Chapter 22

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

“I’m afraid there is nothing to be done, Miss Birkenstock.”

Those words kept bouncing around inside Agatha’s head until she thought it might explode from the anguish. Nothing. Not one single thing. Agatha stroked her fingers over her grandfather’s unresponsive hand, feeling a chill seep into her bones. It might not be long, it might take all night, but either way this would be her last moments with family.

After that—vast loneliness awaited her.

No family, no husband yet, and no children.

A rustle at the door alerted Agatha to her midnight visitor. After the doctor had made his pronouncement an hour earlier, Agatha had sent two letters: one to her cousin in Winchester and one to Lady Estella Carrington here in Town. It was far too soon for her cousin to arrive, but not too soon for her grandfather’s closest friend. Although she shouldn’t know of the affair between them, Agatha was observant and had made the connection long ago.

Despite any possible awkwardness, sending the letter was a kindness.

Estella Carrington rushed to the bedside and cupped her hands around her grandfather’s face. Her expression, so full of anguish and worry, convinced Agatha she’d made the right decision to inform the viscountess, even at the risk a deathbed vigil could bring scandal upon the Carrington name.

Agatha dropped her gaze to her hands, waiting for the lady to absorb the change to come, to compose herself for the end. She ignored the sniffing tears Lady Carrington couldn’t contain and tried to think of what she would have to do. Her cousin would own the house. Foolishly, she had never discussed what would become of her if her grandfather died before she married. And he’d been so adamant she marry soon.

The cold hand beneath hers twitched and she glanced at her grandfather’s face. His eyes were open. Agatha climbed to her feet to stand closer to his head.

“My angels.”

Agatha hastily swiped a falling tear from her cheek and clutched his hand tightly. She couldn’t think of what to say, but feared these moments would be her last. A glance at Lady Carrington showed she wasn’t alone in her grief. Tears ran thick down the older woman’s cheeks, casting her face in palpable grief.

“Oh, my Thomas. Don’t leave us.”

But there was no response to her words. His eyes widened as he drew breath and never let it out again.

The sudden silence was stifling.

Estella Carrington threw herself across Agatha’s grandfather’s unmoving chest and wept bitter tears of loss. Agatha watched, numb, unable to comprehend why he would allow such a display of emotion in his presence. And then she remembered. He was gone. He wouldn’t tell anyone to leave him be ever again.

The hand in her grip slipped away. She stared at it, waiting for a movement that would prove this night was but a nightmare dredged from her deepest dreams. Yet it didn’t move the slightest inch.

A sniff at the door caught her attention. She moved, turning to see who was crying.

Nell stood at the entry, tears pouring down her cheeks, grieving for her employer with more emotion than Agatha felt.

He couldn’t be gone. Any moment now, he would rise up and tell them all to end their feminine wailing. He’d claim it hurt his ears, and head for his study to bury himself in his papers.

But when she noticed the butler’s pained attempts not to shed a tear himself, Agatha had to face the future.

Alone.

With no one ever to lecture her again.

Agatha put her hand to the bedpost to steady herself, pain and loss finally forcing her body to react. She didn’t want this, but she had exactly what she thought she’d wanted all along. Freedom.

Her view blurred as tears fell. Walls disappeared as strong hands pushed her down into a chair then pressed soft linen into her palm. A handkerchief. A man’s handkerchief.

That simple gesture broke her last ounce of self-possession, and she gave in to her tears until she thought her heart might break.

Oh, God, it hurt so badly.

Agatha wrapped her arms about her chest in a vain attempt at control.

Another hand pulled at her. The warm, delicate scent of lavender offered comfort. Agatha buried her head in Estella’s shoulder and let her heartbreak flow. The viscountess held her, stoked her back, and rocked her gently while she cried.

Agatha ignored how odd it was to be comforted by the woman, and a tearful woman at that. She was Oscar’s mother, a necessarily distant figure. But how strange to be held by her grandfather’s lover.

Agatha pushed away and fumbled with the handkerchief in her hands. She had to regain some control; there were so many things to be done. She couldn’t sit about wailing when her grandfather was gone. She wiped her eyes and dragged in a deep breath, trying to steady herself to face the future.

When she raised her face, she was startled to see Lady Carrington kneeling at her feet. She rushed to help her stand.

“Please, Lady Carrington, you will wrinkle your gown.”

“Estella, please.” She returned a weak smile and sank into her chair. “The gown hardly matters at this hour, child. Do not concern yourself with me.”

