The Edge

The next few days were gloomy indeed. The entire house went into mourning. The blinds remained drawn down all the day, the servants wore black arm bands or black ribbons in their hair. Prayers were said in the family chapel and Lord Robert was laid out there, in an open coffin so that people from the village could come to pay their respects. His funeral had all been planned in advance, he had left specific instructions with his lawyer.

Michael's sister Victoria came with her husband and her two older children. She and Michael and I all took turns to sit beside the coffin in the cold chapel, for the two days before burial. When not there, Victoria and I took it in turns to sit with Lady Rhiannon. Michael either sat with his father or in the study, sorting papers and documents. I endeavoured to spend some time in the nursery with little James who was delighted by having his cousins to stay. They were boys of three and six who seemed quite happy to play with him, and it was as well that at least one place in the house was not solemn.

My last watch would take place between twelve and six on the night before the funeral. At six, the undertakers men would arrive and make all the final preparations for burial. At ten the priest would arrive and there would be service for the family and estate. Lord Robert would be buried in the family vault. The reading of the will would take place in the afternoon.

I went to bed early and woke at eleven. I dressed warmly by wearing the thickest undergarments and wool stockings. My warmest dress was a cream woollen one and I covered it with a heavy black woollen cloak. I put black mittens into the deep pockets of my cloak, and a black bonnet lined with lambs wool on my head. I left my bedroom, with Michael in an exhausted sleep. On impulse I turned up the stairs and went into Elizabeth's bedroom. I picked up the beautiful rosary beads that had belonged to her and then made my way back downstairs.

I took the house door through to the chapel and walked down its cool stone length. Victoria was seated beside her father's coffin, apparently in a light doze. She was some years younger than her brother, with his curls, their mother's curls although hers were auburn and soft as hat feathers. She had the same hazel eyes too, large and beautiful. A dusting of freckles over her nose and cheeks stopped her from being beautiful and rendered her simply pretty, she looked far younger than her age and would until she was an old woman.

She opened her eyes and stretched as I approached. We did not know each other well and she was clearly too tired and cold to want conversation now. Silently she relinquished her chair and went out. I sat and looked about the chapel.

It was large enough to accommodate the family and staff for Sunday services. The alter was simple and built from local stone. It was covered by a rich alter cloth. The carved image of Christ was not the tortured image on the cross but one which looked up to heaven with a smile as if the nails through his body caused no pain. The windows were of stained glass, in beautiful patterns. There was a large outer door in the centre and a small door into the house at the farthest end. The pulpit was a simple block and book rest. The massive family bible rested on it.

The chapel was lit by wall brackets at intervals and by a massive array of candles around the coffin. There were wreaths of Holly and berry's, of mistletoe and dried flowers. The coffin was beautifully carved with the family crest and motto. Lord Robert lay within, dressed in his finest. His hands were crossed over his chest. In death his face had lost its stern concentration and relaxed a little, the skin around the mouth had pulled up slightly so he almost seemed as though he were smiling. The air around the chapel was thick with the scent that the undertakers had used. It was extremely cold.

For an hour I sat and prayed, holding the rosary beads for comfort. At around one I sat up and stretched my cramped limbs. I looked at Lord Robert. I wanted to use this time, the last I would have alone with him, to make my peace but the words would not come. If he had lived, he would have destroyed me. He would have taken my son, I would have never seen James again. Would Stephen have taken me in? Braved the public censure and humiliation? I thought not. He was master of a successful business. He had good prospects. He would want a wife who was his alone and not another man's cast off.

I made myself think these words. I forced myself to see things as he clearly had. I had been a mistake as he thought it, a ghastly mistake. Had Lord Robert slipped or had Stephen pushed him? I did not know, I had not seen but I thought, no, I was sure that I had heard a scuffle. His behaviour had been so calm, he had not blinked at planning how to stage the accident. When it had come to it, all his pretty speeches had meant nothing. He acted to save himself and then broke off all matters with me. I had meant nothing when compared with his reputation and his own freedom. I let the thoughts chase across my mind, the thought that Stephen, my sweet tender loving Stephen had pushed Lord Robert down the stairs. I did not want to believe it but I thought it was likely. And I had helped him because I had done nothing to stop him.

