Lady of Ashes (9 page)

The bargain thus struck, Violet prayed the Porters would be a success and that they would stay until the day she or they died, so she would never have to go through the torment of hiring another servant again.

She was glad to get this all behind her so she could return to the comfortable world of crypts and coffins. Her comfort was not to last, though, for word soon came that Ida Morgan had had an accident and was not expected to survive.

 

V
iolet and Graham flew to his mother’s bedside, where Fletcher was already posted, his eyes bloodshot and his clothing crumpled.

“I took Mother on an outing to Regent’s Park. She wanted to see the zoo’s aquatic vivarium. Afterward, we were visiting the Rhino House, where a young child began taunting the beasts in their cage. A black rhino, smaller than the others but with two devilishly sharp horns, charged at the boy. Mother jumped out of the way and walked farther down along the cage bars, and I’m not sure what happened next. I suppose the beast mistook Mother’s movement for that of the boy, and he charged her, managing to slip his horn through the cage and gore her. God, why did I agree to escort her to such a dangerous place?”

Graham was silent as he stood at the foot of the bed, staring at his mother’s sleeping face. Knowing his silence could only serve to make Fletcher feel worse, Violet said, “How could you possibly have known what would happen, Fletcher? You were a good son doing a nice thing for his mother.”

She glanced at her mother-in-law, who lay under piles of blankets. She wondered what pulling back the covers would reveal. Probably a wound too awful to contemplate.

“I suppose,” Fletcher said. “You can’t imagine the noise the thing made, grunting and snorting. It actually managed to work itself up to a gallop inside its small confines. Poor Mother, she never saw him coming. The zookeeper said they have poor eyesight and that tends to make them volatile.” He turned back to the prone figure. “Mother, I am so sorry.”

Still Graham said nothing, although he did reach out a hand to clap his brother on the shoulder.

“Fletcher, what did the doctor say?” Violet asked.

Fletcher let out a single great sob and shook his head. “He tended to her chest wound, and said it was very deep and jagged. She had blood everywhere, it was terrible. She runs a great risk of infection, and the doctor said we can only wait and see.”

Within a day, though, it was apparent that Ida was not going to survive her injuries. She woke for brief periods and expressed delight to have her two sons nearby, although Violet detected a faint scowl on the woman’s face whenever she entered the room.

Very well, let her be with her boys.
Violet busied herself by bringing in sprays of flowers that she picked from Ida’s small garden and ensuring Ida had the tastiest of foods to eat, most of which were ignored.

Ida refusing food was the surest sign that the woman was not long for the world.

Violet brought in a recording journal, but when the men showed little interest in using it, Violet spent as much time as she could tucked discreetly in a corner of her mother-in-law’s bedroom, in order to record Ida’s final days. To the best of her ability, Violet captured the days and times that Ida was awake and sleeping, what her countenance was like, and every word she uttered. She also recorded the prayers that both men said over their mother, and what actions they took, whether to hold her hands, dab her face with cool water, or change out a blanket.

The important moment would come when Ida told them that she accepted her fate and had made peace with God. This was also a moment when family members expected their loved one to make final wishes or commands. Even better was if the dying one had any sort of visions of the great beyond to share with the family. It was vital that Violet be there to record exactly what Ida said.

Every devoted family created such a journal for family members who died of illness, old age, or for other reasons that did not result in instantaneous death. The journal would be passed down through the family, so that future generations could know their ancestor, although the future existence of the Morgan family seemed relatively bleak.

Despite Violet’s long vigil at Ida Morgan’s bedside with Graham and Fletcher, her mother-in-law slipped away in the middle of the night about two weeks after her goring without ever giving her sons a final message or exhortation.

After Ida’s great “whoosh,” the distinctive noisy breath that indicated a passing, Graham looked at Violet and said simply, “I can’t.”

“I understand.” Violet arranged to have another undertaking company make all arrangements for her mother-in-law, working closely with them without ever sharing the details with Graham, who holed himself up in their dining room with Fletcher, coming out only for new bottles of port.

