An Aria Writ In Blood (The Underwood Mysteries Book 4) (17 page)

“No one would blame you if you decided you were not well enough to attend the funeral,” he said softly.

“I would blame myself.  This last, I must do for Peter.  It is because of me that he is dead…”

“Then you do know who killed him,” he murmured, unaware that he still held her hand.

“I know nothing…” she whispered and closed her eyes.  She could hear him breathing, swift and shallow and she knew she had to break this moment or something would happen that they would both regret.  With iron self-control she made herself open her eyes and rise to her feet.  In a tone as normal as she could make it, she said airily, “If you will not tell me what Trentham said, then I fear he must have insulted me terribly.”

“If he had tried to do so, my Lady, you may be sure he would have been put firmly in his place by … those who care for you.”

“William, you mean?  He would not chastise his son on my account.  That I know.  Trentham is the light of his life – and I a mere nothing.  He did not want Peter to marry me, and now all his worst predictions have come true.”

Grantley was silent for an instant, then he said, rather sadly she thought, “The world would be a happier place, I think, if one was always free to marry where one’s heart led.”

“I did so – and I have never been more miserable.” 

She dropped her head and a single tear dripped off the end of her nose and landed on his hand.  It was then he realized he was still holding hers.  To disguise the error, he lowered his head and she felt him kiss her fingers, then he was gone.  She heard the front door close behind him.

*

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

(“Qui Nescit Dissimulare nescit regnare” – He who does not know how to dissemble, does not know how to rule)

As soon as Cara and Gil were back in London a family conference was called, with no exceptions or excuses to be tolerated.  The Earl was finding his feet as far as ruling with a rod of iron was concerned.  Even Trentham seemed to realize that his behaviour over the past weeks had been unacceptable and he was painfully polite with everyone, especially Luisa, who had by now found the time and inclination to have her dressmaker attend her and was swathed, head to foot, in deepest black.  This actually only served to make her look more attractive than ever, but Trentham was on his honour not to mention this fact.

The meeting took place in the dining room of the Earl’s London residence and the family was seated at the empty table, in order of precedence.  Gil and Underwood exchanged boyish grins from their allotted chairs at opposite sides of the vast table, reminded, respectively, of Parish meetings and University conferences.  Shamefully, they both found it extremely difficult to take such gatherings seriously, having spent too many years surrounded by self-important prigs who lived for their monthly show of power.  Democracy was all very well, but when one had endured several hours of a circular argument about something as unimportant as whose turn it was to scythe the grass in the churchyard, or how many lines of Latin grammar constituted a fair punishment for missing a college curfew, then a benign tyranny had much to recommend it.

Underwood thought Gil looked very well.  Evidently marriage was suiting him.  He had caught the Mediterranean sun, despite only having had a few days’ benefit of it, and looked tanned and fit.  Cara was as pale as ever, having, apparently guarded well her fair complexion, and though she was obviously distressed by Peter’s death, she too had the look of a woman who had a smile hovering never far from the surface.  Of course she had been spared the worst details of the murder.  The Earl had made sure she knew nothing more than was strictly necessary.  In the few moments they had managed to get together, Underwood had told Gil the full story, but they both agreed the bride need never know.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” said the Earl, at last bringing his meeting to order, “I have called you all together so that we will all know what is expected of each of us tomorrow.  I know most of you would consider this to be unnecessary, accustomed as you are to funerals of an ordinary sort, but I must remind you that this is the funeral of a Peer of the Realm and as such must have a certain dignity attached to it.  I have it on the highest authority that the King himself will attend.  He and Peter were friends when he was Regent, though I understand they had not much associated since Peter’s marriage and the King’s accession.”  He paused, but no one made any remark, so he continued, “The service will be held in Westminster Abbey, naturally and…”

“No,” interrupted Luisa suddenly, “It will not!”

“What?  What are you talking about?  Of course it will!”

“Peter will be buried by the rites of the Roman Catholic Church,” said the widow, with a surprising force behind her words.

The Earl looked only vaguely annoyed, for he could not believe her defiance was genuine.  Luisa, he told himself, was still upset and simply needed firm handling.              “My dear girl, that is an impossibility.  If it means so much to you, we can arrange for some priest or other to say a few words over the body this evening, but Peter will be laid to rest tomorrow in the family vault under the aegis of the church into which he was born.”

