Page 88 of The Reckless Love of an Heir
The muscle in Stephen’s jaw flickered as he stared at the coffin.
Henry looked up as the Archbishop began the service.
He knelt with his family when it was time to pray, and his voice rose as he participated in the hymns.
At the end of the service Henry allowed himself a selfish prayer; for the strength to continue to support his family. He could feel himself weakening, his sanity slipping through his fingers like rope, and leaving burns. He was not succeeding.
He stood then, with his father and uncle and Percy, to pick up William and carry him home for the last time. He was to be entombed in the Marlows’, the Earls of Barrington’s, mausoleum.
They carried him out of the Minster to the hearse, where hehelped to slide the coffin back onto the glass-sided funeral carriage.
Henry’s body had never felt so heavy as he turned away from his brother, to follow his father to their carriage. It was the Earls of Barrington’s state carriage so it was highly polished and gilded, with their brightly painted coat of arms on the doors on either side.
There was one less son in the Barringtons’ dynasty now… One less in the Marlow family.
Henry gripped the hand rail on the carriage’s side and climbed the step then dropped into the seat next to his father, facing his brothers.
His uncle sat beside him.
None of them spoke.
Henry did not look out through the window. He could not face the stares of the interested ordinary folk of York. They saw this as nothing more than a moment of ceremony. It was the loss of his youngest brother,William. His brother who was undeserving of that fate.
The hearse travelled ahead of them, leading them back to his father’s property in a slow procession. After an hour it turned through the gates into Farnborough and headed towards the mausoleum.
His stomach became bilious at the thought of his brother lying in the dark among the entombed bodies of their ancestors, on cold stone. But he would be with those that would welcome him; their grandfather and grandmother, whom they had never met. Henry must remember that William would not be alone in heaven.
When the carriage stopped, the weight of responsibility, of being the one who stayed in control, made him rise and open the carriage door, before the footman had reached it.
Henry stepped across his uncle’s feet, jumped out then knocked down the step with the heel of his shoe. He held the door for Percy, his father and uncle, then Gerard and Stephen.
Edward smiled at him slightly. Henry turned away, pain tightening about his throat; the lump of emotion there pressed with a need to explode. He longed to shout, or growl, or hit or throw something.
Oh, to be young enough to be allowed to rage.
In his bed at night, he had ranted at God, for taking William and leaving him.
The funeral director’s pallbearers lifted William’s coffin from the hearse. When they walked forward Henry’s father followed. Henry followed him, walking between Stephen and Gerard.
He lay his arms about their shoulders. Gerard leaned into him a little. Stephen glanced at him and acknowledged the gesture, but his stiffness said he would rather be left alone to deal with his emotions. He released Stephen, but kept his arm around Gerard.
The doors to the mausoleum’s crypt stood open. His father stopped walking as the coffin was carried in. Henry stopped too. He took a breath then said quietly. ‘Goodbye, William.’
‘Goodbye,’ Stephen repeated.
‘Goodbye,’ Gerard and Percy said together.
‘My son…’ Henry heard on his father’s breath.
Percy coughed, as though his throat were blocked. Henry glanced at him. He stood beside Edward. Edward braced Percy’s shoulder as Percy’s eyes glittered in the sunlight, but he did not allow the tears to fall.
Gerard sobbed.
Stephen sniffed and then wiped his nose on his sleeve.
Henry’s heart banged hard in his chest, the emotions clamouring to be let out. He looked at his father. He wanted to go tohim, to hold him, to give and receive comfort, but his father was staring at the open doors the coffin had been carried through and he did not look as though he would welcome anyone approaching him.
When the pallbearers came out, it was without William. They turned and closed the giant doors.
