Page 41 of The Reckless Love of an Heir (The Marlow Family Secrets #4)

The coffin was far too narrow and light to contain William. Henry, his father, his uncle Edward and Percy carried it among them, on one shoulder, walking in even steady strides as they entered York Minster.

The ginormous height of the decoratively carved stone walls swallowed him, suffocating him, as he helped carry William along the aisle.

The minster’s height, breadth and grandness, and the beauty of the carvings on the towering columns and the ceiling above, made William’s life, that ended in this narrow coffin, appear an insignificant moment in time.

Henry wanted William’s life to have been an outstanding moment that would be forever remembered.

But William had no time to create a legacy.

As they walked along the broad aisle, the sound of the people in the full pews either side of them, sniffing, whispering or sobbing, followed them.

People from the higher and middle classes had come to say farewell to William – faces he recognised from the assembly he attended.

There were others too, who worked in service to his father and others from the city who supplied his father’s estate .

Henry did not look at anyone, but stared ahead at the altar, and at the wooden trestles where they were to rest his brother’s coffin.

He swallowed.

A heavy scent of incense hung in the air when they reached the trestles. Once they had put William down, Henry bowed to the altar before turning to find his seat in the front pew.

Edward nodded at him.

Henry let Percy enter the pew before him. He took the seat beside his brother and let his uncle sit next to his father.

Gerard and Stephen sat on the far side of Percy, they had come into the church with Harry. In the pew behind them were Drew, Rob and John, and behind them were his father’s friends, including Uncle Casper and Lord Wiltshire and some of their sons, his own friends with them.

Henry leaned forward to look at his younger brothers. Gerard was biting his top lip and his eyes glowed with the sheen of tears in the flickering light of a candle which burned on a pedestal near the pulpit.

The muscle in Stephen’s jaw flickered as he stared at the coffin.

Henry looked up as the Archbishop began the service.

He knelt with his family when it was time to pray, and his voice rose as he participated in the hymns.

At the end of the service Henry allowed himself a selfish prayer; for the strength to continue to support his family. He could feel himself weakening, his sanity slipping through his fingers like rope, and leaving burns. He was not succeeding.

He stood then, with his father and uncle and Percy, to pick up William and carry him home for the last time. He was to be entombed in the Marlows’, the Earls of Barrington’s, mausoleum.

They carried him out of the Minster to the hearse, where he helped to slide the coffin back onto the glass-sided funeral carriage.

Henry’s body had never felt so heavy as he turned away from his brother, to follow his father to their carriage. It was the Earls of Barrington’s state carriage so it was highly polished and gilded, with their brightly painted coat of arms on the doors on either side.

There was one less son in the Barringtons’ dynasty now… One less in the Marlow family.

Henry gripped the hand rail on the carriage’s side and climbed the step then dropped into the seat next to his father, facing his brothers.

His uncle sat beside him.

None of them spoke.

Henry did not look out through the window. He could not face the stares of the interested ordinary folk of York. They saw this as nothing more than a moment of ceremony. It was the loss of his youngest brother, William . His brother who was undeserving of that fate.

The hearse travelled ahead of them, leading them back to his father’s property in a slow procession. After an hour it turned through the gates into Farnborough and headed towards the mausoleum.

His stomach became bilious at the thought of his brother lying in the dark among the entombed bodies of their ancestors, on cold stone.

But he would be with those that would welcome him; their grandfather and grandmother, whom they had never met.

Henry must remember that William would not be alone in heaven.

When the carriage stopped, the weight of responsibility, of being the one who stayed in control, made him rise and open the carriage door, before the footman had reached it .

Henry stepped across his uncle’s feet, jumped out then knocked down the step with the heel of his shoe. He held the door for Percy, his father and uncle, then Gerard and Stephen.

Edward smiled at him slightly. Henry turned away, pain tightening about his throat; the lump of emotion there pressed with a need to explode. He longed to shout, or growl, or hit or throw something.

Oh, to be young enough to be allowed to rage.

In his bed at night, he had ranted at God, for taking William and leaving him.

The funeral director’s pallbearers lifted William’s coffin from the hearse. When they walked forward Henry’s father followed. Henry followed him, walking between Stephen and Gerard.

