Lady of Ashes (18 page)

She looked up. “I don’t understand. Isn’t Britain neutral in the American war? Why would they stop a British ship? Does it say whether . . . let’s see, was the ship taken by the Northerners or the Confederacy?”

“The North. There’s another article farther inside that explains the situation. One of the North’s frigates, the USS
San Jacinto,
intercepted the RMS
Trent,
had the audacity to storm it, and removed two Confederate diplomats, Messrs. James Mason and John Slidell, whom the ship picked up to bring back to England for some sort of diplomatic discussions. Now they rot in jail in Boston.”

“And the reason you are angry that two Americans are in jail is . . . ?”

“Honestly, Violet, you understand nothing about politics. Britain is not neutral in just this war; we have always been neutral in waters all over the world. This Northern aggression is intolerable. Why, it’s a declaration of war upon us. Mark my words, Parliament will demand an apology, and if they don’t get one, you can count on Her Majesty’s navy sailing across the Atlantic to put them in their place.”

Violet shuddered at his words. A third war with the United States? Truly? Even more disturbing was Graham’s relish at the prospect.

“How will this impact your dealings with Mr. Harper?”

“Our dealings with Mr. Harper will flourish no matter what.”

Now, what did that mean?

 

Parliament did indeed demand an apology for the
Trent
incident, which the North was disinclined to give, then moved to strengthen Great Britain’s military forces in Canada and in the Atlantic. Graham talked of nothing else, perpetually turning the pages of newspapers and angrily circling editorials and penning his own comments in the margins. At least he hadn’t extended his anger outside their home. To share his views with their customers would destroy their business. An undertaker must be viewed as concerned with spiritual matters only, much like a man of the cloth. Any acknowledgment of, much less an expressed opinion about, the world’s events would tarnish their reputation permanently.

Mr. Harper and Fletcher stopped by on two separate occasions for discussions with Graham behind locked doors. Graham did not proffer an additional dinner invitation to his brother and business partner, although both made it a point to seek Violet out for greeting and farewell during their visits.

Her concern for whatever Graham might be doing was obscured by her discovery that another undertaking shop in London was going out of business. The moment she had free time, she took Susanna along with her to visit this shop, knowing they would be divesting themselves of supplies and fixtures.

She wasn’t disappointed. Hargrove Brothers possessed an admirable selection of funerary goods. Martin Hargrove, the eldest of the brothers, thin and pinched-looking, explained that they were moving their business out to Bristol where their parents lived, and found it easier to reequip a new shop than attempt to have everything transferred there.

Violet purchased a quantity of coffin inscription plates in a range of metals to accommodate all levels of funerals, from pure silver plates for the most elegant of funerals to brass, lead, and, finally, tin plates for modest services. She also bought their stock of German metal plates, which looked like silver but were inexpensive, for those of her customers who wished to add an elegant touch to a humble coffin.

Hargrove Brothers also had an interesting assortment of wares that catered to funeral fashions inspired by the rise in spiritualism occurring over the past decade. Most popular now were safety coffins with corded bells, intended so that a person accidentally buried alive could communicate with the outside world. These safety coffins had multiple designs, including some with air tubes, installed windows, and communication “trumpets.”

There was increasing fear in Britain of being buried alive, a fear that escalated after outbreaks of fevers and choleras, which could carry someone off swiftly. Violet recalled Admiral Herbert’s widow in a dither over her husband not having a finger bell to signal the outside world if he awoke from his death slumber.

She purchased a few samples of safety coffins to meet the growing demand for them, despite her serious misgivings of their worth.

Violet ignored the Hargroves’ mawkishly sentimental selection of postcards of such scenes as a child in a roomful of mourners holding her hands upward toward an angelic view of a woman, presumably her mother, with a poem to the deceased inscribed below. Such items diverted from death’s great dignity, in Violet’s estimation, and she never suggested them to her customers.

