Chapter Five
As it turned out, Catherine was confined to her bed for two days and was thus unable to pay her respects to her mother in the Doctor's surgery. Her sickness alternated between bouts of delirious fever to moments manic hysteria. Through her delirium she was subconsciously aware that someone was caring for her: feeding her soup when she could stomach it, pressing a glass of cold water to her lips, dabbing her forehead with a cool damp cloth, murmuring soothingly while either clasping her hand or gently stroking her hair.
On the day of her mother's funeral she awoke - though she was hardly aware that she had been asleep at all - and rolled over to face the pale yellow dawn sunlight which was filtering into her room through the sheer curtains, feeling that sense of euphoria one feels on the first day of wellness after a long sickness. To her displeasure, she found herself lying in a tangle of dirty bed sheets, someone - most probably Benjamin - had put her to bed in her undergarments, though he had been thoughtful enough to remove her corset and numerous petticoats, leaving her in her chemise which was creased and damp with sweat. All in all, she felt utterly revolting and decided that she would immediately take a hot bath. She kicked back the covers, slowly stood then staggered from the room and down the hall to her own bathroom - her legs were still a little weak and shaking.
Moonacre was one of the few great Manor houses at the time which had taken the daring leap in having indoor plumbing fitted, thus Catherine's bathroom was fitted with a toilet, sink and an extravagant claw foot bathtub which stood in the centre of the room - though the room still retained its elegant fireplace from the times when it had been traditional for maids to heat buckets of water and pour them into a copper bath. Catherine let the water run in the bathtub while she inspected the array of expensive toiletries which had been bought and laid out upon the sideboard for the new lady of the house. She added a bath oil scented with jasmine to the hot water then slipped the chemise from her shoulders and stepped out of it, leaving it bundled where she had stood. With a sigh of relief, she lowered her body into the piping hot bath. Steam cured upwards thickly, caressing her skin and making the room hot and stuffy.
"Catherine?" Benjamin called, tapping at the door, "Catherine, what on Earth do you think you're doing?"
"Taking a bath, of course." she answered, scrubbing at her neck with a flannel soaked in lavender scented lotion.
"At five o'clock in the morning?"
Catherine glanced at the carriage clock on the mantelpiece and realised that her brother was quite correct.
"You should be resting." Benjamin said, stifling a yawn, "Go back to bed for a few hours after your bath. You can eat your breakfast in bed before getting ready for the funeral."
"I couldn't possibly get back under those filthy covers after having such a lovely bath! I may as well go outside and roll in the mud! I'll take my breakfast downstairs with you."
"No, you need to rest."
"Benjamin, I'm feeling entirely better and it'll do me no good to lie back in bed again. I'll take a walk in the gardens after breakfast to get some fresh air."
"We'll see." Benjamin said, succumbing to another yawn.
Catherine caught sight of her reflection in the tall standing mirror across the room and shrieked: her hair stood out from her head in a mass of wild knots and tangles like a thick briar patch.
"What's the matter?" Benjamin asked quickly, fearful that she had taken ill again.
"My hair! My hair is an awful mess! I look like a madwoman!" she wailed, reaching for a nearby porcelain jug and filling it with water to pour over her head. On the other side of the door Benjamin made and exasperated sound and walked away, muttering to himself as he went.
After washing her hair, Catherine climbed out of the bath and wrapped herself in a large soft white towel. She skittered down the hall to her room - thankfully there was no one around to witness her running the halls in such a state of undress - and changed into a clean chemise and a silk bathrobe in the style of a Japanese kimono with pink cherry blossom flowers printed on a pale blue background. She sat down at her dressing table and set about combing her damp hair, knowing full well that if she didn't do so immediately it would dry in tangles again.
She walked barefoot downstairs and found Benjamin waiting for her at the dining table. He looked rather worse for wear himself, his naturally pale complexion had a somewhat waxy quality about it and his eyes were outlined by dark shadows.
"You look rather ill yourself." Catherine said, taking a seat at the table.
