Page 21 of A Treacherous Treasure

Perhaps it was terrible to think it, but . . . his wife was fortunate Arthur had not lived long. He would have continued to hurt and grieve her for the rest of their lives. And divorce was so uncommon and difficult as to be almost unthinkable.

Even so, it was a tragedy that he was murdered, since he’d never have the opportunity to repent of his sins and change. And though he’d heard people say, “Men don’t change,” he believed that they did. After all, his father had apparently started down the same path that Arthur had taken but had repented. He’d been a good husband to his mother, as she’d said many times, and there was a genuine affection between them that was mostly absent from the marriages he’d observed.

Thomas awoke to birds chirping. He opened his eyes and sat up, startled, his heart pumping fast.

No, he wasn’t on the battlefield. He’d fallen asleep on the ground while waiting for the digger who had shot at Mrs. Heywood.

How embarrassing that he had fallen asleep while on watch. He was glad no one would ever know.

He stood up and went cautiously toward the hole that had been dug. It was undisturbed, looking just as it had the day before. The digger did not come back in the night.

He sighed and walked toward home. With any luck, he would return before any of his family knew he’d been gone.

~ ~ ~

A servant came to take Rebecca’s place just before daybreak at Arthur’s side in the drawing room.

Rebecca went up to bed and awoke a few hours later, immediately remembering that her husband had been shot and killed. She was no longer a wife but a childless widow.

As she lay in bed, a miry sadness seemed to hold her down, making it hard to rise. But then she remembered the dream she’d been having, about treasure chests and pirate ships, bringing to mind what she’d found the night before.

She got out of bed and dressed quickly before going downstairs to eat something. After not eating much since Arthur died, she was suddenly famished.

She hurried into the breakfast room—and found the windows draped in black cloth. And Mrs. Heywood was there in the semi-darkness, staring at her.

Mrs. Heywood was never up this early and rarely even ate breakfast. But she was up today, and she was eating.

“Good morning, Mrs. Heywood,” Rebecca said, moving to the sideboard to serve herself some food.

Mrs. Heywood made a quiet grunting sound, then said, “The local upholderer came yesterday evening while you were out. I have made all the arrangements with him for my son’s funeral, which will be the day after tomorrow.”

She might have asked her mother-in-law why she was having the funeral so quickly, but she didn’t want to incite her ire.

The upholderer must be the person who furnished all the things, such as the shroud for the body, the black cloth for draping the house and the church, and did all the necessary hiring and arrangements for the funeral procession. It made sense, as there were a great deal of textiles involved, including the elaborate velvet cloth with which to cover the coffin, and that was the upholderer’s business—textiles and upholstery.

“You will not be expected to attend the funeral, of course.”

Her mother-in-law was referring to the current custom of the day in which women generally did not attend funerals or graveside committal services, especially women of polite society. But why should she not be allowed to attend her own husband’s funeral, especially since this was the countryside, not London or some other large city where everyone had to be so fashionable? Perhaps her mother could tell her if it would be permissible for her to attend. But would her mother even arrive before the funeral?

“I doubt you would be able to tear yourself away long enough to attend your husband’s funeral, even if it were permissible. Perhaps you have plans with Thomas Westbrook again tonight and won’t be able to hold vigil with your husband’s body?”

Rebecca felt her cheeks start to burn. Of course, she would find out where Rebecca went last night.

“No. I have no plans, and I will be able to keep vigil tonight.”

Mrs. Heywood made another sound in her throat. An awkward silence followed as Rebecca sat down with her food.

“You look as if you’re going somewhere.”

Rebecca merely shook her head. She’d felt famished only moments before, but as she tried to swallow her first bite of food, it was like a rock in her throat.

She forced herself to eat a few bites, but her stomach could only take a small amount before she started to feel sick. She put down her fork.

“The next time you wish to call on the Westbrooks, you don’t have to sneak away. You can say plainly that you wish to see another man, while your husband lies dead.”

“I wasn’t going to see another man. It is not like that.” She said the words softly, her stomach churning.

Her mother-in-law would ruin her reputation while her husband was hardly cold.