Solemn Arrival

Posted on Wed Jul 24th, 2024 @ 9:26pm by Lord Archibald Battersly & Lady Catherine Battersly & Mrs Millicent Price & Lord Louis Battersly Earl of Marnemouth & Lord Fredrick Battersly & Lady Charlotte Duff & Lady Felicity Battersly & Lord Albert Eliot Baron Sconner & Mr Ralph Compton & Mr David Fitzroy & Mr Edward Rhodes

3,511 words; about a 18 minute read

Mission: Death of a Monarch
Location: Marnemouth Railway Station, Marnemouth on Ribble
Timeline: February 5, 1901 - 1030 Hours

Nearly a week and a half had passed since the announcement of Queen Victoria’s death. In that time her funeral left a remarkable impression on the Marquess of Ribble. It was a blunder, to say the least, but that is what made it a memorable spectacle.

First, the artillery horses that were tasked with pulling Her Majesty in her chosen gun carriage refused to budge in the moment and so a hasty decision was made to have it pulled by the Blue Jackets of the H.M.S. Excellent. Then, the pallbearers nearly dropped the late Queen’s casket on the steps of the chapel. And to wrap it neatly, the recital of so much foreign music during the service caused much confused grumbles among the English guests, but was seemingly enjoyed by Her Majesty’s family, who populate the other royal houses of Europe.

Musings on the topic of the funeral filled Archibald's head during the journey home, even as the train arrived back in Marnemouth. The steam engine pulled into the small station with a loud creak followed by the distinct hiss. Right on schedule. What wasn’t scheduled was the appearance of Mrs. Price, the Housekeeper at Thrushstone Park, on the platform. Stepping out of the first class car, Lord Ribble furrowed his brow as the Housekeeper approached him, her red hair pulled neatly into a low bun. She didn’t look as though her unexpected appearance was a happy surprise.

Tears began to well up in Mrs. Price’s blue eyes. “Your lordship…I…I…” Her voice trembled as she tried to speak with Lord Ribble. Her eyes were downcast and puffy.

The Dowager Marchioness had disembarked and joined her son on the platform. She too was curious to know why the Park’s Housekeeper was there to greet them. “Mrs. Price, is there something we can help with?” She asked, seeing the redheaded woman becoming very upset.

Mrs. Price shook her head, not raising her gaze to meet either Lord Ribble or his lordship's mother, the tears streaming down her face. There was something she had to say but couldn’t muster the strength or conjure the words just yet. She allowed herself to take a deep breath and raise her chin up so she faced his lordship eye to eye. “I...erm...Your lordship,” she said shakily, “I am...so sad to have to tell you, that...her...ladyship...the Marchioness... passed away... early... this morning.” Her words were quite unsteady and the tears continued to fall down her pale cheeks.

Lord Ribble blinked a number of times, almost as if he hadn't understood the words she said, or that they'd been spoken in some foreign tongue. He could feel the tears welling up behind his eyes, but he wouldn't allow them to spill down his cheek. He swallowed hard as he felt a hand grasp his wrist. It was that of his mother, the Dowager Marchioness.

Fred felt like the platform had suddenly been wrenched from underneath them. He could see his father adopt the stoic British approach fighting back tears. He could feel his own and tried to mirror his father failing miserably as he felt hot tears start to trickle down his own cheek. From behind his father, he did the only thing he could think of wiping his face with a handkerchief and placed his hand on his shoulder trying to channel, if he could, some sort of support.

Felicity followed her grandmama and Fred out of the train and onto the platform. She was standing just behind her grandmother when Mrs. Price shared the awful news. It felt to her as if she had been descending the stairs but missed a step, falling without anything to land on and nothing to hold onto. Her face went white as she felt like the world had just stopped suddenly, came to a complete, screeching halt. She knew her mother hadn't been feeling well lately--but this news shocked her, it was wholly unexpected. She felt hot wet tears slip down her cheeks before she even realized she was crying, her hand to her mouth to keep from crying out.

A thin young man, pale of countenance like one who was enduring a long recovery, looked on. His eyes were like a somber night, so brown as to be almost black. Now they looked through the depths of time, rewinding to moments with his Aunt Mary, and all the times that were not to come. He was Captain Albert Eliot- better known affectionately as "Bertie." His childhood nickname and moniker had been in chosen to honor he who had only recently become the new King.

Mary Battersly- Mary Eliot to their Viscounty- is- had been- his Aunt. Eliot has seen much death. Though not in uniform, he was a youthful medic among the 3rd British Bengals from Kolkata. But this death hit home. He leaned stiffly on a cane, favoring his left side. Though a man of his twenties, the action made him look aged. He moved to Archibald's side. "Uncle... I..." Bertie had never been one of great eloquence, but rather a warm and pensive insight. The lanky fellow moved to slide an arm around Lord Archibald as his dark eyes took on a restrained sheen of telling glossiness. He looked at his cousin, Louis. "Louis..."

Archibald nodded to his nephew, as if to say that he understood him even without words. Even with the young man's hold on him it felt as though was falling. A sensation that he knew to be more mental than physical. He steadied himself, wanting to be more of a comfort to young Albert. He squeezed the young man's shoulder and then let his arm fall away. He put a bit of distance between them, his mind reeling.

Louis stepped off the train, shrugging into his jacket as he descended the few steps to the platform. He heard the last few syllables of Mrs. Price’s announcement and felt himself stagger a step or two. He stopped walking and looked around. He wanted to weep but instinct wouldn't let him. He tried to speak but found he had no moisture in his mouth at all.

