Saints and Sinners

by Karen V. Wasylowski

  Luke stopped puffing, intrigued despite his common sense. “Are you trying to tell us you sense that through your other worldly linking with Matthew?”

  “Don’t be an idiot. I saw him about an hour ago when he told me he’d meet us. And, there he is – Matthew, over here.” Mark was already moving a chair beside him for his brother’s use.

  “Who allowed this riff raff inside? They must be lowering the requirements for membership. Luke, move your foot. Hello, Uncle Wills, George. Uncle Tony! Now our impressive table location is understandable. Father, don’t you dare light that cigar. Luke, you were supposed to watch him today.”

  “I took his tobacco pouch, didn’t I? Sneaky old man has more pockets than Fagin.”

  Oftentimes, Fitzwilliam was so proud of his sons that the emotion embarrassed him. Today it felt more like aggravation. “My little nest of vipers. We should have sold this lot to gypsies when we had the chance, Darcy.”

  Luke snatched the cigar away. “Don’t be silly, Papa. You know you would have had to pay them to take us.”

  A few hours later, after the two fathers had left, Anthony and the younger men were left to finish off the last of the brandy and cigars. “Matthew, would your coachman be available to drive me to the train station tomorrow morning? I hate to put your father out any more than I am.”

  “Of course, Uncle Tony. I’ll send him by around eight, shall I? Good. Mark, pass me a cigar. Are we playing cards this evening?”

  “What in the world? I have told you twice already today that we’ve cancelled cards this evening.”

  “Pardon? Oh, yes, of course. My mind… I must be more tired than I thought.”

  “Is there something bothering you?”

  “No, of course not. You worry too much.” Wanting to quickly change the subject, he turned to Anthony. “So, you’re off to the funeral tomorrow. Did you know the Prince well?”

  “I’ve met him at a few court functions. Actually, the only reason my presence is required is to assist an old friend of mine, Albert’s cousin, the Duc de Nemours. He has been quite ill this year but is determined to attend. From what he tells me this will be a very simple affair, just as Albert wished.”

  “I read in The Times all of Windsor is shuttered down, the chapel covered in black. Well, it’s just as bad here, I cannot remember a bleaker Christmas. No theater, no ballet, no carolers – although, now that I think on it that one’s a mercy. When Papa tries to join in, singers weep, dogs howl, cats screech. George, I hope your father is still having Boxing Day at Pemberley House.”

  “Absolutely. Mother is removing the black crepe and sneaking decorations around the house whenever old Winters isn’t looking.” George accepted a cup of coffee from the waiter. “Why do you ask?”

  “My Amanda is convinced there’ll be no Father Christmas this year, or any of the usual celebrations. I just want to reassure her that life does go on. By the way, the girls and I met Alex Durand and his son at your father’s house the other day. The man is in town awaiting word of his brother and your sister. Will they be invited to the family holiday activities, do you think? It would be a shame for the lad to be excluded.”

  George glanced up, his surprise evident. “Kathy and I were speaking of this just today. You won’t mind then?”

  “Mind? Of course not.” Matthew coolly stirred his cup of coffee. “I have nothing against the child. Yes, I know, I know – I had that awful brawl with his father, but that was ages ago. All forgotten now. In fact, I was thinking – Will is home from Oxford for the holidays. Perhaps he could take the boy under his wing, make him feel part of the family? I’d hate for the lad to suffer because of my prior misdeeds.”

  “Who are you and what have you done with my cousin?”

  “Very funny, George. Imagine how I’m laughing inside.”

  “Truth is, I haven’t met the son as yet, didn’t even know he existed until father told me. Odd that Anne Marie never mentioned him. Still, he’s here now and part of the family. And, that’s an excellent idea about Will, too, I’ll mention it to him.”

  Anthony smiled, patted Matthew’s arm. “So, after all these years you’ve decided to make peace with the fellow. Good for you, hijo.”

  “It’s only right since I was clearly in the wrong. I’ll have you know I’ve already visited with the family. Well, my God, will you look at your faces. George, stop staring at me as if I had two heads, I’m not a monster. I like to think my temper has been tamed by age.”