"I am quite well." Benjamin said stiffly.
"Your brother stayed up day and night nursing you through your fever these past few days." Digweed muttered in her ear as he leant over to place a bowl of porridge in front of her, "Of course, he'd never admit to it."
Digweed shuffled away and Catherine began to stir some sugar into her porridge, "Did you get any sleep at all then?" she said casually, not looking up from her bowl. From the corner of her eye she saw Benjamin freeze, spoon halfway to his mouth, she glanced at him and saw that he was glaring murderously at Digweed, having cottoned on that his butler had ratted him out.
Benjamin pointedly avoided looking Catherine in the eyes, "A couple of hours early Wednesday morning and then last night once the fever had ran its course." he muttered, lying his spoon against the side his bowl.
"Thank you, Benjamin, I very much appreciate your caring for me."
"Doctor Perrins left a tonic for you to drink. He said it will see you through today." as her brother said this, Digweed was immediately by her side, placing a small bottle of green glass upon the table next to her hand.
"You called for a doctor for me? I don't remember being treated by him."
"You were rather delirious. Doctor Perrins runs the practice in Silverydew, you'll meet him today when…" Benjamin trailed off uncertainly.
"When I go to see mother's body." Catherine finished.
"Yes." Benjamin said, clearing his throat and turning his attention back to his breakfast.
Catherine ate her porridge and then a plate of scrambled egg on toast, washed down with a cup of milky tea. When she announced her intention to take a walk in the gardens to get some fresh air, Benjamin insisted on escorting her, lest she take ill again, but wouldn't allow her to set foot outside until she had drank her tonic. And so, Catherine had grudgingly drank the medicine in one gulp, finding the sticky brown liquid to have a rather strong and unpleasant bitter taste - just as she had suspected all along.
After walking in the gardens, Catherine and her brother went upstairs to change into their funeral clothes. Catherine was pleased to find that while she had been ill, someone had took the initiative to have her mourning gown washed. She took her time dressing, selecting clean stockings and petticoats from her wardrobe and putting them on - she ended up having to forgo wearing a corset as there was no one to lace it for her - taking her gown from where it had been folded over the back of her armchair and stepping into it, carefully doing up the buttons and tying ribbons at the front and the sash on her waist at the back. She sat at her dressing table and carefully pinned all her hair up then affixed a black veil atop the curls; the veil was long and made of a thick sheer material which rendered her face virtually unseeable, as was the style of mourning clothes at that time. Before leaving the room she put on her black lace gloves and picked up a black reticule.
Outside, Benjamin and Digweed were waiting beside the carriage, Benjamin cut a handsome and morose figure in his fine black frock coat, snow white shirt with black waistcoat and cravat. Digweed had changed into an old greatcoat, dusty and threadbare, it hung heavily on his stooped frame.
The journey into Silverydew seemed to take forever. They rode in silence and Catherine wished that Benjamin would talk to her, console her and tell her that it would be all right. She had never seen a dead person before and the thought of seeing her mother terrified her and made her feel sick to her stomach. She wished she didn't have to go into the Doctor's surgery - or the funeral, for that matter; she wished that she could just turn around and walk away and keep walking, across the fields and far away to a place where she wasn't Lady Catherine Merryweather who was expected to say goodbye to her mother's corpse then watch her be put into a box and that box be lowered into the ground and covered in soil and worms and other kinds of disgusting, blind crawling things. But more than anything she wished that her brother would talk to her.
The carriage stopped outside the Doctor's surgery and they were greeted by Doctor Perrins himself. Doctor Perrins was an awkward man in his early thirties. With his tall thin frame and thatch of straw coloured hair which stuck out at all angles, he reminded Catherine very much of a gawky scarecrow or some gangly bird - perhaps a stork.
Benjamin helped her down from the carriage and the Doctor stepped forward to introduce himself, "Arthur Perrins, my lady," he said, shaking her hand, "My condolences. If it is not too brazen to mention, you are looking infinitely better compared to the last time I saw you."