“He will be buried in the church into which he married.  Anything else is unthinkable.  He will not go to Heaven if he is not blessed by a priest.”

“Nonsense,” blustered the Earl, becoming seriously disconcerted – and, as Underwood knew, lying valiantly for the benefit of those who did not know the truth, “Peter and you had a civil wedding, not a religious one.  He was not married into the Catholic Church – he could not have so far forgotten himself…”

“It is you who speaks nonsense,” raged Luisa, “If Peter told you we were not married by a priest, he lied to you!  He not only married me in the church, he also agreed that any children born of our union would also be raised Catholic.”

William, Earl Lovell, paled to such an extent that everyone looking at him thought he must surely pass out.  Evidently when he admitted his marriage, Peter had not added this vital piece of information.  Gil, seeing his shock, immediately went to the sideboard and poured him a large brandy.  For once in her life, the Countess did not object.

“Is this really true, Luisa?” asked Cara quietly.

“Of course!  Do you think I lie to you?”

“No, no.  I know you do not.  But you must see that it causes great difficulty for the family.”

“
I
am Peter’s family now – and my wishes are the only ones that count.”

“But, the King!”  The Earl pleaded, “What will we tell the King?  After his past life, he will think it some kind of unpleasant hoax if we tell him he must attend a Papist service!”

“That is not my affair.  I do not care what your King says, I will not bar my husband from Heaven just because of some man I never even met.”

The Earl turned to the one man whom he trusted to solve this matter, “Gil, my dear boy, you must tell her that what she asks is impossible.”

                Gil looked thoughtful for a moment, then he spoke quietly to his wife, “My love, you will forgive me if I refer to the past?”

The smile she gave him contained not only adoration, but also sympathy and admiration, “Of course, Gil.  You know you may say anything to me.”

“Thank you.  Luisa, I think I have a solution to this dilemma, but it will require both you and William to grant the other a slight concession,”

“I am listening,” said Luisa, with a hard look thrown in her brother-in-law’s direction.

“My first wife, Catherine, was also a Roman Catholic.  Though we were married in my church, unknown to anyone and because we knew she was dying, we also found a sympathetic priest who blessed our marriage.  Would you accept that makes me a member of your church?”

                Luisa nodded, scarcely able to believe what he was telling her.  Even she knew how serious was the step he had taken, albeit secretly.

“Then would it be acceptable to you that I officiate at Peter’s funeral?”

Her face was lit with a smile which was almost beatific, “Oh yes!  Peter liked you very much, Gil.  If anyone has to bury him, I want it to be you.”

                Gil turned to his father-in-law, “William, do you think it might be arranged?”

“Good grief, yes!  No one will think it in the least odd that a member of our own family wishes to perform the service and frankly, just now I would agree to anything, only let poor Peter be laid to rest without further scandal.”

“Very well.  It is settled, now is there anything else anyone would like to say?”

Everyone was still far too stunned by his recent revelation to speak, and so the meeting was adjourned.  As they all filed out of the room, Verity caught hold of her brother-in-law and hugged him, “Gil, you are a wonderful, wonderful man!” she said, tears standing in her eyes.  He smiled down at her and briefly touched her cheek, “It is nice of you to say so, Verity, but of course I am not.  Catherine desperately required some comfort and I simply gave her what she needed.  I think God is far more understanding than we give Him credit for.”

Cara joined them and linked her arm through her husband’s, “You are right, Verity, he is a wonderful man!”  They exchanged a smile and Underwood, with his usual lack of tact, remarked cheerfully, “My dear brother, it is plain to see that wedlock suits you well.”

“It does, Chuffy, it certainly does.”

*

No one expected the funeral of Lord Peter Lovell to be a pleasant occasion, but the event outstripped even their worst fears.

All seemed well at first.  The Abbey was flatteringly full, including several members of the Royal Family, not just the King himself.  Even Gil was daunted when he saw his ‘audience’ and he began to rather regret his offer, but a promise was a promise and Luisa was relying on him.

The service passed off smoothly, but just as the congregation was preparing to follow the coffin down the aisle, the pallbearers were stopped by the sound of a sweet voice raised in song.

