“Quite right. The service will be starting shortly. Mrs. Harper,” he said with a little bow and left.
“That was odd,” Mr. Dorian said as we slid into the pew. “I’m afraid you may end up in the gossip pages after all.”
“What are you talking about?”
He raised an eyebrow. “I doubt the baron has bothered to usher any other guests to their seats.”
“I’m sure he only needed a break from greeting everyone.”
“How convenient it happened just when you arrived,” Mr. Dorian drawled.
I leaned towards him and lowered my voice, as a few other people had joined our pew. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were jealous.”
Mr. Dorian looked unamused and I leaned back, satisfied that I had shut him up, at least for the moment. But I couldn’t enjoy the feeling for very long as the sound of raised voices drew my attention back towards the vestibule. Mrs. Pembrooke appeared to be arguing with a woman dressed in an extravagant mourning veil. I could only make out a few words: “… you have noright,” before Mr. Pembrooke loudly hushed her.
“Is that her, do you think?” I whispered as I gripped Mr. Dorian’s arm. “Mrs. Pearson?”
He glanced down at my hand, and I pulled it away. Then he turned around just as the woman entered the nave. Her entrance appeared to have garnered the attention of the people around us as well, and curious murmurs rippled through the crowd. We must not have been the only ones who heard the rumors about Charles Pearson’s mysterious wife. She held her head up high, but did not move to the front of the church,where the family would sit, and instead slid into the pew behind us. She was then joined by a strikingly handsome man with dark hair and olive skin. She glanced towards me, and even through her veil, I could tell she noticed my staring. I immediately turned around.
“Excellent work,” Mr. Dorian murmured by my ear. “Very subtle.”
I resisted the urge to glare at him and instead kept my gaze forward. Just then the organist switched to another hymn, and the bishop moved to the front. It was time for the service to begin.
Chapter 17
Iwill admit here, within these pages, that my attention was not terribly focused on the funeral service. Instead, I used the time to look over the crowd and noticed a few familiar faces. Mrs. Braithwaite was seated across the aisle beside a man I assumed was her husband. I also saw Mr. Henshaw seated closer to the front. When he glanced over and noticed me, he immediately turned back. There were also a few people I recognized from the baron’s party, but did not know by name. Mrs. Braithwaite displayed far more emotion than anyone else, which seemed odd. This was the funeral of a young man who had been brutally murdered. I had to wonder if most of the people here had simply attended out of curiosity rather than a genuine sense of loss. When the bishop finished the final commendation and we rose, I turned back just in time to see the suspected Mrs. Pearson and her companion disappear through the archway into the vestibule.
I moved to follow them, but Mr. Dorian gripped my arm.
“What are you doing? We must speak to her,” I hissed.
“You’ll only draw attention to yourself if you follow her,”he said calmly, still holding my arm. “Besides, I know where she is staying.”
“Oh,” I replied. “Well, then. Where is it?”
The corner of his mouth lifted as he shot me a chiding look. “If I told you now, you’d only slip away and go there without me.”
I let out a huff, though he was entirely correct. There was nothing left to do but wait as the pews slowly emptied out. When it was finally our turn to exit, we shuffled down the aisle and out of the church.
“Are you going to the cemetery?” Mr. Dorian asked as we made our way down the steps. Out front, a long line of carriages had begun to form the funeral procession. Charles Pearson was to be interred in Brompton Cemetery, but I did not plan to attend. I shook my head as I scanned the crowd that had gathered, but there was no sign of Mrs. Pearson. She had disappeared. But someone else caught my eye instead.
“Oh no,” I murmured, as Delia stood across the street, watching as Charles Pearson’s coffin was loaded into the back of the hearse. Even from a distance, she looked horribly pale and fragile, as if a stiff breeze could knock her clean off her feet.
“What is it?” Mr. Dorian asked, but I was already trying to move through the crowd. My progress was hampered by the number of bodies, but Mr. Dorian must have noticed Delia as well, for after a moment, he was by my side, effectively moving people out of my way. I saw Mrs. Braithwaite, and she too had noticed Delia. Our eyes met, and seeing her guilty expression, I knew she must have been the one who told her about the funeral.
“I didn’t think she would come,” she said weakly as I moved passed her, but I didn’t have time to chastise her.
I hurried across the street with Mr. Dorian close behind. Delia turned to me with a stricken expression. “Oh, Minnie,” she gasped as her eyes filled with tears. Then she began to fall into a swoon, but thankfully Mr. Dorian caught her.
“We have to get her out of here,” I said to him, though it was too late to avoid the notice of the crowd.
“My carriage is just around the corner,” he said, and together we got a barely conscious Delia into his coach.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I said to her once we were inside.
She blinked at me, her gaze unfocused. “I wanted to say good-bye,” she murmured, and my heart clenched despite my worry.
“I know,” I said, as I pushed a loose strand of hair back from her face.
