The Lovers

by Irina Shapiro

  “Go to bed. I’ll stay with her,” Edward said as he released her hand. “But ask James to send for Reverend Blackstock.”

  “Is James here?” Elise asked carefully.

  Edward raised his face to hers in sudden confusion. “Ah, no, he isn’t. Ask one of the servants, then.”

  Elise wanted to ask where James was but didn’t dare. It was no business of hers. She wasn’t even sure why she was curious. As long as he stayed away from her, she was safe. But thoughts of James plagued her that evening. Where did he go, and when will he be back? Elise wondered. What does he do with his spare time? Whom does he see? She knew nothing of his life.

  Elise woke with a start when she felt an urgent hand on her shoulder.

  “James?” she mumbled. But it wasn’t James; it was Edward.

  “Mother’s gone,” he said. “She passed an hour ago.”

  “Why didn’t you wake me?”

  “There was no need. Reverend Blackstock was with her. It was a peaceful passing.”

  Elise couldn’t see Edward’s face in the darkness, but his voice sounded teary. He really was distraught.

  “May I lie down with you?” he asked.

  “Of course.”

  Edward climbed into bed and rested his head on Elise’s shoulder just as her sisters did when they needed to be comforted. Elise stroked his hair and held him close until he fell asleep. She tried to go back to sleep herself, but slumber wouldn’t come. It felt odd to have a man in her bed, especially a man who was a virtual stranger to her. She was now used to the feel and scent of James, and she supposed sharing a bed with Edward wouldn’t feel as strange, but he reeked of stale sweat and alcohol, and Elise’s stomach clenched with revulsion.

  Elise carefully pulled her arm from beneath Edward’s neck and slid out of bed. The room was cold, and the floorboards were icy beneath her feet, but she couldn’t bear to remain in the same room with Edward. She wrapped a warm shawl around her shoulders, stuck her feet into shoes, and crept from the room. She’d go to the kitchen and see if there was any broth left. She was thirsty and surprisingly hungry. She’d not had any supper at all, and the midday meal was more than twelve hours ago. Elise’s stomach rumbled as she walked down the darkened stairs. She should have taken a candle, but she didn’t want to wake Edward.

  The house was silent around her, the boards creaking as she put her weight on them. The pale faces of Edward’s ancestors materialized out of the gloom as she passed their portraits, their gazes seemingly full of malice. The house was forbidding during the daylight hours, but during the night it felt like a tomb. Elise thought of the fresh corpse lying in Lady Matilda’s room. She hoped that the ground was thawed enough to dig a grave or the funeral would have to be postponed until warmer weather. It would be easier for Edward if he could bury his mother and return to his court duties before too long.

  Elise was surprised to see a soft glow coming from the kitchen. Perhaps what she was seeing were the embers from the hearth, but that couldn’t be. Cook banked the fire before she finished for the day for fear of burning the house down, and it was too early for anyone to be up. Elise stood still as the church clock began to chime at St. Martin. It was only three in the morning, hours yet till dawn. Perhaps one of the servants couldn’t sleep and had come down in search of something to eat. Lady Matilda had run the house for years before Elise came, and she was tightfisted with household expenses. The servants ate poorly, only getting meat when there were leftovers from the master’s table that couldn’t be kept for the next day. They ate mostly pottage, bread, and cheese, and the occasional fish stew. Elise could hardly blame them for pilfering food in the middle of the night.

  She walked into the kitchen quietly, so as not to startle whomever was already there. James sat at the wooden table, a jug of wine in front of him. He was awake, but his eyes were glazed with drink. A candle burned on the table in front of him and Elise noticed the moisture on his lean cheeks. He’d been crying. Had he loved his grandmother that much?

  James turned slowly toward her, his gaze uncomprehending. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his words slurred.

  “I came down for a cup of broth,” Elise replied. “I’m sorry about your grandmother.”

  “What?” he asked, staring at her.

  “I’m sorry about Lady Matilda’s passing,” she repeated.

  James shrugged. “She was a nasty old woman,” he replied. “I, for one, won’t miss her.”