Of greatest interest was the ornately carved walnut counter at the rear of the shop. It wasn’t made in mahogany, which was all the rage in England these days. Just that distinction made it unique, even before its detailed design. “Is this for sale as well?”

“Certainly. Actually, this counter was here when we moved in nearly thirty years ago. I believe this was originally a draper’s shop, hence all of the storage drawers and cabinets behind it.”

Violet stepped behind the counter and pulled on the various knobs and handles attached to drawers, compartments, and doors. A brass plate, discreetly nailed inside the side of one drawer, read “Boyce and Sons Cabinetmakers.”

“It has a secret compartment, too.” Mr. Hargrove joined Violet behind the counter and knelt down, pressing along a nearly invisible seam in the wood. When he reached the right point, a door popped open as if from nowhere. Inside was a shelf containing nothing but a few curled scraps of paper.

“Believe it or not, my brother found a couple of lead balls and some lint cloths in here. Someone must have used it as a hiding place for an old flintlock pistol.”

It was spectacular. Violet had to have it, no matter the cost. Already she was mentally arranging her own supplies in it.

Susanna’s expression reflected how impressed even she was with the walnut counter.

“Shall I buy this?” Violet asked with a smile.

Susanna patted the top of it and nodded.

After finalizing all of her purchases and payment with Mr. Hargrove, Violet and Susanna left, stopping for a quick meal before arranging with a delivery company to have everything transported to Morgan Undertaking.

 

Violet offered her old counter to Mary Overfelt, who accepted it happily, and had the delivery men take it to her after installing her own new counter. It was an extraordinary addition to their shop and Graham had no complaint over it. Actually, he hardly noticed it.

Once Violet and Susanna put all of their new supplies away and restocked the new counter, Violet stood back to survey the shop.

Something was wrong.

Susanna pointed at the counter and made a sweeping motion with her hand.

“I agree with you completely,” Violet said. “We need an extension of the counter to form an ‘L’ around the wall, don’t we?”

“Perhaps we can go to the original cabinetmaker to see about having it made; what do you think?”

“It seems to me we need window draperies worthy of this elegant new counter. Perhaps Mrs. Overfelt can help us.”

She and Susanna set off on making more arrangements, first stopping to see Mary to order new draperies to frame the shop’s front window, then on to Boyce and Sons Cabinetmakers on Curtain Road inside the old city of London to discuss having an identical counter made to one they had made so many years ago for a draper’s shop. Exquisite samples of clocks, chairs, and musical instruments lined the walls.

Mr. Putnam Boyce, a spry, elderly man, chuckled softly as Violet described the counter and where she’d bought it. “Of course I remember it. I made it for my wife about forty years ago. My lovely Belle owned Stirling Drapers. But she sold it to her assistant when we married and she joined me here to do upholstery. Sounds like undertakers took over the shop later.”

“Might I meet your wife?”

The old man’s eyes misted over. “Ah, now that wouldn’t be possible, would it? I lost her in the cholera epidemic of forty-nine.”

“That was a terrible time for London. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

He wiped his eyes with the back of his hands. “Anyway, I have two strapping sons to remind me of her each and every day, and I would be happy to make this counter a second time, Mrs. Morgan. ’Twould be a way to take myself back to happier days.”

“I look forward to it. Tell me, Mr. Boyce, do you make coffins?”

“When I’m asked. It’s good business in slow times.”

Violet reached out and caressed a grandfather clock case. “If you invest just part of the love and care into a coffin that you do into your furniture, I’d say you probably create very fine resting places. I’d like to hire you as one of my coffin suppliers.”

“I am indeed flattered, Mrs. Morgan. Do you want me to make some pine boxes up and deliver them to you along with the counter?”

“No. Just make up one sample in pine, and I’ll order others as I need them. It’s best to have fresh-sawn wood for coffins, for . . . indelicate smells. I’m sure you understand.”

The old man’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. “I do. There’s nothing quite like the aroma of newly shaved pine to fill a room, is there?”