My eyes welled up with scalding tears, which turned cold as they flowed down my frozen cheeks. I had been such a fool! I bent my head into my hands, rocked back and forth with the agony of it.

I had been a stupid fool and now Lord Robert was dead, Stephen was gone and I was alone, never to see him again, never see his eyes flash like the sea under a grey sky or touch his cheek or kiss him. Never to feel his touch or have him sit near me and talk with me in those confidential tones that so delighted me. Never would I feel that passion, which had ignited the flame in my heart. Never would I feel so close to another human being.

I came close to the coffin and whispered to my dead father in law who I had wronged so much, who had interceded for me and been so kind to me, who I had never known or given credit to until it was too late.

“I am so sorry. I know I can never ask your forgiveness but I am truly repentant. I swear that I will be faithful to your son my whole life. I will never take another man to my bed. I will be an honest woman all my days. I am sorry for ever starting this whole business with the doll's house. I am sorry for deceiving you when you were so kind to me. I am sorry for your death. I will make reparation, I swear to you! I will raise your grandson well and teach him that his grandfather was great and good man.”

I looked about the chapel. The walls were quiet, listening.

“I know I have no excuse. Boredom is not an excuse. If I had been like Elizabeth, I would have at least had cause. She was ill treated and I was not. I wish I were more like her. I wish I had her strength of mind.”

This idea made me pause. What if I were to take Elizabeth as my role model? Lord Robert had approved of her. She had been a kind, good, charitable woman who had never taken a lover. She had kept her sanity in that dreadful place, and had outlasted her husband.

I put my hand over my heart and prayed in a way new to me, speaking out loud to the silent room. I swore to life my life with Elizabeth as my model, to be good and kind, faithful and temperate, to do good and to win back my honour to my own satisfaction. I would be strong and courageous. I would not falter.

This done, I sat back. I bent my head into my hands and leant my head against the side of the coffin. I suddenly felt warm as though God had heard and was showing me he understood. I felt that perhaps even my father in law forgave me. At any rate the sudden warmth and the lightness of being combined to make me sleepy. I lapsed into a daze, only waking when the clocks struck five.

An hour of prayer then the men arrived. I went quickly upstairs. I was cramped in every limb from sitting so long and had Anna rub my hands and feet with hot water then I got into a warm bath. I washed my hair and had Anna arrange it in its pins. I put on my black crepe mourning dress and took a small bowl of porridge, covering it with honey and brown sugar.

I met the family in the hall. Michael, myself, Victoria and her husband. The children were there too, little James quiet and hushed in the face of so many sad faces. Lady Rhiannon was carefully carried downstairs and put into her wheeled chair. With her at the head of our procession, we went into the chapel, followed by the staff.

The service was rather beautiful. The priest had performed Lord Robert's wedding ceremony and had known him since he was a young man. Michael read the eulogy, his voice calm and sober. My son began to snuffle and I took him from his nurse and he settled into my shoulder as I rocked him into sleepy submission. At the end of the service Lady Rhiannon was pushed forward by Michael. She wished to be the last one to speak before her husband was given to the waiting crypt.

“When I was a girl I dreamed that I was a princess, married to a handsome prince. When I grew up I realised that no man is a prince. They do not exist, not in the way the storybooks tell. The story's do not tell you what happens after the couple are wed. Likely it is not all happy ever after, what life can be? But I think I had as much luck as the princess's in the story's. I married a man whose fierce exterior showed the strength to be a good man, an honest and fair man. He gave me children and when I could no longer be his wife in every way, he took care of me and was faithful unto death. I count myself lucky that I had such a good man as my husband. I feel blessed to have had such a life with him.”

When she finished speaking, her head sank forward in quiet exhaustion. She was wheeled back to her place as the priest said the final words. We left the chapel. The coffin would be taken down to the crypt now and then the tomb sealed up.

Once back inside I took James up to the nursery. He was tired and limp and shivered a little. I worried that he had caught cold. I had him bathed in warm water, changed into warm clothes and fed. He managed to eat quite well and I decided he was well enough. It was likely only exposure to the cold. I saw him put to bed and then went downstairs.

