Page 48 of The Heir
She could begin by making a statement she knew to be untrue.
“But his end was a peaceful one,” she said. “That must be of some comfort.”
Victoria waited to be contradicted, but to her surprise, Mrs. Maton simply lowered her gaze.
“Yes. Dr. Maton died in his bed, in his sleep,” she said. “It had been a long and troubling illness, but we all believed he would pull through.”
The words were pious, and unexceptional. But they were also oddly bland and stilted.
Studied?
“What a comfort that all his family was able to be with him,” Victoria prodded.
Mama was not happy with her little sallies. Of course, she could not silence Victoria in front of the Matons, but Victoria felt the smothering weight of her silent disapproval.
“Yes, indeed, ma’am,” said the widow, and the words were still bland, still oddly stiff. “A great comfort.” There was a pause and a glance toward her husband in his coffin. A wistful, beseeching expression flickered across her pale face. “He had planned to retire, to assist our son in his practice, and write his memoir.”
It was the first genuine thing she’d said. Victoria was sure of it.
Gerald’s hand twitched, like he wanted to reach for something. Or perhaps make a fist.
Mama, it seemed, had had enough of Victoria’s curiosity. She grabbed Victoria by the elbow and steered her toward the coffin.
“Come, Your Highness. Let us pay our respects.”
Dr. Maton lay inside the padded box, immaculately dressed and carefully posed, his eyes closed and arms folded. Victoria tried to picture him on his side in the rain, deflated and cold. It was growing increasingly difficult. Was that really the curve of the shoulder she had seen? And was that the hair—thinned and gray, showing that mottled scalp? Doubt assailed her again.
Mama bowed her head in prayer. Victoria did, as well, but she also shot a sideways glance toward Gerald Maton.
The youngest Maton son glowered at the remainder of his family. They all ignored him. His older brothers flanked their mother, looking more like guards than consoling sons. Mrs. Maton kept her hands folded in front of her and her eyes pointed rigidly ahead.
Mrs. Maton refused to be cowed either by the fact of her husband in the coffin or by the undisguised anger of her youngest son. But just in case, her older sons meant to make sure she did not put one foot out of line.
Odd that they were so concerned about their mother breaking down—or breaking ranks?—but that they did not seem to spare a thought for their brother.
Why is that?She had no answer, but Victoria knew what she must do next.
Mama murmured, “Amen.” Victoria lifted her head. Before Mama could turn her away, Victoria faced Gerald Maton.
“Dr. Maton, I hope that you will accept this small token.” She pulled the little paper bundle from her reticule and held it out to him.
“Oh, Your Highness . . .” Mrs. Maton stepped forward.
Victoria did not acknowledge her. Instead, she pressed the packet into Gerald’s hands, and of course, he could not refuse to receive it.
“I shall keep you and your family in my prayers,” she told him before he might feel he had to say something. “Good-bye and may God bless you. Mrs. Maton.” Victoria faced the widow. “Thank you for allowing us to pay our respects today. We will not intrude upon your grief any further.”
Since she had announced that they were leaving, there was nothing for anyone in the room to do but make their reverences and murmur their thanks. Victoria snuck one more look at the youngest Maton brother. Gerald had already put the packet into his coat pocket.
Julius Maton showed them to the door and stood on the step while the footmen helped Victoria and Mama back into the carriage. Lady Charlotte and Lady Flora were handed into their separate vehicle.
The door closed. Mama turned to Victoria. She was not pleased. Victoria braced herself.
“What did you give that man?” Mama demanded.
“A sketch I made of Dr. Maton. I thought the family might like to have it.”Please, don’t let her have noticed the odd shape or that the packet was too thick just to be a paper sketch....
“Humph,” Mama snorted, but Victoria could see her anger had already deflated. “Well, you should have given it to the widow or at least the eldest son.”
