CHAPTER 2: Funerals

"While we are mourning the loss of our friend, others are rejoicing to meet him behind the veil."

-- John Taylor

Nia had always hated funerals. Funerals were too somber, too solemn, and too fake for her liking. The last funeral she had attended was her parents', and for that short while, she hated everyone who had attended. She hated their false tears, their pretentious "sorries" (oh, how she hated that word!), their façade of sadness… Fine, maybe some of them weren't fake, but Susan's friends definitely were.

Who in Aslan's name was Perpetua Dillyfeather, or Sara Beauregarde? Who were they to the Pevensies (except Susan, of course)?

And why the hell are they crying – and so noisily, too? Did they really care? Nia didn't think so.

"This is so wrong," Toulouse whispered in her ear (he was sitting on her shoulder). "This is supposed to be a funeral, not a fashion show." Ah, yes… That, too. Why was everyone here wearing black satin dresses and black felt hats?

Nia had long ago tuned out what the Reverend Michaels and Susan's friends had been saying. Their eulogies were bland – it was so obvious they didn't know any of the dead. None of the "mourners" were close to any of the dead. Peter's friends from Oxford (which was where he studied) didn't bother to attend – they disliked Susan's "theater troupe" so much, they couldn't stand the sight of them. Edmund was a loner whose only friends were numbers and manuals. Lucy's friends attended the service, but refused to go to the funeral because they were "too heartbroken at the sight of poor dead Lucy".

Too bad. Peter's friends were a decent lot who, if they'd been given the chance, would've fought during the War.

Of course, Susan ignored Nia throughout the entire ceremony, and Nia ignored her, too. Nia knew that Susan thought she was too childish, too caught up in her "imaginings" of a world that was named after her. Nia also knew that Susan blamed her for keeping her siblings in their "imaginary land."

And she hated Susan for that.

Nia glared at Susan's back. The ex-Queen was becoming more and more beautiful with each passing day. And the more beautiful she became, the more she sank into the quagmire of pretentions that was this world.

Nia didn't know exactly what happened to Susan the summer she had gone to America (which was also the summer Edmund and Lucy returned to Narnia for the last time, with their cousin Eustace). Before she boarded that plane, Susan Pevensie was still the Su Nia knew: caring – and more than a bit motherly, unpretentious, simple, and totally unlike Miss Susan, who looked a lot like Su, but was totally different. It was Miss Susan who returned with Mr. Pevensie from America. Su was lost among the Yankees.

Miss Susan didn't care for her siblings' childish dreams. All she cared about was her social life. Miss Susan was as vain as a peacock, always preening, always looking at the mirror. She avoided Nia and her siblings like the plague, and began socializing with the most popular girls in school. Miss Susan began to prey on other, less fortunate girls who were not as beautiful as she was. She was mean, yes, and disdainful. Her ambition was to find the perfect husband and become the most popular woman in London society (which was, Nia thought, a most shallow ambition).

The Friends of Narnia (for that was what they called themselves) tried to get Su back. They tried to invite her to their talks, and even hummed Narnian lullabies within her earshot. Nia even brought Toulouse along to convince her! Susan dismissed the last effort by saying that Nia was an expert engineer and that her automaton was quite convincing. It was then that Peter told them to stop, to accept the unchangeable.

Queen Susan was gone.

A tear fell from Nia's eye as she thought of this. As much as she abhorred Miss Susan, she still considered that witch friend.

The sound of cranks being turned brought Nia back to the scene. They were lowering the caskets.

Susan's friends howled louder.

"That's it," Nia whispered furiously. "We're going." What pretentiousness! Nia could not believe Susan would actually dare hire these – these "crying ladies"! She'd gone here wearing tinted glasses and a wide-brimmed hat just so everyone would pay attention to Susan and not to her (being a duchess has its cons, mind you), because she knew that was what Susan wanted… And now, that wretch turned her family's funeral into a circus!

"Hey, Nee, wait!" Will rushed after her. "You're not attending the funeral gathering?"

Nia shook her head, both at Will and at Susan's shallowness. "I just want to rest." It was nearly a week since the train crash, and she had been sleepless since then. She had another funeral to hold… By Jove, was she tired!

"Excuse me, dear." A petite, slender woman with wisps of gray hair stopped in front of her. It was Mrs. Scrubb. "I – I'm not attending the funeral party as well. Would you like to have a cup of tea? We have to discuss the other funeral."

Nia's heart broke at the sight of poor Mrs. Scrubb. Adelaide Scrubb had always been a strong woman – one of the more radical feminists Nia ever knew. Mrs. Scrubb was not an affectionate mother, yet, seeing her now, Nia realized how much she loved her son. Mrs. Srubb looked as if she hadn't sleeped in days: her eyes were bloodshot and her normally erect posture reminded her now of a wilting flower.

Oh, and Miss Susan, in her grief over her family, had neglected two Pevensie family friends: the Professor and Miss Polly. Nia was the one who'd arranged the funeral for tomorrow, at her Kent estate. She had help from Mrs. Scrubb, Uncle Nicky, and various friends of the Professor from the intellectual sphere (many of them her teachers at Cambridge).