George, standing patiently at the door, cleared his throat. “Forgive me for intruding, miss, but on behalf of all the staff, we wanted to extend our condolences. He was a fine man, a fine employer, and shall be very much missed.”

George’s words made her eyes fill with more tears, but she couldn’t let them fall now. Later, when her duties were complete, she would grieve again. For now, she had to make her grandfather’s parting a tribute.

Agatha turned for the large bed and the empty shell of her grandfather. With George’s help, she straightened his limbs, neatened the bedding, and, with a final glance at his immobile face, she laid her hand across his eyes to close the lids. George was prepared with coins already and slipped them onto his eyes.

“Thank you, George.”

There was nothing else to do now but keep vigil. “Can you bring another chair please, and then you can retire for the night.”

“Of course,” George murmured, but he tended to the fire first, a task Agatha hadn’t thought of, before positioning another chair beside Estella, then ushering the servants hovering outside away from the door and back to their beds.

Agatha settled into the chair and pressed her head to the back of it. Nothing to be done. Those words bounced around her head once more, taunting her with the uncertainty of the future. She had nothing. Soon no home. And no one to care when that happened. Would Oscar still want to marry her, now that she was in mourning?

Tears pricked her eyes again and she clutched the chair arm to keep the growing dread at bay. She had to be strong and prepare herself for this uncertain future. Tears had never helped her in the past. They would be next to useless in the future.

Estella’s warm fingers wrapped around her tense hand and squeezed. Not so alone tonight. For now, she had the consolation of Estella’s company as she kept vigil. Agatha wondered how long the older woman would remain.

She turned her head and found the other woman’s eyes filled with concern.

“I know this is an unfortunate time. You may think me heartless to bring up such a delicate subject, but you need not fear, not at a moment so close to his parting. Thomas has made arrangements for you. Let your mind be easy on that score,” Estella whispered.

Peace lasted only a moment though. “What arrangements?”

“I do not know them all precisely, but Thomas spoke to your cousin recently and obtained his agreement that you shan’t be cast out from this house upon his death. I have the papers in my possession, should it become necessary to remind your cousin of the agreement. It seems your grandfather had more than a slight inkling that his time was coming fast upon him.”

Agatha began to shake, distraught that she’s missed the signs that he was unwell. “Did you know he was ailing?”

Estella raised Agatha’s trembling hand and kissed the back of it. “No, child. He never spoke of his health to me. I thought him merely weary of his business dealings. They were a great burden upon him.”

At least she wasn’t the only one caught unawares. Lulled by the soft stroking of Estella’s fingertips across the back of her hand, Agatha relaxed. Neither of them was to blame, but both of them would miss him.

A loud pounding on the front door dragged Agatha from a brief sleep. She rubbed her tired eyes and for a moment wondered what she was doing in her grandfather’s chamber. The dark room was silent but for her own breathing. Estella was no longer sitting at her side.

Quiet conversation drifted up from the hall. A man’s deep voice rumbled through the house. Puzzled by whom it could be, she climbed wearily to her feet. Although unsteady, she cast a glance at her grandfather’s still form then stepped out onto the landing. Below stairs, Estella was whispering to Mr. Manning, the rector of St. George’s. The viscountess must have sent him word while Agatha had been asleep. She must remember to thank her for that later.

Slowly, Agatha descended the stairs.

Manning hurried to escort her down. “My child, how great this tragedy. Please accept my condolences. Is there anything I can do for you?”

Agatha managed a weak smile as he stared at her. His pale eyes were etched with genuine concern and she knew she could depend on him to see her grandfather buried with respect. She gestured toward her grandfather’s study. “Thank you for coming.”

When they were all settled before her grandfather’s desk, she fought to get her emotions under control. The scent of cigar was strong in the room and remembrances made her eyes sting with tears again. “I am uncertain how to proceed with the arrangements, sir. My grandfather never mentioned any concerns with his health or his wishes for burial.”

The vicar cleared his throat and gave her a brief description of her choices. His choice was for a tasteful burial without the pomp and ceremony Estella kept suggesting.

When the tension between them grew unbearable, Agatha raised both hands to silence them. “Please. I do not wish to listen to arguments today.”

Manning had the grace to look chagrined. “Forgive us, Miss Birkenstock. We have an old dispute between us that, of course, should be dealt with another time.”

