by Anna Jacobs
Celia didn’t quite like to admit that she’d refused to see the widow and her son, so she glossed over this point. She also glossed over the fact that the Dowager hadn’t been invited to stay at Ashdown, or even offered refreshments, emphasising only the woman's refusal to leave the coffin behind.
When asked what the Dowager was like, she said that she’d been unable to tell, as the woman had been heavily veiled. (She had taken a quick peep out of her bedroom window and been disappointed to see so little.) But the boy was quite young, not more than ten, from the looks of him. (She had also questioned Jane, but found the housekeeper’s answers very unsatisfactory.)
‘The lad will need a guardian for a good few years yet,’ Celia added slyly, knowing the thought of this imposition still annoyed her son.
Mr Napperby's curt note to Sir Daniel, being unfortunately worded, had only served to back up Celia's allegations. It stated baldly:
Proceeding to Dower House. All contact with Mrs Carnforth to be conducted through the writer, who has the honour to be handling her affairs. Will call on you tomorrow at eleven.
S. Napperby
Daniel could draw no other conclusion than that the woman was deliberately offering him the grossest of insults by spurning his hospitality and refusing to follow custom as regards the funeral.
If this was a sample of her manners and breeding, he would have as little to do with her as possible.
Only the need to bury his kinsman decently and to keep quiet the disagreements that had already occurred had made him send the groom with a note. As far as he was concerned, the widow could settle into the Dower House and rot there.
Helen's refusal even to reply, passed on bluntly by the groom who had carried the message, made Celia smile in satisfaction and Daniel grow even angrier. Both took to their beds early, Celia to sleep soundly and Daniel to toss and turn.
What next? he wondered as a damned loud clock somewhere in the house struck the hour yet again.
Chapter 15
The next morning Helen got up filled with determination to manage the funeral herself. She refused to be obligated to people who did not even have the decency to treat her politely, whoever they were. She therefore sent Harry, who was his old self again, to look for Briggs and fetch him to her.
‘Will you go into the village and take this note to the parson, Alfred. I've asked him to call on me here at his earliest convenience. We shall need to make arrangements with him for Charles’s funeral.’
Briggs bowed his head. He was both indignant and disgusted at how his mistress had been treated, but he didn’t know how best to help her. The gentry didn’t like servants interfering in their doings.
Mr Napperby would be the best person to see to matters, and fortunately was coming back this morning, but Briggs intended to keep his eyes open. Let any of the villagers or the servants from the big house say anything disparaging about her ladyship in his presence and he would make sure they never did so again.
Helen sighed. She felt both weary and a little nauseous after the long journey. ‘After that, would you please ask around and see if you can find us any more help? We need a cook-housekeeper, another maid and a lad to help inside and out. ‘And Alfred . . . ’
‘Yes, ma’am?’
‘I would like to thank you for all you’ve done recently. I don't know how I'd have managed without you since Charles died!’
‘It's been my privilege, ma’am - and what the Captain would have wanted, as I well knew.’
‘You will - stay on with me and Harry?’
‘Of course I will, ma’am! I have instructions from the master to look after the boy, teach him to ride and later on, to shoot. He made his wishes very plain about that.’
‘Thank you. I can't think of a better person to look after him than you.’ Helen blinked rapidly to dispel the tears that threatened. Silly, how emotional she'd been lately. She didn't know what had come over her.
The parson was at the Dower House within the hour, all agog to meet the wicked woman who had captivated Charles Carnforth. She must be a very artful creature indeed to have trapped an experienced man like him into marriage, but not, Mr Morpeth hoped, really wicked. He didn’t think he’d know how to deal with someone like that in his peaceful little parish.
Helen, afraid of further rebuffs, received him formally in the best parlour, clad in the black her husband had hated so much, but not wearing her veils. She looked young, defenceless and very tired, and when she spoke, it was in a pleasant, low voice.
This is no designing female! thought Mr Morpeth almost immediately, feeling indignant that she should have been so misrepresented.
