Chapter 2

The path wound its way through the woods, where wildflowers grew on the banks, and the dappled shade of the trees carpeted the woodland floor with a shimmering light. Archie was dawdling, his steps slow and labored. He had not wanted to leave the churchyard, where he would gladly have stayed all day if he could.

But duty called, and the affairs of the estate, his responsibilities, would not wait. But still, it had been good to pass a few solitary hours at sister's graveside. He went there as often as he could, sitting in front of the simple headstone in the family plot, close to the church wall. He missed his sister terribly, and despite what others had said, time was no healer.

Six months since we buried her, and not a day goes by when I don't miss her, Archie thought to himself, as he paused at the stile leading back into the garden.

The house rose up in front of him, its gable ends partially obscured by the tall trees growing around it. The gardens were at their best at this time of year, an expanse of flowers beds and lawns, shrubbery, and hedges, behind which fountains and statues lay waiting to be discovered. It was a maze, and Archie often found himself lost among its winding ways, and hidden recesses, always discovering something new.

For a few moments, he stood on the stile, hoping to return to the churchyard the following day. He always hated leaving his sister, though it had been harder when the days were still cold, and snow lay on the ground. Now, with the warmth of summer, he liked to imagine her reclining on the grass in front of the house, reading a book, or simply enjoying the sunshine.

"Good day, My Lord," a voice nearby said, and Archie looked up, startled from his thoughts.

One of the gardeners was pruning a piece of topiary into the shape of a bird, and Archie climbed over the stile and approached him.

"I didn't see you there, Thomas. I was lost in my thoughts," Archie said, and the gardener smiled.

"It's easy to get lost in your thoughts in the garden, My Lord. I'm often lost in mine," he said, and Archie smiled.

Thomas had been one of the gardeners at Sarum Lacy House since Archie was a child. He lived in a cottage in a dell, in the woods bordering the garden, and kept a pet raven for company.

Archie had always liked Thomas. He had a quiet and reflective demeanor about him, and the way of one possessed of a deep wisdom. He knew all the names of the plants, their uses, and dangers, and he was never far from some animal or another, often taming them to come right up to him and feed from the palm of his hand.

"I've been doing a lot of thinking lately," Archie said, and the gardener nodded.

"That's because you've had a lot to think about, My Lord. It can't be easy, though I've noticed you've kept your own counsel more in these past few months," the gardener said, clipping at the topiary wings as he spoke.

Archie sighed. Thomas was right. He was becoming something of a recluse, shying away from company, and rarely leaving the house and grounds, save to visit his sister's grave.

She had been buried in the churchyard of the parish church—Saint Wilfrid's—but her requiem Mass had been celebrated in the chapel at Sarum Lacy House, her coffin carried in solemn procession, and received by the rector, whose patronage resided with Archie, and who had allowed the priest to conduct the final rites at the graveside, as unorthodox as that had been.

"I suppose I have. It's just… well, it might sound foolish, but I can't find many reasons to go on. When I inherited the estate, I thought Gwendolene and I would run things together, grow old together. But fate can be a cruel mistress," Archie replied, shaking his head sadly.

He still felt angry at the thought of his sister's death. She had been in the prime of her life, filled with such promise and potential. She had never known half the things she had desired, or half the promises Archie had made to her. He was angry, and yet there was no one against whom to release that anger.

There was no one to blame, even as Archie could not help but feel someone must be to blame. It had all happened too fast, but the six months since Gwendolene's death had been the longest he had ever known, each day dragging by in a monotony of nothingness…

"And it was, My Lord. But your sister wouldn't want you to wallow in your own self-pity—if you'll beg my pardon for saying so," Thomas said, and Archie nodded.

"No, you're right—she said as much on the day she died. She wanted me to go on living, but each day only feels like I'm existing. I don't have any zeal for life. Not anymore," he replied.

"You've been to the grave again, My Lord—haven't you? I've often seen you emerging from the trees and crossing the stile here."

Archie nodded.

"I like to sit with her. It gives me comfort. Sometimes, I wake up in the night and think of her lying there in the churchyard all alone. I know what I should believe, but I can't help it. I miss her so much," Archie said, and tears welled up in his eyes.

He felt foolish sobbing in front of the gardener, but Thomas looked at him sympathetically.

"Don't look for the living among the dead, My Lord," he said, quoting the scriptures.

Archie sighed. Thomas was right. He would find nothing in the churchyard, only the sorrow of silence, his own words unanswered. He knew what his faith taught him, what it promised, but the sting of death was bitter, and its aftertaste long and drawn out. Time would heal, or so they said, but how much time remained questionable.

"Wise words, Thomas, though easier said than done. But you're right. My sister wouldn't want me to wallow in self-pity. She wanted me to live, and I need to find a way of doing so," he said, and he placed his hand on the gardener's shoulder, grateful to him for his words.

At that moment, the figure of the butler, Hargreaves, came into view across the lawn, and he called out to Archie, who looked up in surprise.

"My Lord? Her Ladyship asks for you to join her at the house; they're due to arrive soon," Hargreaves said.