  “Oh. I thought you were upset,” Elise said as she poured some broth into a pewter mug and held it over the flame to warm it up.

  James shook his head, as if annoyed by a pesky fly. “I am upset, but not about her.”

  He looked like he wasn’t going to say anymore, but a need to share proved to be stronger. “Harry died this evening.”

  “Was he a friend of yours?”

  James shook his head again. “No, he was my nephew.”

  “You have siblings?” Elise asked, intrigued. Perhaps James’s mother had married after Edward was finished with her and had other children. For some reason, Elise assumed that James had no family, but she must have been wrong.

  “I have a sister—Molly. Asher’s her father too. Molly is the only family I have.”

  “And your mother?” Elise asked.

  “Died birthing me.”

  “How old was Harry?”

  “Five months. He passed quietly. Just went to sleep and never woke up. Molly is devastated. She’d fought so hard to keep him alive.”

  “Was he ill?”

  James shrugged. “He didn’t eat enough to survive. Just didn’t seem to have the strength to nurse. Molly had a physician look at him, but he could offer no advice. Just told Molly to eat more meat to fortify her milk for Harry. He was a sweet little mite. Looked just like Molly.”

  Elise laid her hand over James’s, startling him. He looked like he was going to yank his hand away but thought better of it. “I’m sorry, James.”

  “Thank you.”

  “When will the funeral be?” Elise asked. She’d offer to come, if that was all right with James.

  James shook his head in disgust. “There will not be a funeral. Harry hadn’t been baptized. Molly kept putting it off till he was stronger, so as a consequence, he can’t be buried in consecrated ground. If that cold bitch upstairs ever acknowledged him as her great-grandson, he might have been buried with her. As is, he’ll have to be buried behind Molly’s house. She’s heartbroken. It’s bad enough to lose a child, but to be denied a Christian burial is devastating for a mother. She needs to know that her boy is with the Lord, not moldering in a stinking hole behind the privy.”

  Elise pushed aside her cup and considered James for a moment. She thought she hated him, but at this moment, he was just a sad, bereft young man, and she wished to help.

  “James, what if we could sneak baby Harry into Lady Matilda’s coffin?” Elise asked.

  “And how, pray tell, are we going to do that?” James appeared to be shocked by the suggestion, but he was listening, his eyes intent on hers as he waited for her to explain.

  Elise smiled. “I have an idea.”

  “Tell me. I can’t take Harry from Moll unless I can promise her that he will be buried properly.”

  “I will offer to prepare Lady Matilda’s body for burial. I doubt Edward will object. I will dress her in one of her favorite gowns and place the baby’s corpse beneath her skirts after she’s been laid out in the coffin. The skirts are so voluminous that they will hide the child, and even if someone notices something, they will assume that it’s just bunched up fabric.”

  James gave Elise a look of utter astonishment. “Why would you do that for me? You have every reason to despise me.”

  “I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it for Harry. He was innocent of all wrongdoing, and I wish to help. I think it’s beastly unfair that a child cannot be buried properly just because he hasn’t been baptized.”

  “Are you a secret heretic?” J
ames asked with a watery smile.

  “No. I’m a person who thinks that there’s much unfairness in the world.”

  “I won’t argue with you there. I’ll ask Molly tomorrow. You have until then to change your mind.”

  “I won’t change my mind. I just hope that the gravediggers are up to the task.”

  “I’ll help them myself if that grave will be Harry’s final resting place.”

  Elise nodded. “We’ll make it work, James.”

  “Thank you,” he said and squeezed her hand.

  Chapter 22

  A brace of candles illuminated the darkened room, casting eerie shadows onto the walls and the open casket. It was before noon, but the shutters were closed out of respect for the deceased, and an unnatural hush permeated the room. Elise stood next to Edward as he gazed upon his mother for the last time. Edward’s eyes drooped with fatigue and sadness. Elise hadn’t noticed a marked closeness between mother and son while Lady Matilda was still living, but Edward seemed to take her passing very badly. Elise supposed it was a mark in his favor that he cared about his mother, if not about his children, one of whom was standing silently by Edward’s side. Barbara was gazing off into the distance, as she often did, but the smile was gone from her face, replaced by an expression of complete incomprehension.