Only the other day Mrs Celia Carnforth had taken him on one side and said confidentially, ‘Of course, people will not receive a creature like that into their homes! One must maintain standards.’
Sheer spite, that's all it could have been, and he, a man of God, had believed it, to his everlasting shame! He felt so indignant at his own gullibility that he decided to preach a rousing sermon the following Sunday on the evils of listening to slanderers and ill-wishers.
‘How may I help you, ma’am?’ he asked gently, touched by the sadness in her eyes. ‘Your man said it was urgent.’
‘I wish to arrange about my husband's funeral, of course.’ She would feel much better when Charles was laid to rest.
He could only goggle at that. ‘But - Mrs Carnforth - Mrs Celia Carnforth, that is - has already dealt with that!’
‘Then Mrs Celia Carnforth has been wasting her time!’
‘But - it’s customary for the funeral of a Carnforth to take place from Ashdown Park, ma’am!’
‘And is it also customary for a widow to be forbidden to attend her own husband's funeral? Or for the new owners of Ashdown to refuse to receive her.’ Her voice broke and tears threatened again for a moment.
As she fought to control herself, he suppressed his shock and wondered what had happened the previous day? Had they really refused to receive Charles Carnforth’s widow at Ashdown? He couldn’t believe it of Daniel, who seemed a man of good sense. Surely, surely there must have been some mistake?
‘My dear Mrs Carnforth, I don't understand this at all! Of course they will receive you. And -
and how can anyone forbid you to attend? Who would do such a thing?’ He spoke gently, realising how upset she was, seeing the damp rag of a handkerchief being alternately twisted and crushed by the slender fingers.
‘I was informed that only gentlemen mourners were to attend.’
He relaxed a little. Here was one misunderstanding he could lay to rest at once. ‘Well - only the gentlemen usually follow the hearse and attend the interment - but the ladies of the family wait for them at the house.’
‘I haven’t been invited to the house. When I called there yesterday, Mrs Celia Carnforth was indisposed, Mr Daniel Carnforth was out and we weren’t even offered refreshments, just directed to the Dower House.’ Her eyes flashed at the memory and when he would have spoken, she raised her hand to stop him. ‘I tell you this not to seek sympathy, or to make you act in any way disloyal to the new owner of Ashdown, but to show you why I am obliged to hold the funeral myself from this house!’
‘I am,’ he fumbled for a tactful word, ‘shocked - yes, shocked! - by what you say. But I cannot think Mr Daniel Carnforth is aware of what has happened. I have found him to be a most reasonable gentleman. Quiet, but very just in his dealings.’ It could only be his fool of a mother who had made these arrangements, but Mr Morpeth did not say that.
‘Mr Carnforth was not at home when we called yesterday, but it was he who sent me the letter specifying that only gentlemen were to attend the funeral.’ Helen’s voice grew fierce. ‘I loved my husband, Mr Morpeth, as did my son. We have no intention of being excluded from his funeral!
We wish to be there when he is l-laid to rest. So - may we discuss the arrangements now?’
He ran a hand through his thin fringe of grey hair, then realised this would hav
e left it standing on end round the edges of his bald pate, something his wife had warned him about several times.
He smoothed it hastily now again, searching for words which would neither upset this poor lady afresh nor imply that he disbelieved her. ‘I shall be happy to help you in any way I can, Mrs Carnforth, believe me, but may I - would you allow me to speak to Mr Daniel Carnforth first?
Before we do anything irrevocable?’
Her voice was bitter. ‘To what purpose?’
‘To see if - I am not doubting your word, pray do not think that! But Mrs Celia Carnforth, Daniel's mother, can be very difficult - yes, difficult is the word, there is no getting round that - a very difficult lady, in fact. I am pretty certain that Daniel himself is not aware of - of how you feel -
or perhaps, even, the true state of affairs.’
‘He was the one who wrote the letter!’ she said indignantly.
‘Yes, but - well, I do not like to malign a lady, but - what did she tell him first?’ Mr Morpeth shook his head.