A luncheon had been laid out. Victoria and her husband, a plump man who was handsome and rosy as an apple, were there already. A few friends of Lord Robert's were also there, as was Father David. Lady Rhiannon was seated in her chair still, beside the great fire. I went and sat beside her. After a while she turned to me and asked if I would be so good as to push her to the window, she had grown overheated.

I pushed her there and sat beside her on one of the window seats. She seemed very tired by the morning. Her head was still low. She glanced up and me and I saw her eyes were glazed and tired too. She spoke low to me.

“You see my daughter? She has hardly said a word to me this whole time. She seldom speaks to me, even when in my room. She prefers to read or talk to my nurse as if I weren't there. It is so strange Imogen, to lose a child even though they are alive and well.”

I asked whether she would speak to her daughter or did she wish me too. Lady Rhiannon smiled and patted my hand kindly.

“No my dear. Let it be. I lost Victoria many years ago. She married young to escape this place. She has no love for the house. She has her own family now and none of them are ailing. I am an old woman and my mind is slow now. I prefer that she doesn't know my feelings. It is best to let things be. When you are my age, you will understand better, I think.”

Michael entered with Lord Roberts lawyer. He took a glass of sherry and spoke with the others. Lady Rhiannon kept her eyes on me.

“So tell me, daughter, when were you planning on telling me your condition?” I started, I could not fathom how she knew. Only Michael and Anna had been told of it. Lady Rhiannon's eyes gleamed suddenly.

“Oh, we old women know things, my dear! You sit with one hand on your belly, your colour is good and your skin is shining. It is true what they say, you know. You do have a glow when you are with child. Robert used to tell me that my hair glowed like pure copper when I was carrying Michael. He even used to brush it then. He loved how soft and sleek it was. You would not know it but he was a very romantic man. He had a softness to him then. He was so handsome. A man should be strong and he was, always.” Her voice became drowsy, I could see she was drifting to sleep.

“Handsome and strong. You should have seen us on our wedding day. I wore white flowers in my hair and a long veil, it flowed down to my feet. When he lifted it back to kiss me he saw my hair loose to my waist. I was lovely then, it was true. It is not vanity to say so, when one is old and no one remembers you when you were young.”

Her voice faltered. She was falling asleep. I called for her nurse and one of the housemen and she was taken upstairs to her bed. I saw her settled and came down. The will was to be read.

We all seated ourselves in the library. Mr Gregg opened the document and read aloud.

“This is the last will and testament of Lord Robert Edwin Richard Llewellyn of Carys House in Wales. I wish to gift my daughter Victoria with ten thousand pounds. I leave my property, business and all other effects to my son Michael. I also bequeath the title of Lord Llewellyn to be bestowed on him from this moment, and for his wife to become Lady Llewellyn, on the condition that he takes care of my wife, Rhiannon, and allows her to remain at this house for her life.”

With the will read, the lawyer departed. Michael, the new Lord Llewellyn, invited his brother in law to take some wine and drink to his father's memory. I took Victoria next door to the sitting room. I took up my embroidery and she did the same. The afternoon passed slowly. Dinner was a sober affair. Victoria and her family would leave in the morning. I excused myself early that night, I wanted peace and quiet away from the atmosphere that was thick downstairs. I could tell that Victoria felt she deserved more from the will.

On impulse I turned down the corridor to Rhiannon's room. She had been calm earlier but I was worried that the night might have brought on the same melancholia it did for me. I wanted to check that she was sleeping peacefully.

Rhiannon's bedroom was beautiful, decorated in white and dove grey with pale pink cloths on the table and dresser and pale pink shades on the lamps which made the room seem wonderfully warm and comforting. The furniture was in light coloured wood, the hangings on the bed were white and lacy. Beside the fire the nurse was asleep in her rocking chair, her knitting fallen in her lamp. Rhiannon was in her bed, under the white counterpane. Her hair was loose and lay in ghostly curls around her face. In the delicate light she looked years younger than her age.

She was not asleep. She was observing the ceiling for it had been painted years before in a bid to make it look like the heavens, dark blue with stars and angels, the moon. It was a curved ceiling so the scene was like a great bowl. As I came towards the bed she stretched out a hand to me and bad me sit in the chair at the bedside. She kept her eyes on the painted sky however.