  “Grandmother is gone?” Barbara whispered, bringing forth a stifled sob from her father.

  Edward had readily agreed to allow Elise to prepare his mother for burial while he went out to order a casket. Normally, a servant would be sent, but Edward wished to choose the coffin in person to make sure it would be to Lady Matilda’s standards. This was no simple pine box. The coffin was made of mahogany and decorated with fanciful carvings, the very kind of thing Lady Matilda would have thought frivolous and unnecessary had she been in a position to comment. Still, Elise had to admit that she looked dignified and peaceful, with her hands folded on her chest and her eyes closed as if in sleep.

  Laying out her own mother had been a labor of love, but preparing Lady Matilda for her final journey felt utterly different. Elise had to swallow down revulsion as she washed the old woman. Her skin was cold and wrinkled, and she smelled appalling after nearly two weeks of battling a fever. The stench of stale sweat and human waste assailed her, and Elise gagged with disgust. She gave up on her task and went to open the window, where she stood for several minutes, gulping in fresh air. The nausea finally passed and Elise returned to Lady Matilda, eager to be done.

  Lady Matilda’s limbs had stiffened during the night, and it took great effort to wrestle her first into undergarments and then into her favorite dark-blue velvet gown adorned with a dainty pattern picked in silver thread at the top of the bodice and hem. Had the dress come as one whole garment, Elise would never have been able to get Lady Matilda’s wooden arms into it. Lucy panted with effort as she pushed the old woman onto her side so that Elise could tie the laces at the back. That done, Elise carefully rolled on silk stockings and pushed Lady Matilda’s feet into matching shoes, then arranged her wispy hair into some semblance of order before dismissing Lucy and sinking into a nearby chair. She closed her eyes and let out a sigh of relief.

  She was tired and glad to have the distasteful task over with. She hadn’t liked Lady Matilda when the woman was alive, and she liked her even less in death. Elise felt a pang of guilt, but what was the point of lying to herself? Lady Matilda had watched her every move and delighted in making Elise feel worthless and ungrateful. Lady Matilda’s death was a relief, truth be told, even if Elise didn’t plan to remain at Asher Hall for much longer.

  Elise sat up with a start as the door handle slowly turned. A pale face peered into the room, then the woman entered and shut the door behind her. She had a mass of dark curls spilling from beneath a linen cap and a generous mouth, so like her brother’s. Molly looked hollow-eyed with grief as she approached Elise slowly. She was about to say something when she saw Lady Matilda and stopped for a moment, looking at the old woman with a mixture of pity and disgust.

  “She were my grandmother, ye know,” she suddenly said. “If it’d been up to her, James and I would’ve been tossed out into the streets after our mother died, left to starve.”

  “She was not a kind woman,” Elise agreed. It was considered uncharitable to speak ill of the dead, but she didn’t care. She owed nothing to Lady Matilda.

  “No, she weren’t. My husband says that I should be grateful to have our little ’Arry resting with his great-grandmother, but ’e’d never known Matilda. I suppose I can derive some small sense of satisfaction knowing that she would have been livid if she knew.”

  Elise wasn’t sure what to say to that, so she remained silent. Edward would be back soon, and she wondered how he’d react to finding his natural daughter in his mother’s room.

  “I came here to thank ye,” Molly said, finally turning away from her grandmother. “I appreciate what ye’re trying to do for my ’Arry more than ye’ll ever know. If there’s anything ye ever need, know that ye can turn to me.”

  “Thank you,” Elise said.

  “I will bring ’Arry tonight, once the old bag is in her coffin.”

  “Yes.”

  Molly turned to leave but thought better of it and approached Elise. She reached out and took Elise’s hand in hers, squeezing it lightly as their eyes met. “Don’t hate him,” she suddenly said.

  “Who, Edward?”

  “No, James. He’s a good man, Elise, but he feels a misguided sense of obligation to our father. James aspires to see the best in people, and his naïveté often leads to heartache.”