"No doubt due to your excellent care and the tonic you left me. I apologise that we were not formally introduced on that occasion, Doctor Perrins, I confess I hardly remember anything from my days of illness."
"Not at all, my lady! It couldn't be helped! You had gone into shock. The worst case I have ever seen in all my years as a physician!"
"Yes. Well…"
"Oh! This way please, Lady Merryweather!" Doctor Perrins exclaimed, leaping to open the surgery door for her.
"Are you coming Benjamin?" Catherine said, turning to her brother.
"I have already paid my respects." Benjamin replied before disappearing back into the carriage, "Take your time." he called out as an afterthought. Catherine wanted to cling to him and beg him to go in with her, or perhaps beg him not to make her go in at all. But she didn't want him or Doctor Perrins to think her a coward, so instead she took a deep breath and followed Doctor Perrins into the surgery.
The Doctor led her across the waiting room and through a door which opened onto a long corridor. They walked down this corridor to the door at the very end, Catherine knew exactly what was behind it and she would have gladly signed away her soul to the Devil if it meant she didn't have to see it, but then Doctor Perrins opened the door. The room was icy cold and lined with off-white tiles, a small window high in the wall partially lit the room with a dim grey light. Of the three tables there, two were empty; atop the one in the centre was a coffin covered with a white sheet.
Catherine stood in the doorway, awkwardly fiddling with her reticule and looking anywhere but at the coffin, "It's so cold." she said finally.
"Yes. It preserves the-" Doctor Perrins stopped short, realising that explaining how storing cadavers at a low temperature helped to stave off the process of decomposition to the daughter of said corpse would have been most indelicate. Instead, he hurried forward and drew the sheet back from the coffin gently, then left the room with a murmured "I'll just be outside. Please take all the time you need.", closing the door behind him.
It was a long time before Catherine built up the courage to approach the table. When she did, she did so with her eyes closed, and again it took her a long time to build up the courage to open her eyes even a crack so as to gaze upon her mother's body through her eyelashes. But she did and when she was sure that she had accustomed herself to the sight and she was not going to vomit, she opened her eyes properly.
Despite being in her fifties when she died, Lady Elizabeth Merryweather was still a great beauty, in fact, at a glance one might say she hadn't changed at all since the family photograph now standing on Catherine's bedside table had been taken. However, if Catherine looked close enough then she could see the signs of change: silver threads of hair ran occasionally through her mane of chestnut curls and faint lines were just beginning to form at the corners of her eyes and mouth. Of course, death and the illness had changed her also; her formally luminous pale skin was now an odd mixture of white, blue and yellow; her almond shaped eyes had sunk into her skull and were framed by long black lashes and purple circles; her cheeks had sunk also, causing her fine cheekbones to stick out sharply; the tendons and bones stuck up grotesquely on the backs of her hands, almost like the claws of some bird of prey, yes, these were the hands of a dead woman. But it must be reiterated that despite all these slight imperfections she was still very beautiful.
Catherine bent forward and kissed her mother's forehead; it was so cold that for one terrible moment it put her in mind of a sheet of ice and she worried that she might never be able to pry her lips away. But of course she did.
Outside, the hearse had arrived, the horses tossed their heads, making the black plumes of feathers attached to them to flap and flutter. The pallbearers took off their top hats and bowed to her when she stepped out of the Doctor's surgery, murmuring their condolences. Catherine climbed unaided into the carriage.
"Are you well?" Benjamin asked when she flopped down beside him.
"Yes." Catherine whispered, taking a handkerchief from her sleeve and wiping the tears from her eyes.
They watched as the pallbearers disappeared into the surgery and returned carrying the coffin upon their shoulders. A few minutes later, time in which the pallbearers slid the coffin into the back of the hearse, the carriage took off at a slow and steady pace. The carriage passed by villagers who stood on the streets paying their respects, they stood as though to attention with their heads bowed; the men had removed their hats and the women held the children still by their sides.
