Shades of the Past (2 page)

At that, Lawrence handed her up, then touching the brim of his hat, withdrew to join his brothers-in-law.  The three waited respectfully for the coffin to be borne to the hearse before climbing into their own respective carriages.  Moments later the somber procession pulled away from the portals of Sherringham.

Geoffrey continued to smile at Vanessa.  He was a bright, cheerful lad who'd been her second shadow since her arrival.  Just now, he looked as though he wished to make conversation but hadn't a hint of what to say. 

With a jolt and a sway, the carriage left the main road, entering a narrow track that stretched across luxuriant open fields.  Nanny's hands quieted, and she gazed out over the expanse to lofty but distant trees.  Meanwhile, Baby Bea nestled in her nurse's plump arms, and despite the jolting, fell asleep.

"Is this the customary way to the mausoleum?"  Vanessa pulled her gaze from the scene and turned to Geoffrey.

He nodded, still smiling.  "It lies past the follies.  Well, two of them anyway—the Abbey Ruin and the Orangery."

"Ah, follies, how delightful."  It did not surprise her that Sherringham possessed those picturesque and ofttimes fanciful edifices aristocrats were so fond of raising in their landscape gardens.

"Do you like them?  Some of Sherringham's are quite old," Geoffrey continued, enthused by her interest.  "Others are only made to look that way.  Uncle calls those 'sham ruins.'  They are scattered all over the estate.  Uncle says the idea is for each folly to be hidden from sight of the others so when one happens upon them it seems as if they've stepped back into another time." 

"What a lovely thought," Vanessa commented, thinking it supremely romantic.  "And what else does he say?"

Geoffrey straightened.  "That it is the duty of each of the Marrable men who inherit the estate to improve it in some way so that future Marrables might enjoy Royal Sherringham for generations to come."

"How very noble."  Vanessa felt a warm glow in her heart for this man and his high ideals.  "I think your Uncle Lawrence is quite right."

"Oh, not Uncle Lawrence.  Uncle Adrian."

Vanessa's heart dropped out of place.  She wished to snatch back her bit of flattery.  Though she'd kept her sentiments concealed, it rankled sorely that Viscount Marrable had not the civility to appear for his aunt's funeral, a woman who, if Cissy had the right of it, had been "as a mother" to him.

Geoffrey's eyes suddenly brightened.  "Oh, look, there is my favorite folly now."

As they passed a wooded copse of towering oaks, the skeletal remains of an ancient abbey came into view.  Its haunting silhouette leaned against the sky, conjuring ages past.

"The south side is real, part of a thirteenth-century cloister that was moved stone-by-stone from Wales after King Henry destroyed it," Geoffrey explained.  "The rest is a sham.  Mama used to let us play there but Uncle won't allow it anymore."

Nanny, who had been listening intently, suddenly leaned forward and pinned Vanessa with her small round eyes. 

"I told the boys not to dally there.  Portions of the ruins are crumbling, you know.  The viscount was very angry when they disobeyed me."

Vanessa leveled Geoffrey a surprised look.  "You and your companions directly disobeyed Nanny?"

Geoffrey's brows shot upward.  "I?  Er, no . . ."

Nanny studied the boy, confusion clouding her eyes, then the look cleared. 

"Not Master Geoffrey.  Dear, no.  He's a good boy.  Always listens.  I was speaking of Masters Adrian and Lawrence.  Now, they are a handful, I can tell you." 

She stopped again, her brows knitting.

"I mean, they
were
.  Indeed yes, they were."  She patted Geoffrey on the hand.  "Your Uncle Lawrence is right.  The ruins are dangerous.  You must stay away from them, child."

Vanessa tilted her head.  Surely, Nanny confused Lawrence's name with Adrian's, the viscount.  Not that it mattered which brother forbade the children to play here, as long as one did.

The procession trundled on, the ruins disappearing from view.  In short order, they came upon a second building, this one so exquisite it stole her breath.  The creamy, fairy-tale confection sat amid a glade at the end of a long reflection pool.  The shape, she could scarcely define.  Two octagonals joined by a narrow central hall, she would say.  The whole of it rose two stories high while a smaller, central tower crowned this, adding a third story.

