August 1806
They never let her see the body.
Sarah had been engaged to her Charles for over two years. Now he was dead, and she hadn’t even got the proper chance to say goodbye. She wouldn’t be able to see the face she loved so dearly, or touch him one last time.
The churchyard was a sea of black, full of mourners come to pay their respects. She wore a gown of dark grey bombazine, too hot and heavy for summer. Sarah had no proper mourning dress, and no time to have one made before the funeral. The late August heat did not allow for longer than a few days before the body had to be committed to the earth.
Her head was mostly concealed by a black bonnet, loaned by her mother. Was she wearing jewelry? She scarcely remembered putting it on. Oh, yes. The jet beads around her neck, also from her mother. All the dark colors would wash out her blonde hair and fair skin. She looked like a corpse herself: pale, thin, hideous. Not that it mattered. No one would be looking at her.
To judge by the crowd, Charlie touched many lives. Sarah was permitted to stand close to the grave, for although she wasn’t family, she almost had been. A few months until the wedding, she thought. How quickly things could change. She felt as though she was in a dream. Perhaps she might wake up.
But she did not wake up. The parson completed his homily. The casket was lowered into the ground while she watched, her heart aching. At the sound of twinned, stifled sobs, she raised her eyes briefly to see Charlie’s sisters, their hands tightly entwined as they watched the coffin sink into the earth.
This wasn’t supposed to happen, she thought for the dozenth time that morning. Charlie and she were in love. Sarah was a practical girl, and never loved tragic romances. She planned to marry Charlie and live happily ever after.
But now Charlie was buried, and she was alone. Sarah took a long, shaky breath. Alone didn’t begin to describe how she felt.
Not fair, Sarah told herself. Not fair. Nothing about it was fair.
After the family had done so, she also tossed a little handful of dirt into the grave. Looking down at the wooden surface of the coffin, now partially covered with soil, she had a sense of vertigo. Then she noticed a worm industriously working its way through the soil exposed by the grave diggers, and felt pure horror. She didn’t want to think of Charlie like that, at the mercy of those worms.
She turned away so abruptly she lost her balance. She started to stumble, but then someone caught her by the elbow, stopping her from falling further.
Sarah found her footing, then glanced at the hand, following it up to the arm and the attached face. The man wasn’t anyone she knew, but she thought he was one of the pallbearers, though she couldn’t say for certain.
“Are you all right?” the man asked. His voice was pitched low, keeping the question discreet.
“I misstepped,” she said, realizing she hadn’t spoken a word all morning until just then. Looking down again, she tugged at the black gloves on her shaking hands. She had been a wreck since hearing the first news of Charlie’s accident. She couldn’t sleep, she couldn’t think. “But I have my balance now.”
He released her, but didn’t move away. “Do you intend to go to the wake?”
She nodded. The procession would head to the Wolvertons’ home nearby, where the wake was to be held. “There’s no need to shepherd me, though.”
“All the same, since we’re heading to the same place…” he said, falling into step beside her. Without making a show of it, he offered an arm.
Sarah accepted his decision, slipping her hand onto his arm. She was too overwhelmed to do anything else but follow as the group passed out of the cemetery. The man was another mourner, and that was that. It didn’t matter that she didn’t even know his name. She had no interest in the living.
But if this man had been a pallbearer, he must have been a friend. Yet she never even met him? Odd.
“How did you know Charlie?” she asked the gentleman. She kept her gaze lowered, not willing to fully engage in a conversation with a stranger.
“We were at school together,” he said. “And we both did some work for the government. I knew him well. And since you used the name Charlie, I assume you did, too.”
“We were to be married.”
His step hesitated very slightly, then caught the rhythm of hers again. She had surprised him.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m engaged, too. I can’t imagine what it must be like for you.”
“I hope you never have to,” Sarah whispered.
At her words, he unconsciously put one hand on hers for a moment. “That means you must be Miss Brecknell,” he said. “Charlie mentioned your name.”
“Sarah Brecknell,” she confirmed.
“Well, since we have no one else to properly introduce us, I’m Theodore Drayton, Lord Markham. I expect we never met because your fiancé didn’t want you to know what reprobates he associated with.” Markham’s tone was just a little teasing, perhaps in an effort to snap her out of the worst shock.
