4. The Funeral
THE FUNERAL
R ain fell heavily on the roof of the carriage as it made its way to the church. I clutched my hands in my lap, looking out the window as we bounced over cobbles. Azriel sat silently opposite me, the top hat with a thick crepe ribbon around it balanced on his knees.
Thunder growled gently in the distance, heralding yet another Autumn storm, and Azriel shifted in his seat.
“It is a shame your family is unable to attend,” he said finally.
“Indeed. But my father is too ill to travel, and my aunt is in the North, visiting her daughter. She has just welcomed a child.”
“And so the circle of life continues.” He huffed out an almost bitter laugh. “I do wonder what his last moments were like. Did he know the end was coming?”
I swallowed hard, squeezing my hands together so hard they began to go numb. “He was at peace, as he should have been. He had no idea. He simply went to sleep, and did not wake up.”
I raised my eyes to his when he did not respond, and that damned crooked smile was back.
“We can all only dream of such a death, isn’t that right, Evie?”
“Indeed. God willing we are all granted such a peaceful end.” I was glad my voice did not crack, and that my gaze did not waver. I still wanted to slap that smirk from Azriel’s face.
We continued on to the church, the carriage coming to a stop outside the twisted metal gates.
Azriel rose first, jumping down from the carriage and putting on his hat, before turning to offer me his hand.
I hesitated for only a moment before taking it and allowing him to help me down.
The icy wind caught my veil and dragged it across my face, and a sheet of rain was hurled into us.
George rushed around the carriage to hold an umbrella over me, and Azriel offered me his arm.
“I am here, Evie,” he said quietly, and once again, it felt like anything but comfort.
A small congregation had gathered to farewell my husband, mostly business associates, all fat and ageing men, as withered and weak as Acton had been.
They waited outside the church until Azriel and I approached, their faces mournful as they no doubt considered their own mortality.
All these men were wealthy, but they were old.
No money in the world could spare them from the inevitable.
And for Acton, the wealthiest and most powerful of them all, to die first?
I bit back a smile behind my veil, thankful that it obscured my face enough that no one would see. Who amongst these bloated elites would ever think me, little Evie Caine, was the reason they were all here?
We took our places in the front pew, Azriel sitting far closer to me than I preferred. I stared up at the priest, who spoke words of supposed comfort, of grief and mourning, and of joy at the thought of Acton now safe in the arms of God.
I imagined myself miles away, only for the frigid breeze wafting along the cold stone floor to remind me precisely where I was, and why. Like Acton’s own ghostly hands wrapping around my ankles, threatening to pull me down to hell right alongside him.
The service was mercifully short, extended only by one of Acton’s business associates who had been welcomed to give a eulogy. There was precious little good to say of Acton, and the fact no one could even bring themselves to lie was almost a little pathetic.
What a sad life my husband had lived. Sad, and meaningless.
We were invited to follow the coffin to its final resting place.
The rain continued to fall, and George walked tearfully alongside me, the black umbrella keeping me dry.
Azriel had joined the pallbearers, carrying his father through the sodden church yard to the grand marble mausoleum at the edge of the cemetery.
“There are bars on the door,” I mused out loud, and George cleared his throat.
“Yes, madam. It had to be done after a horrid spate of grave robbing.” He exhaled heavily, shaking his head. “Disgusting. To disturb the dead in such a way that we must cage them in after they have gone to Glory. It is wicked.”
“We must be grateful that they do not know, I suppose.”
“Indeed, madam. Their souls are free in Heaven.”
Or Hell. The spiteful words did not fall from my lips.
I found myself angry as I stared at that iron gate, as it creaked and shuddered its way open.
A good Christian woman should be able to forgive her husband for what he had done while he was living, in fact, she should.
But glaring at that iron gate, I felt a renewed sense of injustice, that he was now at peace and I was now warring within myself against the guilt of what I had done, and the relief that I was now free of him.
I was far from good. And I had taken it upon myself to judge him for what he had done, and doled out a death sentence for it.
My thoughts of Hell and damnation faded away as Acton’s coffin was carried into the mausoleum, placed on the stone dais reserved for him.