  “That’s news to me.” Luke scoffed. “You’re usually the most consistently irritated person I know.”

  “Damn you, Luke. That’s a hell of a thing to say.”

  “You see? Can’t even take a ribbing. It’s not my fault if you act the temperamental diva at times.”

  “I do not, you ass. I’ll have you all know we had a damn pleasant visit. In fact, when his parents were out of the room the boy confided to me his desire to attend school at Harrow. He said his parents had tried several times while in town to secure at least an appointment, but with the Prince’s death… well, evidently, they now are hoping to speak with the administration after the new year. It is all very hush hush – not to leave this table. The family would be mortified if it were known they’ve been unsuccessful; but, they have hopes. Perhaps with our family’s long history at the school father could call in a few favors.” Matthew felt his brother Mark’s gaze on him.

  He could never fool Mark.

  Even George scowled. “This news is a surprise to me. Father said the boy’s mother made it very plain they’d be returning to Scotland as soon as possible. In fact, he was amazed Bridget came to London at all.”

  “Really?” Matthew cleared his throat. “Well, as I said, they wish this kept secret since they’ve been unsuccessful in their attempts. One thing for certain, Ewan – that’s his name, Ewan – is desperately lonely. I mentioned the boys and their ice games and he nearly burst out of his skin with excitement. George, perhaps you could invite him to join them. When are we scheduled to begin, by the way?”

  “A few days after Christmas. And, I do believe we’re short on numbers, so another warm body will be most welcome. Is it too much to hope he’s a good defender? How old is he?”

  Matthew felt the glow of fatherly pride. “Eight; however, he’s a big lad for his age, looks very strong.”

  “Eight? That’s awfully young. We’ll make certain he doesn’t face off against the older lads. Oh, and Kathy wanted me to ask about the family pew numbers. You and Clarissa are both attending at St. Paul’s for the Prince’s service?”

  “Clarissa, my Clarissa, not delight the ton with her expansive mourning wardrobe? Please be sensible. She’s been in a frenzy of buying for days now, even purchased a complete mourning wardrobe for me. Wishful thinking on her part – unless she’s preparing me for my own funeral.”

  Chapter 8

  The Funeral of Prince Albert. [From the London Times, Dec. 23]

  During Monday’s funeral, sermons were preached at all the principal churches on the loss the British nation has sustained in the removal by death of the Prince Consort of England. With little of the pomp and pageantry of a State ceremonial, but with every outward mark of respect, and with all the solemnity which befitted his high station and his public virtues, the mortal remains of the husband of our Queen were interred in the last resting place of England's sovereigns — the Chapel Royal of St. George’s, Windsor. By the express desire of his Royal Highness the funeral was of the plainest and most private character; but in the chapel, to do honor to his obsequies, were assembled all the chiefest men of the State, and throughout England, by every sign of sorrow and mourning, the nation manifested its sense of the loss it has sustained. Windsor itself wore an aspect of the most profound gloom. Every shop was closed and every blind drawn down. The streets were silent and almost deserted, and all who appeared abroad were dressed in the deepest mourning. The great bell of Windsor Castle changed out its doleful sound at intervals from an early hour
, and minute bells were tolled also at St. John's Church. At the parish church of Clewer and at St. John’s there were services in the morning and afternoon, and the day was observed throughout the royal borough in the strictest manner. The weather was in character with the occasion, a chill, damp sir, with a dull, leaden sky above, increased the gloom which hung over all.

  Mark Fitzwilliam downed his whiskey in one gulp then set the glass down hard on the pub table. As he searched his vest for a pocket watch he turned to his brother and belched. “Pardon. Oh, good god, Matthew, you look as if you’ve just crawled out of the bottle. I better not look half as bad.”

  “Much. Worse.”

  “Splendid. And I have only two hours til I’m due at Bunny’s house. We should have returned to Papa’s after the service, instead of sneaking out to drink, Matthew. Matthew?” Mark pulled his brother’s head up by his hair. “Hello?”