The carriage and hearse finally stopped at the Church of Mary the Virgin. Catherine was astonished by the sheer number of people congregated in the churchyard waiting for the funeral to begin, everyone from the humblest villagers to lords and ladies whom her mother had socialised with at the glittering London balls she often attended.
She and Benjamin followed the pallbearers as they carried the coffin into church and laid it before the alter. Benjamin led her to the family's pew, directly beneath the pulpit.
"Where is George? Will he come?" Catherine whispered to Benjamin while the rest of the mourners took their seats. Benjamin merely gave a dismissive one shouldered shrug, keeping his eyes fixed straight ahead. Catherine was about to berate him for being so blasé when at that moment the Parson stepped into the pulpit.
The service was long and the Parson delivered it beautifully, describing the late Lady Merryweather as a beautiful and energetic woman, charming and instantly liked by all who met her. But Catherine found it very hard to cry any more for her mother, who, in truth, she barely knew. After all, this was the woman who had sent her to boarding school for the last ten years of her life, all those important years of growing up were not spent in her family home, but in the anonymous halls of the Marborough Academy. Catherine could count on one hand the number of visits home she had during those ten years.
Instead, Catherine kept glancing to the pew door, expecting George to come walking through it any moment. But he never did. She noticed something etched into the wood of the pew beside her and ran her fingers across it: it was an image of a cat, carved deep into the wood. She suddenly remembered a hot summer day when she was five years old, she had been restless from the heat and bored by the long sermon so Benjamin had taken out his pocket knife and carved the cat in the wood to amuse her. It stood, angular and scrawny, with its long tail straight in the air and a crookedly fierce expression on its face. It was her, a cat stood for Catherine because Benjamin used to always refer to her as 'Cat' or some other feline equivalent, George caught on and soon started calling her a catastrophe, maintaining that it counted because it contained the word 'cat'. When she was first sent to boarding school, Catherine used to sign all of her letters to Benjamin with a drawing of a cat instead of her name, but that soon fizzled out as she got older and when Benjamin started sending less letters for some reason.
When the service ended, the pallbearers carried the coffin outside and lowered it into the waiting open grave which had been dug in the family plot next to the grave of her father, the Parson read a prayer and she and Benjamin each threw a handful of dirt onto the coffin before allowing the gravediggers to fill in the rest. And so the funeral of Lady Elizabeth Merryweather was over.
Catherine stood with Benjamin outside the church and shook hands with the mourners, only half listening to their murmured condolences. The villagers of Silverydew seemed to be a kind and friendly lot, many of them remembered Catherine from when she had lived at Moonacre when she was a little girl and were not offended in the slightest when she confessed that she could remember hardly anyone; they introduced themselves with either a bow or a curtsy, expressed their condolences and told her how pleased they were that she had returned to Moonacre. Phillip Hadaway said a few gentle words to her and informed her brother that the reading of the late Lady Merryweather's will would have to be moved to a later date as the solicitor had some urgent business to see to for which he must depart to London immediately. Doctor Perrins shook her hand and stammered that should she take ill again they must not hesitate to call on him again and that he had plenty more tonic should she need it, Catherine assured him that she was feeling perfectly healthy (she prayed that she wouldn't relapse into shock again, for she dearly did not want to drink any more foul tonic!). Josiah Flitch was there wearing a moth-eaten old black overcoat which looked as though it might have belonged to his grandfather, his dark hair was slicked back with a liberal amount of hair oil and his fingers were once again stained with black ink. He flapped towards Catherine like some great overgrown bat, expressed his sympathies, gave another little spasm of a bow then flapped away again.
Catherine left her brother conversing with some stuffy old Duke whom her mother had once had a luncheon with and went for a wander around the churchyard in the sunshine, reading the names on the headstones as she walked. She had become particularly absorbed in reading the headstone of an entire family killed in a house fire fifty years before when she became aware that two people were having a conversation nearby and she could hear every word of it.
"A lovely service was it not, Lady Stratford?"
