Amanda's Story

Mourning

Amanda felt the sunlight on her face. She turned her head away, pushing deeper into the down pillow. A vague ache, a reminder of something dreadful once she was fully awake and remembering, caused her to deny it was truly daytime. Sleep. She just needed more sleep.

From out of the darkness, Amanda heard a voice. It was Papa, calling her. She ran along the gravel drive, parallel to the corral fence. She was little, not even as high as the second rail. She wore a short dress and her hair in plaits. It was cold, the sun was just up, and her father was calling for her again.

She walked into the grass, which immediately clung to her legs and slowed her down. The dew was cold; her feet felt like ice had coated them. Her arms worked back and forth to press forward through the mist and the grass and the darkness that just wouldn't flee the corners of her sight.

It seemed like hours passed, and she was no closer to Papa. She climbed the fence rail to get a better look. Mist moved eerily in the distance. Could it be someone standing, just through there? She squinted.

The voice called again, but it wasn't Papa. It was Lord Dabney, only he was very far away. The field must be a mile long! Amanda reached one arm out towards him.

A dark shape loomed, a squeal of anger ringing high-pitched just as hoof beats thundered closer. The horse in the pasture reared, tossing its mane and baring its teeth. Amanda opened her mouth to scream, but emitted no sound. The mare stood on her rear legs, slashing her iron hooves back and forth, closer and closer to the fence. Amanda wanted to step down, but the ground was now far below her. She turned frightened eyes to where Dabney had stood across the field. He frowned, began to lift his hand. Then disappeared.

Now Amanda cried. Hot, bitter tears pushed between her closed eyes. She fisted her hands and felt... blankets. Not the wood of the fence.

Her shoulders shook as she released the fear, the loss, the pain that had been the dream. She gulped even greater sobs as the dream faded and reality oozed back—Dabney really was gone. Not across a field, but gone into that void of death that no one understood. She gasped and curled into herself, wishing the ache would fade. The terror of the dream had been nothing compared to this—real, acrid, choking pain that she could not awake from.

#

Mrs. Pearce had spoken to a quiet assembly of all their servants, from the grooms to the gardeners to the cook. They had stood uncomfortably in the drawing room for a mere two minutes while she shared the information about the death of Lord Dabney. She asked their forgiveness for the unneeded work they'd been through to prepare for the wedding, but now some help would be needed to sew and hang some black mourning crepe. Then she'd tried vainly to stifle a sob, and failing, cried aloud. Susan had led her out of the room, one arm cradling her as if she were a child with a skinned knee.

Rachel had stood in the hall, overhearing the report. As the servants walked out, the men tipped their caps and the ladies patted her arm or squeezed her hand. She knew they wanted to offer comfort, but kept their distance.

The sound of hoof beats in the yard drew her to the front door. Beauchamps was riding up, and Rachel eagerly stepped outside and was near him the moment he jumped off his horse. He gathered her up in his arms, pressing her tightly to his chest. She sighed.

"How is she?" he whispered.

"Amanda's only come to her senses once or twice. She either cries uncontrollably until she is asleep again, or stares in a way that makes us think her mind is lost. We are all worried. She hasn't eaten since yesterday." Rachel sniffled, then forced a smile and looked up at him.

"I've only come for a moment," Beauchamps said. "Word is the funeral has been set for Saturday." He handed her a slip of paper, a note from the Earl.

"Come in. We'll talk to Father."

He shook his head. Gently, he detached her from his arms and stepped away. "I can't. It's risky for me to be here at all. If you'd relay to him that the Ellsworths have sent word of the funeral and offered their carriage, that should do well enough."

Rachel nodded. When he stepped back to his horse, she felt the cold air fill in where his warmth used to be. She raised a hand in a weak wave, a rueful smile sent to accompany it.

Beauchamps tipped his hat and left as quickly as he had come.

Rachel's footsteps rang loudly in the entry way, too noisy for such a solemn house. She slipped off her boots then went to the study door, knocked, and heard no reply. She knocked again and then cracked the door open.

"Father?" She glanced around. He sat, not in his usual chair, but in an upholstered wood chair, looking out the window. He had a great view of the pastures full of horses, but his staring eyes did not follow their movements. "Father, I have some information for you."

He turned, realizing someone was there. "Rachel, come in." He moved behind his desk and sat down.

"It's a note from the Earl. The inquest is finished, and they declared the death an accident. Lord Chester is bringing Dabney home, and has set the funeral for Saturday evening."

"Three days? Hmm." He rubbed the stubble on his chin and said no more.

"Father, should we be part of the funeral procession? Or attend the church service?"

"No, probably not Amanda, nor any of my daughters. Perhaps Mrs. Pearce and I could go."

"The Ellsworths offered to convey you along with them in their carriage."

"That is kind, yes." He nodded absently. After a moment of staring, he looked up, as if realizing she was still there. He left the study with a sigh, and she followed him to the drawing room. He paced back and forth, first to the windows, then to the fireplace.

"What worries you?" she asked after a fidgety silence.

"Oh, the funeral trip will be fine. The new curate, Watson, could not have come at a better time. It's the harvest, and tithes on every farm for miles are coming in. He'll have to record them at the tithe barn. Then he can come over and preach on Sunday. Clyde and Vern will handle the horses while I'm gone. But ... this inquest. Reports from Dabney's valet have been spread about. He's saying how poorly the team of horses traveled, that they shouldn't have been sold to Dabney when they were so ill-bred. It's concerning."

"Oh, no," Rachel breathed. "If that were to be made known..."

Vicar Pearce nodded, furrowing his brows. "Yet I know that team was well trained!" His burst of volume made Rachel jump. "You know it, too. The handler from Ayton was thorough in making sure they were gentle and steady. There is something bothering me about it. I may never know what."

Rachel ran her hand over her forehead, trying to rub away the headache that had been there for two days. "Maybe you can inquire, on the way back, and find out more."

Vicar Pearce nodded. "If the Ellsworths don't mind, I will. Now, I must go speak to your mother. She is in her room?"

Rachel nodded. "I will check on Amanda as well. Marian has sat with her for these past two hours. I'm sure she'll want a break."

They both walked up the stairs, taking them slowly and thoughtfully.