Chapter 26
The next days seemed to pass in a haze of emotions for Isabella. She was afraid to go to her mother’s funeral because it would make the whole thing absolutely real. Even though she knew without a doubt that her mother was dead, still she had moments in which it was almost as if nothing had changed.
Isabella knew that it was because she had not been there at the time. She had witnessed nothing, nor had she seen her mother’s body.
With an awful wrench to her stomach, Isabella wondered if her brother had seen it happen. As unpleasant as he was, at just fourteen years, it would have been a most terrible thing. For anybody to see one parent murder the other would be indescribable, but for a boy of his age, it would be unthinkable. And for Anthony to have to continue to live under that roof with the knowledge of what his father had done could not bear thinking about.
Even without witnessing the incident, surely Anthony knew enough about life at Upperton Hall to know his father capable of such a thing. Even to suspect it would make life with his father unbearable from now on, surely.
And yet, just as she was powerless to help her mother, Isabella could not see how she was able to help her brother either. He was in line to be the next Earl of Upperton, and nothing would stand in the way of that. And the person who would be charged with the boy’s instruction on the duties that would one day be his could only be the current Earl.
The whole thing was impossible, and all that Isabella could do in the end was hope that her brother was blissfully ignorant of all that was so painfully obvious to her.
Kitty had helped her to get ready for the funeral, providing more comfort to her in those minutes than her mother had ever provided in a lifetime. How confusing it all was to be grieving for somebody when you were unsure of your feelings for them and their feelings for you. It was making the whole thing so much harder.
Kitty had worn black also and, as they both descended the great staircase, it was clear to Isabella that Kitty had fully determined to go with her.
In the great entrance hall, Isabella pulled her thick black shawl around her shoulders as she stared blankly at the wooden horse and armour-plated rider. If only she could be the knight hiding inside, ready to take off for adventures anywhere but there, shielded from pain and sadness by a thick metal shell.
“Your Grace?” Kitty said, and Isabella turned back to answer before she realized that Kitty was not speaking to her.
“Good morning, Kitty.” Elliot was striding down the staircase dressed in black and wearing something over his head. “Unfortunately, necessary for the world outside.” He laughed sadly and pointed to what Isabella could now see was a hood of some kind.
It was made of black fabric and was loose fitting. Isabella could not help staring at him for a moment as she took in the curious headwear.
It was a full hood which covered most of his scarring and a good deal of the unblemished side of his face. It was a garment which would undoubtedly draw almost as much attention as would its lack.
“Kitty, I shall be attending the funeral.” Elliot smiled warmly at the maid, despite the hood, and effectively relieved her of the awful duty.
“Elliot, I had not expected…” Isabella began.
“You had not expected your husband to attend the funeral of your mother at your side?”
“I am sorry. I did not mean…”
“You need not apologize. Since I never leave Coldwell Hall, it was a perfectly natural assumption.” He looked at her a little sheepishly as if the hood itself gave him almost as much embarrassment as the ruined skin beneath its soft folds. “But I shall be coming with you.”
“Thank you, «she said and took the arm he offered to her before they walked out of the immense doorway and across to the waiting carriage.
They traveled much of the way to the church in silence. Isabella was deeply touched by Elliot’s sudden appearance and wondered just what it had cost him to get as far as the carriage. And yet, despite the strangeness of the hood and her nerves about the funeral, Elliot’s presence at that moment was more reassuring than anything she had experienced in her life.
“I hope my appearance does not cause you embarrassment,” Elliot finally spoke just as the carriage drew up to the church.
“No. I am very grateful that you have come today. I know it cannot have been an easy decision to make, and I shall not forget it.” She touched his arm before the door opened and their driver helped her down.
Elliot held out his arm again and walked her slowly to the freshly dug grave in the churchyard. Isabella felt the weight of reality sitting heavily upon her and wondered how she would make it through.
