
“You’ll make friends in London, Grace,” I said, deciding I would make damn sure of it.
We held gatherings, annual parties, at Crowthorne House, and always had done. I kept the tradition even after the fire, firstly out of pure spite for those who believed the rumours. I had more patrons than I could remember, many of them very close friends, despite my poor name in the wider community, amongst my rivals. They all had daughters, nieces, some of them even in the funeral business themselves. If Grace had no friends or family then I would build them for her.
The thought alone made me shake a little with anticipation. I wanted to give her everything, everything I could...all because of the feelings she stirred up in me. All because of the way she filled that dreadful void within me, pining after the loss of Louisa.
We took the lift upstairs, Grace beaming silently beside me, her eyes wide and happy like a child. Her countenance shifted as we entered the meeting parlour. She took on a straight expression, unemotional, as if she was so used to hiding her inner feelings that it came naturally to do so.
More and more, these professional traits were revealing themselves.
Maggie was serving Dorian a cup of tea when we entered, bending over the low coffee table. He stood up when we approached, popping the last fragment of a rich tea biscuit into his mouth as he extended his hand to me.
“Nicholas, good to see you again, pal,” he said cheerfully with his mouth half-closed, chomping away on the biscuit. “Pardon my manners.”
“You’re pardoned,” I said, with a smile. I opened myarm, gesturing behind me. “Let me introduce you to our newest member of staff. Dorian Gable, this is Grace Lockett, who will be beginning her funeral director’s training in January. Grace, this is Dorian, my accountant.”
Dorian swallowed and brushed the crumbs from his lapel, his eyes widening as he realised a young, beautiful woman had entered the room like a floating spirit. I glanced from him to Grace, and saw her embarrassment, too, evident in the slight pink of her cheeks and her wide eyes. A kind of jealousy tore through me. They were both young and attractive. Dorian was in his early thirties, closer to Grace’s age than I was. Why shouldn’t they react to one another that way?
I clenched my fist at my side, willing the hostility to fade. Dorian was of mixed race, African and Irish; his pale, blue-grey eyes striking against his pale brown skin. He wore tailored suits from Savile Row, and ran his own branch of his father’s accounting business , Gable and Son. He’d attended London day schools and went to Cambridge, then Oxford for his PHD. He was educated, wealthy, and successful in his business . He was a great match for Grace.
With a sickening feeling, I remembered Dorian was also single. It was obvious what I should do. If I was going to help Grace become acquainted with London friends, set her up with her education and provide a roof over her head, then it made sense I should set her up with Dorian, too.
A quiet girl from the north, noble, dutiful, and strikingly beautiful – his parents would be pleased as punch. She even owned her own land, her own house,dilapidated though it may be. I knew his father from old. My parents had known him. Nothing would please him more than to marry off his son to a smart, polite girl who’d appreciate Dorian. Certainly more than the society girls he had schooled with would ever be able to do.
