The Master of Greylands: A Novel

by Mrs. Henry Wood

On the evening of the day following the death, the remains of Harry Castlemaine, then in their first coffin, had been conveyed to his home. It was from Greylands' Rest, therefore, that the funeral procession was now advancing. The curious spectators stretched their necks aloft to watch its onward progress; but as it came near they retreated into the hedges, so to say, and compressed themselves into as small a space as possible; the men, with one accord, taking off their hats.

It was a perfectly simple funeral. The state rather loved by the Castlemaines, and hitherto maintained by the Master of Greylands, it had not pleased him to extend to the obsequies of his son. Two mutes with their batons of sable plumes were in advance; Parson Marston followed in his surplice and black hood, walking at the head of the coffin, which was covered by its pall, and carried by carriers. Close to the coffin came Mr. Castlemaine; his nephew, George, accompanying him. Squire Dobie, long recovered from his illness, and Mr. Knivett walked next; two gentlemen from Stilborough, and the doctors, Parker and Croft, brought up the rear. These comprised all the ostensible mourners: they wore crape scarfs and hat-bands that nearly swept the ground, and had white handkerchiefs in their hands; but behind them were many followers: John Bent, Superintendent Nettleby, and others, who had fallen in as the procession left the house; and Miles and the other men-servants closed it.

Whether any suspicion penetrated to Mr. Superintendent Nettleby, then or later, that it was not mere accident which had taken Harry to the secret vaults of the Keep that night, cannot be known. He never gave utterance to it, then or later.

The people came out of the hedges after it had passed, and followed it slowly to the churchyard. Mr. Marston had turned and was waiting at the gate to receive the coffin, reading his solemn words. And for once in his life Parson Marston was solemn too.

"I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord: he that believeth in Me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in Me shall never die."

A sob of pain, telling what this calamity was to him, rose in the throat of the Master of Greylands. Few men could control themselves better than he: and he struggled for calmness. If he gave way at this, the commencement of the service, how should he hold out to the end? So his face took its pale impassive look again, as he followed on through the churchyard.

It was not the custom at that time for women to attend the obsequies of those in the better ranks of life. Women followed the poor, but never the rich. Neither did any, save those bidden to a funeral, attempt to enter the church as spectators: or at least, it was done but in very rare cases. The crowd who had gathered by the Dolphin Inn, to watch it pass, took up their standing in the churchyard. From time to time the voice of Mr. Marston was heard, and that of the clerk in the Amens; and soon the procession was out again.

The grave--or rather the vault--of old Anthony Castlemaine, had been opened in the churchyard, and Harry was laid there in it. His own mother was there: the coffins lay two abreast. The Master of Greylands saw his wife's as he looked in. The inscription was as plain as though she had been buried yesterday: "Maria Castlemaine. Aged twenty-six." Another sob shook his throat as Harry's was lowered on it, and for a minute or two he broke down.

It was all soon over, and they filed out of the churchyard on their way back to Greylands' Rest. Leaving the curious and sympathising crowd to watch the grave-diggers, and lament one to another that the fine, open-hearted young man had been taken away so summarily, and to elbow one another as they pushed round to see the last of his coffin, and to read its name:

"Henry Castlemaine. Aged twenty-six." So he had died at just the same age as his mother!