Despite the plentiful use of Gothic embellishments, the pavilion was an airy, lyrical creation, its surface seemingly faceted and its large, gracefully arched windows filled with dozens of smaller hexagonal panes.  Vanessa realized, of a sudden, that the windows on ground level were not glazed at all but completely open, the stonework partitions empty of glass.

"That is the Orangery."  Geoffrey pointed to the wondrous construction.  "It was to be Uncle Adrian's addition to Sherringham.  He began it for his last wife, Mama says.  But he stopped work on it after she died."

"How sad.  It's far too beautiful to leave abandoned."

"Oh, don't worry.  Uncle Lawrence convinced Uncle Adrian to allow him to finish it.  When it's complete, Uncle Lawrence promises it will house all kinds of exotic trees and plants.  Maybe even some tropical birds.  He calls it Sherringham’s most special treasure box."

"If it is unfinished, as you suggest, might I assume your uncle doesn't permit you to play here either?"

"No, but there are other follies where we might play—
if
we have adults with us, that is."  His smile widened.

Vanessa returned the smile, suddenly wishing she had more time to linger at Sherringham and seek out its many fascinating and varied secrets. 

"Geoffrey, you said the mausoleum lies past the second folly.  Are we near to it then?"

"It's just over the rise.  Uncle considers it one of Sherringham's finest works of architecture."

"Truly now?"  She eased back in her seat, not asking to which uncle he referred or what could be so enamoring about a house of the dead.

Minutes later the path dipped downward, and the funeral cortege entered a small forested dell.  At the heart of the hollow dwelled a circular temple of classical design, elevated on a high podium and colonnaded all around.  A large dome dominated the structure, floating above a band of windows.  Vanessa deemed the edifice neither Greek nor Roman, precisely, but certainly evocative of those ancient times.  Truly, as Geoffrey said, it seemed they had just passed into yet another world.

Single file, the carriages progressed around the mausoleum to the far side.  There, wide marble steps marked it as the building's front and ascended to massive bronze doors adorned with black wreaths.  Before the building, the open green stretched several hundred yards then abruptly dropped away, exposing a view of the River Wye rushing at a far distance below. 

Here, too, before the steps, gathered a substantial crowd, waiting to pay their last respects to a grand lady and lay her to rest. 

Vanessa helped Geoffrey aid Nanny Pringle and Mrs. Ridgely from the carriage, then accompanied them to join the family and Canon Greene.  As they came to stand with the other children behind Lawrence and their parents, Majel turned and swept a cool look over Vanessa, arching a brow at her presence.

Seeing this, Cissy instantly reached back and gave a squeeze to Vanessa's hand.  "We are all so glad you are here," she heartened, then darted a reproving look at her sister.

As the pallbearers bore the coffin from the hearse to the funeral bier, erected before the steps, the women faced forward again and looked on with silent respect.

Periodically, Cissy glanced over her shoulder as if in search of someone.  No doubt she sought her brother, the viscount, Vanessa reasoned, for despite his failings this day, his sister remained steadfast in her faith of him.  Oddly, in that moment, Vanessa saw herself reflected in Cissy, reminding her of her own unswayable faith in a man, a man once pledged and joined to her, but perpetually absent from her life. 

As the canon intoned the Prayers of the Dead, Cissy relinquished her vigil, as did Vanessa her thoughts of the man she had buried three years past.

The clergyman continued his recitation, his melodious voice soon fading to a singsong chant in her ears.  Vanessa fought her wandering mind but with no great success.  Death had altered the course of her life once more.  Still, she would not soon forget this exceptional time in her life. 

Vanessa glanced over the crowd, again struck by the number in attendance and by their genuine outpouring of love.  Lady Gwen had touched so many lives.  How her family and friends must have missed her these last years.  But of course, the loss was hers as well.

Majel's words came needling back to prick at Vanessa's thoughts.  Why
hadn't
Lady Gwen returned when, seemingly, she had every reason to do so?

