seemed content."
She sat up and leaned back against her headboard. Having mourned already, she felt unhappy at the news, but not aggrieved; in fact, she felt some small relief.
Father's suffering has finally ended, and now he's reunited with Mother. She knew he loved her deeply.
"Would you like to see him?"
His question caught her by surprise, but she didn't need to think about it. "No."
He looked concerned. "Are you sure, Miss?"
"I've already seen him, and we said our goodbyes. I don't see the sense of viewing his body now that it's all over."
He smiled at her, and it seemed that he had a proud gleam in his eye. "As you wish, Miss. Would you like some tea?"
"Yes, thank you."
He nodded. "Get cleaned up and I'll bring it straight away."
Differel paused and dropped to a crouch as soon as she heard a noise, and Mr. Mistoffelees disappeared into a patch of shadow. She looked around, but didn't see a thing. She resisted the urge to light the lighter. It wouldn't provide enough light to see by, but it would alert anyone looking in her direction that she was there.
It's probably nothing; it might even have been me or the cat. I'm just overly jumpy.
It was not lost on her that anyone else would probably consider her venture insane. The smart thing would have been to get off the estate and try to make for Denver, but she had good reasons for rejecting that for her present course of action. Even so, a rational person would probably argue that there was little chance she would find anything in the burial vault, and they might have been right, except for one thing:
She had already discovered something was there....
The funeral was held three days later in the Norman church.
"Why there and not the chapel?" Differel asked. She was thinking of the room on the family floor where Sunday services were held.
Aelfraed poured her some tea. "It's traditional to hold all family funerals there, Miss." They were sitting in the great hall, waiting for the funeral party to assemble.
"But the cemetery hasn't been used for over a hundred years." Aelfraed was a little taller than her father had been, but thinner; she had heard some of the servants describe him as a beanpole. Though somewhere around four decades old, his face, with its classical patrician features, was creased with worry lines, yet he always seemed serene and self-controlled. She thought it was kind of amusing that his straight dark chocolate hair was pulled behind his head and bound into a short tail.
"That's true, Miss, but all family members are interred in the mausoleum." He sat beside her with his own cup. His sea-green eyes seemed to laugh at her from behind his pince-nez spectacles, but she took it as gentle humor.
"What of the servants?" It was her first funeral, and she was curious as to how the family handled that inevitable event.
"We're buried in the cemetery at Denver, but our funerals are still held here, in deference to the fact that the manor is as much our home as it is yours."
"Yes, of course; my apologies, I meant no disrespect."
Aelfraed smiled in a kind and forgiving manner. "Of course not, Miss; there's no need for an apology."
Differel took a sip of tea. "What kind of arrangements did Aunt Mandy make?"
"She didn't make them, Miss; I did."
Startled, she looked up from her cup. "I don't understand."
"Miranda went down to London the same evening your father died."
Differel felt resentment bubble up inside her. "What could be more important than my father's burial?"
"Don't be too hard on her, Miss. Someone had to report to Her Majesty and the Privy Council, to inform them of your father's death, and to seek their counsel on the succession of the bureau Directorship."
"Couldn't that have waited?"
Aelfraed gave her an indulgent smile. "It's a delicate situation. The Caerleon Order is largely free of government control and oversight. However, its activities are monitored by a member of the Privy Council, Sir Edward Penbryn."
"My godfather."
"Precisely. Though he would never contest your father's wishes, nonetheless Sir Edward, with the consent of Her Majesty and the Council, must approve whoever is chosen to run the Order until you can assume the Directorship when you turn twenty-one. Until he does so, there would be no one in command, and while the bureaucracy can maintain routine operations, there would be no one in charge in the event of a crisis. To prevent that, she had decided to rush down to London to get an immediate decision."
"Very well." Differel felt bad about assuming ill of Mandy. Despite her change in behavior, she still loved her, and believed she wanted the best for her. It just seemed so foreign to her that any duty, no matter how vital, should take precedence over a family matter so important.
"You will understand in time, Miss," he said, as if divining her thoughts.
Differel flashed him a half-smirk over the rim of her teacup. Then she noticed an odd look cross his face. At first she thought he was displeased, but she quickly realized he was more sentimental than hurt.
"What?"
"Just for a moment, you reminded me of your mother."
His comment surprised her, but before she could think of a response, a voice behind her disrupted her thoughts.
"It's time."
Turning, she saw Mrs. Widget standing in the double doorway that led outside. The housekeeper was Aelfraed's sister, and was as tall as him but had a bigger build, and was a couple of years younger. Her milk chocolate hair was bound into a severe bun at the base of her skull, but her round face was soft and demure, and her sea-blue eyes behind her granny glasses were more mischievous than his.
Aelfraed set down his cup and stood up. "Come, Miss, we need to be going."
Differel nodded, and she went to join Mrs. Widget. The housekeeper held open the glass doors and Differel walked through into the north portico as Aelfraed followed. She paused at the pillars on the edge of the terrace and looked out over the garden. A group of people were gathered on the patio, all members of the household staff. Differel realized Aelfraed must have made it a private ceremony, and with Mandy gone she was the only family member in attendance. Her father's closed casket had been set up on a couple of sawhorses on the other side of the fountain, which had been shut off for the occasion. She also noticed Mr. Mistoffelees sitting beneath it.