‘Well . . . ’ Helen hesitated. She had taken a liking to Mr Morpeth and he did, after all, know the new owner better than she did.
He decided to be brutally frank. ‘Ma’am, it would cause a great scandal if you held the funeral from this house! It would put you - and your son - in a very awkward position. May I not, at least, attempt to reconcile the two parties before this misunderstanding goes any further?’
She bowed her head for a moment, but not before he had seen the sparkle of tears on her cheeks.
‘Well,’ she conceded, ‘perhaps you could see him and just find out if there really is a misunderstanding. I have no desire to cause scandals, I assure you. My son and I have to live here, after all. But I must and will attend my husband’s funeral!’
Mr Morpeth sighed with relief. ‘Thank you, ma’am. A very wise decision. Very generous, too. I shall ride over to Ashdown at once. This matter must be settled as quickly as possible. But - before I go - may I say a brief prayer over the coffin? I knew him too, and liked him.’
Now the tears were falling fast. ‘Yes. It's in the dining-room. Please excuse me. This is all so -
so distressing!’ Her voice broke on the last word and she left the room hurriedly.
As Mr Morpeth was leaving the house, he met Harry in the hall.
‘Good day, sir. Are you looking for my mother?’
‘No, young man, I've already seen her. I've been saying a prayer for your stepfather.’
‘Oh. Are you il padre - I mean, the priest?’
‘Clergyman, we call it in England. You must be Mrs Carnforth's son. My name is Morpeth. I'm the parson of this village.’
‘How do you do, sir. I'm Harry Perriman. If you're leaving, I'll come with you to the door.’ He did so and shook the parson’s hand as they stood there. ‘Thank you for coming, sir.’
His open countenance, childish dignity and excellent manners only reinforced the good impression his mother had already made.
At Ashdown Park, Daniel was found to be at home, for once. Mr Morpeth had had visions of having to search for him in the cow-byres. He was shown into the estate office and received civilly enough, but his host seemed rather preoccupied. Mr Morpeth was in no mood for soft words and inattention. When his ire was roused, he could be a very lion in defence of what he felt to be right.
‘I have just come from the Dower House, Daniel.’
‘Do you mean you've actually seen the woman!’ Daniel asked flippantly, still only half-attending.
Henry bristled with indignation at this flippant way of describing a grieving lady. ‘What do you mean by that, sir?’
Daniel looked at him in surprise. ‘I mean, have you seen her face? My mother tells me she goes heavily veiled, like an actress in a farce.’
‘Of course I've seen her face! She received me inside the house. And she was not wearing a veil.’
‘Then you're a privileged man! She refused to stop here yesterday, even to take refreshments, so no one else has had the chance to see her. And what is more, she refused point-blank to reply to my message concerning the funeral!’
Henry was tired of searching for tactful words. ‘Are you sure Mrs Carnforth was offered refreshments, sir?’ he asked bluntly, tackling the first point raised. He was pleased to see Daniel stare at him in surprise.
‘Of course I am! Are you accusing my mother of not knowing the correct way to treat a visitor?’
‘Could we - check that fact? You see, Mrs Carnforth says nothing was offered. The housekeeper would know, surely?’
‘Is this necessary?’ But a dreadful suspicion was beginning to creep into Daniel's mind. Surely, even his mother could not have been . .
‘Yes, my lord, it is necessary!’ Henry Morpeth insisted. ‘If there is some misunderstanding, it is better that it be cleared up at once and justice done. And since Mrs Carnforth has kindly given me permission to undertake the role of mediator between the - the various parties, I intend to do just that.’
Before Mrs Mossop could be sent for, Mr Napperby was announced. He was very much on his dignity, bristling with indignation at the memory of their reception here the previous day.
‘Good morning, sir!’ he declared, without waiting to be addressed by his host. ‘I am glad to see that you are available today! Mr Morpeth, your servant.’