The name was vaguely familiar, and something in his voice reminded her of another conversation she once had with Charlie. She looked at him fully for the first time. He bore her examination without any sign of discomfort. Indeed, he seemed almost to welcome it. He was not particularly tall, perhaps two or three inches above her own height. His reddish brown hair was cut a little shorter than was popular at the moment. She barely noticed his features, or really anything beyond the black clothes, because she was caught by his eyes. They were a warm green, and familiar. She had seen those eyes somewhere. “Are you sure we haven’t been introduced?” she asked, trying to place him.
“I promise you I would have remembered,” he said. “Why?”
Sarah looked down again, finally conscious of her manners. “Forgive me. I must be mistaken.”
They reached the Wolvertons’ home, where the guests would eat and drink and remember the dead…and gossip.
Sarah had been in the house the previous night, for the sitting up. At the invitation of the family, she’d sat up with the body for a few hours, and could only stare at the closed wooden box. How could Charlie be in there? she wondered. How could Charlie be so still? That wasn’t Charlie. He was always quick, talkative, engaging…alive.
It was traditional for a casket to be open, for that way family and friends could look upon the deceased one last time before they were buried. But Charlie’s death had been violent: a horrible accident. Thus, Charlie’s sweet and charming face would be hidden, because it was no longer sweet or charming. His mother declared no one would look upon her son that way. He would be remembered as he had been in life. Hence, the closed coffin, shutting Sarah out in another small way.
His family—especially his mother and sisters—was so kind to her after the news, but Sarah felt an outsider that day. She was only Charlie’s fiancée, not his wife. She was not family. And now she never would be. The ache in her heart was unbearable.
The night before, the house had been nearly silent. At the wake, it was already lively. True, all the guests wore sober colors and expressed heartfelt condolences to the family. The late Charles Wolverton had been in the prime of life, and his death came as a shock to everyone in society. Such a tragic accident!
Lord Markham hadn’t left her in the few moments since they arrived at the house. He seemed to take the role of escort seriously, and Sarah was rather glad. He directed her to the receiving line the family had set up.
They both spoke briefly to Charlie’s parents. His mother was crying, his father looked devastated. His younger sisters Georgia and Bryony had taken over as hostesses, putting their own grief aside for the necessary job of greeting guests and accepting condolences on the part of the family.
“Oh, Sarah,” Georgia said when she saw her. “I feel you should be standing right here with us.” Georgia’s blonde hair was pulled back severely, and her normally bright blue eyes were red-rimmed.
Sarah said, “I only wish we didn’t have to be here at all. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do. I don’t know what that could be, but…” she trailed off, feeling useless.
“We were going to make the same offer,” said Bryony. She was just young enough to wear her blonde hair down in braids, which had the effect of making her look especially vulnerable in a black gown which didn’t quite fit her. “A few months’ difference, and you’d be a sister. So you must remember that.”
“I’ll never forget that,” Sarah promised.
“And it’s fitting that you’re joined by our not-quite brother.” Georgia looked at Markham and smiled tremulously.
“Miss Wolverton, Miss Bryony,” Markham said then. “I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you for coming, my lord,” Georgia replied. “I was just thinking about how you and Charlie would play chess for hours on end. We still have the set out in the drawing room, you know, halfway through a game.”
“Perhaps I can call on you both and play a game or two,” he said.
“That would be wonderful,” Bryony said. “You are welcome any time. We won’t be out much…” She suddenly broke off and turned her head away. “Excuse me. I’m just not prepared for this…”
“No one could be, Miss Bryony.” Theo offered her a handkerchief, seemingly without even noticing he did it.
Sarah watched the younger girl with concern. Bryony was supposed to have her debut in a few months. A period of mourning for her brother would no doubt affect her socially as well as personally. “Everyone will understand,” Sarah added, hoping to reassure the girl.
“You both understand,” Bryony whispered. “I just don’t know about the rest of the world.”
“Where is Lady Alyse?” Georgia asked Markham then, looking beyond him for another guest.
