Parting the Veil by Paulette Kennedy
CHAPTER 39
They attended Lord Eastleigh’s funeral out of a sense of duty, but it was a miserable affair, taking place on the grayest of frigid London days. His family crypt was located in Highgate’s prestigious west cemetery, in the most elaborate of funerary gardens adorned with veiled maidens and grief-stricken angels. As Eliza huddled close to Malcolm for warmth, pulling the hood of her fur-lined cape over her head, the funeral carriage rattled through the cemetery gates, pulled by black-plumed horses. The rest of the cortege followed, ending with the polished landau carrying his widow.
As the bell tolled from St. Michael’s, Lord Eastleigh’s carriage came to a halt at the foot of an ivy-covered hillock crowned by a pillared tomb. At its base, a pair of sleeping stone lions rested, their paws crossed one over the other in repose.
Una descended from the landau, caped in a gloriously figured black bombazine cloak, the pale oval of her face punctuated by her dark eyes. She was both regal and catatonic. The mourners resembled a somber murder of ravens as they queued up along the narrow path, greeting Una with bowed heads and the press of their hands. Eliza was moved to sudden, unexpected sympathy.
“Lady Eastleigh,” she said as Una swept past. “I . . .”
Una put up her hand and shook her head.
The crypt was opened, and the pallbearers came to their sad duty, moving the sleek ebony casket down the rails of the hearse and hoisting it onto their shoulders, its coffered top weeping white lilies and roses. Malcolm was as stoic as the stone mausoleum before them, his eyes hard as glass beneath the brim of his hat.
Unbidden tears sprung to Eliza’s eyes. She hadn’t been fond of Charles, it was true. But it was unfair for his life to have been cut short in its prime, with a young wife left to birth and rear a child all alone. She dabbed away the tears with her handkerchief, turning her face from Malcolm’s disapproving gaze.
The vicar said his blessing before the opening of the tomb, made the sign of the cross, and motioned for Una to come forward. She kissed her gloved fingertips and pressed them to the top of the coffin before turning away. The pallbearers finished their duty and the tomb was sealed, wreaths of holly and myrtle left to adorn the steps of the mausoleum. The mourners departed to go back to their warm townhouses or out for a drink at the pubs, chattering quietly among themselves. Eliza gave a final mournful look to the dreary tomb and took Malcolm’s arm as a frozen drizzle began to fall. They’d nearly gotten to the gates when Eliza heard Una’s voice from behind.
“Lady Havenwood, now that the others are gone, I’d have a word with you.”
Eliza turned, lifting the rain-dotted veil of black chiffon from her eyes. Una took two steps toward them and Malcolm gave a quick shake of his head. His arm tightened around her. “No. We’ve shown her enough respect by being here.”
Eliza pulled away. “I need to speak with her, husband. For my own peace. Go to the carriage. I’ll just be a moment.”
Malcolm tipped his hat to Una and she gave a terse nod before fixing the full ire of her gaze on Eliza. “How dare you,” she spat. “You’ve taken everything from me. My dignity, my husband’s honor, my privacy as a widow.”
“Una, I . . .”
Again, Una put up her hand. “No. You will listen. The scandal rags came out this morning. On the very same day as my husband’s funeral. Now all of society knows you were the last thing on Charles’s mind. That your kiss was his final spending of passion before he died.” Una circled Eliza slowly, her face a blade. “Do you know I had to go to the morgue to identify his body? Can you imagine what that was like?”
Eliza’s heartbeat fluttered in her throat. “I’m so sorry . . .”
“No. You cannot imagine. So, I will tell you.” Una gave a mirthless smile. “His face . . . his beautiful face,” she said, stopping in front of Eliza. “It was gone! Torn right off his skull. Only bits of his hair remained, stuck to his pate. The rest of him was crushed like raw meat. I’ll never forget the smell within that room.” Eliza’s gorge rose, so vivid was the picture that Una painted. She turned her head to quell her urge to vomit. Una clucked her tongue. “I’ve spared you the worst. Train accidents are no pretty death.”
“I never meant for what happened between us to happen. It was a silly impulse! A mistake. I was drunk.”
“I was drunk!”Una mocked. “Yes, it appears you both were. While I languished at home with a fever, you were getting on so well with my husband over champagne that he drank too much and stumbled right over the edge of a train platform. I hate you. I hate you with all that is in me to hate another living creature. So I will tell you the truth about your husband.”
Anger and shame flooded Eliza’s face with blood. “Is it Annie you mean to shock me with? If so, I already know. He’s told me.”
Una’s smile spread slowly across her face, pulling her prim features into an ugly rictus. “No! You’re wrong—again! Who cares one flit about Annie? Every boy’s first romp is with a whore. This is so much worse.”
“Then tell me!”
“Do you really want to know what kind of monster you’ve married?”
“For God’s sake, Una!”
Una’s gloved hands balled into fists at her side. She shook with rage. “He lay with his own mother!”
“What?” The wind screamed in Eliza’s ears and the tombstones around her seemed to wheel in a careening circle.
“I saw them. Together.” Una laughed. “I’ll never forget the day. I’d gone out to the rear gardens to gather a posy. When I came back through the south wing, I heard laughter coming from Ada’s room. I crept up the stairs and opened the door, only a crack. I saw them there, together.”
“I don’t believe you!”
“Old Havenwood even caught them in the act once. Cuckolded by his own son!”
“No! I found her diary. He’d only had a nightmare. Ada wrote about it. The old man beat him to a bloody pulp after.”
Una cackled. “Are you really that daft?”
“I . . . I saw letters . . . Ada’s lover was another man. I found his portrait, in a locket . . .” Eliza shook her head. “No, you’re wrong about him . . . you . . .” Eliza’s words died on her tongue and she sat hard on the stone bench at her back.
Una smirked. “Oh, you really are too much. You still want to believe the best about him, even though he’s proven himself a liar, time and again. You little fool! He killed his own father so he could freely have his pretty mother. And here you are, right in the middle of it all!”