That was surprising. Agatha had thought Manning and Estella were on the best of terms. “It is of no matter, sir. I expect we are both raw from grieving someone we cared for very much.”

Agatha caught Estella’s pained gaze. Her grief was proof that her grandfather had been blessed by the love of two women.

Manning shifted in his chair as if uncomfortable. “He was a fine man…but we held opposing views on many things, including our affection for Lady Carrington. That kind of situation makes close friendship impossible between men. Your happiness and welfare are my first concerns. Tell me what you wish done and I will argue no more.”

Agatha pressed her cold hands flat upon the desk. The bloodless appearance reminded her of her grandfather, and she quickly buried them in her lap. She took a deep breath. “I believe my grandfather would have preferred a simpler service, in keeping with our position in society. I do not wish to give any offense, Lady Carrington, but what you suggest, while offered with the greatest proof of your attachment to him, is an elegant affair best suited to those of your elevated rank. My grandfather was merely a gentleman in trade, and I know our place in the world.” She turned to the vicar. “It would please me if you could act on this matter on my behalf. I should like the simpler service you outlined, with the burial to be at the church burial ground.”

Agatha rubbed her temple. The strain of last night was catching up with her. She was so weary, so ready for this nightmare to be over. Yet she could not rest until all was set in motion. “However, I do recall one conversation with my grandfather some time ago, but it was such a distressing subject, I am loath to bring it up.”

The vicar moved to the edge of his seat. “Of course, but if the discussion would set your mind at rest, please, you must unburden yourself.”

Agatha swallowed. “My grandfather had a fear of grave robbers. I should not like anything to happen to his remains once he has been laid to rest.”

The vicar nodded, a grim frown twisting his expression. “The thievery practiced by resurrectionists is always a concern among our parishioners, but there are ways to thwart such despicable acts. A mortsafe has proved to be most effective. It is a cage of iron placed over the coffin that thwarts any attempt to remove the body. But we can also employ servants to watch over your grandfather as well. I shall make those arrangements, too.”

“Thank you for your assistance.”

The vicar climbed to his feet. “If you will excuse me, I shall be off to make the arrangements. Miss Birkenstock. Essy. I will return later this afternoon with news.”

The silence left behind in his wake was deafening. Estella held Agatha’s gaze without flinching, but her lips were pressed tightly together.

“What troubles you, my lady?”

“I’m so sorry.”

Agatha frowned. “For what?”

“For involving you in a discussion that was inappropriate for you to hear. I had thought we, your grandfather and I, had been discreet.”

Agatha dipped her head. “I’ve not heard a whisper about it, but then again, I do live—did live—in the same house as my grandfather. I have always been alert to his changing moods. He was always happier after seeing you.”

Estella regarded her sadly. “He loved you so much. One of our last conversations was about your future. It vexed him to no end that you’d not married.”

Could she share the news that Oscar had proposed? Of course she couldn’t. She would have to wait to see if he still wanted her. “I’d rather not discuss marriage today.”

Agatha stood and turned her back to the viscountess. She could not have this discussion with Oscar’s mother. She couldn’t confide her reasons for discouraging previous suitors either. To answer truthfully, as she’d prefer to do, would cause unnecessary tension between them.

Better to be silent and wait and see. After all, there was nothing to be done.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

“I had a feeling he’d been somewhat of an ogre about a marriage. In my experience, most parents are. I have goaded my children to secure influential matches, but I sometimes wonder if their lives will be happier than mine.”

Estella’s words sent a chill through her. “You were unhappy in your marriage?” As soon as the words were out, she regretted the blunt question. She couldn’t expect a woman of Estella’s higher social standing to divulge such personal details.

“My husband was something of a bully. Luckily neither of my children take after him. Oh, I know that my daughter has a reputation for being a trifle shrill, but my son is calmer, possessed of a fine and open mind about matters of the heart.”

Oh, this conversation really had to end. “I’m sure he is.”

Luckily George chose the perfect moment to interrupt. “I’ve taken the liberty of laying on breakfast in the morning room for both you and Lady Carrington. Is that acceptable?”

What would she do without George? “Thank you.”

Estella drew her toward the hall, away from her morbid thoughts, and to a waiting breakfast. Although her stomach revolted at the idea of consuming food, it was best she eat something. She had to stay strong to survive the coming burial and keep her mind sharp as she made plans for her future. At least she still had the orphans to love.

With that thought in mind, she filled a plate and sipped a cup of hot chocolate, all the while watching the viscountess pick at her food.