Her mother was so young to have had her life ended so brutally; she was not yet five and forty years old, just seven years older than Elliot, and the thought of it made Isabella feel nauseous.
“Will you manage?” Elliot whispered into her ear.
“Yes, «she said in a dry whisper.
The service had been brief, and she had no doubt that it was on her father’s demand that the Reverend had kept it so.
Throughout the ceremony, Isabella cast several looks at her father and was surprised to see how drawn he looked.
The Earl of Upperton looked grey and his eyes somewhat sunken in their sockets as if he had neither eaten nor slept for days. It was hardly what she had expected at all, and she wondered if it was a guilty reaction to whatever angry outburst had brought them all to the graveside that day.
Whenever he looked over at her, Isabella looked away from her father in disgust. She could not look upon the murderer and did not want to appear to offer him solace with something as simple as eye contact.
Instead, she looked for her young brother. Anthony was standing between his father and Isabella’s old governess. Although Anthony was now at Eton, the governess remained in the employ of the Earl.
The governess, who had never been particularly warm, tried more than once to take Anthony’s hand. Isabella watched in dismay as she saw her brother shake away the woman’s unusual attempt at kindness time and time again.
Not only did he shrug her away, but Isabella saw clearly how he looked at the woman with arrogant contempt. So, he did not feel the need for comfort as Isabella did. Perhaps it was merely a youthful performance. After all, Anthony had been raised in arrogance and heavily schooled in the outward display the Earl in waiting must make in every given scenario.
And yet, Isabella had a creeping sensation that there was more to it than that. She tried to look into his eyes but could not hold the gaze. She had expected to see pain there, some sort of emotional upheaval behind the arrogant façade, but she could see nothing. There was nothing there to suggest that his mother’s death and subsequent funeral was anything more than an inconvenience to him.
Surely his father’s evil ways had not penetrated so far into his young soul? Isabella shuddered, and Elliot turned to her a little. She nodded briefly to indicate that she was alright; she was managing.
Isabella continued to look around and was relieved to see Esme Montague among the other mourners with her own parents. She would be glad to have a few minutes with her at the end of the service to provide a little stability. Esme gave her the briefest flicker of a smile when their eyes met, and Isabella felt tears well in her own eyes. How she loved Esme, and how glad she was that she still had her friend in her life.
As the service drew to its conclusion, and her mother’s coffin was lowered into the ground, Isabella choked back a sob. As Elliot put a steadying arm around her shoulders, Isabella became aware of so many eyes on them.
Even in the midst of grief, there were still some who would let their curiosity lead them astray. Isabella felt a surge of anger at the idea that Elliot, a finer man than any stood at her mother’s graveside that day, would still have to suffer the stares of the curious. What a world they all lived in.
As soon as the coffin was lowered and the last handfuls of dirt thrown in, Isabella’s included, Esme hurried across to her.
“Oh, my dear Isabella,” Esme said with red-rimmed eyes.
Of all present, Isabella knew that her dear friend’s grief and sympathy were genuine.
“Esme, thank you for coming.”
“How could I not? Are you going back to Upperton after the service?”
“I could not,” Isabella said and felt fortified by the feel of Esme’s hands in her own. “I could not be there with the man who murdered my mother.”
“You believe your father is to blame.” It was not a question, and it was clear that Esme was perfectly prepared to accept the theory as true.
After all, she knew well of the Earl of Upperton and his cruel ways.
“Yes. I could not be in his company.”
“And yet he is waiting for you. I can see him out of the corner of my eye hovering and awaiting your presence,” Esme spoke urgently.
“Oh no, I can hardly escape his company here.”
“You may leave whenever you wish, Isabella. Your father has no rights over you.” Elliot reminded her of his presence at her side.
“Forgive me, Your Grace,” Esme said and looked up at the hooded face without any hint of awkwardness. “I did not mean to talk across you.” She bobbed low. “I am Esme Montague, and I am pleased to make your acquaintance finally, albeit in such sad circumstances.”