“Thank you, Mr. Boyce. I do believe you and I will work well together.”

The elder Mr. Boyce and his sons delivered the new counter, a perfect match to the original, in a few weeks’ time. They arranged it in place to created the desired “L” configuration, and the entire arrangement looked as though it had been built for her shop.

Violet and Susanna worked quickly to fill the counter and place display trays of mourning brooches, jet jewelry, mourning cards, and coffin plates. Atop the counter Violet placed her cabinet cards and samples of mourning gloves, hats, and other accoutrements from Mary’s shop as samples of the Overfelt work for customers to see and feel. Many of them either ordered accessories through Violet, or, if they needed complicated wardrobes, she gave them Mary’s card and sent them there.

As Violet surveyed her renovated shop with Susanna at her side, she said, “It seems to me that all of my talents in life are confined here, and do not extend to anything outside these four walls.”

Susanna shook her head and patted her own chest.

Violet smiled. “Thank you, sweetheart. I must admit, you do give me comfort.”

 

 

The queen was worried about her husband’s comfort as he paced back and forth in front of her. Their son Bertie, the Prince of Wales, was utterly incorrigible and their greatest worry. How could they ever rest, knowing that England’s future lay in the hands of that wastrel?

Of more immediate concern was Albert’s health, which was deteriorating quickly, thanks to Bertie. Her husband’s eyes were deep-sunken and his complexion ashen.

He needed a short rest. Perhaps she’d suggest that they spend some time at Osborne House. Albert had personally designed the house on their thousand-acre estate on the Isle of Wight. His love for architecture and design was unparalleled. It was their favorite retreat, and they’d spent many a Christmas there with their large brood of children.

One member of which was causing her husband no end of distress.

She stood and put her arms around his waist to calm him. After twenty-two years of marriage, Victoria was drawn to her husband with a passion and desire she didn’t believe was possible between a man and woman. Even now, as he ranted about Bertie’s latest escapade, her mind drifted off to more intimate thoughts.

Albert gently removed her arms so he could continue pacing and seething about his eldest son.

“I received confirmation that Bertie has indeed formed a liaison with that actress, that frequenter of dance halls, Miss Clifden. He’s even had her here, to Windsor. She’s already going by the nickname of ‘the Princess of Wales.’ She’ll probably get with child, and of course our son will be the reputed father.”

Albert was working himself into a fine lather. Perhaps Victoria should stop him now before he hurt himself. But Albert was not to be stopped.

“If this happens, and he tries to deny it, she’ll drag him into a court of law to force him to own it, and right there in the witness box, she’ll be able to give the greedy multitudes the salacious details of their relationship for the sake of convincing the jury. Imagine the Prince of Wales being cross-examined by an attorney and hooted and yelled at by a lawless mob!”

Albert was sweating, the droplets on his forehead making him look even more sickly.

“There’s more, of course. I cannot share with you the disgusting details of his profligacy. What a horrible prospect, which this young woman has in her power, to break our hearts, Victoria.” He finally stopped, panting.

Victoria sighed heavily. “Oh, that boy. Much as I pity him, I never can or shall look at him without a shudder.”

“I must write to him now,” Albert said.

Victoria watched over her husband’s shoulder as he poured out his grievances against his son on paper. The task exhausted him and he sat back, shivering. “I’ve lost faith and hope for our son, and with it I believe I am losing interest in life.”

Now it was Victoria’s turn to shiver. “What are you saying? I’ll not listen to such talk. I’m sure your letter will shock Bertie into taking more responsibility for himself and his actions. It was most strongly worded.”

“Perhaps, perhaps.”

“You should focus on your other duties. Don’t you have plans to visit Sandhurst next week? You’ve taken such interest there.”

“Yes, to inspect the buildings for the new staff college and military academy.”

She kissed his sweat-beaded forehead. “It will be good for you, my love. It will take your mind away from our son’s behavior. You have nights of such great worry and sorrow. It makes you weak and tired.”