"Yes indeed, a lovely service, Lady Milles-Coombe." It was two ladies whom her mother had once socialised with in London. They were both in their fifties and dressed in full mourning clothes, including rather dated bonnets, Catherine considered that her own mother would have been livid that they would wear something so unfashionable to her funeral. They stood at the church gate, gossiping and clucking away like a couple of old hens. They had no idea that Catherine was there because she stood hidden behind the tall headstone of the burned family.
"An utter disgrace that the eldest boy couldn't turn up for his own mother's funeral, though!"
"Oh yes, Lady Milles-Coombe, a disgrace! But, in my most humblest of opinions, that one was always destined for scandal, even as a boy he shamed his family on numerous occasions."
"I recall encountering him once at a picnic held by Lady Walpole and-"
"Who is she again, my dear? Her name rings a bell but I can't quite remember."
"Well, she was virtually unknown and married to some Admiral in the British Navy, but when he died somewhere up the Panama Canal she married Lord Walpole and squandered away most of his fortune. They say money can't buy good breeding and, heavens, they were right! She is the most course and common woman I have ever met! Anyway, Lord Walpole eventually died of the drink and now she's a Duchess! Married some Duke last autumn!"
"Good heavens! She's like one of those beastly spiders that they have in the tropics! What are they called again? Never mind, I am sure it will come to me later."
"Quite. She's probably had more husbands than most of us have had hot dinners! As I was saying, it was at a picnic that she held on May Day some years ago that I first encountered the eldest Merryweather boy, and I could immediately tell that he was a bad one. Something about the eyes, you felt as if he could see through all your clothes when he was looking at you!"
"Well, have you heard some of the stories about his actions in London? Nothing but drink, gambling and women!"
"But his brother seems a responsible young man, and his sister is sweet little thing, very pretty to the eye."
"Yes, very pretty. Actually, I am thinking that she would make a suitable match for my youngest son Nathanial."
"Good heavens, Lady Stratford! I was just thinking the same for my son Byron! They do say that great minds think alike, don't they?"
"They certainly do say that, Lady Milles-Coombe, they certainly do! Well, I am certain that the Lady Catherine Merryweather will not want for suitors, a fine girl like that will have all the eligible men in the county vying for her hand. And I wouldn't be surprised if men from around the country and perhaps even abroad make offers!"
Catherine turned away, she didn't want to hear anymore. Her mother was barely in her grave and those disgusting women were already making plans and speculating on her own wedding! It was despicable, vile, tactless and…Catherine pressed her hands to her face and stumbled sobbing in the direction of where Benjamin stood outside the church.
She staggered blindly along until a gentle hand on her shoulder stilled her. Catherine moved her hands from her face and found her looking up at the Parson himself. The Parson was a tall, thin man with olive-brown skin and wild white hair which brushed his shoulders.
"Lady Merryweather." he said, gently taking her hand and smiling sympathetically, "I must express my sorrow at the death of your mother. She was a fine woman. You seem a trifle agitated, my lady, shall I fetch Doctor Perrins?"
"Those women!" Catherine sobbed, waving her arm in the direction of the two gossips, "They said the most awful things about George and then they started saying things about me. They're nothing but horrid old witches!"
"Calm yourself, my lady, calm yourself! You mustn't say such things about others. Yes, those women unknowingly said some hurtful, tactless things, but you mustn't let the foolishness of others upset you. I am sure they meant well by being here to pay tribute to your mother."
The Parson patted Catherine's shoulder comfortingly as she calmed down and stopped crying. When she had stopped sniffling and the last of her tears were wiped away with his very own handkerchief, he looked at her meaningfully and sternly, yet without malice, "And I think you have learnt an important lesson about eavesdropping today, my lady?"
Catherine was astonished at his frankness, nevertheless, she nodded her head in agreement. He was right after all, if she hadn't been eavesdropping then she wouldn't have heard anything to upset her.
"Ah! You have the look of a true sun Merryweather!" the Parson exclaimed, staring carefully into her face, "Just like your brother and father! Your eldest brother was of course one of the moon Merryweathers."
"Forgive me, Sir, but I don't follow."