Vanessa's eyes shifted to the polished, elm coffin with its spray of white lilies.  Only Lady Gwen held that answer, and she took it now with her to the tomb.

The canon closed his prayer book.  Lowering it before him, he folded his hands over the volume and addressed the gathering.  Nanny sniffled into her black-edged hanky as he began to share his own recollections of the ever vibrant and generous Lady Gwendolyn Marrable.

Vanessa found herself fighting back fresh tears but fortified herself, hoping the services were near to completion.

Officially, the funeral observances began two days earlier when Sherringham opened its doors for the customary public viewing.  Last night, Lady Gwen was moved to Knights Chapel for a formal and extended prayer service, at which time Lawrence delivered the eulogy in his brother's stead.  This morning the coffin was opened for a final viewing for the immediate family, preceded only by a brief photographic session in order to catch the morning light. 

For Vanessa, the custom of photographing the deceased seemed a rather morbid practice, but wishing to please the family, she did as they asked.  Lady Gwen, an expert and accomplished photographer in her own right, had personally tutored Vanessa in the art.  Apparently, Lady Gwen had written the family glowing reports of her progress.  Thus, confident of Vanessa's abilities, they made their request.

Cissy especially asked that Vanessa assemble a "mourning album" in her aunt's memory and include individual portraits of the family.  After all, she pointed out, Aunt Gwendolyn's death had been the catalyst for drawing the family back together at Sherringham.  They had not been so for a very long time.  Not since the last funeral, that of the most recent Viscountess Marrable. 

Vanessa held the sittings yesterday afternoon.  The viscount's portrait, naturally, was not among those taken. Nor did she intend to substitute another in the album.  Let the volume speak for itself, honestly reflecting this occasion. 

She felt her ire rising once more.  One should not judge another, still she found the viscount's absence indefensible.  Oh, had she but two solid minutes with the man, face-to-face, wouldn't she furnish him with a few sharp opinions of her own on the matter of such negligence?

Before she could draw a breath, the thud of hooves and heavy rumble of wheels reverberated in her ears.  Turning, Vanessa spied a shiny black coach rounding the drive.  As it rolled to a halt before the mausoleum, she saw it bore a distinctive coat-of-arms on its door—that of a fierce, growling panther, its claws spread and ready for battle. 

Vanessa took a deep swallow, not needing to ask who rode inside.  Dear Lord, had she conjured the man by mere thought?

Murmurs rippled through the crowd and she heard the viscount's name gasped from many a pair of lips.  In front of her, several paces away, Lawrence stilled, his features turning to granite.

"Well, well, if it isn't Viscount Marrable," he uttered as if to himself.  "So Adrian's made the funeral after all."

The coldness of his tone startled Vanessa.  It was not at all sympathetic as earlier in the chapel when he defended his brother's absence.  To the contrary, his voice now held a purely derisive note.

Vanessa returned her gaze to the coach where the footman hastened to open the door.  Her pulses quickened.  What had Lawrence said?  His brother hadn't returned since the "accident"?  Presumably, he referred to the death of the last viscountess.

Her thoughts deserted her as the door opened and a man began to emerge.  She waited, breath pent, anticipating the familiar golden features that would perfectly duplicate Lawrence's own. 

Instead, a dark and powerful figure appeared, his broad shoulders momentarily filling the carriage door as he stepped out and descended.  He wore a long, black frock coat and a mourning band on his arm.  His tall silk hat shadowed his face, yet his eyes burned beneath its brim, their color as dark as his sable hair. 

Vanessa fought to keep her chin from dropping to her chest.  Why had she presumed the brothers to be identical?  No one actually ever suggested as much, not even Lady Gwen.  Obviously, Adrian and Lawrence Marrable were fraternal twins.  In looks at least, the two were as different as night from day.

As the viscount started forward, the crowd parted, opening a wide path before him.  Looking neither right nor left, he proceeded toward the mausoleum, his lips a tight, unsmiling line set above a hard, square-cut jaw.  As he neared the place where the Marrable family stood, his eyes sheered to Lawrence, scalding him with his look.