Instruments of Darkness

4

There was a good crowd round the open grave. News of Alexander’s death and burial had traveled from one side of the city to the other, judging by the variety of faces in the crowd. Even in such days of riot and discord, neighbor spoke to neighbor and the words flew up and out into the breeze, till it seemed one inhaled the latest news with the air itself. Alexander Adams had made good friends during his years in London, and had kept them. Almost every player from the Drury Lane Theater had attended. Graves watched them huddle together a pace or two away, as if their long association cramped under the stage of that theater had made it natural to them to bunch together even when the walls around them were removed.

Composers who had relied on Alexander to engrave and print their works had come too. Mr. Paxton came over and tried to speak to Susan, but the words had died in his throat, and all he could do was put a hand, briefly, on her shoulder before quickly turning away and marching off among the tombstones with his polished cane glimmering in the sun.

It was a hot and surly day. The signs of riot from the previous night were all around them, and though the streets were quiet enough there was a tension in the air, an uneasy temper to the streets. A man slept across the gutter as they arrived at the churchyard, and had to be stepped around by the bearers. He wore a surplice tied around his hat, and he cradled in his drunken sleep a torn fur fragment as if it were his only love and care. The constable of the parish, old and dirty, and careful of avoiding any attention from those who might demand his help defending their property from the mob, slunk along in their midst. He kept up a murmuring chant under his breath, “Poor Mr. Adams, poor Mr. Adams. What times we live in,” until Graves, afraid that he would prove a strain to Susan, frowned him into embarrassment and silence.

Susan still said nothing, but Graves hoped she was returning a little to herself. He had offered her his hand as they met the body at the door of the shop without thinking, and without thinking she had taken it. Jonathan held her other hand, and he would not move unless he could feel Miss Chase close to him, so, unwieldy and awkward through the narrow streets, the foursome had walked behind the coffin as principal mourners.

Any questions about the death were answered by the common intelligence of the crowd, and Graves felt each pair of eyes tracing the wound on his face when they thought they might not be noticed. He wondered if he would scar. The wound was not deep, and Miss Chase was careful to make sure he kept it clean, though he often wondered if the water of London was of much aid to cleanliness.

The priest was waiting for them by the grave. The sun was even now at its high point, and he was suffering visibly in the heat. He puffed his cheeks, and sweat poured under his wig through the canyons of his red face, but he smiled at Susan, and bent his elderly knees to address Jonathan and whisper to them both a little about how the ceremony would unfold, and tell them their papa was comfortable in heaven before taking his place at the graveside and clearing his throat.

Before he began to speak, however, two carriages bearing variously the arms of the earl of Cumberland and Viscount Carnathly drew up at the gates. The crowd noticed and murmured. Susan did not look up. Both peers were enthusiasts of music, and Alexander had corresponded with both, Graves knew, and regularly sent them samples of new work. It was a handsome compliment to send their carriages to stand sentinel at the gates.

Graves saw Susan eventually turn to look at them without emotion. Jonathan stared wide eyed at the horses. They were handsome beasts. Graves hoped they would remain long enough to let the little boy get closer and talk to the coachmen. He would give anything to put other images in that gentle, forming mind, than those he had been witness to the previous day. Graves felt he was observing all from a great distance and height. The gathered men and women solemnly shuffling through the funeral service, and the way Susan’s hand contracted around his own as the first shovelful of earth skittered onto the lid of the coffin. He noticed an acquaintance, a Grub Street hack who wrote up news for the Daily Advertiser, lurking at the back of the crowd. He looked as hungry and tired as Graves felt himself, and he could not condemn him as he quietly questioned one of Alexander’s neighbors. The news sheets must be fed, the curiosity of the nation satisfied. He looked up and caught Graves’s eye with a look of inquiry, but Graves shook his head and with a nod the man retreated again.

The priest reached his “Amens” and the crowd began to drift away from the graveside and leave the sexton to fill the hole behind them. Graves made no move himself, content to let Susan watch. He realized Miss Chase’s thoughts were following a similar pattern to his own, however, regarding Jonathan. As soon as the crowd began to shift she led him quietly toward the horses. Graves watched as the coachmen greeted him. The little boy was lifted up onto the box and allowed to hold the reins, then taken down again to pat the noses of the leading pair of the earl of Cumberland. Graves looked down at Susan, and saw she was watching her brother also. Her eyes and cheeks were wet with tears, and he could not help pulling her gently to his side. She wept awhile longer into his coat, then took a great, shuddering sigh and opened her lips.

“Mr. Graves?”

“Yes, Susan?”

“There is a box in the shop. Papa told me to look for it and keep it with me. I’m afraid I forgot it for a while.” Her voice was so dry and whispering, Graves could hardly hear her. “May we go and fetch it? I remember where it is hidden. Papa said.”

“Of course, Susan.”

They walked through the last of the mourners, each of whom muttered their condolences and lifted their hats to the little girl, till they reached Miss Chase, and as Graves told her of their mission, Susan went across to her brother. The adults watched the children negotiate-Jonathan looked around him with wide eyes, alarmed at any separation, then seemed to grow calm under his sister’s caresses and whispers. They saw her pause as if waiting for an answer, and watched Jonathan nod slowly. She then turned and came back to them, and with a composure that almost broke their hearts said, “I am ready, Mr. Graves. May we go?”

He bowed and offered her his arm.