"All Merryweathers fall into two categories; the sun Merryweathers, with their dark hair and dark eyes and great height; and the moon Merryweathers, with their auburn hair, silver eyes and petite frame."
"Oh. Well, thank you, Sir, for the service. It was lovely." Catherine said, giving the Parson a small, genuine smile, for she found herself liking him very much. She turned to leave and join her brother who stood hovering beside the church gate, waiting for her to finish talking.
"A fine young woman," the Parson said, gripping her hand tightly, "But a little untrusting and easily swayed by vanity and distraction. I saw you glancing around during the funeral, my dear."
"I was looking for my elder brother." Catherine stuttered, shamefaced.
"Yes, of course." the old man said with a reassuring smile, "Know that you may visit whenever you wish: the Church and the Parsonage are open for all."
"Thank you, Sir!" Catherine beamed, then turned and ran to catch up with Benjamin.
"I sent Digweed home with the carriage. I thought a walk might do you some good. It isn't far." Benjamin said before turning and marching up the lane. Catherine had to run to catch up to him.
"George didn't come to the funeral." she finally said. The lane they were walking along was lined with trees, the morning had turned warm and sunny with a light wind which made the branches sway a little.
"I didn't expect him to." Benjamin replied.
Catherine glanced up at him sharply then away again, "You never did like him much." she stated.
"After the way he used to torment you when you were a child, I'm surprised that you ever did." Benjamin retorted.
Catherine was five years old. She had been skipping throughout the gardens playing one of her silly imaginary games when she had come across her brother George standing beside the lily pond, his feet planted apart and his hands clasped behind his back, seemingly in deep contemplation of the water.
"What are you doing George?" she had asked.
"Looking at the fishies." was her brother's reply.
"What fishies?" Catherine queried sceptically.
George turned to face her, flicking a stray piece of copper hair out his eyes, "Don't you know?" he said, looking genuinely shocked, "The gardeners have just put some pretty colourful fishies in the pond!"
"Where? Where!" Catherine cried, pushing past him to stand at the edge of the pond and look for the fish.
It only took one sharp kick up the backside from George to send Catherine falling head first into the water. She resurfaced a moment later, kicking and screaming, her black curls plastered to her face.
It was one of the gardeners who ended up dragging her out by the scruff the neck, having ran to investigate the source of the screams and discovered Catherine thrashing around in the pond while her eldest brother stood cackling at the side.
Catherine was immediately dumped in a hot bath and forced to spend the rest of the day in bed for fear that she might catch pneumonia. George was called to his father's study and given a long lecture on how he, at twenty-three years old, was far too old to be playing such dangerous tricks on his little sister. Benjamin, feeling that his brother deserved more than a mere lecture, ended up picking a fight later that evening with George.
That night little Catherine woke to find Benjamin's face, sporting a black eye and a split lip, peering out of the darkness at her. He had snuck to her room to give her a cuddle and a foil wrapped chocolate and to tell her with a grin which cracked his scabbed lip causing it to start bleeding again, that he had successfully fought for and defended her honour.
"He was perfectly beastly to you as a child." Benjamin argued.
"Not all the time," Catherine said thoughtfully, "Sometimes he was lovely. Remember when he made me a blanket fort and stayed to have a tea party with me and my dolls? And then there's the time there was that horrible thunderstorm when you were away in London with father. I snuck into his room and he let me cuddle up in bed with him because I was scared."
"Remember when he threw the doll mother and father gave you for your sixth birthday in the fireplace? You adored that doll." Benjamin said crisply.
"He wasn't always mean." Catherine insisted, "Perhaps he was unavoidably detained. Perhaps your letter never arrived."
"I highly doubt that the letter could have just gone missing. Surely he must have heard the news from someone? There were a lot of society people at the funeral, her death was big news, how could he not have gotten wind of it? There was also an obituary in every major paper. " Benjamin pointed out.
Catherine ignored him, "I shall write to him myself. He will defiantly come if I write to him." she said with certainty.
