Lady of Ashes Read Free

Stanley were very wise not to have been deceived by one of these dishonest groups.”
    Violet reached over and patted Mrs. Stanley’s hand, and received a grateful smile in return. She continued. “There is much you can do to ensure Mr. Stanley’s status is properly recognized at his funeral. Let me show you.” Laying the book open in her lap so that Mrs. Stanley could see it, Violet flipped through sections marked “Poor,” “Working Class,” and “Tradesman,” stopping just short of “Titled” to the section marked “Society.”
    “Most people of your position opt for a hearse with two pairs of horses, two mourning coaches each with pairs, nineteen plumes of ostrich feathers as well as velvet coverings for the horses, eleven men as pages, coachmen with truncheons and wands, and an attendant wearing a silk hatband.”
    Mrs. Stanley’s eyes grew wide. “Oh my. Is all of that necessary?”
    Violet flipped backward in the book to the section marked “Tradesman.” “Please be assured, we can assist you at a variety of levels. We could pare down to a hearse with a pair and just one mourning coach, and reduce the mourning company to just eight pages and coachmen.”
    “And that is the standard for what those in the trades do?”
    “Yes, madam. For a tradesman such as a railway officer or a solicitor. The cost of such a funeral is around fourteen pounds sterling.”
    Mrs. Stanley frowned. “And for the other one? With all of the horses and mourners?”
    “A bit more, at twenty-three pounds, ten shillings.”
    “I see. That is certainly well within our abilities. It wouldn’t do for my husband to have a funeral that wasn’t worthy of him.”
    “No, madam.”
    “Tell me, what sort of cof—resting place—would my husband have?”
    “An exceptional one, made of inch-thick elm, covered in black and lined with fine, ruffled cambric; a wool bed mattress; and the finest brass and lead fittings on the coffin. Its quality would be nearly that of an aristocrat’s. See here.” Violet flipped to a page containing a line drawing representing the coffin she was suggesting.
    Mrs. Stanley nodded. “A beautiful resting place for my Edward.”
    “Very elegant, I agree. Now, Mrs. Stanley, do the Stanleys have a plot or mausoleum?”
    “His family is at Kensal Green.”
    “Perfect. A lovely garden cemetery.” It truly was. It had attracted many prestigious families and even some royalty. Augustus Frederick, the Duke of Sussex, as well as Princess Sophia, uncle and aunt to Queen Victoria, were both buried there. The princess rested in a magnificent sarcophagus.
    “But they’re in the crypt under the chapel. We never thought about purchasing a mausoleum in a better section. We never imagined anything would happen to him,” Mrs. Stanley said in explanation for why the newly wealthy Stanleys were not in a more exclusive part of the cemetery.
    “Please don’t fret over it, Mrs. Stanley. Take your time purchasing a location and we can move your husband later.”
    Violet steeled herself for the next question she must ask. “Mrs. Stanley, tell me, do you wish to have your husband embalmed?”
    The look of horror that passed over Mrs. Stanley’s face was a familiar sight. “Heavens me, no! What an un-Christian-like thing to suggest,” the widow said, a hand across her heart.
    “My apologies, I have no wish to offend. It’s just that Mr. Stanley would be . . . available . . . longer if he was embalmed, and you could therefore have more visitors.”
    Violet hardly had the words out of her mouth before Mrs. Stanley was emphatically shaking her head. “Absolutely not. My husband will be buried naturally, as all respectable people are.”
    Embalming was a new concept in England. Although the practice had been around for centuries, with the ancient Egyptians routinely employing it as one of their many types of funeral practices, it had been mostly limited to royalty in Europe, and even then not frequently. The