Funeral in Blue - Anne Perry [35]
CHAPTER FOUR
The funeral of Elissa Beck was held the following day, and Monk and Hester attended, although they were unrelated to the deceased. Hester went largely to support Callandra, who would go as someone who had long been a friend of the widower and had worked beside him at the hospital. No one else would know the crushing loneliness she could feel, watching him in this agonizing ritual and excluded by propriety from offering more than a few formal phrases. She must not linger or show more than the usual emotion anyone might feel.
Monk went to observe, in the vague hope that he might see an expression or overhear a word which would lead him closer to the truth. He hoped profoundly it was as Fuller Pendreigh had said: Sarah Mackeson was the intended victim, Elissa only a tragic intrusion at the worst possible moment.
It was a very moving affair, held in the High Anglican Church with all the weight of spectacle accorded the death of someone who had been brave and beautiful, and deeply loved.
The fog had closed in again, thick yellow-gray in the weak daylight. One of the feathermen waving the black ostrich plumes began to cough as the chill of it caught in his throat. Another stood red-nosed and shivering.
Like everyone else, Hester was dressed in black, not the dead, light-consuming fabric of true mourning, where one was not permitted even a faint gleam in case it should be considered not to be taking bereavement seriously enough. After a year a widow might wear silk, but still black, of course. Petticoats should also be black, and boots and hose, and as plain as possible. If a lady in mourning should lift a skirt to avoid a puddle, there would be considerable talk should she thereby exhibit a petticoat of some lighter shade.
The cortege had not yet arrived, but Kristian and Pendreigh were standing outside the main entrance of the church receiving the mourners and accepting condolences. The magnificent stone archway was carved with angels and flowers. The facade soared above until it faded and all but disappeared in the clinging, motionless fog, only here and there a gargoyle face leering downward.
Pendreigh looked haggard. His fair hair was still smooth and thick, but his face had sunk as if the flesh had withered, and in spite of standing as to attention on parade, there was still something within him that sagged, giving an illusion of emptiness. He was dressed in perfect black, so dark it absorbed even the little light there was, making his hair look the brighter. He spoke with the same gesture to everyone, courteous and mechanical.
Beside him, Kristian also looked stunned and pale. He seemed to be making an effort to say something individual to people, but after a little while he, too, began to repeat himself.
Hester saw Callandra move forward in the line to express her sympathies, and for a moment their eyes met. Callandra was dressed in unrelieved black, but her hat was uncharacteristically stylish, very simple in line, and it became her very much, accentuating the strength in her face, and for once her hair was immaculate. She gave a tiny smile of recognition, but Hester saw the pain of exclusion in her eyes, the misery of not being able to share this whole area of Kristian’s life which cut to the heart. All she could do was offer the same polite words as everyone else. She was merely one of the hospital’s chief benefactors and was possibly representing them all.
She took her turn, speaking first to Kristian, then to Pendreigh. It was brief. In a matter of moments she was followed by Fermin Thorpe, his fleshy face smooth, his manner meticulous. He expressed his horror and his sympathy, shaking his head and looking rather more to Pendreigh than to Kristian. Then he moved on and his place was taken by the next mourner.
The church was filling. The cortege must be due soon. Hester was shivering in spite of her heavy black coat. She moved forward