“No. I lodged at a boardinghouse in Piccadilly. I did drop in to see Annie. She’s in a bad way.” Malcolm leaned back against the seat, passing a hand over his eyes. “I can’t help but care about her. It all seems sordid, but Annie was andisvery kind. At the time I met her, I hadn’t a clue about women. Father was keen on making my brother and me into men as soon as possible. Against my mother’s protestations, he took us to London for our first Season when we were fifteen. He took us round all the usual places—the Houses of Parliament, Kensington, and countless society balls. And at the end of it all, he took us to a brothel. Annie taught us how to pleasure a woman to help ensure a happy marriage. I promise you I have not had intimate relations with her for many years, and certainly not since her illness.”
Eliza sighed, pushing out a rush of air so forceful it fogged up the glass of the carriage window. “So, I am ... well?”
“Yes, my darling. You’ll not be endangered by my past, and neither will our baby.” Malcolm kissed the top of her head. “And you’ve no worries as to my recent activities in London. I have been steadfast. I swear it. Charles was lying to you to raise doubts and get you intohis bed. He was a terrible person. More horrid than you can ever know.”
Eliza caught the word as soon as it fell from Malcolm’s lips. “Was?”
Malcolm looked down, his lips working silently before he answered. “Yes. It seems Lord Eastleigh lost his balance on the train platform in Southampton and fell onto the tracks. He’s dead.”
CHAPTER 39
They attended Lord Eastleigh’s funeral out of a sense of duty, but it was a miserable affair, taking place on the grayest of frigid London days. His family crypt was located in Highgate’s prestigious west cemetery, in the most elaborate of funerary gardens adorned with veiled maidens and grief-stricken angels. As Eliza huddled close to Malcolm for warmth, pulling the hood of her fur-lined cape over her head, the funeral carriage rattled through the cemetery gates, pulled by black-plumed horses. The rest of the cortege followed, ending with the polished landau carrying his widow.
As the bell tolled from St.Michael’s, Lord Eastleigh’s carriage came to a halt at the foot of an ivy-covered hillock crowned by a pillared tomb. At its base, a pair of sleeping stone lions rested, their paws crossed one over the other in repose.
Una descended from the landau, caped in a gloriously figured black bombazine cloak, the pale oval of her face punctuated by her dark eyes. She was both regal and catatonic. The mourners resembled a somber murder of ravens as they queued up along the narrow path, greeting Una with bowed heads and the press of their hands. Eliza was moved to sudden, unexpected sympathy.
“Lady Eastleigh,” she said as Una swept past. “I ...”
Una put up her hand and shook her head.
The crypt was opened, and the pallbearers came to their sad duty, moving the sleek ebony casket down the rails of the hearse and hoisting it onto their shoulders, its coffered top weeping white lilies and roses. Malcolm was as stoic as the stone mausoleum before them, his eyes hard as glass beneath the brim of his hat.
Unbidden tears sprung to Eliza’s eyes. She hadn’t been fond of Charles, it was true. But it was unfair for his life to have been cut short in its prime, with a young wife left to birth and rear a child all alone. She dabbed away the tears with her handkerchief, turning her face from Malcolm’s disapproving gaze.
The vicar said his blessing before the opening of the tomb, made the sign of the cross, and motioned for Una to come forward. She kissed her gloved fingertips and pressed them to the top of the coffin before turning away. The pallbearers finished their duty and the tomb was sealed, wreaths of holly and myrtle left to adorn the steps of the mausoleum. The mourners departed to go back to their warm townhouses or out for a drink at the pubs, chattering quietly among themselves. Eliza gave a final mournful look to the dreary tomb and took Malcolm’s arm as a frozen drizzle began to fall. They’d nearly gotten to the gates when Eliza heard Una’s voice from behind.
“Lady Havenwood, now that the others are gone, I’d have a word with you.”
Eliza turned, lifting the rain-dotted veil of black chiffon from her eyes. Una took two steps toward them and Malcolm gave a quick shake of his head. His arm tightened around her. “No. We’ve shown her enough respect by being here.”
Eliza pulled away. “I need to speak with her, husband. For my own peace. Go to the carriage. I’ll just be a moment.”
Malcolm tipped his hat to Una and she gave a terse nod before fixing the full ire of her gaze on Eliza. “How dare you,” she spat. “You’ve taken everything from me. My dignity, my husband’s honor, my privacy as a widow.”
“Una, I ...”
Again, Una put up her hand. “No. You will listen. The scandal rags came out this morning. On the very same day as my husband’s funeral. Now all of society knows you were the last thing on Charles’s mind. That your kiss was his final spending of passion before he died.” Una circled Eliza slowly, her face a blade. “Do you know I had to go to the morgue to identify his body? Can you imagine what that was like?”
Eliza’s heartbeat fluttered in her throat. “I’m so sorry ...”
“No. You cannot imagine. So, I will tell you.” Una gave a mirthless smile. “His face ... his beautiful face,” she said, stopping in front of Eliza. “It was gone! Torn right off his skull. Only bits of his hair remained, stuck to his pate. The rest of him was crushed like raw meat. I’ll never forget the smell within that room.” Eliza’s gorge rose, so vivid was the picture that Una painted. She turned her head to quell her urge to vomit. Una clucked her tongue. “I’ve spared you the worst. Train accidents are no pretty death.”
“I never meant for what happened between us to happen. It was a silly impulse! A mistake. I was drunk.”
“I was drunk!”Una mocked. “Yes, it appears you both were. While I languished at home with a fever, you were getting on so well with my husband over champagne that he drank too much and stumbled right over the edge of a train platform. I hate you. I hate you with all that is in me to hate another living creature. So I will tell you the truth aboutyourhusband.”
Anger and shame flooded Eliza’s face with blood. “Is it Annie you mean to shock me with? If so, I already know. He’s told me.”
Una’s smile spread slowly across her face, pulling her prim features into an ugly rictus. “No! You’re wrong—again! Who cares one flit about Annie? Every boy’s first romp is with a whore. This is so much worse.”
“Then tell me!”
“Do you really want to know what kind of monster you’ve married?”
“For God’s sake, Una!”
Una’s gloved hands balled into fists at her side. She shook with rage. “He lay with his own mother!”