  “I don’t hate him, Molly. Not anymore.”

  Molly nodded and slipped from the room, just as two men came up the stairs with the casket. They carefully moved the corpse to the coffin before taking it downstairs, where it would remain until the funeral. Lady Matilda was to be laid out in state on the dining room table, ready to receive final respects from the family and staff.

  Elise tidied up the room, adjusted the counterpane, and closed the chest at the foot of the bed. It would be up to Edward to decide what to do with his mother’s belongings and jewels. She was done here. Instead of going downstairs, Elise went to her own room. She felt tired and sad, not only for Molly—who was clearly mad with grief at losing her baby—but for James as well. Elise had never given much thought to what it must feel like to be a bastard, but now she began to understand. Molly was angry and bitter, but James seemed confused and unduly grateful to a father who treated him no better than a servant and used him for his own ends.

  Elise would have gladly remained in her room, but an angry knock on the door roused her out of her reverie.

  “Come downstairs,” Edward demanded. “They’re about to close the casket, and I would have you pay your respects to Mother.”

  “Of course.”

  Elise considered her duty to Lady Matilda discharged, but she obediently followed Edward to the dining room, not wishing to distress him further. She tensed as Edward reached out to touch his mother’s hand in farewell before the carpenter nailed the coffin shut. He had no earthly reason to touch her skirts, but Elise was as nervous as a cat in an alley full of dogs. Baby Harry rested next to Lady Matilda’s right thigh, the folds of the voluminous skirts hiding him from view. It felt wrong and disrespectful to stuff the child beneath his great-grandmother’s skirts, but there was no other place where he could lie unnoticed.

  Elise felt James’s eyes on her as she stared at her folded hands, fearful of giving her nervousness away. He’d come in with the carpenter, there to help convey the casket to the cart that would deliver it to the church for the funeral. Elise looked up and met James’s gaze. She saw a glimmer of gratitude in its depth and nearly smiled, catching herself just in time. James had come with Molly the night before to offer silent support as she delivered the remains of her baby. Elise hadn’t seen Harry’s face since he was wrapped in a shroud, but the corpse had been tiny, hardly bigger than that of a cat. Molly shoo
k with sobs as she placed her son inside the coffin, then ran from the room, too distraught to speak. Elise adjusted the fabric to cover the child and walked away, leaving James to remain with the coffin overnight per Lord Asher’s request. He didn’t want his mother to be all alone on her final night above ground.

  Edward nodded to the carpenter, who pulled several nails from his pocket before lifting the lid onto the casket with James’s help. Edward rested his hand on Elise’s shoulder as the man hammered the nails into the lid. The cart was already outside, ready to take Lady Matilda on her final journey.

  Elise, Barbara, and James followed Edward from the room, ready to proceed to the church. All the servants were gathered outside and would follow the cart at a respectable distance. Edward hardly noticed when Molly and her husband joined the procession, bringing up the rear. Elise supposed that if he did, he might think that Molly felt some grief at losing the grandmother who never cared for her, but Molly needed to see her boy on his final journey, regardless of what her father thought.

  Molly and Peter came to the church but then stood well off to the side, where Edward wouldn’t see them. Peter kept a protective arm around Molly’s shoulder as she cried quietly into a handkerchief. They were gone by the time the service ended and the first clumps of dirt made contact with the coffin lid, thudding against the wood with sickening finality. Elise stood silently and watched as the gravediggers filled in the grave. Edward watched as well, his head bowed, his arms at his sides. He seemed defeated and indifferent to his surroundings, but in a few days, normal life would begin again. For all of them.

  Chapter 23

  James had no wish to return to the house after the funeral. Edward had invited some of the mourners back for refreshments, but neither James nor Molly would be welcome even if they wished to attend. Edward hadn’t so much as glanced at his daughter during the funeral; perhaps he hadn’t even recognized her, having not seen her in years. Molly was better off having no ties to this cold, manipulative man. Her life wasn’t easy by any means, but it was hers to live as she saw fit, and she wasn’t beholden to their father in any way. In an odd way, she was free.