Page 44 of It Takes Two to Tumble
“And rosemary,” added Ned.
“But those weren’t her favorite.” Jamie’s eyes were shiny with unshed tears.
“I’m sure she would have liked those.” Phillip was in desperate danger of choking up, thinking of motherless children who would soon be as good as fatherless. And if he died, he wouldn’t have a grave; he’d have the same watery ending that McCarthy did. Even if he were buried at Barton Hall, the children wouldn’t know or care what flowers to put on it.
“Let’s gather these dahlias and take them to her grave now, then,” he suggested. But before they could leave, a footman appeared with a letter for Phillip.
“That’s Mr. Sedgwick’s writing,” said Ned. “What can he be writing for when we’ll only see him at supper?”
Phillip knew a moment of wild panic. What if something was wrong, and Ben needed him? How would he know?
Perhaps Ned had the same thought. “I think we need three more blooms to make this posy perfect,” Ned told the twins. “I can read it, if you like,” he said when he was alone with his father.
There was no real chance Ben would have committed anything to paper that couldn’t be read publicly, but Phillip couldn’t risk it. “That would be... thank you. But that won’t be necessary.” He already knew what the letter would say, because at that moment a servant was loading Ben’s valise and box of books into a cart. Ben was leaving him. He had known all along that they’d be parted, that whatever he had to offer wasn’t enough for Ben. It hadn’t ever been enough, he didn’t deserve—
“Father?” It was Ned. “You’re in what Mr. Sedgwick calls a brown study. Melancholy,” he added a moment later, when Phillip hadn’t responded. “I can tell by the line on your forehead.”
“What does Mr. Sedgwick know about melancholy? I’ve never met a less melancholic person in my life.”
“I know,” Ned said, and his face—so very like Caroline’s—broke out into a smile. “But he’s wise.”
“He is, isn’t he? Well, what wisdom has Mr. Sedgwick imparted to you about brown studies?”
“He says that sometimes our minds tell us all the ugliest things. That everything we do is useless, that everyone we know is better off without us.” He hesitated. “After Mother died I had a number of brown studies.”
“Yes,” Phillip said. He put his hand on Ned’s shoulder and the boy did not flinch away. “As did I.”
“The important thing, Mr. Sedgwick says, is to remember that during brown studies our minds are not particularly honest. That if you want to know the truth, you need to wait.”
Phillip took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Your mother would be exceptionally proud of you,” he said. “I know I am.”
The twins returned with their posy and they all walked together to Caroline’s grave. They weren’t happy, but they were together, and maybe this was truer than the dark whisperings of his mind. He folded Ben’s letter and put it safely in his coat pocket.
Chapter Twenty
It wasn’t the first funeral Ben had officiated, nor even the first funeral for someone he had been fond of. He shouldn’t have stumbled over phrases he had uttered dozens of times before. Perhaps the sense of unfamiliarity was because he knew this to be his last.
He looked out over his congregation. It was small on the best of weeks, but sadly diminished in the summer months when there was work to do and weather to enjoy. Ben had never faulted them; his God was in the hills and out on the lake as much as he was in the pews of St. Aelred’s. But there were even fewer people present today than he could have expected. He wondered if word had gotten round of his broken engagement; perhaps people weren’t eager to attend services that were presided over by a dishonorable man. It twisted his stomach to see a bare dozen people gathered together to mark the loss of a man who had been among them since his birth, and to suspect that it was Ben’s own doing.
The church door cracked open, and two late arrivals slid in. Ben lost his place in the reading when he saw that it was Phillip, and by his side, Ned, looking almost grown in his neatest suit of clothes.
Ben’s eyes hadn’t been quite thoroughly dry since the beginning of the service; the death of a man, the sorrow of a widow, the sparseness of the bodies gathered in somber rows, and his own plight accumulated to present quite enough to cry over. But at the sight of Phillip and Ned, he had to stop and collect himself. They weren’t here for Mr. Farleigh, or for the religious ritual; they were here for Ben himself, and it was enough to make Ben almost weep with gratitude. He smoothed the front of his cassock and dragged his mind back to where it belonged.
After the burial, he lingered in the vestry longer than he needed to, hoping to avoid any straggling parishioners. He wasn’t in the mood to answer questions about Alice or really to talk about anything at all. When he returned to the vicarage, he found that Mrs. Winston had left a covered dish in the kitchen, likely cold meats and bread. He could add Mrs. Winston to the list of people he’d miss in his new life, whatever that might be. He took off the lid to peek at the contents of the plate, when he heard the sound of polite throat clearing. The dish’s lid fell to the floor with a crash. Spinning around, Ben found Phillip leaning against the hearth.
“You almost scared me half to death,” Ben said, hand pressed against his chest. “How did you get in?”
“Your housekeeper said I was welcome to wait for you. She likely meant someplace grander than the kitchens, but I smelled cooking and wasn’t going to be put off. I ate a full third of a cherry tart and I don’t regret it. Jamie would likely be able to calculate the precise percentage, but you and I can approximate to one-third, I think. I stowed the remnants out of sight in the larder so I wouldn’t be tempted to eat the rest.” He was babbling. That was new and strange.
“There’s some ham over there.” Ben indicated the now-uncovered dish.
Phillip pushed off the stones of the hearth and stepped towards Ben. “I didn’t come for food.”
“No?” Ben’s hands went automatically to Phillip’s lapels, and he felt one of Phillip’s hands settle on his hip.
“No,” he murmured, already bending his head to Ben’s. He tasted of cherries and smelled like a warm summer day. Ben knew he’d never enjoy either of those without thinking of Phillip, and winced at the future pain. “Ben,” Phillip said, kissing the corner of Ben’s eye. “I heard you broke off your engagement with Miss Crawford. Gossip travels fast.”
“Did you hear that I resigned?”
