Chapter 26- Friends and Relations
The months to Christmas pass quickly, but Lizzie's grief burrows deep and pulls her under with it. She tries to maintain the jail, but Thomas finds himself doing most of the daily work while Lizzie manages to cook for the prisoners. He works closely with Calum, learning his strengths and weaknesses, handing him more tasks every day. He is impressed with the young man's management skills. He does not think it will take years for him to take on the work all on his own.
Lizzie doesn't attend the Christmas Eve party with the Doyle's, nor does she hold a gathering on Christmas. She spends the day in bed, curled up with one of her father's sweaters. Thomas tends to her and urges her to eat, but she refuses.
The day of her father's memorial, she returns to his house and watches as Helga greets guests. There are more than they anticipated and soon Malachi suggests they move to the church. Richard, Thaddeus, Rebecca, and Nathaniel help carry food from the house and soon they are set up again. But her father's friends keep coming and the church seating isn't comfortable, the room a bit chilly. Pillows and blankets appear from various households in the village and soon the room is far more cozy.
They they mingle and then they stand at the pulpit and share stories of Mr York's care for each and every one of them. His generosity and kindness are clear. He was a much-loved man, even by many of his former prisoners.
Thomas tries to stay close to Lizzie. She is gracious and warm to those who come to her to tell her little details of how her father changed their lives, but he can also see she is weary and sad. He wishes he could spirit her away to a quiet corner but does not know if that is acceptable at her own father's memorial.
There is a face in the crowd, though, that Thomas does not expect and his presence is so starting that Thomas excuses himself to go meet this unanticipated guest.
"Mr Angel?"
The old man turns, "There's few living who know to call me that name."
"Sir, I apologize if it's the wrong one. I don't know another. Do you remember me?"
"Thomas Sharpe, age 32. Yes, I remember you. How are you faring?"
"Well, thank you."
"Do you have a family? A home? A few creature comforts?"
"Yes, sir. I've been with Miss Lizzie York for years. She and I have a cottage. It is a home I am quite proud to have built for her."
"Miss? She's not your wife?"
"No, sir. Given my history, we haven't been married."
"Interesting."
"Might I ask you a question?"
Mr Angel nods, "Of course."
"How did you come to know Mr York?"
"We were all village jailers- some newer to it than others. I think there were six of us. We did our best to treat the prisoners we held as best we could. But we knew what some of them faced in Carlisle. This was before Mr Hayes, mind you. It wasn't the sort of place you'd like to think of sending a man, and certainly not someplace you'd want a man to breathe his last. A few of us were allowed to watch the hangings- so watch we did. The lack of kindness shown to the condemned disturbed us all. So when the hangman left for less grim work, we put in our names. Except we didn't do it as a single man each, you see. We put in our names as a lot. We'd have a rotation so we could take turns with the work, a few years at a time. And we decided we'd keep in touch so we never had to worry about not having someone to talk to about a particularly disturbing case. Every time we stepped into the role, we took on the name Mr Angel. Didn't matter which one of us placed the noose and pulled the lever, we thought every man should get the chance to be calmed by an Angel in the end. So they were. And here I am. Your Mr Angel."
"Mr York spent time as a...a Mr Angel?"
"Yes."
"And that must be why he was so calm and steady as he walked me down that hall."
"Aye, indeed. He knew who would be on the other side of the door, what you'd face- he'd ushered others across, same as I."
"He never spoke of it."
"None of us usually do. It's something we keep between ourselves. There are a few of us left from that group, and we've taken on a few new young men suited to the work. We may not make much of a difference to the world up here in Carlisle, but we can at least make a difference to the people we're taking out of it. There's a bit of a relief for Mr Hayes to be able to tell a family their loved one was treated gently in the end."
Thomas is unsure how to say what he wants to say and his face clearly shows his conflict, "I...I can attest that it...it makes a difference. My father tried to kill me in my childhood. There was no kindness, only insults and anger. I knew I was worthless from a young age and that death was something that would be deserved no matter how it came. To have someone ready to usher me to it with such incredible patience and kindness was something I had never considered possible. While horrible and terrifying, your soft steady presence was like nothing I had experienced relating to death." He pauses, "None of this was, actually. Mr York's kindness. Lizzie simply accepting what I had done and allowing me to grieve. Rebecca's simple kindness in burying my sister. I celebrated Christmas for the first time 25 years ago in the York house. Helga embraced me into the family without a second thought and she knew the charges against me. At my worst, I was brought into a world where there were truly good people waiting that I had no idea I could be a part of." Another pause, "Sir, thank you. What name shall I call you out here?"
