Read Lady of Ashes Online

Authors: Christine Trent

Tags: #Fiction, #Mystery & Detective, #Historical

Lady of Ashes (22 page)

BOOK: Lady of Ashes
13.74Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads
“Madam, are you Mrs. Morgan, the proprietress?”
“I am.”
“I’ve been instructed to fetch you, madam. The queen wishes to see you at Windsor Castle.”
“Susanna . . .” she began, looking at where the girl was cutting newly arrived black ribbons into lengths suitable for embellishing gloves, fans, and bonnets.
“I can drop your daughter off at your home on our way. You’ll need to pack for several days. Quickly, the queen awaits.”
With Susanna in tow, Violet left the shop in the hands of Will and Harry, her mind whirling with confusion over why the Queen of England wanted to see a lowly London undertaker.
12
He is dead and gone, lady,
He is dead and gone;
At his head a grass-green turf,
At his heels a stone.
 
—William Shakespeare
Hamlet
(ca. 1599)
V
iolet could hardly believe she was being escorted to Windsor Castle.
Besides Osborne House on the Isle of Wight, Windsor was reputed to be the queen’s favorite residence. It was no wonder. The long approach to the castle’s entrance revealed the majesty and beauty of the castle’s perimeter, set in a figure eight around the center motte, known as the Round Tower.
Built originally by William the Conqueror as part of a ring of castles established to fortify London, it had long ago been split into two uses, the Lower Ward at the bottom of the figure eight for state occasions, and private apartments in the Upper Ward.
Violet was led down a series of hallways into the castle, marveling at the splendor of the paneled walls, priceless objets d’art, gleaming furniture, and magnificent ceiling decorations.
It was clear she was being led through state rooms and into the private apartments of the castle.
This was an honor, yet she had no idea why it was being bestowed upon her. The queen’s servants hadn’t been helpful when questioned, either.
The servant leading her down corridors wore a black crape armband. He paused in front of a door. Raising a finger to his lips, he whispered, “The queen is in great grief, as we all are. It is best to talk in low tones.”
“I am an undertaker and fully understand the grief that family members endure.”
He looked at her in surprise. “Yes, of course, madam.”
Knocking softly, he opened the door and announced Violet. The queen sat before a desk, and two elegantly dressed gentlemen were in deep conversation with her. All talking stopped as Violet entered.
Violet dropped into a curtsy upon seeing Victoria. The queen’s eyes were red-rimmed and swollen as she sat before a desk, working a lace hanky through her fingers. She had a pronounced overbite that made her look vulnerable yet appealing. The queen also looked unkempt, as though she hadn’t changed clothes in a few days. She waved at Violet to sit down.
Poor lady. These first few days of shock and disbelief wreaked havoc on a devoted spouse’s appearance.
“Mrs. Morgan?” the queen asked, her voice raw.
“Yes, Your Majesty. May I express my deepest sorrow at the loss of the prince consort? All of London mourns with you. St. Paul’s was so crowded today that there were extra services planned.”
Victoria said nothing, merely staring off at some distant point in the room.
Violet spoke again. “I am deeply honored by your request to see me, although I admit I am puzzled.”
Victoria ignored this. “Lord Palmerston, Lord Russell, may we present to you Mrs. Morgan, an undertaker to whom our husband was partial?”
Lord Palmerston was an elderly man with a gleam in his eye that made him seem much younger. “An absolute delight, Mrs. Morgan. You are brightening up an otherwise very sad, somber occasion.”
“Lord Palmerston,” Victoria said. “Perhaps you might refrain from flirting with married women for at least one day while we are in deep mourning.”
“Your Majesty, my apologies. I mean no offense.” His voice had no hint of regret.
Lord Russell, who maintained a serious but not stern gaze, appraised her. “Morgan? Where have I heard that name before?”
“I can’t imagine, sir. My husband and I have a shop in Paddington and live in Kentish Town. I’m afraid we don’t move in illustrious circles.”
“Nevertheless . . . well, no matter, I suppose. An undertaker, you say? How odd.”
The queen broke in again. “Yet quite favored by our husband. So although we don’t approve of women training outside the home, we will make an exception for her. Now, gentlemen, you may be excused, for we have business with Mrs. Morgan.”
