3. Memento Mori #2
I pushed myself away from the bowl and collapsed into the chair by the fire. Mary quickly set about taking off my damp stockings, replacing them with warm socks and a pair of soft slippers.
“Mr Caine is with God, Mary,” I said, wiping the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand. “And as much as it might pain us, we must accept it, and not hope for the impossible.”
“You are right, madam.”
I reached out and took her hand, and she finally looked up at me.
“All will be well, Mary. I told you.”
She smiled through her tears and nodded, gripping on to my hand. “You did, madam.”
“Good. Now, help me out of this dress. I need to rest.” I rose from my chair and began to undo the buttons on my bodice.
“Madam, the photographer will be here in an hour.”
My still-tender stomach dropped. Of course. The photograph, the damned memento mori. After seeing Azriel’s repulsive display in the study, I would have to face him beside the body of my husband. I would have to gather all my strength not to be sick all over again.
I was not a tender sort of creature, a fact I had certainly proven mere nights ago in my husband’s bedroom.
But even I had to suppress a gasp when I saw Acton’s body posed as though he were living.
A strange copper contraption had been set up behind him, partially covered in a black cloth, helping him stand as though he were waiting for his evening cognac.
But the posture was not natural. His body was rigid, his shoulders drawn up tight, and the pallor of his skin matching the white collar of his shirt.
That was nothing compared to the horror of his eyes.
They had been drawn on to his closed and wrinkled eyelids, and those inhuman pupils stared at me as I entered the room, gazing into my very soul.
The photographer, a pleasant looking middle-aged man with round glasses perched on his nose, smiled warmly at me, and dipped his head in a small bow.
“Mrs Caine, allow me to extend my most heartfelt condolences to you and your family.”
“I thank you.” I extended a hand, which he took and dipped his head further to. “I apologise for my wariness, only seeing him like this…” I cast a glance back to Acton’s upright corpse, and tried not to shudder.
“I understand that it can be overwhelming to see a loved one as we saw them in life.” The photographer gives me another warm, reassuring smile. “But it is my honour to provide you with this last gift from your husband. To be together one final time, as husband and wife.”
I drew a deep breath to overcome the chill that coursed through my limbs, and nodded.
The doors flew open, admitting Azriel to the room, who was adjusting his black necktie. He looked fine and groomed, nothing like the panting, lustful demon I had seen in the study mere hours ago. The high white collar of his shirt glowed against his tanned skin, and he had tamed his dark curls.
I didn’t think it possible to hate him any more than I already did, but to see him like this, so calm and collected, made my blood boil.
It is nearly done, a voice whispered in my head. After the funeral, the testament will be read, and you will be free. Hold out just a little longer .
Azriel’s eyes met mine, and he smiled at me in a way that made my toes curl. Like he knew. Like he had indeed seen me watching him. Instantly, blood rose in my face, and I cursed my pale skin that would not hide my humiliation.
“Evie,” he said in a low voice, moving to my side. “You appear rather flushed. Are you well?”
“Perfectly well.” I averted my gaze, instead tugging at the lace edging on my sleeve.
“Are you sure? You seem rather spooked.”
I exhaled heavily, wanting to claw his eyes out and shout at him that there was a damned corpse in the room and that I was bloody well spooked. I should have had a brandy before I entered this room, but it was too late now.
“I am well, Azriel, you must stop worrying about me.”
I froze as his hand rested on my shoulder, the other gently tilting my chin so I met his eyes.
“It is my duty to worry about you now, Evie.” He lowered his lips to my forehead, brushing a gentle kiss against my heated skin. “I would not wish to disappoint my father.”
The photographer made a small sound of admiration, and Mary sniffled yet again from her place by the door. To everyone else, this was a display of love, of sincere devotion from a stepson to his widowed stepmother.
To me, it felt like nothing but a threat.
I could not explain it, and I quashed the feeling, convincing myself for the hundredth time that it was simply my guilt screaming at me from the back of my mind.
But having him touch me, smelling the woody scent of his shaving soap, being this close to a man I wanted more than anything to shove out of the window - it was torture.
“Thank you,” I murmured, attempting to step back and widen the distance between us.
Azriel’s hand on my shoulder gripped harder, not letting me move. His mouth was still close to my face, his breath washing over me.
“I saw you, Evie,” he muttered, and my eyes widened as I stared up at him. “I saw you, this afternoon.”
“Wh-what?” How was he admitting this, in a room where we were certainly not alone?
He smiled, sweeping my hair over my shoulder gently. “When you returned, from the tailor. You looked so tired. I do hope you are not losing any sleep?”
My breath rushed out of me, my stays suddenly feeling as though Mary had laced them far too tight. Azriel’s mouth shifted into a crooked grin, and he linked his arm through mine, turning us both to face the photographer.
“Now, my good sir, where do you require us?”
The photographer gestured with an open palm to the setting that had been placed around Acton. “Here, if you please. The lady of the house seated, and you, sir, standing beside your father.”
“Excellent. Come, Evie.” Azriel pulled me along beside him to take my place in the ornate chair that had been placed beside Acton.
His body smelled overwhelmingly of Lily of the Valley, as though he’d been drenched in it to cover the scent of rotting flesh.
The smell had been strong when I entered the room, but now beside him, it was positively pungent.
I felt as though I might choke on it. I tried to hide my discomfort and breathe through my mouth, the smell even then filling my mouth like a cloying sweet.
I was tasting my dead husband’s scent. How utterly revolting.
I pulled my mask into place, sitting with a straight back and staring at the camera as the photographer fussed. Mary was ordered to pull my skirts into place and adjust my hair slightly. I had to tilt my chin this way, then that. Finally, he was happy.
“Now, if you would be so kind as to hold perfectly still, until I tell you otherwise. Thank you!” The photographer ducked underneath the black curtain of the camera.
I barely dared breathe as I stared at the camera.
The seconds ticked by, drawn out til every one that passed felt like an hour.
I counted, sure I miscounted twice, then started again.
Acton’s corpse seemed to drift closer and closer, though I knew it was my mind playing tricks.
Several times he seemed to breathe, or his finger appeared to wriggle in my peripheral vision.
By the time the photographer re-emerged and announced that his work was done, my legs felt boneless and I wobbled as I lurched from the chair.
Mary rushed forward and took my hands. “Oh dear, madam. This has been too much for you.”
“Take me back to my room.” I almost pleaded, hating the weakness in my voice, but desperate to get out of here, away from the smell of Lily of the Valley and this horrid corpse with his strange, false eyes.
“Call if you need anything.” Azriel’s voice drifted after me, and I clenched my eyes shut. Mary ferried me back to my room, where I downed two glasses of brandy in quick succession.
After that, I mercifully fell into bed, and slept until late the next morning.