“Not in town, I’m afraid. She is at home in Cheltenham until the fall,” he said. Sarah realized they must be talking about Markham’s fiancée.
“So you escorted Miss Brecknell instead. How kind.”
Sarah shook her head. “I came alone. I only met Lord Markham this morning.”
“Truly?” Georgia asked curiously. “But you both knew Charlie so well! How is that possible?”
“Charlie lived in several different circles,” Sarah said, with a little shrug.
Markham cleared his throat. “Let’s move on. We’ve no wish to keep others from offering their sympathies.”
“Please come see us soon, both of you,” Bryony urged. “You will, won’t you? The house is so quiet now. I don’t like it.”
They both promised, and then left so the sisters could speak to the many other guests.
Sarah allowed Markham to lead her to a quieter corner of the room. As she surveyed the chattering guests, she heard several rumors regarding Charlie’s life and death.
He had a mistress, and they fought….
He was fleeing from a gang of thieves he fell in with…
He was mistaken for someone else, and it was all a tragic misunderstanding…
Sarah tuned out the words. She knew the correct story from the Wolvertons. Charlie had been driving his brougham to Woodforde, which was his private retreat outside of the city. But he’d gone rather late at night, and on the road a group of highwaymen waylaid him. Highwaymen did not usually kill their victims, but something had gone wrong during the robbery and Charlie had been shot. The highwaymen, of course, fled the scene, leaving Charlie to die alone in the night. The truth was horrible enough. Why did people always want to add embellishments to it?
She noticed Markham watching her with those oddly familiar eyes. “You said Charlie lived in several circles,” he said quietly.
She nodded. “His family, his own friends. Me, when he was in town. He was busy, you know. Always off on some important function abroad. That’s all I meant.”
“He told you about what he did?” Markham’s voice sharpened a bit.
Sarah looked out the window, feeling a jolt of alarm. “Not the particulars,” she said quickly. “He did not speak of any business or other such affairs with me, my lord.” She couldn’t look at Markham while she spoke, because she was not a good liar. The fact was that Sarah knew more than she should about Charlie’s real work. He’d been a spy, part of a highly secret group called the Zodiac.
“So he didn’t talk about his work,” Markham said, in a more normal tone.
The weight of it all seemed to bear down on her again, making it hard to even speak. She said, “No. When we were together, we spoke of other things. Just silly things.”
“You don’t strike me as a particularly silly person, Miss Brecknell.”
“I’m sure you can’t judge at this point.” She spoke too sharply, but his questions had put her on edge.
He immediately looked contrite. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
“You’re not what disturbs me today,” she said.
He must have understood that a long conversation with her wouldn’t look well at a funeral. He offered her a final condolence and began to turn away.
“Lord Markham,” she said, putting out one hand. She arrested the movement before she was anywhere close to touching him, but she’d caught his attention.
She took a breath to steady herself. “I was wondering. Do you think…do you think anything could have been done? When he died, I mean. Do you think there was any other outcome?”
Markham looked once at the crowd, then deliberately turned his back on the room to face her alone. “There have been a lot of rumors about his death,” he said candidly. “I’ve heard some, and I expect you have too.”
She nodded slowly.
“I don’t know the whole truth,” he said. “I wasn’t there, so how could I? But I knew Charlie. He was my friend. Whatever happened, he was not at fault.”
Sarah breathed out, more relieved to hear those words than she’d expected. That was her secret fear. If Charlie had done something rash to provoke the highwaymen, if he’d been too bold…. But of course he was too careful to do such a thing. It was bad luck. It had to be. “It helps to hear that.”
“If I can be of any assistance to you, Miss Brecknell, please let me know.” He took out one of his cards, and scrawled his street direction in town on the back side with a pencil stub from his pocket. “Anything. No matter how odd or minor the request may be.”
“Out of mutual friendship?” she asked, taking the card and reading both sides.
He nodded. “Of course.”
Sarah looked at him steadily, trying to remember where she knew him from. “Thank you.”
She turned away then, shutting him and everyone else out of her private grief. She didn’t know when Markham left, and she didn’t care. But she kept his card held tightly in her hand, the edge of the paper digging into her skin through the black gloves.