by C F Dunn
I am asking you to go to my funeral. I know this will be difficult but it is the last thing I will ask you to do. Look after Matthew and my family. I have always loved him.
Your friend
Ellen Lynes
She spoke of her love for Matthew, but I thought there was something defensive in the way she said it. It must have been a painful letter for her to dictate as she relinquished him to me, and equally difficult for Matthew to write. Her use of language might well be colloquial, but it spoke eloquently enough of the things that concerned her most in her last days, and I wiped my eyes quickly and folded the letter, sliding it back into its envelope.
Harry looked at me quizzically and I smiled so that he could see that I was all right, and so that he wouldn’t need to ask, and I wouldn’t have to lie.
“Please will you tell Matthew ‘yes’ from me; he’ll know what it refers to. Do you know when the funeral will be, and where?”
“Yeah, that was all arranged some time ago. Ellen wanted it sorted out so there wasn’t much for the family to do. The funeral’s on Sunday at eleven. It’s a small chapel up near Valmont.”
So soon. I considered how I would get there and whether a taxi – if prepared to take me that far – would wait.
“How many people are going?”
“Only the family and Dr DaCruz. And Eli, of course.”
Bother, that would make blending in with the crowd a little difficult.
I hoped that there would be some sun for Ellen as her family said goodbye. Rain at a funeral seemed a little clichéd but, judging by the clouds that greeted me as I drew the curtains the following morning, we would have rain. Or more sleet.
I spent some time thinking about how I could make my presence inconspicuous. I hardly thought that standing by the graveside with Matthew would be appropriate, despite Ellen’s wishes.
I stood on the path above the steps in the staff car park waiting for the taxi. It was late. I checked my watch for the fifth time, and writhed in irritation. I thought it bad enough to be going to the funeral where my presence might not be welcome, especially by Maggie, but to be late would be unforgivable. At least my father would have a quiet day resting in my apartment. He needed it if tomorrow proved to be as bad as Friday.
I started to walk along the path, up and down, backward and forward, grit grating under my feet and my eyes fixed firmly on the ground so that I wouldn’t distract myself with the view, and went through what Duffy said was likely to happen.
Horatio seemed to be pitching his argument at several main areas: by asserting that in arranging to meet Staahl to indulge a masochistic fetish, I somehow made what he did consensual, and that in rescuing me, Matthew had aggravated the situation and made it public. If I had consented, then, by definition, my claiming it to be otherwise made that claim malicious and the case against me proved.
Then, he intimated that Matthew had intervened, perhaps out of jealousy, and somehow persuaded me to change my story to prevent his own prosecution. Surely that was a mere step away from him being hauled up in court on charges of perversion of justice?
My head swam with the tortured arguments. I had the scars to prove an assault had taken place whether I consented to it or not, and Duffy had made it clear that what had happened was indeed a criminal offence; but that in itself was not enough of a defence against a lawsuit for defamation. Could anyone in their right mind believe I had consented to this bizarre act with Staahl? Could they? Did they? Ridiculous as Staahl’s assertions might seem to me as I stood under an overcast February sky, to the jury in the overheated atmosphere of the courtroom with a silver-tongued counsel feeding them an alternative truth, anything might be possible. The point was: did they think it probable?
The smooth note of a car engine interrupted my reverie. I walked back along the path, bent down to pick up my bag, and turned around, nearly colliding with Matthew.
I had thrown my arms around him before I remembered that we were only supposed to be friends, but he didn’t seem to care if anyone saw us either.
“I’m so, so sorry about Ellen.”
His face showed the strain of the last forty-eight hours and he looked drawn and taut, but his mouth loosened into a subdued smile.
“Thank you for saying you would come.”
I smiled in return. “Ellen knew I would if she asked, and I’m glad she did.”
A door slammed somewhere close by and someone called a name.
“We’d better go,” he said, putting out a hand to me to help me down the steps where patches of ice still clung stubbornly at the sides. “I’ve cancelled the taxi. You didn’t think I would let you come alone, did you? I’m sorry, I forgot to say to Harry yesterday.”
