Highgate Rise - Anne Perry [153]
At last Clitheridge wound to a close, and the gravediggers began to replace the earth.
“Thank God,” Shaw said behind Charlotte. “You are coming to the funeral luncheon, aren’t you?”
“Of course,” Charlotte accepted.
Vespasia turned around very slowly and regarded Shaw with cool interest.
He bowed. “Good morning, Lady Cuinrning-Gould. It is most gracious of you to come, especially on a day so late in the season when the wind is sharp. I am sure Amos would have appreciated it.”
Vespasia’s eyes flickered very slightly with an amusement almost invisible.
“Are you?”
He understood, and as always the candor was on his tongue instantly.
“You came because of Clemency.” He had known he was right, but he saw it in her face. “It is not pity which brings you here, and you are right, the dead are beyond our emotions. It is anger. You are still determined to learn who killed her, and why.”
“How perceptive of you,” Vespasia agreed. “I am.”
All the light vanished from his face, the frail humor like sunlight through snow. “So am I.”
“Then we had better proceed to the funerary meal.” She lifted her hand very slightly and immediately he offered her his arm. “Thank you,” she accepted, and, her hat almost sweeping his shoulder in its magnificent arc, she sailed down the path towards her waiting carriage.
As had been done for Clemency, this gathering was held in the Worlingham house also, from very mixed motives. It was impossible to do it, as would have been customary, in Lindsay’s own home, since it was a mere jumble of scarred beams resting at violent angles amid the heaps of burned and broken brick. His dearest friend, Shaw, was in no better a position. He could hardly offer to hold it in Mrs. Turner’s lodging house. It was not large enough and was occupied by several other people who could not be expected to have their house disrupted for such an event.
The choice rested between the Worlinghams’ and the vicarage. As soon as they realized that, Celeste and Angeline offered the use of their home, and of their servants to make all the necessary provisions. It was a matter of duty. They had not cared for Amos Lindsay, and cared still less for his opinions, but they were the bishop’s daughters, and the leaders of Christian society in Highgate. Position must come before personal feelings, especially towards the dead.
All this they made plain, in case anyone should mistakenly imagine they supported anything that Amos Lindsay had said or done.
They received everyone at the double doorway into the dining room, where the huge mahogany table was spread with every kind of baked meat and cold delicacy. The centerpiece was formed of lilies with a heavy, languorous perfume which instantly reminded Charlotte of somnolence, and eventually decay. The blinds were partially drawn, because today at least the house was in mourning, and black crepe was trailed suitably over pictures and texts on the walls, and around the newel posts of the stairs and over the door lintels.
The formal proceedings were very carefully laid out. It would have been impossible to seat everyone, and anyway since Shaw had invited extra people as the whim took him (including Pitt, to the deep indignation of the Worlingham sisters and the vicar), the servants did not know in advance how many there would be.
Therefore the food was set out so that people might be served by the butler and maids who were standing waiting discreetly just beyond the door, and then stand and speak with each other, commiserate, gossip and generally praise the dead until it should be time for a few prepared words, first by the vicar, then by Shaw as the departed’s closest friend. And of course they could partake of a few of the very best bottles of Port wine, or something a little lighter for the women. Claret was served with the meal.
“I don’t know how we are going