  “Stop shouting.” Gasping back bile, Matthew leaned back in his chair to stare at the ceiling. “There’s something stuck up there. Looks like beef.”

  “Well, at least your eyes are open. Do you remember when we left the memorial at St. Paul’s – supposedly because you had something vastly important to tell me, but the subject of which we have not, as yet, discussed?”

  “Too many words for me to comprehend right at this moment. Ask me again in a week.”

  “Half-past one in the afternoon, Monday, that’s when. We’ve been in this filthy pit for nearly eighteen hours and all we’ve done is drink.” Mark looked around him. “Why is this hovel even open? Any respectable tavern has their doors closed out of respect for the Prince.”

  Matthew rested his chin on his fist and attempted to get his brother into focus. “The telling word in your statement was ‘respectable’ I do believe.”

  “Have you ever been here before?”

  “Once, years ago, when it was owned by an older couple. Simple people. Nice. Had some teeth missing, but all in all they were relatively pleasant. George, Charles and I had snuck away from university, desperate to locate ‘accommodating’ women nearby willing to accept our money. Yes, I know, we were pigs; don’t glower at me like that – we were also very young and very stupid and very eager to lose our virginity. Speaking of women, wasn’t there one on my lap? When did she leave?”

  “Around three this morning, just after the brawl.”

  “What brawl?”

  “Unimportant. We avoided it.”

  “And, just why did the love of my life leave?”

  “A paying customer required servicing.”

  “There you have it. The devil is always in the details.”

  “Well, as entertaining as this has been, Matt – even that pissing contest you lost during the early evening to the two sailors – I do need to be on my way.”

  “Now? But we haven’t spoken yet.”

  “And whose fault is that? I told you over and over I needed to be at Bunny’s house today by eleven, one at the very latest. We’re taking the train to that new station in Hampstead, visiting her relatives there. In Hampstead, not the train station. Won’t be returning until after Boxing Day at the earliest.”

  “Bunny? You mean Lucille Armitage? You were in earnest? You’re actually going to propose to her?”

  “Yes. Matthew, try and pay attention to me for once. And, I am having one of mama’s rings sized for her but it wasn’t ready yesterday, so Luke is picking it up instead. He’ll be taking the train out tomorrow and meeting me.”

  “I don’t understand. There’s no need for marriage. Lucille Armitage is a wealthy widow… you’re rich as Croesus in your own right and she’s the majority shareholder in the largest shipping business in Britain. Just take her to bed and enjoy yourselves. Or, have you already?”

  “Have I what, taken her to bed? None of your goddamn business.”

  “That’s a yes then. Listen to the voice of experience. After all these years why not wait a while longer before you propose, until next year sometime, the Spring perhaps. Or 1870.”

  “No putting this off again – I only thank heaven I don’t need to speak with her father first. Don’t look at me like that, she’s been expecting a proposal for the past year, Matt. She’s a nice woman. It’s a good family. We get on very well.”

  “Very true.”

  “And?”

  “And, you don’t love her.”

  “What has that to do with anything?”

  “Well… I forget. Besides, why are you rushing into this?”

  “How bloody drunk are you? You know she and I have been courting for a very long time. Besides, I’m nearly forty years old.”

  “We’re twins, remember? I was there when you were born. In fact, I’m two minutes older.”

  “And by the look of you now those must have been two very rough minutes. The thing is, you have Amanda Rose, you have a child, something of yourself that will live on after you die. All I have are stone buildings and monuments to dead poets I’ve designed. Look, I’m tired of being alone. I want children. I want a home.”

  “Children are bloody wonderful, I’ll give you that. But I warn you, it is hell to be leg shackled for life to someone you despise.”

  “Clarissa was your grand mistake, not mine; in fact, if I remember rightly, I told you not to marry the woman.”

  “Yes, you did. So, I am returning the favor. Do as I say, not as I do.” Matthew began to slump forward in his chair.

  “Be a good fellow and turn your head away; your breath could kill a horse. As I said, we’re forty years old, Matthew, and I’ve never believed in some sort of grand love waiting out there for me, you know that. I’m a mathematician. Logical. I am not given to whims. Bunny’s a good match, pretty, she laughs at my stories. I doubt she loves me either, really, but we enjoy each other’s company, our families are known to each other.”