“I rather thought you might come to see me, my dear. I believe congratulations are in order once again. I now address the new Lady Llewellyn.” I stammered out that I did not want the title, it was hers. She smiled and finally fixed her eyes on me.

“My dear, since the day you married my son, I knew that when my husband died, the title would be Michael's and yours. I have no bitterness towards you for taking up my mantel. Now I am simply Rhiannon Llewellyn, widow. There is some comfort in being simply myself, you know? I have been a fraud for so many years. No lady of the manor, I. Just a bedridden cripple who was Lady in all but name. Now I am free to be myself only and to fade until I am no more. My husband, who was hurt the most by my condition, is dead and gone, that is also a comfort. I realise this must seem strange to you, but I feel no sadness in my heart tonight. Not for myself anyway.” She sighed and I patted her hand, the paper thin skin was like the softest silk. I had never before realised how fine her skin was. It was unwrinkled, it had just become thinner so that the blood moving through her veins was almost visible. She squeezed my hand gentle in return and looked down at our fingers entwined on the coverlet.

“The perfect symbol of ageing my dear. The hands, I mean. You have good strong hands, strong clever fingers. Mine were the same once. Strong and firm. Ah me, the time! Robert always used to give me rings in our younger days. He said that he thought my hands beautiful, despite their squareness because to him they showed industry and frankness which he valued above beauty. I kept them all. They are in that case there, on my dresser. Bring it to me, will you? I would show you something.”

I rose and fetched the case for her, it was inlaid with a rose in gold leaf. She carefully opened the clasps and I saw row upon row of rings. Some were large and glittered brilliantly. Others were less sparkling but beautifully wrought. All were beautiful. Rhiannon picked out one that was very fine, with an indigo stone set in welsh gold, with the red tones of that metal, curling ivy around the dark blue jewel.

“A sapphire. He gave this one to me for our wedding. A token of his love. He knew that the colour would remind me of the honeymoon. We went to a house he owns in Cornwall. A beautiful house by the sea and we spent a week there in quiet and peace, admiring the scenery. This ring is my favourite. My most precious, even though this one here”; pointing at a large glittering ring with a massive centre piece of emerald “is made from diamonds and is the most expensive. I prefer this one. It is one that brings me the greatest pleasure because of the memories it contains. Now you look. Pick out some that you like, I will tell you were they came from. Each has a story.”

I poured over the collection. Some were elegant, some artisan. One came from India, another from Africa. Some from Paris or Rome. I listened for an hour, rapt. Rhiannon seemed to have her youth back as she talked of the past. In this still night she regained her energy and memories. At last she pointed to one lovely ring and asked me to take it out.

It was another welsh gold ring. It was wrought to look like a rose opening. In the centre was a small but perfectly formed ruby. It glittered slightly in the light from the lamps. Rhiannon took it from me and held it fondly.

“Robert gave me this when we were courting. It belonged to his grandmother, the one who built the doll's house. He had bought it for her when he was young, he could only afford a small ruby that he saved for. She wore it every day until she died and then it was given to him for his bride. I wore it much, until the accident. A ruby is meant to signify virtue, did you know that? Virtue is different to faithfulness. It is a inner kindness I think. An inner beauty quite apart from the exteriors we see. I think I would like you to take it now.” So saying, she placed the ring upon my index finger of the right hand. It fitted exactly, our hands were the same shape and size. I admired it. I could hardly believe she was giving it to me. Rhiannon smiled and let me take the jewel case back. She told me she was tired now but would like to see me and my son for tea the next day. As I bent over her to kiss her good night she touched my cheek.

“Remember what this ring means my dear. Virtue is not purity. Virtue is doing what is right and kind. I think Elizabeth would have been happy that her ring went to you. You are one such as she and I were. Strong of heart. That strength will be your saviour in the darkest times, you will see. You will see.” Her voice faded and she lay back on her pillows. She was exhausted and her breathing deepened. I went up to my own room. The ring was comforting on my hand, a band of promise.

I thought of the last few months, of the beauty and pain of it. I vowed at that moment to be strong and kind. I vowed to be one such as Elizabeth and Rhiannon. I would be a strong woman. I would look back at my life and not feel regret. I would chose my own destiny.