We reached his car. “Would you like me to drive?” I asked.
His answering glance had humour in it. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but we’ll be late if I don’t.” He had a point.
I buckled my seatbelt. “I thought that you had enough to think about without arranging transport for me.”
He started the engine and the car moved smoothly away. “And you don’t?”
I shook my head. “That’s different. This is more important – this is real.”
“The trial isn’t real to you?” I could hear the note of disbelief.
“It doesn’t seem like it at times.”
We were quiet for the time it took to reach the bridge before we joined the main road. We drove parallel to the river, which was running riot with meltwater. Rising sap in the trees growing close to the water’s edge tipped their branches lime or cardinal, and foaming water chopped at the banks. Darkly menacing and laced with brown, the river parted around boulders as they clung stubbornly to the riverbed like trolls wading a stream. I looked away from the churning waters and struggled out of my coat. Matthew turned the heating up a notch and warming air circulated.
“Harry said Henry’s coping,” I said.
“He is.”
“But that Maggie’s finding it difficult?”
“As you would expect.”
“And what about you, Matthew?”
Soft, blunt sleet began to fall against the windscreen, rapidly obscuring it, and Matthew set the wipers onto a slow beat, the slush gathering in ridges at the edge of the screen.
“All things pass, Emma.” His face betrayed no emotion, but grief seeped out of him, and I reached for his hand and held it, our fingers knotted as the miles were consumed by the speed of the car. Finally, he brought my hand to his lips and held it there briefly.
“Do the family know I’m coming and that Ellen wanted me to be there?” I asked, suddenly conscious, in a flutter of nerves, that we must be near our destination.
“Yes, of course; they’ll be pleased to see you, only don’t expect too much from Maggie. We’ve told her to keep away from you but she’s very fragile at the moment.”
I remembered her pale face at the courtroom door on Friday. This wasn’t the time for me to hold grudges. “This is it,” he said, as he turned the car down a short drive and through some ornate wrought-iron gates painted black.
He pulled up by the side of a pretty church. Clad in white clapperboard with a steeply roofed belfry to cast the snow, a simple cross declared the faith of the interred, and a blue clock over the door marked time. A hearse already waited by the entrance, with Dan’s car parked to one side.
Matthew opened the car door, but I stopped him before he climbed out.
“I’m going to stay here until everyone’s inside, and then I will be in the back of the church. Whatever Ellen wanted, I think that it will be more appropriate.”
Subdued, he nodded. “You’re probably right.”
“God speed,” I whispered and he gave me a thin smile, looking up as the sound of several other cars reached us as they drew into the parking area. He retrieved his coat from the back seat and climbed out.
Her eyes downcast, Maggie looked ghastly. As Matthew joined them, he embraced his son and spoke to her,
but she didn’t respond. Together, they went into the church, followed by Charles DaCruz with Eli, shambling and uncertain, next to him, as if Ellen’s death had left him devoid of purpose.
I waited for a further minute to let everyone settle, and then picked up my bag and coat in readiness to leave the car. As I placed my hand on the handle, a taxi drove up beside me and stopped so close that if we’d opened the doors at the same time, damage to the cars’ paintwork would have been inevitable. I waited, but no one climbed out and the reflection of the glass made it impossible to see if anyone other than the driver were inside. The bell began to toll, and I inched hurriedly from the car feeling nervy, gathering my coat around my shoulders as I made my way across the melting ice to the church door.
The small building smelled of flowers and floor polish, and it felt warm and welcoming inside. What daylight there was filtered through the high arched windows. Either side of the broad aisle ranged rows of comfortable chairs, but no amount of care could disguise the pervasive scent of lilies and death. When full, the church could take perhaps a hundred people at most, but the little family occupied no more than a handful of chairs, making them look vulnerable in their isolation.
