Aftermath ~ the rain, the park, and other things
2 March 1920
He cannot seem to focus.
The pastor's words are only a low monotone murmur, muffled by the hundreds of lichen-encrusted headstones and monuments spread out around them. The cemetery dates to the early days of Boston's founding, as evidenced by the cold numbers and names from every angle.
He briefly considers the irony in the fact that he, an Englishman, fell in love with a girl who traces her heritage to ancestors that proudly and mutinously threw tea into their harbor to defy King George the Third and ignite a revolution for independence from the Crown.
Of course, he may have likely done the same thing had he been in the position they were in. He certainly threw enough objects at his servants when he was a child, at any rate.
On the other hand, it was just a miniscule tax against tea, for God's sake.
A rumble of thunder from the hanging gray clouds drowns the pastor's words completely for a few seconds. Not that it matters, Colin thinks dully, for such speeches are often very similar. At a funeral, it would be unheard of to talk of anyone's negative aspects. People only ever praise the deceased – how many friends the person had, what church they patronized, how good they were, how everyone will miss them. He remembers the same sorts of words at Phil and Bennie's funerals, despite the fact that the two Sowerby boys were from a very different background than Xavier Castor.
To try and take his mind off of the funeral itself, he glances warily behind him towards the iron gates that lead out to the road, where a line of parked cabs waits for the conclusion of the somber event. Colin himself is waiting for the same moment: eager for it, desperate for it, even. The desire to escape this place is overwhelming – not because he dislikes the cemetery, or even the sight of the dark coffin waiting to be lowered into the frozen ground. Not because the heavy scent of damp cold in the air makes his lungs burn slightly, or because he can't put his arm around Cece in public because he hasn't officially proposed to her yet.
It is an unsettled feeling, as though something is about to happen, something he can't quite put his finger on, and he dislikes it. Colin Craven needs to be in charge, after all. He shifts slightly and looks back at the coffin; the pastor is completing the eulogy and, all around him, men and women are respectfully bowing their heads.
He steals a quick look at her from beneath his lashes; she stands erect, with her shoulders back and her chin up, gazing sadly at the coffin with an air of regality and calmness that a lot of women would not possess in such a situation. He can see traces of dampness on her cheeks – she is not crying openly, but cannot help one or two tears escaping. He reaches out and gently takes her hand. She does not look at him, but slowly twines her fingers with his until they are thoroughly tangled.
A chorus of voices say Amen and Colin straightens, trying to rearrange his expression to one of passive blankness. One by one, the mourners pass Cece and offer murmured condolences, the women sniffling and dabbing handkerchiefs to their noses and eyes in a dainty fashion while the men touch their hats solemnly. The Harveys politely thank those who came to offer support, and Colin watches as the people slowly gather on the pavement beyond the cemetery gates. The ladies quickly slide into the waiting vehicles while the men look up at the sky and comment about impending rain, or else discuss their luncheon plans. When Mr. Harvey clears his throat and Cece tugs slightly on his hand, he realizes that all of the people who have come are now outside the gates, and it is time for them to leave as well. He releases her fingers to place his palm against her back and guide her out of this place, ready to return to the Castor Mansion.
They are just at the car and he has just opened the door when, out of nowhere, the one person he has been dreading, appears. Colin stiffens and protectively shifts to block Cece, as though the car door won't do it alone. Mr. Harvey is instantly there as well, determined to assist (or to make certain Colin doesn't do anything rash).
Randolph is wearing dark gray and looks pasty for it; the low clouds do nothing to help his foreboding appearance. Before anyone can say anything to him, he says in a formal, clipped voice, "I came to give my regards to Lucinda for her loss."
"The sentiment is noted, I am sure," Mr. Harvey responds coldly, before Colin can say something sarcastic.
"If there is anything I can do..." Randolph trails off, his eyes flickering to Cece.
Colin follows his gaze and notes both the fear and determination in Cece's eyes. Deciding it would be better to let Mr. Harvey deal with this problem, he slides into the car after her. Mr. Harvey shuts the door quickly, and Colin sharply tells the driver to get a move on.
Even as the car pulls away from the curb, Randolph makes a jerking movement as though he would like nothing more then to pull the door open and talk to Cece directly. But he doesn't actually reach out, and the car is gathering speed while Mr. Harvey smoothly handles the situation.
Colin sighs and puts an arm around her, and she curls into him and grips his lapel.
"I hate him," she whispers.
"I know." He exhales again.
"He scares me."
"I know that, too. But you said it yourself – I can't do anything to him physically," he chides playfully.
She smiles slightly against his coat. "No. You can't. But we can leave Boston."
For a second, the world falls away from him and his heartbeat skips. Leave Boston? Alone? With her? Trying not to sound eager and panicked all at the same time, he says, "But the will hasn't even been probated. And what about all of the business accounts that will have to be settled? Just because we've straightened them out doesn't mean they're complete."
"Mr. Harvey can see to those things." Her voice is small and she sounds as though she hates to be so selfish. "I just want to get away from here for a while. I want to forget the past four months. Is that so awful of me?"
He presses his lips to her hair, not in a kiss per-se, but affectionately just the same. "No more selfish than me throwing pillows at my servants. I'll see what I can come up with."
She sighs and snuggles deeper into his body. "Thank you."