This was not part of their itinerary and they did not quite know what to do.  After a little shuffling of feet and exchanged glances, they decided not to pick up the casket for a few moments.

Seeing that she had had the desired effect, Luisa’s voice grew in strength.  For a few minutes the entire gathering was held spellbound by her perfect voice; with many a surreptitious tear wiped away and lump in throat swallowed – most of them never realizing that they were listening to the Roman Catholic Requiem sung in Latin. 

When the final note died away, the coffin was lifted and proceeded on its way.  The King, rising from his seat, was heard to remark, “Quite, quite lovely!  My dear fellow, you must find out what that was – I swear I will have it sung at my funeral.”

The Earl closed his eyes in the most exquisite pain.  Dear God!  What else would that damned woman do before this nightmare was over?

Once outside, most of the congregation, including the Royal family and their retinues, dispersed, for Peter was to be interred in the family vault of their own church in the grounds of Lovell Hall.  The coffin was loaded into a hearse; the family piled into a procession of carriages and so the last journey of Peter Lovell began.

*

The atmosphere prevailing at the much smaller gathering at the family seat was palpably more relaxed than at the official service in London.  At last this was a real family funeral, not a show put on for the benefit of watching world.

The beautifully bound red velvet casket was carried into the Lovell family vault to the sound of Peter’s favourite boyhood hymn, sung by those who had loved him in life and when the great iron doors clanged shut, there was a feeling of finality which brought forth sobs from Luisa, Cara and Verity.  They were more affected than the gentlemen because it was most uncommon for them to attend funerals at all.  Women generally only attended the last rites of other women, but they had all insisted that they be present for this interment.  Peter had had little enough good fortune in his life; the least they could do now was send him into eternity with affection and respect.

Gil said one last prayer for the repose of the soul of their brother, Peter, then it was back to the house for the funerary meats.

The house had not been lived in for months – not since the winter in fact – so, despite the best efforts of the army of servants, it still had the cold and deserted aura of a place which was unlived in and unloved.  In a gesture to the summer weather, the ladies were all dressed in the lightest silks, albeit coloured black or purple, and they all shivered in the dank and dreary great hall.  Despite huge windows, this was a room which the sun rarely managed to penetrate and this was corrected in winter by the lighting of a fire in the vast fireplace, but no one had thought this necessary in July, so it was literally freezing – a circumstance which did nothing to lighten the mood of gloom.

No one felt particularly comfortable, but the event was torture for Mr. Grantley, who hovered on the edge of the company, feeling he was an interloper of the worst sort.  The whole day had been a confusing mixture of emotions, from sympathy towards an obviously devastated family, to pure elation at the sound of Luisa’s magnificent aria, the like of which he had never heard before.  Peter Lovell had been an extremely fortunate man – right up to the moment of his death.

Underwood, looking about him, took pity on the discomfited Constable and joined him by the wall, “This has been quite a day, hasn’t it?  I swear I thought the Earl was going to drop dead of apoplexy when Luisa began to sing the Requiem.”

“Is that what it was?” asked Grantley, “No wonder they are studiously avoiding each other.  Though I must say I was astounded when I heard her.  I had been told, of course, that she had sung opera when Lord Peter met her, but I suppose one always assumes that those who cease to ply their trade must be rather bad at it.  She has a rare talent.”

“She does.  Believe me, in my time, I have heard the best – and she easily equals them.  Luisa’s marriage was a great loss to the arts.”

“Perhaps she will return to the stage now she is free,”

“I doubt if the Earl would allow it.  I suspect she will be found a house somewhere, as far away from people as he can possibly manage, and forced to live the rest of her life in the honourable confinement of an aristocrat’s widow.  What a sin to cage such a songbird!”

“Romance from the phlegmatic Mr. Underwood?  I can scarcely believe it,” teased Grantley, with a wry grin.

Underwood raised a quizzical brow, “Phlegmatic?  Good heavens, what have I done to deserve that tag?  I consider myself to be passion personified.”

“Do you really?  I wonder how you came to that conclusion.”

“Very droll, Grantley.  By the bye, I hope you have noticed that Giovanni duly returned from Europe with Toby, Gil and Cara.”