Page 27 of A Treacherous Treasure

But her mother-in-law had already informed her she was not to attend.

Perhaps it was just as well. She might break down and cry, and that would be embarrassing. No one liked a public display of emotion.

She thought of something she hadn’t thought of before. Would some of Arthur’s women, his paramours, attend the funeral?

She shuddered. Yes, it was best she did not go.

She closed her eyes to rest them. If Mrs. Heywood heard of her sleeping instead of keeping vigil, she was certain to make some very contemptuous accusations. So she mustn’t fall asleep.

Rebecca blinked, then sat up.

All the windows were covered in black cloth, but she heard voices in the other part of the house. It must be morning, but how late? Was Mrs. Heywood up?

Rebecca hastened to smooth out her skirt and press down her hair. Then she felt the drool that had dribbled from the corner of her mouth and pulled out her handkerchief. Had anyone seen her lying there, sleeping?

Rebecca shivered, feeling quite chilled. She rubbed her face and chose a book of poetry and read until a hired sitter arrived to relieve her.

Today was the day of the funeral. Her life was about to change forever, and she was not certain what that would look like.

Chapter Nine

The funeral was to be held at midnight, which was customary for wealthy families, and guests arrived all day. Arthur’s uncles, his cousins, and even school friends were greeted by Mrs. Heywood and shown to a room. But none of Rebecca’s family came.

She hadn’t told anyone except her mother and sisters of her husband’s death. She was so far away from London here, she didn’t want to inconvenience her friends, many of whom were yet unmarried and had no means of traveling on their own. And her mother had written to say that she would be delayed at least a few days in coming because three of Rebecca’s siblings were sick and her mother was feeling unwell herself.

Rebecca wrote back to urge her not to come until all were well.

She spent most of the day in the drawing room, receiving guests’ condolences and wishing she could “sneak away,” as her mother-in-law had called it, to Wyghtworth. But then her sense of guilt would remind her that she should give this day and all her thoughts to her dead husband. After all, he had been good enough to provide for her in his will.

She did finally go up to her room to rest late in the afternoon, and lay across her bed thinking of the map—if indeed it was a map. But the fact that it had been right there in the Bible, at Romans 8, made her shiver. It had to be related to the treasure somehow.

With so many people arriving and so much activity, as preparations were ongoing for the funeral procession and services, Rebecca was sure to be noticed leaving and traveling in the direction of Wyghtworth.

But would she be noticed if she walked?

The words rose up again:Can you not give your husband one day?

She should be mourning her husband’s death, not thinking about sneaking away to confer about the map with Thomas Westbrook, her husband’s rival.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, curling up on her side and remembering the small jabs Mrs. Heywood had spoken to their guests—herguests. She’d made Rebecca sound like a neglectful, unfeeling wife who could not even stay awake for one night of sitting vigil with her husband’s body—this was how she let her know that she knew of her sleeping on the sofa that night.

But at least she didn’t know about her going to his grandfather’s library when she was supposed to be keeping vigil, or taking the map out of the family Bible.

How furious Mrs. Heywood would be if she knew. Rebecca almost laughed when she thought of it, but immediately sobered as she thought about the long day and night to come. For, Mrs. Heywood would follow the current trend—terrified as she was of being thought of as unfashionable—so that the funeral procession, funeral service, and committal service were all to be done just after midnight, well after dark.

How the tradition began of holding funerals after dark, Rebecca did not know, but she thought it the utmost inconvenience at best, and dangerous at worst. She’d heard of numerous funeral processions in London for some of the most aristocratic families that had been set upon by thieves as the relatives and the body of the deceased proceeded down the street to the church. It was one of the reasons ladies rarely attended funerals.

Another reason ladies rarely attended funerals, even of their closest relatives, was because they exhausted themselves with keeping vigil with their loved one’s body. And of course, ladies’ constitutions were so fragile, and they were so prone to losing control of themselves, they might actually show emotion by openly crying at the funeral, and that, of course, was not fashionable at all.

A woman could not cry or show open sadness and grief or she risked having the physician called, who would prescribe something that would keep her asleep all night and most of the day, so drowsy she could not show emotion of any kind. Or at worst, she might be declared insane and sent to an asylum where she’d never be heard from again.

She needed to stop this morbid thinking.

“God, please let Mother come soon.” She felt so alone in this enormous house, with all of Mrs. Heywood’s family there.

~ ~ ~

When the funeral procession finally left—a foolishly ostentatious funeral procession, with all the details and extra frivolities attended to, hired pages and bearers, dyed-black ostrich feathers on horses’ heads as well as people’s—Rebecca felt her heart sink to her toes. It was real. Her husband was dead. That man she thought she would love for the rest of her life, to whom she had given her loyalty, heart, and her body, was truly gone. She’d never see him again.