Lords Palmerston and Russell departed, but not before Palmerston offered Violet a sly wink on the way out.
The queen looked at Violet as though she were examining a new species of furry insect, curious yet revolted.
Violet resisted the urge to squirm like a child under the scrutiny, but the combination of a royal summons, her first walk inside a palace, and now the queen’s observation was nerve-wracking.
Finally, the queen spoke. “We understand you were acquainted with our husband?”
“Slightly, Your Majesty. I had the pleasure of meeting the prince consort during the funeral arrangement for Admiral Herbert.”
“Yes, so our husband said. He told us you were a most competent undertaker. Is it true that you embalmed the man?”
“Yes, madam, I—”
“Most assuredly, our husband will not be embalmed. The thought of our dear Albert being injected with some noxious concoction of chemicals is beyond bearing.”
“Yes, madam.” Violet was confused by the queen’s outburst, but those who grieved did not always make sense. She sat still while the queen pondered her next statement.
“Our husband . . .” Victoria began, opening a drawer and pulling out a card, Violet’s own
carte-de-visite
. The prince had actually kept it. “Expressed a desire for us to call on you in the event of his . . . in case he . . .” Victoria’s chin was quivering.
“Your Majesty, I understand perfectly what you are saying, and I am most grateful and flattered by His Majesty’s confidence in me. But surely there is a royal undertaker . . . ?”
“Of course there is, Mrs. Morgan. A dignified and experienced
man
who will take the utmost care with our Albert.”
Violet was silent. Why was she here?
The queen sighed as she put her lips to the
carte-de-visite
and returned it to the drawer. “Yet, our husband mentioned you by name, so we must honor him. He would be so disappointed otherwise.”
Victoria whisked away an errant tear with her forefinger. “Therefore, Mrs. Morgan, we give you leave to participate in the arrangements for the prince consort’s funeral.”
A royal funeral? Morgan Undertaking involved in a royal funeral? Violet was too shocked to respond.
“Naturally, the royal undertaker will still be in charge, and you will be merely an assistant. His staff knows what to do, which most certainly does not include embalming.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Violet’s mind was swirling. First the admiral, now this. It was overwhelming.
“As we’ve told Mr. Rowland, we want the deepest possible court mourning and expect all persons to put themselves in decent mourning clothing. We’ve also ordered the building of a new mausoleum at Frogmore, and our husband will be transferred there when it is completed.” The queen tinkled a bell on the desk, and instantly a uniformed servant glided in.
“Yes, ma’am?” he asked in a hushed tone.
“Bring Dr. Jenner in.”
“Very good, ma’am.” The man glided back out soundlessly.
“Dr. Jenner is one of our husband’s physicians. Very skillful and most comforting. It was he who made the conclusive diagnosis on our darling—ah, Dr. Jenner, you’ve come!”
“Had you a doubt I wouldn’t leave the halls of Windsor until I had you at rights again? Come now, madam, surely you know better. Who is your friend?” Dr. Jenner’s voice boomed inside the room.
Violet was taken aback by how forward the doctor was, yet the queen merely smiled at him.
“Dr. Jenner, this is Mrs. Violet Morgan, the undertaker we spoke to you about.”
“Yes, I remember. What is her purpose here today in Your Majesty’s presence?”
“Surely you recall that our dear prince wished her services in the sorry case of his . . . if he were to unfortunately . . .” The queen couldn’t continue.
“Madam, I didn’t think you intended this seriously. We are of the same opinion about women partaking in the professions, especially anything medical.”
“Yes, Dr. Jenner, but our opinion of the prince overrides our own personal feelings. Would you please be so kind as to guide her to the chapel?”
“As you wish, madam.”
Violet’s interview was over. She rose and said to the queen, “Your Majesty, I promise to be as gentle and respectful with the prince consort as is possible.”
“He thought you would be, so we have to trust him.” The queen turned her back to them as she was engulfed by sobs. Violet attempted to go around the desk to comfort her, as was her habit with grieving families, but Dr. Jenner pulled her away, shaking his head.
 
