Rain and tears, so similarly constituted and yet so different. One cold, one warm; one flavourless, one salty. One gave you a headache, the other only wetted your clothes.
Jasper had wept when he was told the news by an alarmingly sympathetic Mrs Linney but now, here, with Drood and those mockeries of parents watching him, he would be damned if anything more than the evidence of the cloudburst would damp his cheeks.
Drood held a handkerchief to his face to conceal his lack of emotion. Young Edwin wept quite enough for two, or even more, his desolation touching even the uncle who harboured so little love for him. Four years old and motherless now, the blond boy had his first taste of suffering. It softened Jasper's heart for moment, even if the plaintive volume of the child's grief was hard to bear.
At least the Buds had not brought their offspring – doubtless she would have joined in. As far as Jasper could make out, the tiny Bud existed in a permanent state of red-faced tantrummy rage. It was as well that her mother was so serene, he thought, casting a surreptitious glance at the black-clad beauty. Her handkerchief was held to her eyes, just like Drood's, but it concealed real tears. Meg's only true friend, the one who had comforted her darkest hours, Rosa Bud seemed more like an angel than ever to him now that his sister was gone.
Angels. Heaven. Of course, he didn't believe in that nonsense as a matter of course, but he had suspended his disbelief in the days since Meg's death, hoping against hope that she was somewhere kind, experiencing happiness.
The vicar's droning recitation ended and Captain Drood stepped forward to cast the first sod upon the coffin. Everybody's eye was upon him and only Jasper noticed the boy, stumbling forward in imitation of his father until he lurched at the very edge of the grave.
"No," cried Jasper, seizing him by the arm and dragging him back from the precipice. "You will fall in."
"I want mama," bellowed Edwin, kicking Jasper in the shin.
"Ouch, you brat," gasped Jasper, letting go of the child to bend double and clutch at his injury.
A furious-faced Drood snatched up his son and clasped him to his breast, squeezing half the life from him so that he could scarcely breathe out his sobs.
Mourners, throwing flowers down upon the casket, tried not to be disturbed by the little altercation. When Jasper's turn came to inter a rose with his sister's body, he was reminded of when aunt Hetty died, and how curious he had found it that one gave flowers to the dead. He looked dully down at the forlorn, rain-sodden petals, finding them depressingly appropriate. A crushed flower, cut off too soon.
He was still staring down into the grave when a hand fell on his shoulder.
"Come, old fellow. You will catch your death standing about in this rain. We must leave now."
He allowed Mr Bud to lead him away, the pair of them trudging through the ankle-deep wet grass at some distance behind the other mourners.
"He should have had her buried in the vault," said Jasper. "The Drood vault, in the cathedral. Why did he not?"
"Oh." Bud was surprised by the question and did not seem able to provide an answer. "I don't know."
"I go down there sometimes. I have seen them all."
"Rather a morbid occupation for a boy your age…how old are you now?"
"Eleven. I do not think it morbid. Death is a part of life."
Bud chuckled uncomfortably. "I daresay, young man. You did right, you know, in bringing Ned back from the edge of the grave. Drood is not himself, but I'm sure he will express his gratitude to you later."
"I'm sure he will not. And his son gave me the only reward I can expect."
Jasper exaggerated his limp for effect.
"Ah, be fair, Jack. He has lost his mother."
"At least he knew her," muttered Jasper, narrowing his eyes at the dark-shawled back of the woman he was supposed to regard as his maternal parent.
Bud was lost for words again. They left the graveyard and passed under the gatehouse arch. The carriages waited in a sombre row, waiting to convey the mourners back to the Drood residence for refreshments.
"You will travel with Rosa and I, I hope?"
"If you don't mind."
Too much to ask that any blood relative might want his company, he supposed. The Jaspers had climbed in with the Droods, Mrs Jasper showing every sign of doting on young Edwin. She had not spoken a word to him, her own son, since they first met on the cathedral steps.
"I understand why you did not want to sing," said Rosa, putting her hand over his as he sat down by her side. "But I do wish you could have brought yourself to. It would have been such a great tribute to Meg, who loved to hear it."
"I do not think my voice would have held," he confessed. Her hand on his. He gazed down at it, at the slender fingers and the gold band.
"It is not surprising," she said. "You poor creature. She cared for you. You do know that she cared for you, don't you? I think perhaps you do not realise quite how much."
"I was angry with her," he said. "For marrying Drood. And I was right to be. But I do not blame her for it any more, as I used to."
"That is good. Forgiveness is always good."
"I could forgive her anything. But I will never forgive her husband."
Bud, shutting the carriage door, frowned at his young guest.
"Now, now, Jack. This is not the time or the place for recrimination. We have just buried your sister. Let us respect her memory."
"She should have had respect in life!" cried Jasper, but Bud's visage was forbidding and Rosa withdrew her hand from his.
He put his own free hand over it, bereft at the sudden chill.
