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Why did Hal use such a simple code? The first word, the second sentence, the second word, the third sentence and she had broken it so easily the message fitting itself together in her mind before she realized her gasp had betrayed her. She tried to hide the horror, but how could someone so close to her, a military man who had seen the horror of the reign of terror, who knew the price his own wife had paid in blood, who watched with rest of England as the little Corsican began to snatch up an empire for himself, how could such a man spy for France against his own country? It had made no sense. It was just a puzzle she solved, not one she understood: a puzzle that rained down devastation on her and her loved ones.
Step then step then step again . . . black cobwebs covering eyes, mouth, ears, body. Heavy veils of cobwebs hiding her from sight. If she looked straight down, her black leather half boots stabbed out from beneath black skirts as she walked step by step crunching gravel. A relic, that was the word. She was a relic now, an historical artifact that displayed to the world that Lord Geoffrey Renwick Farthing, fifth Earl of Kenswick, loved Amelia Rosanne, Lady Farthing, and died protecting her. She lived on as a relic to that love, walking behind the casket with one hand held on the strong arm of the thirty year old newly minted Lord Stephen Renwick Farthing, sixth Earl of Kenswick.
She knew Edwin was nearby, hovering; waiting to question her about the code, the message, and these unexpected enemies to England, but later, after everyone had eaten the funeral meal. For now, as she walked behind Geoff’s casket and leaned on her son’s arm, she was just a very sad woman, too sad to care whether England depended on her, not wanting anyone depending on her. Her heart began to stutter and race again when they reached the gravesite. Even as the edges of her vision dimmed, she saw with great clarity the dirt and the hole and the ropes for lowering the coffin. She held herself as stiff as possible, willing away the darkness, listening as Reverend Hurtle spoke of the brightness of Geoff’s spirit and the congeniality he always displayed to those around him. Geoff deserved this praise without her taking away from it by fainting so she held onto clarity and refused to give in to the darkness that crept around her.
Then the coffin made its descent and she placed the first handful of earth over the surface. A white-faced Stephen followed, glancing fiercely at those around them as though he would face down any threat and holding onto his wife’s hand as she clung to his arm. Others followed suit while she stood and watched the dirt splash onto the surface of the coffin with each handful.
Why did Hal use such a simple code? The first word, the second sentence, the second word, the third sentence and she had broken it so easily the message fitting itself together in her mind before she realized her gasp had betrayed her. She tried to hide the horror, but how could someone so close to her, a military man who had seen the horror of the reign of terror, who knew the price his own wife had paid in blood, who watched with rest of England as the little Corsican began to snatch up an empire for himself, how could such a man spy for France against his own country? It had made no sense. It was just a puzzle she solved, not one she understood: a puzzle that rained down devastation on her and her loved ones.
Step then step then step again . . . black cobwebs covering eyes, mouth, ears, body. Heavy veils of cobwebs hiding her from sight. If she looked straight down, her black leather half boots stabbed out from beneath black skirts as she walked step by step crunching gravel. A relic, that was the word. She was a relic now, an historical artifact that displayed to the world that Lord Geoffrey Renwick Farthing, fifth Earl of Kenswick, loved Amelia Rosanne, Lady Farthing, and died protecting her. She lived on as a relic to that love, walking behind the casket with one hand held on the strong arm of the thirty year old newly minted Lord Stephen Renwick Farthing, sixth Earl of Kenswick.
She knew Edwin was nearby, hovering; waiting to question her about the code, the message, and these unexpected enemies to England, but later, after everyone had eaten the funeral meal. For now, as she walked behind Geoff’s casket and leaned on her son’s arm, she was just a very sad woman, too sad to care whether England depended on her, not wanting anyone depending on her. Her heart began to stutter and race again when they reached the gravesite. Even as the edges of her vision dimmed, she saw with great clarity the dirt and the hole and the ropes for lowering the coffin. She held herself as stiff as possible, willing away the darkness, listening as Reverend Hurtle spoke of the brightness of Geoff’s spirit and the congeniality he always displayed to those around him. Geoff deserved this praise without her taking away from it by fainting so she held onto clarity and refused to give in to the darkness that crept around her.
Then the coffin made its descent and she placed the first handful of earth over the surface. A white-faced Stephen followed, glancing fiercely at those around them as though he would face down any threat and holding onto his wife’s hand as she clung to his arm. Others followed suit while she stood and watched the dirt splash onto the surface of the coffin with each handful.