They walked together outside the royal apartments, down through the Middle Ward containing the Round Tower, and into the Lower Ward, where St. George’s Chapel, a Gothic-designed church, stood proudly to their right.
“It’s spectacular,” Violet said. “Who would expect such a magnificent cathedral inside the walls of a medieval castle?”
Dr. Jenner looked at her quizzically. “Surely you know that most of the castle was renovated into its consistent medieval look by the prince consort, don’t you? The chapel, however, is mostly as it has been for centuries.”
He led her down along one buttressed side of the chapel and in through a doorway in the south transept, the center part of the church that formed the wings that made any Gothic church resemble a cross.
Inside, the nave was bustling with feverish, if completely hushed, activity. Already Violet saw a line of black velvet ropes being erected, where the funeral cortege would enter through the rear, western end of the chapel and proceed to the burial place, presumably in either a memorial crypt off one of the side aisles, or a tomb behind the apse.
Dr. Jenner interrupted her imagining of how the funeral would take place.
“I’ll take you to meet Mr. Rowland, who is overseeing all of the arrangements,” he said, guiding her toward the east end of the chapel.
A short man with a nose the size of an eagle’s beak was emerging out of a minor side chapel along the south aisle, as though measuring with his feet. He scowled as he pulled a small notepad from his pocket and jotted something down.
“Mr. Rowland,” Dr. Jenner said, his voice ricocheting against the stone walls despite his effort to speak in quiet tones. “The queen commanded that I bring your new assistant to you posthaste. This is Mrs. Morgan.”
The man ushered them into the side chapel, which had been converted into an undertaker’s workshop with tables heaped with piles of cloth, boxes of candles, and dozens of wreath stands. Beneath the tables lay the flat stone markers in the floor that indicated who was buried beneath.
Mr. Rowland scowled again. “What new assistant?”
“Mrs. Morgan is an undertaker who caught the attention of the prince consort.”
“An undertaker? Where is your husband, madam?”
“Managing our shop in London.”
“I see.” He blinked. Perhaps he was more like an owl than an eagle. He turned back to Dr. Jenner. “What does Her Majesty say my new assistant is to do?”
“Obviously, whatever it is an undertaker’s assistant does.”
Mr. Rowland grunted. “As busy as we are . . . very well, you may arrange for all of the flowers, and you may be present during the service to help ensure everyone finds his place. Naturally, you will need to remain as discreet as possible.”
Naturally.
Dr. Jenner grudgingly helped Violet find temporary quarters within the castle and ensured her luggage, still stored on the carriage, made it to her accommodations.
After sending brief letters to Graham and Mary about her plans at Windsor, she walked the grounds to understand the castle’s layout before reentering St. George’s Chapel to explore the entire nave, transept, and apse. When she was satisfied that she had memorized the entire surrounds of the funeral, she sought out Mr. Rowland again for further direction.
She was now armed with his instructions for entirely too many lilies and his plans for too little ceremony. She urged Mr. Rowland to increase the number of dignitaries invited, as well as the number of official mourners. His feathers ruffled by her audacity, he merely told her to keep to her tasks and stop bothering him with inane ideas, since it was up to the lord provost to decide such things anyway.
Although she had clearly made an error because she didn’t know the intricacies of royal etiquette, it still grated.
Surely I am as competent as Mr. Rowland
. Moreover, she was here at the queen’s command, because of the prince consort’s specific request. This man’s disdain of her was essentially disdain of Victoria and Albert.
How dare he.
“Sir, I am being perfectly civil to you. I understand that this is a trying time for everyone in the country, and you are in a particularly hazardous position in ensuring the prince is laid to rest properly. However, I am here at a royal request, I’m tasked with assisting you, and I intend to do so.”
Mr. Rowland blinked his owl eyes again. When he next spoke, he ignored her outburst. “Ahem, the queen plans to send a spray of flowers to the coffin from Osborne House. You may like to know what it will contain so you can plan others accordingly.”
“From Osborne House?”
“Yes, she and the children are departing tomorrow. She cannot bear to remain at Windsor during all of the preparations. Her grief is terrible.”
Of course it was, and, as the sitting monarch, the queen wouldn’t even be able to attend her husband’s funeral, much less witness the burial. Still, it was unusual for any widow to completely flee the scene.
“Her Majesty may bear watching, to ensure she doesn’t get too overwhelmed in her grief,” Violet said.
“The queen has been ruling for nearly a quarter century now. She knows her duty to the country and will soon be back to rights, no doubt.”
Violet had some doubt, but dropped it.
The next several days were frenetic. The chapel floors, as well as all of the chapel’s exterior steps and walkways, were swept and scrubbed viciously. All furniture was completely removed from the nave, and a bier, draped in black crape, established in the exact center of it. The bier would hold the prince’s coffin during his funeral service, now scheduled for December twenty-third.
BOOK: Lady of Ashes
13.74Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

And Everything Nice by Kim Moritsugu
Heavy Hearts by Kaemke, Kylie
The Verdict by Nick Stone
vicarious.ly by Cecconi, Emilio
El Bastón Rúnico by Michael Moorcock
Wild Dream by Donna Grant
A Prison Unsought by Sherwood Smith, Dave Trowbridge