"Addie?" Her husband approached their little group. "Let's go."

"I'd like that, mum," said Will (who always called women more than ten years older than he was "mum"). "What about you, Nee?"

Nia nodded. "Yes… I'd like that." She had another funeral to prepare, but she wanted to sit for tea, too.

Susan didn't feel like holding this… gathering. Not after losing her parents, her siblings, her cousin…

At first she didn't believe Nia – who would believe that extremely infantile woman, anyway? She'd hung up.

And then the newspaper boy delivered the evening news. Among the casualties were her family. Her entire family.

What else could she do, but rush to the hospital? Susan couldn't remember much of what happened when she got in the morgue… She must've fainted. But she couldn't forget the lifeless faces…

Susan dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief.

She had the funeral arranged, with the help of her bestfriend, Perpetua. She had to make it a pretty funeral, one her friends wouldn't sneer at. There had been no time to think things out…

She had succeeded. And yet… she didn't feel happy with her achievement. The handsome young men of her society paid attention to her, and even kissed her hand! She was the most popular lady in the area. She finally got her dream.

She just didn't realize that her family's demise was the price.

She recalled Peter inviting her that morning to come with them to Chelsea, which she'd declined. Her siblings would probably talk about that imaginary land, anyway. And she didn't want to hear about that. They never really grew up, hadn't they? But Susan did grow up, and that meant she had to be more practical… more rational. Her siblings never understood her desire – her need – to grow up. They pushed her away with their inane, childish talks… Without realizing it, they'd shut her out. When she wanted to talk about Peter's marriage prospects, or Lucy's introduction to society, they would always look askance at her. It was as if she spoke an alien language. The rift began to form, and she neither had the time nor the strength to bridge it.

Susan clenched her hands as she watched her friends drinking champaigne from Mr. Pevensie's collection. She had to move on. There was nothing that could be done for her family.

She scanned the crowd, checking if that woman and her cousin were there. No, they weren't. Of course. She knew Nia hated social gatherings, which was an irony because back in… Because in Lucy's stories, Nia was supposed to be an ambassador, and what did ambassadors do, but attend parties? Or maybe they were making fun of Nia?

Somehow, Susan felt they weren't.

Anyway, it was good that Nia wasn't here, and it was lucky she went incognito during the burial (Susan saw her with that cat, Toulouse). She would just draw attention away from Susan. What a shame Will wasn't here, though. He was nice… But his cousin?

"Where's Madam Adelaide, Susan?" Perpetua sauntered over to where Susan was sitting.

"I haven't seen her." It didn't bother her that Aunt Addie wasn't here. She was, in Susan's opinion, a most improper woman who ranted and raved about gender inequality and the benefits of socialism (whatever that is). She would just turn this gathering into a political meeting, and Susan would not stand for it.

"Oh, well." Perpetua shrugged. Susan had always been in awe of Perpetua, and she'd always compared her new bestfriend with her old. Both were extremely wealthy, yes, but that was the only thing the two had in common. While the Duchess of Kent was "old money," with her income coming from various chunks of land lent to modern companies and farmers, Miss Dillyfeather was the heiress of a large shipping company. While Nia was (Susan heard some boys in her grammar school talking about this) stunningly beautiful, Perpetua was sharp-faced and rather cruel-looking. Both were intelligent young ladies, yes, but Miss Dillyfeather was a proper lady who engaged in socializing with London's upper class and had not less than twenty suitors lined up outside her door. Nia was a heathen who studied in college, wasting her looks and her money on studying when she was better off preparing for a bright future with a husband.

In short, Perpetua Dillyfeather was the woman Susan wanted to be, and Narnia (that name!) Evenshire was…

"Susan Pevensie?" A middle-aged, finely-dressed lady approached her. "I'm sorry for your loss."

Susan rose and made a small curtsy. "Thank you, madam."

"You're even more beautiful as they say you are," said the lady, her appraising eyes scanning Susan's face. "Excellent height and bone structure…"

Susan frowned. "Madam, if you don't mind my asking… Who are you?"

"Oh, I apologize," said the lady. "I forget myself… I'm Rebecca Nichols."

Susan gasped. Rebecca Nichols was the last word in women's fashion, head of an international modeling. What was she doing here? "Pleased to meet you, Miss Nichols."

"Well, I'm here to offer you a job, Miss Pevensie. Would you like to be a model?"

"I can't believe all of you left me," Nia said into the night. She was still in her mourning finery, even though some hours had passed since Miss Polly and Professor Kirke's funeral. Will had gone to town and wouldn't be back until the next day. She seized the moment to come here, by the newly-dug graves, to rant and rave as much as she wanted. She would leave tomorrow on a business trip.

"This is called abandonment, you know."

Toulouse stood at the top of Miss Polly's gravestone. "I agree!"

"Did you really have to go at once? All of you?" She couldn't help it. Tears had begun to form in her eyes, and dropped in rivulets down her cheeks. "How could you leave me alone?"