He lay his arms about their shoulders. Gerard leaned into him a little. Stephen glanced at him and acknowledged the gesture, but his stiffness said he would rather be left alone to deal with his emotions. He released Stephen, but kept his arm around Gerard.

The doors to the mausoleum’s crypt stood open. His father stopped walking as the coffin was carried in. Henry stopped too. He took a breath then said quietly. ‘Goodbye, William.’

‘Goodbye,’ Stephen repeated.

‘Goodbye,’ Gerard and Percy said together.

‘My son…’ Henry heard on his father’s breath.

Percy coughed, as though his throat were blocked. Henry glanced at him. He stood beside Edward. Edward braced Percy’s shoulder as Percy’s eyes glittered in the sunlight, but he did not allow the tears to fall.

Gerard sobbed.

Stephen sniffed and then wiped his nose on his sleeve.

Henry’s heart banged hard in his chest, the emotions clamouring to be let out.

He looked at his father. He wanted to go to him, to hold him, to give and receive comfort, but his father was staring at the open doors the coffin had been carried through and he did not look as though he would welcome anyone approaching him.

When the pallbearers came out, it was without William. They turned and closed the giant doors.

William had gone. Henry would never see his face again, only in the portraits at the house.

Stephen looked at Gerard, reached past Henry and pulled Gerard’s coat sleeve. ‘Come on.’ Gerard consented and turned with Stephen.

Henry turned too and walked back to the carriage, behind his young brothers. The sound of a sigh made Henry look back; Percy walked a few paces behind him. Henry waited for him to catch up.

Beyond Percy his uncle and father stood looking at the doors of the mausoleum. His uncle said something to his father then turned and walked away.

His father did not move.

Henry turned to head back.

‘Leave him!’ Uncle Edward called.

He wanted to be able to do something.

‘He needs time alone,’ his uncle said when he reached Henry. ‘Come along.’ He caught hold of Henry’s arm.

Henry glanced over his shoulder before he climbed into the carriage. His father had still not moved.

‘We will wait for Lord Marlow,’ Uncle Edward said to the groom and the driver.

When Henry sat down, he looked up at the carriage roof, helplessness enveloping him. There was nothing to be said and nothing to be done to heal this.

Henry looked through the window, his father still stood staring at the closed doors of the mausoleum, saying who knew what to William.

Henry remembered the women who awaited them at the house, along with his friends and the other men who had been in the minster.

He would have to welcome everyone if his father was not up to the task.

Uncle Edward cleared his throat, drawing their attention.

‘If you would rather…’ he said, looking about them all, ‘…avoid the wake, then show your faces for a short time only. I am happy to take on the responsibility of host and ensure people are cared for sufficiently. You have endured enough today, and I will not expect that of your father.’

Gerard and Stephen said nothing, but they would be happy they had permission to abscond. Percy nodded.

‘Thank you.’ Henry breathed out heavily. He had hoped his uncle would share the burden, and he was.

The carriage door opened. They all looked. His father climbed in.

They did not speak again then.

Susan rose as she heard the carriages arriving in Farnborough’s courtyard. The maids disappeared to bring up more boiled water for the tea, but the rest of the women remained seated. Susan stood, a few feet from the door, her hands clasped together at her waist.

The room, that was usually bright and full of laughter, was quiet as the women spoke in hushed tones.

The mirror above the hearth had been covered in black as the family were in deepest mourning, and all the women of Henry’s family wore black, while Susan wore her dove grey and Alethea and her mother were in dull mauves and Aunt Jane’s friends were in similar drab colours.

The door opened. A footman stepped in to hold it wide and the men walked through.

Some of the other women stood – to greet their partners, parents or siblings.

Aunt Jane crossed the room with purposeful strides and began greeting her guests.

Susan’s father entered.

When Aunt Jane greeted him, he pressed a kiss on her cheek, then moved on as others walked in.

When the flow of men stopped, Henry and Uncle Robert had not come in. Susan walked across and looked through the doorway; no one remained in the hall.

She found a corner to hide in, her hands clasping together and her teeth nipping nervously at the inside of her lower lip.