Dr DaCruz and Eli had placed themselves to one side, but as I entered the church, Dan was inviting them to join the rest of the family, shifting along two spaces to make room. I slipped quietly into a chair at the back.
The minister wore a white surplus over a plain, dark suit, making his denomination unclear. Tall and skinny, he stooped slightly, and his sandy greying hair and long sideburns made him look like a Victorian gentleman. His expression was lugubrious and well-meaning, and he spoke for a few moments with Henry. Taken aback at first, I then remembered that here, in a public place, Henry was the chief mourner and Matthew but the youngest of Ellen’s grandchildren.
Matthew stood with Henry on one side, and Pat on the other, his back straight but head bowed. Despite his family, he seemed alone, with memories of centuries of death of which they were unaware and at which I could only guess.
I wanted to be there, not in this form of self-imposed banishment, and I had almost made up my mind to go to him and risk upsetting the others, when a cold rush of air chilled my legs as the door opened with a thin squeal behind me.
I looked up to see a slight figure, opulently dressed in full mourning, slide through the narrow gap she made for herself between the two doors. I couldn’t see her clearly – she wore a hat that threw a deep shadow over her face – but her hair was pewter and tied in a swathe at the back of her neck, held in a luminous black bow.
The minister addressed the little congregation, and the opportunity to join Matthew passed. We all stood and prayers were said and the service began.
The woman sat stiffly on the opposite side to me, and whether she noticed my presence I couldn’t say. I thought there was something familiar about her, but when I took the chance to look at her again, her chair was empty, leaving only a faint scent of expensive perfume and mothballs lingering in the air.
We sang a sad hymn of farewell to Ellen, each voice distinct. Only Maggie didn’t sing. She stared straight ahead, unseeing, her hands clasped in front of her, Jeannie giving her nervous little glances every now and again as she held her hymn book out between them.
I couldn’t listen to the address. I could sense Matthew’s grief in undulating waves the colour of bruises, and I reached out, feeling the force of his desolation as I pulled it, like strings of glue, away from him so that I could feed in its place some semblance of peace. This fear he had to endure: not the horror of discovery I felt for him, but the dread of being left behind in the shattering aloneness that death brought in the sure and certain knowledge that he could not follow.
The family followed the coffin down the central aisle towards the door. They had almost passed when Henry broke away from the group and came towards me. He showed no sign of resentment as I returned his fatherly hug.
“I know it was expected, but I’m still so sorry, Henry.”
“Well, yes, I suppose loss is always a shock even when you’re prepared, but thank you, Emma, and thank you for coming. Dad said it was at Ellen’s request, but it isn’t pleasant for you, especially with everything else that’s going on.” It took me a second to remember to what he referred. I had more or less successfully managed to push the trial to one side for the day. “Emma, I appreciate your sensitivity towards the rest of the family, but this can hardly be described as a normal situation, so please, come and join us. My father won’t ask you for himself, and he needs you with him. Besides…” he added with a hint of poignancy, “… you are one of the family now and you should be with us.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I just hugged him again, and together we tagged onto the end of the little group of mourners as we crossed the rough ground still smudged in snow.
A mound of bare, brown earth and an empty coffin-shaped hole at the edge of the cemetery where the ground fell away steeply marked his mother’s grave. Trees, shapely in naked winter form, framed a view to a deep valley filled with the seal-grey waters of a velvet lake. Winter or summer, on a fine day or foul, serenity and beauty lay in this land of which Ellen would now be part.
Henry left me with Matthew, our arms almost touching, and went to join Pat as the pallbearers placed the coffin on a platform beside the grave. As the earnest minister read a final prayer, and the coffin lowered slowly into the ground, I felt Matthew’s gloved hand seek mine and I risked a glance at him. He saw not the coffin but the future and, with a jolt, I realized that he pictured the day he would be standing by my grave and burying me. In that instant he saw that I understood, and looked away in agony. The coffin grounded with a definitive thud and Matthew shuddered slightly. I gripped his hand tightly.