Toulouse looked balefully at her. "I resent that."

"Me and Toulouse alone, I mean," Nia corrected. She had to stifle a laugh; thank God for Toulouse. "But this is unfair, you know. I know you're out there… I know you're in a very nice place now. It's unfair that I'm not there with you. I've lived far longer than you did… Why didn't you take me with you?"

"And leave me here? Please…"

"I'm sorry that Toulouse can't be more serious." Nia glared at the Cat. "He doesn't seem to grasp the gravity of the situation. Please excuse him."

"I'm not laughing, Nee. You are." Toulouse gave an audible sigh. He raised his head to the heavens. "But I swear – cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye – that I'll take care of Nia. I'll watch over her, but I've been doing that for the past nineteen years or so, anyway, so there's nothing new about that. And I know she can be quite a handfull – more than four handfulls, even, but I'll take care of her."

"And I swear I'll take care of Toulouse," said Nia. "After all, he's the only real friend I've got, aside from Will – and I can't exactly tell my cousin about Narnia, can I? I love Tou as much as I love Mum and Dad… I can't bear the thought of losing him now."

"They're watching over us, Nee." Toulouse leapt from the headstone and into her arms. "They're watching us from up there."

They heard the phone ring, but Nia didn't make a move to answer it.

"Let 'em ring," sighed Nia, hugging Toulouse. "I don't care."

He watched over her from the nearby woods. He only had half an hour, earth time, to see her again, while his siblings visited their sister. By the Lion… she looked so tragic, so fragile (though he knew she was everything but). He was happy with his kingdom, yes… But his happiness wasn't complete. He thought he would never feel sadness again, yet the sight of his beloved crying over their mutual friends' graves brought him an inexpressible sadness. He suddenly regretted giving in to death. He wanted to be with her, and to die with her.

More than anything, he wanted his beloved to be friends with his sister once more. He had seen his sister before he went here – she was on the brink of success,and yet she looked anything but enthusiastic. But he knew her as well as he knew the back of his hand. She was not happy. She was as far from happy as can be.

"You have a minute, High King,," said a disembodied voice he knew so well. "The next time you see her after this is when she joins us."

He nodded, and strode, with all his kingly confidence (he knew his beloved would never see him, but still, it wouldn't hurt to look kingly, would it?) to where she was sitting, hugging her Cat. He bent over her and whispered in her ear, "Au revoir, Narnia." He smiled as she jerked in surprise. Then, he leaned over once more and, ever so gently, kissed her cheek.

"High King."

"Yes, I'm going," he replied, heading back to the woods, but not before looking longingly once more at his beloved Narnia.

Susan couldn't sleep. Everything was happening so fast… Yesterday – just yesterday, she buried her parents and her siblings. And today, she went to central London to sign a five-year contract with Madam Nichols's modeling agency.

Her mother would be proud of her, she told herself. She imagined Lucy squealing in delight, and Peter and Edmund congratulating her. And then, unbidden, Nia entered her thoughts. If they had still been friends Nia would've been happy for her… very happy, indeed. Yes, they would all have been happy for her…

If so, why didn't she feel happy for herself? She just felt… empty. She didn't feel any sort of enthusiasm for her new job.

Susan cursed herself for her lack of excitement. Wasn't modeling what she wanted to do? She could wear the trendiest clothes, be admired by the most handsome men, be the envy of every young lady… She was about to lead the life she'd always dreamed of – a fabulous, sophisticated life. Why couldn't she be happy about it?

What's wrong with you, Susan?

A gentle night breeze caressed Nia's face as she stared into the night. She didn't feel like going back just yet. She had the estate to herself that night… She gave the servants a week off. She wanted to sleep here by her friends.

"I bought your house," she said to Professor Kirke's tombstone. "You know… the one in Surrey. I'm going there tomorrow… Mr. Johnson says he hasn't sold anything from your antiques collection. The Wardrobe's still there, and so is the Chest. I asked… I don't know what I'm going to do with it yet… Perhaps I'll move there and turn this estate into a museum – heaven knows this house contains enough to be one…"

"It's getting cold, Nee," said Toulouse suddenly.. "We should get in…"

"Au revoir, Narnia."

"What was that?" Nia started and looked wildly around.

"What?"

"I could've sworn someone said…"

"Maybe it was the wind."

And then, for a fraction of a second, Nia felt something very light brush her cheek. It seemed like the wind, but Nia knew it wasn't.

"We go back," said Toulouse. "It's getting so cold… This place is giving me the creeps."

Nia nodded, and stood up. Toulouse leaped from her arm and padded towards the house, while she walked at a slower pace. She didn't want to go in just yet, but Toulouse was right – it was getting cold.

"This place is haunted." Toulouse sat by the door and waited for her to fish the key from her coat pocket. "Honestly. You shouldn't have let the servants take their vacation at once."

Haunted. Nia stopped fumbling for her keys and turned around, towards the woods by the graves. Another tear fell from her eye as she realized what it was – who it was...

"Peter."

END OF CHAPTER