They were Drood's friends first, Meg's second. Traitors.
He stared through the window for the rest of the journey.
At the Drood home, Edwin was feeding potted meat sandwiches to the dogs under the table, unnoticed by all except Jasper, who kept to the edge of the room, avoiding the necessity of polite conversation. He did not feel able to converse politely with people who probably hadn't cared a straw for Meg and were here only to support Drood in his false grief.
Most of all, he was anxious to stay out of the orbit of those strange and unnerving people, the Jaspers.
The best policy, he decided, was to join Edwin and the dogs under the table. He crawled through the cloth and hissed at the child, who flung a half-eaten sandwich at him.
"G'way," he said.
"Ned, I am your friend," said Jasper, crawling closer. "I stopped you falling into that grave earlier. You have lost your mother and I my sister."
"Who is your sister?"
"Your mama, Ned. They are one and the same."
"She wasn't your sister. You're a liar."
"Of course she was."
"She wasn't! She was my mama! She was my mama!"
His hysterical wailing filled the room and Jasper realised the inevitability of being blamed for the child's upset unless he vacated the scene with all due haste.
He crept back out, accidentally putting his hand on somebody's shoe in the process. The person let out a little scream and kicked his hand off.
He scrambled to his feet and found himself apologising to the woman who called herself his mother.
"Whatever were you doing down there?" she demanded. "What kind of mischief can you find to make at a funeral gathering?"
"I went to comfort Edwin. He is under the table with the dogs."
"Poor little boy. Comforting, indeed. He cries fit to wake the…" She swallowed and bent to try and coax her grandson from his hiding place.
"Ned. My little Neddy. Come to grandmama now."
He seemed reluctant and Jasper watched his mother reach in and yank the yelling boy out. She lifted him up and held him and cooed with a tenderness that sat rather oddly on her narrow shoulders but Edwin was beyond consolation. In the end only his father could pacify him, taking him away into the garden to splash in the puddles now that the rain had ceased.
"He is an excellent father to the boy," remarked Mrs Jasper.
She looked back at her offspring, a shade guiltily, as if she knew exactly what he might say in response.
There were too many barbed answers to choose from, so he chose none.
"Why don't you ever come and visit me?" he said instead, taking pleasure in the discomfort his question created.
Mrs Jasper fidgeted with her necklace and looked hectically around the tea table, seeking a reply amid the cold meats and pickles.
"We are here to mourn poor Margaret," she said. "Your question is poorly timed."
"When else should I ask it, since you are never here?"
"Is it any wonder, if that is how you address me? Poor dear Margaret at least understood the niceties."
"Why did you send us away?"
"The country air…" said Mrs Jasper vaguely, then Captain Drood returned with a copiously mud-splashed Edwin and she hailed the pair with palpable relief.
"Dear Captain Drood," she gushed, laying her hand on his forearm in case he was thinking of eluding her. "We have both lost a cherished and dear one. You must be sure that, should you need a fellow soul to reach out to in your loss, I would count it my honour and privilege to supply that requirement."
"You're very good, I'm sure," he said brusquely.
"As for the child," she said, dropping her voice. "Who better placed to care for him while you are in Egypt than his grandparents?"
Jasper could not prevent his jaw from hanging open at this.
"But the London air," he blurted.
She ignored him.
"I thank you for your offer," said Captain Drood, "but the affair is settled. Ned will be cared for by his godparents, my good friends the Buds, while I continue the work of establishing my engineering business overseas."
"Oh, the Buds," said Mrs Jasper, her face falling somewhat. "I see."
"They have a small daughter of their own, so Ned will have company. He's been cooped up here with nobody but Meg and the servants for far too long. You will like to have little Rosa to play with, won't you, my boy?"
"She's silly," said Edwin, pouting.
Drood put him down on the floor, laughing self-consciously. "They are firm friends when Ned is in the mood to be," he said.
"She is always cross with me. She hits me."
"What's this, son? You allow a little girl to hit you?"
"I hit her back."
"That won't do, Ned. You can't hit girls, you know, however much you might wish to."
"Or women," said Jasper pointedly.
Drood gave him a momentary glare then reverted to the game both he and Mrs Jasper were playing of pretending the boy didn't exist.
"Until he is old enough to go to school, he will stay with the Buds and come home to me at Christmas and for the month of August."
"I am relieved, at least, that you did not consider taking him to Egypt."
"Oh, I did consider it. But he will be perfectly all right with old Bud and his lady wife, I don't doubt."
"Please bear in mind, Captain, that the boy is always welcome to visit us in London, should the Buds need some respite."
"And what about me?" asked Jasper. "Am I welcome?"
Mrs Jasper looked as if she had swallowed something disgusting.
"Why don't you run along to the piano and play something for us, John?" she suggested.
"I don't care to," he said, suddenly roused to fury.
The little flurry of attention this precipitated brought the Reverend Jasper into the little group.