Movement caught my attention, so fleeting it could have been a branch brushed by the wind, and unease raised the fine hairs on my arms. I stared at the nearby small group of trees bunched in whispering conversation, but the scattering of sleet driven by the light breeze made every shadow dance uncertainly in the dim light, and no form materialized from the shapes. Nobody else seemed to have noticed as they looked at the coffin now deeply snug within the grave. Sleet ghosted into snow and back again, phasing dark silhouettes into restless grey as the minister invited Henry to cast the first fistful of earth. Henry turned wordlessly to his father, and Matthew stepped towards the open grave to enclose the soft, fine earth in his gloveless hand, and let it fall, softly rattling, onto the wooden surface of the coffin.
Disguising his surprise at the change in precedence, the minister continued with the rites of interment as, one by one, the family scattered the soil until it was my turn to let the dry dust crumble between my fingers. I held back the inevitable emotion that such a final act was bound to evoke and silently voiced my own prayer. Sleet settled on my cheeks and I brushed it away along with tears.
Something felt wrong.
The sense of foreboding suddenly intensified, becoming so physical it became almost a presence. As the minister took his leave of Henry, I searched the face of each person around the grave, but all I could feel from them was sadness, emptiness, but not this overwhelming resentment, this hate. Matthew saw me look, and his expression turned to disquiet as he read my face. “What is it?” he asked quietly.
I shook my head. “I don’t know, something… someone’s wrong.”
“Someone?” he instinctively looked over to Maggie, but she remained blank and disengaged, lost in a wilderness beyond reach.
He ran his eyes over the rest of his family, then to the minister talking to Eli, whose round face looked pale and blotched from crying. “Is it anyone here?”
I shook my head. “It’s not one of us, but he’s close.”
He didn’t question my judgment; instead his body tensed and his eyes pierced the recesses of the cemetery where the deepest shadows lay. On the other side of the grave, first Joel then Dan became alert. Ellie stopped crying. The minister had taken h
is leave, and Henry quickly thanked Eli and the doctor for attending before they too left, and he rejoined the watchful, waiting family.
Without taking his eyes off the perimeter, Matthew leaned down, keeping his voice low. “What do you sense?”
I closed my eyes and concentrated, letting the impression deepen into a shifting of colours and half-formed shapes that changed like a mirage even as I tried to grasp them.
“He’s angry – no, resentful, bitter – it’s unclear, there’s so much emotion… but he’s very close.”
A dead branch cracked as it broke.
“Hello, Henry.” A voice deeper than feminine accompanied a figure malevolent in black as it disgorged itself from the dark bowels by a tall tree. “It’s been a long time.”
Disbelieving, Henry turned slowly until he faced the old woman I had seen earlier in the church. Face on and swathed in darkness, I recognized her from the trial.
Pat grasped his arm. “Henry, who is this?”
The woman came closer, and Dan stepped back as if she repulsed him like the negative force of a magnet. Still very handsome, high cheekbones in a feline face had helped her wear well, her skin still soft but tautened through the clever application of a surgeon’s knife, and her eyes – elongated and rich brown – were fire and honey. She would have been beautiful, but the set of her mouth and the fine down-turned lines around it betrayed a sour pleasure in the discomfort of others, and an arrogance that ran hard like a seam of quartz though her. And she was pale – too pale – with an unhealthy pallor that careful make-up could not entirely disguise.
“Why, Henry, aren’t you going to introduce me to your family? This must be your wife.” She looked Pat up and down with barely disguised disdain, and summarily dismissed her.
Matthew unclenched his jaw enough to be able to speak. “What are you doing here, Monica?”
She looked at him as if she had only just noticed, but her surprise seemed staged.
“Matthew! I came to pay my respects to Ellen, of course.” She openly gazed at him, a long, salacious look as if he could satiate her hunger. “Look at you,” she purred, “after all these years and you’re still as handsome as ever. What I wouldn’t do to know your secret of eternal youth.”