The funeral procession was a magnificent affair, if a little above Ida Morgan’s station. Afterward, Fletcher thanked Violet profusely, whereas her husband merely gave her a solemn nod of thanks. Fletcher went back to his ship, and Graham went back to his port.

Violet hardly saw Graham after that. His mother’s death did nothing to draw husband and wife together, and Violet felt as adrift as ever from him.

 

 

Violet could hardly believe their good fortune, albeit at the expense of someone else’s earthly existence. Morgan Undertaking had just received its most prestigious commission ever with the funeral of Thomas Herbert, a Vice-Admiral of the White who fought in the War of 1812, was decorated by Queen Victoria with the Order of the Bath, and had served as Member of Parliament for Dartmouth up until 1857.

Never before had they been approached with such a distinguished client. Even Graham was ecstatic that they were able to honor a hero of the previous war with the Americans.

More importantly for Violet, Herbert’s widow had agreed to embalm her husband so that admirers could have plenty of time to pay their respects to her husband prior to interment, which would be private and not a state ceremonial funeral.

Graham had finally come out of his stupor over his mother’s death and was once again active in planning funerals. That day, they had two separate families to visit in the same area, so Graham agreed to let Violet handle the Herbert arrangements, while he would attend to the other family and pick her up later.

They drove together in their carriage the nearly six miles from their own house to Admiral Herbert’s residence at Cadogan Place in Belgravia, a few streets away from the Stanley home.

London’s street congestion, which grew denser by the day, became nearly impassable at times. The more track was laid to shuffle people between towns quickly and efficiently, the more traffic there was on average streets. By the time they arrived at the Herbert home, they were dirty and sweating from an unusually warm day. Violet had to remove her hat to brush off the smuts. Graham did the same, as well as swatting a handkerchief across his neck to remove the dirt that was already accumulating on his collar.

Violet adjusted her black gloves on her arms, grabbed her laden undertaker’s bag from the floor, and hopped down as gracefully as she could from the carriage, given the extra weight of her bag from her embalming supplies. She put up a hand in farewell to Graham, who urged the horse on to his next destination.

The street was full of large, elegant townhomes. If she wasn’t mistaken, the strident abolitionist William Wilberforce had died in a home somewhere along this row, back in the early thirties, before Violet was even born. What would he think of America’s troubles now?

The Herbert home was recognizable by its doorknob, which already had a length of black crape tied with a white ribbon to it. This symbol indicated that the “dread visitor” had entered the home, and visitors were now requested to avoid ringing the bell with its noisy reminder of active life. The Herberts’ door was slightly ajar, a sign that visitors could go ahead and enter quietly.

The widow Herbert, with porcelain skin unravaged by age and crowned with luxuriant, snowy hair, was calm and composed. Wives of soldiers and jack-tars usually were, since they lived in perpetual terror of their men being felled by disease, discipline, or danger on any given day. In fact, Mrs. Herbert was so self-possessed that Violet almost didn’t believe her own ears at the widow’s first words to her. “His Royal Highness, Prince Albert, will be here shortly to pay his respects. I was just informed of his impending arrival only two hours ago. Please make yourself as discreet as possible while he is here.”

The widow spoke the words as though she were merely informing the cook to set an extra place at the dinner table.

The prince consort was coming here?
Now?
Violet looked down at her garb. Serviceable, but meant for the messy work of undertaking. She wouldn’t dare show her face to a member of the royal household even if Mrs. Herbert invited her to do so.

“Would you prefer that I return later, madam?” She would have to take a hack to where Graham was; then they could return here together after the prince was gone.

“No, no, the admiral needs your attentions. I merely request that you stay in his room with him for the duration of the prince’s visit.”

Violet could hardly breathe. First the commission for Admiral Herbert, now to be in the same premises as a member of the royal family.