"Is anything amiss?" he asked, frowning at young Jasper.
"How can you ask what is amiss?" The boy's voice, usually so bright and clear, was low and harsh. "Your daughter is dead. And your son might as well be, for all the attention you pay him."
He turned his back upon them and, despite his earlier protestation, stalked to the piano. The lament of Dido from Purcell's opera filled the room, mournful and beautiful, causing most to put aside their pound cake and reflect on the transience of existence.
Jasper took comfort in the way all conversation stopped and his voice commanded the room into silence. Here was where he was master of his domain, bending all to his will by the power of his astonishing talent.
"Remember me," he sang, determined that the note should not crack to admit grief. "But ah, forget my fate."
Yes, remember me, you humbugging Jaspers, so religious to the world, so heartless to your own.
And remember me, Captain Drood, who sent her to an early grave.
And remember me, all of you who talk behind your hands of me without caring a straw whether I should live or die.
Whatever my fate might be, remember me.
The song was a race against the lump that grew in his throat as he rendered it, but he attained the final note triumphantly and swallowed the lump down.
Uncertain applause mingled with murmured conversation.
From the corner where the Jaspers stood in conference with Captain Drood, he heard the words, "The boy certainly has a future in music, should he choose such a path" from his father.
Why did he leave it to him to choose? Surely fathers were supposed to steer their sons into suitable careers. Should he not wish for him to take orders? To attend a good school and a great university? Why was his own son's future a matter of such indifference to him?
He played right hand exercises, almost unconsciously, needing the activity to keep him calm. While he was thus employed, Rosa Bud approached him, holding young Edwin by the hand.
"Ned would like you to show him how to play." Rosa lifted Edwin on to seat beside Jasper, forcing him to move up.
"His hands are too small," said Jasper.
"Jack, please. You have both lost somebody dear and precious to you. Can you not find it in your heart to show some pity, as it is shown to you?"
"By whom? By whom is it shown to me?"
"By me. And by Mr Bud. We are so sorry. I have talked with Mr Bud about it and he agrees with me that we should visit you on half-holidays now that…nobody else can."
Jasper's face lost its sullen cast for a moment and he looked up at Rosa, finding her more angelic than ever.
"Will you?"
"Yes, of course. We will bring Ned and little Rosy. You will all be such good friends."
Jasper wasn't convinced of this last, but he had no wish to cause Rosa to regret or alter her decision so he nodded.
"Thank you," he said. "It will mean a great deal to me."
"I know. As your sister's friendship meant a great deal to me. I believe we must always repay our debts in this life and I owe her so much. At my darkest times, she was at my side. And she spoke of you incessantly, Jack. I hope you know how you were loved by her."
"By her alone," said Jasper.
"Don't. Your heart will close up. Don't lock yourself away from those who mean well."
"I scarcely know how to recognise them," he said.
"Well, here is one." She indicated herself, then ruffled Edwin's hair. "And here is another. He has been so patient, what a good boy you are, Neddy. Yes, now your uncle will show you how to play the notes."
Rosa swished away and Jasper was left to give his nephew half-hearted instruction on how to play a scale.
"I want to learn a song Mama used to play," he said. "Can you teach me?"
"What is it?"
"Little Boy Blue."
"She used to sing that to me. When I was very young." Jasper turned to Edwin. "Your age. Before she married him."
"Before Papa was alive?" Edwin furrowed his brow, blond hair tumbling over and into his eyes.
"No, you goose. He was alive. She had not yet met him."
"They used not to know one another?"
"Correct."
"I did not know. What did she do? Was she a girl?"
"Yes, she was a girl, I suppose. She must have been young. About Phoebe's age."
"Who is Phoebe?"
"A disagreeable girl at the school I attend. Yes, she was young but she did not seem so to me, for I was very small, like you."
"Did you live with grandmama?"
"No."
"That's strange."
The dramatic way in which the child couched the phrase made Jasper smile.
"Yes, it is, rather. I do agree. But I must try to recall this tune and decide in which key it should be played."
"Do you need a key to play the piano?"
"No, no, the key is…oh, you would not understand. It is to do with the notes."
"Is it very difficult?"
"Fearfully difficult. Too difficult for you."
"No it isn't!"
Edwin smashed his small fists on the keyboard in demonstration of his untapped talent. The loud discord brought Captain Drood hurrying over.
"Ned, you will break the strings," he scolded. "Jack, isn't it time you were getting back to school?"
"I am excused Evensong."
"Nonetheless, I shall have the carriage brought out. It will rain again ere long and I don't want Travers to take cold. Go and say your farewells, boy."
But there was nobody to say farewell to – nobody with whom he wished to exchange speech, at least, and so he took his cap and his jacket and went to stand on the front steps, watching the clouds break up and join back together and wondering if Meg might be anywhere up beyond the skies.
"Remember me," he said.