Here he lay, surrounded by wives and children, more than were owed any living man, surely.
I stayed outside, not wanting to enter that place, my feet firmly rooted in the land of the living.
I would say my goodbyes from here.
Under the cold, grey sky, the congregation looked suitably mournful. Long faces, more concerned with their own mortality, but displaying all the necessary appearances all the same.
All except Azriel.
He appeared contemplative as he emerged from the crypt, his eyes downcast, his mouth set in a firm line.
But as soon as his eyes lifted from the sodden ground and landed on me, that cold, calculating smirk returned.
It was an indecent expression for his father’s funeral, and certainly not one to be casting upon his father’s widow.
He ambled to my side, taking the umbrella from George’s hand with a smile that bordered on sincere.
“Please, George, I know you wish to say your farewells.” He gave the man a nod, and George pressed a handkerchief to his eyes as he moved towards the mausoleum.
I did not look at Azriel as he shielded me from the rain.
“I admire your strength, Evie,” he said. “Other widows would be a wailing mess on the floor. But not you.”
“I am grateful for the time I had with him, how could I mourn that? ”
“I know you will miss him.”
“More than words can say.” My tone was anything but sincere. “And you, Azriel? Do you feel rather an orphan now? Both parents, lying in that cold room?”
“I have always felt an orphan.” He let out a dark, low laugh. “My father was hardly loving, even when I was a boy.”
“You should not speak so of him here, when we are laying his soul to rest,” I snapped.
Azriel laughed again, a little louder this time. “Of course, let us not speak ill of the dead, Evie.”
“No indeed.”
He cocked his head, raising an eyebrow as he appraised my appearance. “It is almost as though you were born to be a widow. Your resilience, your quiet mourning. It suits you.”
“That is a wicked thing to say.” I refused to look at him, my voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “You think I wished for this?”
“Certainly not, Evie. What would that make you?”
I could not respond. Every word he spoke had me feeling more and more drawn out of my own skin, closer to the awful truth of what I had done.
In private, I had allowed myself to fall apart plenty of times over the past few days.
In the dead of night, all alone in my room, I had shed innumerable tears, but none has been wasted on Acton.
They were all for myself. For the lost years, for my maidenhood, for all the tender touches and sweet kisses I had never been afforded.
It was upon that pain that I now drew, and with those same selfish tears in my eyes, that I now turned to Azriel, my lips trembling behind the veil.
“I was a good wife, and heaven help me if it was not always easy to be. But I tried , God only knows how hard I tried to be worthy of your father, and how I sought to make him happy.”
“Oh beloved, I have made you cry.” His tone was that of a scientist setting an experiment into motion, watching my face curiously, narrowing his eyes as though seeking to press beyond the veil shielding my tear-soaked cheeks.
He curled a hand around my arm, a touch that was inexplicably forceful and light, his palm encircling my flesh.
His icy eyes flashed with an intent I could not read at all, and then they dropped to my lips.
“I wish I could express what it does to me to see you cry.” With the barest touch of his fingers, he brushed against my side, too close to my breast for it to be an oversight.
“What are you doing?” I breathed, and his presence became overwhelming underneath the dark umbrella. But I could not pull away. It was as though I was in a trance, captured by those blue eyes, his strong jaw set as he drew me closer.
“I know you tried to make my father happy. I know all the ways you tried to please him. But did he ever please you?”
I gasped, my eyes widening as I fought my outrage and disbelief to explain what he had just said.
He didn’t mean that. He couldn’t have. But before I could think about it any further, George was before us, his eyes red and his face puffy from crying.
He extended a hand to Azriel, who had to finally release my arm to take it.
George did not notice the grip my stepson had had on me, and dipped his head in a bow as Azriel accepted his outstretched hand.
“Your father was the best master I could have asked for, sir, and if you will have me, I shall aim to be as loyal a servant to you as I was to him.”
Azriel considered George carefully for a moment, giving me a brief side glance. “I shall consider it, of course, my good man. But there is still much to be done over these next weeks.”
George’s face could not hide his disappointment, but he cleared his throat and pulled a nonchalant mask into place. “ Of course, sir. If you require anything, I will of course be at your service.”