The prince, a German cousin of the queen, was initially viewed by the British with the same suspicion that every foreign royal spouse is. However, Albert had greatly endeared himself in many ways, from guiding his young wife into making more mature political decisions, to taking a more prominent position in Britain’s foreign affairs, and even to implementing reforms in the areas of education and welfare. He’d proven himself not only a capable administrator, but a man curious about science and the natural world around him.

The prince’s most notable accomplishment was the successful Crystal Palace Exhibition of 1851. Not quite an adult yet, Violet had taken the train into London with her parents to visit the exposition, intended to showcase Great Britain’s superior technological and manufacturing achievements. Including the Sinclair family, the exhibition attracted over six million people. Violet remembered gaping in amazement, not only at the magnificent glass pavilion that held the event, but at the impossibility of seeing the more than thirteen thousand various exhibits. Her favorite sights were the Koh-i-Noor diamond, the largest known diamond in the world, and Mr. Colt’s frightening but thrilling demonstration of his revolvers.

The royal couple was renowned for their devotion to one another, even though it was rumored that the prince was initially less than enthused about his prospective bride. Clearly he had overcome his disdain, for they now had nine children together, and not a breath of extramarital scandal had ever wafted out of Buckingham Palace or Windsor.

For now, though, Violet needed to focus on what might be wafting from the prone Admiral Herbert. A maid escorted her up to the admiral’s expansive room. He and his wife had separate bedrooms entirely, a popular trend but one that Violet and Graham could never countenance, despite their ever-growing number of disagreements and Graham’s periodic stays in his study when angered. The draperies in the admiral’s room were pulled tightly across the windows, preventing almost all light from penetrating into it. A crisp uniform and related body linens were laid out across the back of a settee. The brass buttons running down the front of the dark blue jacket gleamed from a recent polishing. The gold shoulder epaulettes were accented by gold trim at the neck and wrists of the jacket, as well as down the outer legs of the trousers. Also nearby was a sword belt, and Violet was sure the sword in its casing gleamed as brightly as the uniform’s buttons.

She took a deep breath. Musty, but not extreme yet. The only other distinguishable scent came from a ribbon-tied sprig of fresh lavender artfully arranged atop a lace doily on a nearby occasional table.

The maid lit two lamps and departed as quickly as most servants did with a dead body nearby.

Now in silence with her client, Violet began her ritual. Speaking in soft tones, she set her bag on the floor next to him, removed her gloves and set them aside, and examined his arms. Rigor mortis was thankfully complete.

She dragged the occasional table as close to the side of the bed as possible, removing the lavender, lace, and other decorations and putting them on a chair. She hefted the bag onto the table. “Admiral, thank you for allowing me to take care of you today. I promise that this will be quick and will enable all of your friends and admirers to have an opportunity to see you and pay their respects before you are buried. Don’t be alarmed by this large metal pump I’m pulling out of my bag; it’s necessary for preserving you.”

Violet placed the pump on the table and reached into her bag again for a large jar and some tubing. She searched in the bag for a small nozzle and inserted it into one end of the tube, while placing the other end inside the jar and putting the apparatus on the floor next to Admiral Herbert.

She then produced a small knife with a slanted blade and used it to make a small cut in the crook of his right elbow. She picked up the nozzle and placed it into the slit she’d just made.

“Halfway done, admiral.”

Violet picked up the pump canister, a cylindrical can about six inches in diameter and two feet tall, and unscrewed the lid. The bottom of the unit housed a long hose, finished off with a narrow nozzle on the end, whereas the lid held a pump handle mechanism.

“Now I need to prepare your special solution. Let’s see, a half ounce of chloride of zinc, and a quart of alcohol, plus this bottle of water . . .” She added the ingredients to the canister as she spoke. “Some embalmers like to add creosote as an additional anti-putrefaction agent, Admiral, but I think not in this case. I should hate to run the risk of creosote’s highly objectionable odor coming from you. It would be unseemly for a man in your exalted position.”