16. Percival

16

Percival

L aying my wife to rest was as hard as I thought it would be. Simon wept through the entire graveside service. Mother stood by my side, lending much-needed support, but she, too, cried. We'd left Clara with her nanny, as I saw no reason to put her through all of it.

Sadly, it was the three of us, in addition to Mrs. Mason and a few of the nurses, who had cared for Mary over the years and no one else. When we'd married, the church had been full. Mary and I in love, and bursting with hope. Who knew everything could go so horribly wrong?

We returned home to a light supper that tasted of sand. Simon was set to leave on a ship sailing to the south of France in the morning. He'd said he would not likely return to live but that he would be back for visits. "I mustn't let Clara grow up without knowing any of her mother's family."

"You're welcome here anytime," I said. "But you must understand, my life will go on. I plan on marrying Miss Sullivan."

"Although it makes me sick to my stomach to hear, what you do with the rest of your life is not my concern. And truthfully, you've been loyal to my sister when most wouldn't have been. I have no hard feelings for you, only love."

"And I for you."

At the first morning light, I bade him farewell, wishing him the best and asking if he'd please write every so often.

When the car pulled away from the curb, I stood in the frigid dawn and watched them merge into the busy traffic until they were no longer visible. Then I went inside and sat by the fire, drinking a cup of coffee and thinking about what was to come.

It was only right that I should wait to ask Stella to marry me. There should be a period of mourning even if it had actually started six years ago when I'd had to have her committed to the asylum. I wished I could marry her tomorrow and begin a life with her as my wife and Clara's stepmother, but all would come in good time.

I would court her, take her to dinner and for walks in Central Park, and all the other things one would do with the woman one intended to marry. She deserved to have a proper courtship.

I had breakfast with Mother, both of us quiet. We were just finishing up when Robert announced the arrival of Detective Forsyth. "Show him into the sitting room," I said, heart sinking. Would this ever end?

Robert nodded. A few minutes later, I joined the detective.

"I'm sorry to come at such an early hour," Forsyth said. "I have something to tell you that couldn't wait."

"Yes, of course. What can I do for you?"

"I've heard from Chief Wallace up north. Your wife's death has been ruled an accident." He went on to tell me that an orderly had admitted that his colleague left the door open and that he himself had seen her walk outside. The supposed woman who visited was a ruse to deflect the guilt of the young men in question. "There will be no more inquiries made."

"Has Miss Sullivan been informed?" I asked.

"Yes, Wallace went to the house and told both her and her father what we'd learned."

After he was gone, I found Mother and relayed all of it to her. She said nothing at first, simply shaking her head, clearly sorry for Mrs. Sullivan. Mother's kind heart could not stand to think of the suffering all of this had caused, including two innocent women. One of whom I loved.

"And Stella knows?"

I nodded. "She does."

Mother sank into a chair, her cheeks stripped of color. "She sacrificed for her daughter. One last act of motherhood."

I rubbed my eyes. "It's all so tragic."

"Do you think Mary wandered out because she wanted to…die?"

Somehow, that had not occurred to me. "It's possible."

"She hated being confined. Perhaps she'd had enough."

"I don't know if that makes me feel better or worse."

We sat in silence for a few minutes. Everything had changed and then changed again in the course of only days. It was mind-boggling how different everything was now compared to just last week at this time.

"You should go see Stella today," Mother said. "She'll have returned from her father's and will need support."

"We agreed to stay away from each other for a period of time. Probably weeks."

"Why?" Mother stared at me with one of her penetrating gazes.

"Propriety. Because it's like dancing on Mary's grave."

"Nonsense. You and Stella have conducted yourselves with honor. There's no reason to punish yourselves further. Go to her. Have supper with her. Talk to her."

"Yes, fine. If you think it's the right thing to do, then I shall."

"You've known my thoughts on the matter."

"Mother, you're incorrigible."

"So they say." She sniffed and picked up her needlework. "I've no one to see today and plan to spend a cozy day inside. I'm exhausted."

"You've been wonderful, Mother. Through everything, I've been able to count on you. I don't know the last time I thanked you."

"Not necessary. You're my precious son. I would do anything for you. Most mothers will, you know."

"If you and Stella are the example, then I must agree."

My heart felt lighter than it had in years, and yet the weight of tragedy still lived inside me. It was possible that both things could be true—I could mourn Mary's tragic life and love Stella at the same time.

Either way, the events unfolded as they had, and I owed it to myself, Mother, and Clara to begin a new chapter. One in which I hoped we would all be happy. God willing.