Everyone watched her as she descended the terrace steps and walked across the patio. The Anglican priest, a local man named Baerinville, greeted her with a nod, which she returned.
"At your convenience, Father," Aelfraed said. Differel lowered the veil attached to her hat over her face. Mr. Mistoffelees sauntered over to her and rubbed his body against her legs.
"Filthy cat," she heard Mrs. Widget complain, but Aelfraed gently shushed her.
Baerinville began intoning a prayer as he turned and walked to the front of the casket. In front of him, a dozen estate paramilitary troops, in full dress uniform and bearing arms, formed two ranks to act as an honour guard escort. Pallbearers picked up the coffin; one of them was Lance Corporal Giles Holt. He had been her bodyguard since she was eight. She had fond memories of him from when she was younger, of teasing him while he stood guard, trying to make him acknowledge her presence, and of his attending a number of pretend tea parties as a special guest, along with Winnie the Poo, Mrs. Snuggle-Bunny, and Sooty the Bear. He was built like a fireplug, with thinning bluish hair and a bushy moustache, and he had bright, youthful, amber eyes.
At a signal from the colour sergeant, the honour guard snapped to attention and stepped forward, followed by Baerinville, the pallbearers with the casket, and Differel with the cat beside her, as Aelfraed and Mrs. Widget walked close behind her. The rest of the staff then followed, with the remaining troops and the household guards, those not on duty, bringing up the rear. They stepped off the patio, up the path between the flowerbeds, and through the guardhouse in the security fence, to the cart shed beyond. There a number of electrical carts had
been made ready, including one with a trailer behind it. The casket was placed on the trailer, and Differel, Baerinville, and Mrs. Widget got into the cart as Aelfraed drove, with Mr. Mistoffelees sitting on Differel's lap. The rest of the party divided themselves up in the remaining carts and trailed along behind.
They drove around the lake and across the grounds, pulling up to a small Romanesque-style church. Differel remembered her father giving her a tour when she was ten and explaining that it was one of only five single-cell apsidal churches still standing in the whole of Britain. It was constructed of undressed fieldstones, giving it a rough, unfinished look. The fieldstone wall that surrounded the graveyard connected to its front and back, and there was a door adjacent to the back on the outer side wall, at the end of a flagstone walkway. Once everyone had arrived, the honour guard reformed and Baerinville led the pallbearers and mourners into the church as the guard lined the walkway on either side. The casket was set down on a bier in front of the altar as Differel sat in the left front row pew between Aelfraed and Mrs. Widget. Mr. Mistoffelees sprawled beneath her. Once everyone was seated or stood in the nave, Fr. Baerinville began the funeral ceremony.
It was a simple affair, and Differel was surprised at how short it was. After it was over, the occupants followed Baerinville and the casket out the exit in the inner side wall and across the length of the graveyard to the mausoleum. As the staff waited outside, Differel accompanied her father into the burial vault with Aelfraed and Baerinville, as Mr. Mistoffelees slipped in with her. She noticed a crypt was open and ready, the one immediately to the left of her mother's. The pallbearers slipped the coffin into it before they turned and left as Baerinville said a final prayer and blessing. He then departed, patting Differel on the shoulder as he passed, leaving her and Aelfraed alone.
As he closed a curtain over the opening of the crypt, arranged flowers and a wreath in front of it, and lit a couple of candles, she lifted her veil and looked around. The mausoleum was made of granite, and was plain and unadorned, with a very simple, block-style architecture. Some three dozen crypts lined three of the walls, all of which were covered with inscribed slabs, but with the exception of a few closest to her father's resting place, most were unreadable due to extreme age. Niches in the front wall surrounding the door held decorative urns, no doubt filled with ashes. But what caught her attention from the moment she first entered was the stone sarcophagus set inside a niche in the back wall. It had five chains wrapped around it, all of which met at a point in the center of the long side, where they were secured by a padlock.
"How old is this?" she asked.
Having completed his task, he turned around. "The entire churchyard was constructed sometime around 1100 by Sir Conon de Canterville, a Norman knight. Both the church and the mausoleum have been renovated a dozen times since, having been used off and on by the Spencers and Churchills, but they have been in regular use since the Van Helsings took over the estate."
"But there aren't enough crypts for all that time."
"That's true, Miss, the crypts are reused. The remains of the oldest ones are removed and cremated, then placed in urns for storage."
"There doesn't appear to be enough of those either." The niches in the front wall were only half filled.
"Only those remains that can be positively identified are put on display. The rest are placed in book-shaped cinerary urns and stored in a columbarium built onto the back of the vault."
She nodded as she approached the sarcophagus. "What's this?"
He came up behind her. "I don't know, Miss. It's been here as long as I can remember."
She took hold of the padlock. It was made of iron, but heavily rusted, more so than the chains. "What's in it?"
"I don't know that, either. There are no records