Page 157 of A Winter By the Sea
Two members of the royal family had died. And Emily had broken her heart over her first love—had lost him once and for all, even if by her own choice.
Another thought struck her. Was she destined to break her heart all over again when James Thomson left? Because of the duke’s death, his wife and entire retinue would be leaving soon, not staying through the rest of the winter as originally planned. And who knew where James’s next assignment might take him?
A small voice whispered in her mind,God knows.
The simple words bolstered her and reminded Emily that the old woman did not hold her life in her hands. God did.
You, heavenly Father, are the only one who knows my future. Help me to trust you with it.
On the last day of January, Prince Edward, the Duke of Kent, lay in state in Woolbrook Cottage. The public would beallowed to come and pay their respects. Most of the citizens of Sidmouth and its environs were expected to attend.
That morning, a long and somber line of people gathered along Glen Lane, waiting to file past the coffin.
The Summers and Hutton families dressed in black gowns or black arm bands and joined the queue. Emily was touched to see the major’s friend from India, Armaan Sagar, waiting to pay his respects as well. Fran Stirling was there, walking arm in arm with Mr. Farrant, as well as many other friends and neighbors.
Emily also saw Mr. Marsh, who stepped close to her and said, “Good news, Miss Summers. A project dear to us both is at the printer! And not a moment too soon.”
She glanced around to see if anyone had heard and answered in a lower voice. “I am glad. I hope that means it required only light editing?”
A strange gleam shone in his eyes. “Yes, yes. Very light. I found only a few sections lacking—nothing a few strokes of blue ink could not address.”
“Oh no. I am sorry you found it lacking.”
“Don’t be. Your work surpassed my expectations. But you know I had to add my own flourishes!”
He grinned at her and then joined the queue.
As they waited, huddling close against the chilly air, Emily recalled Prince Edward’s cheerful round face, his kindness to her, and his affection for his baby girl, and she felt warm tears gather and run down her cold cheeks.
The line moved slowly forward, and eventually Emily and her family reached the door and shuffled inside, which was a welcome relief from the cold. James Thomson stood across the entry hall, talking quietly to a uniformed guard. Noticing them, he excused himself and joined the Summers ladies, walking with them through the house.
The room where the duke lay was quite dark, hung with heavy black cloth that excluded the light of day, and lit by wax tapers on familiar silver candlesticks.
In the middle of the room, raised on trestles, was a coffin more than seven feet long and three feet wide, covered with a crimson velvet pall. Brass plates on each side were engraved with the duke’s name and titles. A splendid plume of ostrich feathers adorned the head of the coffin, while three smaller plumes graced each side.
As Emily’s eyes adjusted to the dim light, she realized there was a second coffin as well, which she assumed held the duke’s heart. Having one’s heart buried separately was not all that uncommon among royalty and the aristocracy. Even poets sometimes requested that their hearts be buried in a place they had enjoyed during life. Still, seeing two coffins was strangely unsettling. She wondered if his heart would be sent to wherever his former mistress lived, or perhaps to his wife’s beloved Coburg.
Whatever the case, the sight also made Emily ponder. Not that she would ever request such a thing, but theoretically, where would she want her heart buried?
Not long ago, she would have known the answer to that question. Her heart should be returned to May Hill.
But now? Her heart, broken or not, no longer belonged there. She was not yet certain where it did belong.
As Emily passed the coffin, she made no effort to hold back her tears. Over a lump in her throat, she whispered, “You shall be missed.”
Beside her in the darkness, James Thomson took her hand.
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Set it on a clear fire, but be careful it does not blubber and boil. When you perceive it rise, it must be stopped immediately.
—Joseph Bell,A Treatise On Confectionary
The next day, while Sarah was in the kitchen helping Jessie and Mrs. Besley tidy up after breakfast, Mr. Bernardi came and found her belowstairs.
“Miss Summers, might I have a private word?”
Glancing up and seeing his intent expression, nerves prickled through her.Oh dear.She noticed Jessie and Mrs. Besley share knowing looks.