"Hiram Schultz," he extends his hand, "Pleasure to meet you in this world, Mr Sharpe."
Thomas shakes his hand, "And you as well, Mr Schultz."
Someone whistles for attention- Helga, "Aye- Mr Schultz? We need a blessin' on this food. Care to take a moment?"
He turns to Thomas, "Excuse me. We'll talk again later- but I need to take on my other role- rabbi." He pats Thomas' arm as he passes and heads to the table.
Thomas looks for Lizzie. He doesn't see her amongst the assembled and so he wanders to the entryway to see if she is there. He meets Malachi.
"Excuse me, but have you seen Lizzie?"
"She left while you were talking to the old man. Said she needed to take a walk. I think she headed towards the cottage."
"Thank you."
"You best keep an eye on that girl. None of us know if she's inherited any of her mother's madness. We didn't talk about that around her father, but...well, it's a worry a lot of us have had over the years. You don't forget a thing like how we found her."
"I will find Lizzie."
"Good luck. And you'd best do it fast. The skies don't look promising."
Thomas steps out into the grey afternoon. It has started to snow. Faint impressions of footprints cross the churchyard, deviating from the path towards two familiar places. He follows them- there are roses on the graves of his wives, in front of Noah's little lamb, and on Lucille's headstone. He recognizes the roses. They are from her father's memorial supper. He continues to trace her path, taking it out of the churchyard and to their cottage. It is dark inside, save for a dim lantern in the bedroom. He calls her name, hoping to hear the rustle of her skirts as she comes from shadow, but it does not happen. The house is empty. In the low lighting, he almost misses the single sheet of paper left on the bed.
"Thomas- this has all been too much at once. I'm going back to where everything started a quarter century ago. Don't follow me into the windswept nothing. I will be back before dark. But in case something happens, I love you."
He sets down the note and glances out the nearest window. The snow is falling more heavily. Being out beyond the village bounds in this is a way to get lost and freeze. He grabs his hat, scarf, heavy jacket, and a quilt and runs for Mr Kittering's livery.
"I need a horse."
"Mr Sharpe. Hello."
"I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude, but Lizzie's gone out and the weather's turning for the worse."
"You know, there was a man 25 years ago came bursting in here to hire a horse in weather that started out just like this..."
"Yes. And I think we head to similar destinations. Did Lizzie ride out?"
"I don't know. She wouldn't have talked to me first if she did. She'd have just gone straight to the stables."
Thomas turns, "Then if you can tell me if a horse is missing, I'd be grateful."
"You really think she rode out in this? She's brighter than that."
"She mourns her father, sir, she's not thinking entirely clearly."
They hurry to the stables and Mr Kittering notices a stall door open, "She took Josie. Good horse. One she's well familiar with."
"I wonder how long she's been out."
He looks at the ground outside, "Long enough the snow's covered her tracks."
"That isn't very long with how it's coming down."
He turns to Thomas, "Are you sure about this? You're likely to lose the road and find yourself lost in this mess."
"And Lizzie's liable to do the same and cannot yell for help if she is injured or lost. I won't leave her to this on her own."
Mr Kittering leads out a large black horse, "Well, then I suppose I'd best send you out with Sampson and the small carriage, then. It'll give you both a bit of shelter when you find her, and you can tie Josie up to the side and walk her home."
"Thank you."
Mr Kittering works quickly and Thomas is soon in the driver's seat, ready to brave the snow, "Godspeed, Mr Sharpe. I hope you find her soon. When do we send out a rescue party?"
"Follow the road to Crimson Peak in half hour. I hope I've found her by then, but if not...we'll need all eyes." He rides out, only realizing once he is beyond the village bounds and on a road leading to the clay that the quilt folded beside him is the one she made that first Christmas. One of the first gifts he'd been given that hadn't also brought with it guilt and dread.