The vicar took them through a small study of sorts and directly outside into the sunlight—and the graveyard.
He was not particularly fond of graveyards and taking Mariel into one had not been the plan for the day at all. “Mr. Elkins, why have you brought us here?”
Mr. Elkins stopped and clasped his hands. “My pardon, my lord. I…” The man once again glanced at Mariel.
Always observant, she nodded at the vicar. “Mr. Elkins, would you prefer to confer with Lord Blackmore in private?”
Relief shone in the man’s eyes.
Now he was more than curious. “I prefer that you remain with me.”
She gave him an irritated look, but he would not be gainsaid. Something was afoot and he may need her keen insight.
Mr. Elkins’ shoulders drooped. “This way.”
They followed the vicar through the graveyard toward a gravestone that had much digging around it.
Mariel gasped and halted.
Once again, he scanned the area for a threat, but there was no one about. “What is it?”
She pointed to the stone with the disturbed earth, where Mr. Elkins had stopped and faced them.
He read the stone.
Lord Marcus Stratton, b. 1782– d. 1814
A chill ran through him accompanied by an unreasonable anger. “Why is this here?”
Mr. Elkins clasped his hands again, his thin eyebrows lowered in consternation. “The former Lord Blackmore had it commissioned and placed here. He told me it was for his mother.”
Some of his irritation abated. That would be something his brother would do. “But why is it still here?”
“We are in the process of removing it.” He glanced toward Mariel once again.
Looking at her himself, he found her paler than a mountain top in winter. “Come.” Turning her away from the headstone, he walked her to a small bench that faced the opposite way. “I will just be a moment.”
She gave him a silent nod, but did not meet his gaze.
Angry with himself for not heeding Mr. Elkins’ concerns, he strode back to the man. “Now tell me, why has this not been removed?”
No longer constrained by Mariel’s presence, Mr. Elkins became quite forthcoming. “My lord, I’ve never encountered such a situation. I did not know if you wished to save the stone or—
“Save the stone?” His voice rose in his astonishment. “Why would I save the stone? I’m not about to die three years ago.”
The man cringed. “No, of course not. That’s not what I meant. It doesn’t even have to be for you. The carver can change anything on it.”
Something about seeing his name and the year of his demise printed on the stone made him feel as if death lurked nearby to take him. “I’d as soon have it destroyed into pieces so small, they’d break beneath my feet.”
Mr. Elkins clasped his hands yet again. “I understand, my lord. If that’s truly what you wish.”
“Oh for g—my sake. Out with it, man.”
“On occasion, there are people who cannot afford such a luxurious stone, and this one would do for an entire family.”
He stared at the man in awe. He wished to use the headstone for a family who had yet to die? “Fine, use it that way, but get my name and those dates off it by next Sunday or I will personally come here and destroy it.”
“Yes, my lord. Thank you.” Mr. Elkins’ smile of pleasure was so incongruous to the situation, he could no longer stomach the conversation. Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode toward Mariel.