“And I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Montague.” Elliot bowed also, and Isabella felt sure she heard a little relief in his voice as if he was truly expecting an adverse reaction.
“I am looking forward to my next visit to Coldwell Hall. You have a very beautiful home, Your Grace, and it was a rare treat to be in such beautifully tended grounds.” Esme continued to look at him, giving no hint that she had taken in the curious hood at all.
As the two continued to speak, Isabella could see now just how many people did not have Esme Montague’s good grace. They now stared openly. With the business of the Countess of Upperton’s burial over, they were free to indulge themselves. Worse still, Isabella knew that Elliot was painfully aware of it all. She could have screamed at them all to go to the Devil with their filthy curiosity.
“Elliot.” Isabella touched his arm and looked up at him. “Would you be so kind as to keep Esme company for a moment whilst I speak to my father. I know I must do it, for it is impossible to escape the encounter here.”
“Of course. But please stay close. I shall not remain silent if the Earl seeks to torment you.” His voice was rich and smooth, and the authority in it was unmistakable.
Isabella could see Esme smile, clearly impressed with her old friend’s new husband.
“I shall.” She nodded briefly at them both before turning to walk towards her father.
The Earl was, just as Esme had said, hovering awkwardly a few feet from his wife’s final resting place. He looked even worse close up, and Isabella wondered if she had her theory quite right. Could guilt and remorse really make a person look so low?
“You wish to speak to me?” Isabella chose not to address her father.
“Isabella, I am so very sorry.”
“For killing my mother?” Isabella kept her voice low; she was not keen for the onlookers to pick up on her words.
“Please, believe me, I did not kill your mother. I would never have done such a thing.”
“You would never have pushed her down the stairs? I find that curiously hard to believe.” Despite the harshness of her words, Isabella felt a little uneasy.
There was something in his expression which suggested he was almost devastated. And yet she had seen his open contempt for her mother for her entire life. How could he be devastated now by her loss?
“I know I have been hard over the years, but you cannot truly believe I would hurt her like that.”
“You told me yourself that you would hurt her if I did not convince my husband to pay you even more of a settlement on me.”
“But I did not mean to see it through. Not like that, at any rate.”
“But you would have hurt her, would you not? In some other way?” Isabella was not convinced of anything anymore.
She knew her father was cruel, but did he really have it in him to kill?
“I would have hurt her only as a means of hurting you and securing the funds I needed. I knew you would find some way to convince your husband to pay me.”
Isabella could hardly believe what she was hearing. The admission struck her as almost brutally honest. He spoke with shame at his behaviour, but it was at his threat and intention to do some harm to her mother, not to kill her, she felt sure of it.
“Actually, I told the Duke not to pay you a penny,” Isabella said defiantly and winced when she saw the old flash of anger in his eyes; old habits clearly did die hard.
“But he did pay me, Isabella. And so, I had no cause to hurt your mother.”
“You did not have a true cause to hurt my mother either way. You never did!” Isabella spoke a little more loudly than she had intended, but her anger was threatening to boil over.
She was aware of Elliot shifting a little some feet away from her as if ready to rush in and save her.
Once again, she had that wonderful feeling of protection.
“Whatever you think of me, I did not kill your mother.” He began to sound exasperated and desolate all at once. “I did not kill her.” His voice broke a little, and the sound took her back.
Isabella had never seen a moment’s emotion from the man before her until then.
“So, my mother just fell, did she?”
“No, she did not fall.” His words brought Isabella up short; she had been expecting flat denial. “She was pushed.”
“Pushed?” Isabella, despite knowing her mother’s death had been anything but an accident, still felt shocked to have it confirmed.
“Yes, your mother was pushed.” The Earl seemed ready to unravel before her very eyes.
Isabella felt hot and nauseous, and she wondered what on earth her father was about to tell her.
“If you did not push her, then who did?” Her voice was raspy and her throat dry and suddenly sore.
“Anthony.”