Seeing Daniel begin to frown at the way in which the lawyer had addressed him, Mr Morpeth stepped hastily into the breach. ‘I called upon Mrs Carnforth - Mr Charles Carnforth’s widow, that is - this morning, What she had to tell me was - shocking. Therefore, Mr Napperby, I have taken it upon myself to come here and try to clear up the misunderstandings which seem to have arisen.’
‘I have just left her myself. A wonderful woman!’ But she had obviously been weeping and this had roused Samuel Napperby’s sense of chivalry. ‘I would hardly call them misunderstandings, however. It was made very plain to her yesterday that she would not be received in this house. I was there! I heard what the housekeeper said with my own ears.’
‘Housekeeper said!’ Daniel took a pace forward. ‘But surely it was my mother who spoke to her
- who . . . ’
‘We saw only the housekeeper! Jane Mossop. We did not see Mrs Celia Carnforth.’
There was a pregnant silence, before Daniel said stiffly, ‘Then I fear that this is how the misunderstanding arose. The housekeeper is new to her job and no doubt confused the messages.’
But Mr Napperby was having none of that. He saw no reason why poor Jane Mossop should be blamed for her mistress's bad manners. ‘I have known your housekeeper for many years, and have always found her a woman of good sense - not a person who is prone to confusing messages!’
Daniel flushed a dull red.
‘In fact,’ went on Mr Napperby obstinately, ‘it is due to Jane Mossop’s excellent work as a caretaker that the interior of the Manor has not deteriorated as much as the exterior.’
‘Oh.’
‘As to yesterday, let us get things quite clear - Jane had been forced to learn a message off by heart, a very impertinent message. I do not scruple to say that, because it’s the simple truth. And she was - I could see that quite clearly - embarrassed at having to deliver it. It was very brief. You were not available, your mother was indisposed, we were to leave the coffin in the library and the Dower House was down the North Drive.’
He saw with satisfaction that his words had struck home. ‘And the last piece of information was quite unnecessary, as Jane well knew, since I have served this estate, man and boy, for more years than I care to remember. I know exactly where the Dower House is situated. Only a stranger to the district would have thought it necessary to tell me that.’ He was strongly tempted to offer his resignation as a final gesture, but perhaps this would be over-hasty.
Henry Morpeth stepped into the breach again. ‘This is all very distressing - but gentlemen, can we not set aside the apportioning of blame and resolve the more pressing matter of the funeral? It will cause
a major scandal if it isn’t held from this house. As it would if Mrs Carnforth were kept away from her own husband’s funeral.’
‘Kept away from it!’ Daniel stared at him in shock. ‘Who said she would be kept away from it?’
‘Apparently you did.’
‘I can't - ’ he tried to think what he had written in the note. ‘That was never my intention, I assure you.’ He was convinced now that his mother had grossly insulted the widow and he felt quite sick at the thought. It was one thing to resent the woman, quite another to treat her in this cavalier fashion. ‘I shall arrange matters myself from now on. Whatever that woman's character, she was his wife, after all!’
‘Her character, sir, is that of a lady! In the finest sense of the word,’ stated Mr Napperby, bristling anew. ‘And what is more, I take great exception to your remark. I saw with my own eyes her devotion to your cousin, for I was with her as she nursed him during the final few days. And I think I can safely say that I am not foolish enough to be taken in by false displays of affection!’
Daniel was looking white and shocked to the gills, and so he should, thought Mr Napperby. He didn’t allow his host time to speak, however, but continued without a pause, determined to have his say in full. ‘Mrs Carnforth insists on attending the interment - with the boy. And I fully support her wishes. She was devoted to her husband and wishes to see him to his final resting place.’
‘Oh. But it isn’t customary for a woman to attend. My own mother has no plans to be present at the graveside!’
Mr Napperby's expression was so hostile, so full of ire, that Henry Morpeth rushed in again.
‘But it would be no problem to allow the widow to attend, would it, my lord?’
‘No, of course not! Not if she so wishes.’
‘I can lend her my own carriage and accompany her,’ offered Mr Napperby, afraid of further snubs. ‘But I must tell you now I will countenance no public insults to the lady. This must all be done properly and with due decorum.'