  “Father’s pushing you into this, isn’t he?”

  “Isn’t he always? It’s time though, he’s right for once. I just hope the wedding fuss is over quickly. Beckman wants to consult with me about a new train station he’s designing, are there are several monuments to Prince Albert already being discussed.” As he spoke Mark finally located his pocket watch and clicked it open. “Bloody hell, look at the time! I need to leave now so I can at least change my smalls and have a wash-up at home. Are you ready?”

  “The spirit is willing – but… I forget the rest. Let’s have another bottle.”

  “Matthew, get up. I’m not leaving you here alone.”

  “Then don’t leave. You there, bring us another.”

  Mark waved off the burly man from behind the bar. “Absolutely not. Go away. Never come back here again.”

  “But I haven’t told you... wait a moment; sit. Please. I really do have something we need to discuss.”

  Mark hesitated, anxious with his brother’s sudden seriousness. In fact, Matthew had been acting oddly since they’d met their father and Uncle Wills at Whites’ days before. “Listen to me, whatever is wrong, whatever demons are torturing you, put them to rest. Go home. I’ll see you in a few days and we’ll have a good talk. A sober talk.”

  “Home? What home? Have no home. One more drink, Mark, just one more.”

  “No and wipe your mouth.” Mark handed him a handkerchief. “You’ve lip rouge all over. Damnation, Matthew, put your arm down – I didn’t give you that to summon the barman again. That does it, we’re leaving.” A sudden grip on his arm stopped Mark rising from his chair and he looked down at his brother’s rather green face. “Good lord, you’re not going to be sick all over me, are you?”

  “No. Maybe. Before I do though I really must tell you something.”

  “So you’ve been stating all night long only to drink more whiskey instead. Sorry, Matt, it is too late now; I haven’t the time. As I said, we’ll talk in a few days.”

  Abruptly Matthew released the grip on his brother’s arm and ran his hands through his hair. “All right. Here it is. Papa has his male heir. There, I’ve said it, a
loud. An illegimitgate… an ullematimate… a bastard child. What’s happened to my tongue?”

  “Pardon me?” Mark turned his brother to face him. “Of course, father has an heir, he has five sons. He’s lousy with heirs, and all quite legitimate.”

  “No, mean now there’s a child heir, following generation heir. Except the boy cannot inherit, cause he’s a bastard.”

  Mark sat back down with a thud. “Just a moment. Has Luke gotten a child on a woman? Is that why you and he were snarling at each other?”

  “Oh lord, him too? I had no idea! By heavens, we are a hopeless family, aren’t we.”

  “Matthew, I am asking you about Luke, not telling you. Now, try to concentrate – look me in the eye – that’s it – did Luke get a woman with child?”

  “Not of which I’m aware… of, no. Besides, we always snarl at each other. That’s how we express our – oh grand, now I’m hiccupping – brotherly love.” He tried holding his breath for a moment to stop the hiccups then stood to look around for a water pitcher.

  “Here’s a glass of water, Matthew. Turn the other way, I’m behind you. Now, drink this upside down like Mama used to have us do… that’s it. Better? Good. Now, tell me what the fuck is going on. Which of our brothers is the idiot? Is it Andrew? Never tell me it’s Teddie! Father Ted takes his vow of celibacy seriously; besides, he knows Papa would kill him.”

  “No. No. No. Not Andrew. Not Ted. Not Luke.” For the first time in his life Matthew appeared to be nervous. He tossed back the rest of his whiskey.

  “Say something, damn you!”

  “It’s me, Mark. Or should I say it’s I? Sounds ridiculous both ways.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I’ve a son, Mark. A son. He’s beautiful, even if he does look so much like Papa that I want to salute him. Just like Papa. I could not believe it when I saw him, but it’s true. And, he has our chin, you know, poor lil bastard boy. Adorable. Slight indentation in the middle of his chin. Just like my beautiful Amanda’s. Just like mine. Just like yours. Just like Mama’s.”