Bertie stepped- nearly stumbled, numb, back. His dark eyes followed his Uncle. He felt... floating. Training betrayed him. This was no battlefield in India, or China. This was Marnemouth. And Bertie felt something that burned the will of any an officer and Doctor. Albert fell into the most uncomfortable position for a doctor: that of stasis, hovering on the edge of effectiveness. He was as useless as anyone standing on that station platform to affect the fate that had befallen them. And that gnawed at the young Doctor.

Bertie pressed the well-worn butt of his cane into the platform parallel his lame leg. He turned and faded into the throng of the newly-bereaved. He needed a cigarillo desperately. But his thoughts stayed anchored to his mother's family... and how powerles he felt to help in this acute moment.

Charlotte stepped from the train, a soft laugh to her words still at something Fred had said. As her foot touched the platform she noticed the sudden shift in mood and for a moment her eyes looked confused wondering what had happened. As soon as she realized what had happened Charlotte’s hand touched Felicity’s elbow in comfort as her heart ached for the family in their time of loss. Not being a part of the family Charlotte stood, a quiet observer to their grief.

Ralph appeared out of 3rd Class. He'd had a view of getting to the luggage compartments to get a head start on stowing things away knowing the coaches would already be parked up ready. But upon seeing Mrs. Price and her pale appearance, he followed the family. "My lord," he bowed his head to his Lordship trying himself to process things. "My deepest condolences. Perhaps we should get you all back to the house so you are all more comfortable."

Louis reached out and took hold of Fitzroy’s arm as the man passed, pulling his father’s valet close to him.

“Mister Fitzroy, please help my father up to the house,” he said, quietly determined. For his part, Fitzroy merely nodded and stepped forward to guide the stricken Marquess to a waiting coach.

“Fred, please go with Mister Fitzroy and help father to the house,” Louis said, gently grasping his brother’s elbow. "Do not wait for us...just go, please."

“Baba Katya, may we borrow Perkins and your coach to transport the rest of us to Thrushstone,” Louis asked, catching his grandmother’s eye after a moment.

Catherine nodded. "Of course. We should all be together in this." She was shaken, grasping her cane for balance. In truth, she had come to value her son's wife as if she were a daughter and loved her very much. Fond memories caused tears to well up in her eyes. From her pocket, she pulled a black lace handkerchief and dabbed the tear streaks from her cheeks.

Fred nodded at his brother but took a quick step towards his twin sister before moving towards his father's valet. "Everything will be okay," he said hugging her quickly knowing she was shocked beyond belief. "Stay with Grandmama."

Felicity squeezed her brother tightly and let him go, nodding. She would do as she was told and go with her grandmama. She had to be strong now, for her father. She wiped her tears and put her arm gently on her grandmother's. "I'll stay with you." She whispered quietly. She felt completely lost, but she knew if anyone knew what to do, it was her grandmother.

For a moment Catherine allowed her lips to curl into a smile for her granddaughter. She wanted to comfort her, and take away the pain she knew the young woman was no doubt feeling. She took her handkerchief and wiped the tears from Felicity's eyes. "Come now Solnyshkuh, your mama is done her suffering." Her gloved hand brushed her granddaughter's cheek lovingly.

Felicity felt a large lump in her throat as the last conversation she had with her mother came to the forefront of her mind--a quick farewell and goodnight kiss the night before they left for London. She tried to take in a deep breath as her grandmama gently wiped her tears away. She was right--Felicity had known her mother had been ill for a long time, even though she hadn't known the real extent of it. "Yes, Baba. Thank you." She felt the stares of the people around them and suddenly was eager to get to the carriage. She took her grandmother's arm to walk with her to their carriage.

"Mr. Fitzroy," Fred said nodding at and joining the valet. He gently took his father's other arm if he let him.

Lord Ribble was in a state of shock. He couldn't believe that it was real. His mind was going through all of the arrangements he would need to make for his late wife. They had never really discussed what would happen if one of them should die first, they both assumed that was far off circumstance that was best left for some years before discussing.

Suddenly, the Marquess was snapped to reality and realized where he was. With a quick look around, he noticed the eyes of many passers-by watching him. He wrestled his arms away from Fitzroy and Fredrick. "I can walk myself thank you." He bushed at the sleeve of his coat with his gloved hand. He stopped abruptly and turned back to where the rest of the family, servants and guests were. "There's no need to fuss about with the plans. There is more than ample room in ours's and mama's coaches." He felt as though he needed to stay in control of the situation, despite his head still reeling.

Archibald gestured to his butler. "Compton, see to the cases, and you and the servants may ride in that cart back to the house. "

"Yes your lordship, and thank you." Compton replied heading to the luggage carriage once more. He signalled to a couple of coach men to come give him a hand.

Louis opened his mouth as if to protest his father’s actions, then thought better of it and closed his mouth. He felt that he’d been rebuffed over his father’s pride but he also realized this was neither the time nor the place to decide the matter. He glimpsed a look pointed his way from his grandmother that he couldn’t quite decipher. He made a mental note to bring it up at a later date.

He nodded once, more to himself than to anyone or anything, and turned to find Rhodes, his valet, who was standing ready to help.

“Uhm…Rhodes….please load my things on one of the coaches,” Louis said, feeling the emotion of the situation settle onto his shoulders. For a moment, Louis floundered as emotion threatened to overwhelm his awareness. He blinked several times in an effort to hold back tears he felt were oncoming and then turned back to the group to try and be of some small service.

Edward Rhodes’ heart felt heavy at the news. It was a massive loss, and he knew now he needed to be the strong tree that his master could lean on. He gave a sharp nod. “Right away, my lord. Shall I have some refreshment brought to the drawing room upon our arrival?” He knew that sometimes having something to do with your hands, even if you weren’t necessarily hungry, would help when feeling so distraught.

This was where Lord Ribble had come back to where Louis and his valet spoke. Emotion coming over him, he interjected. "No,. thank you Rhodes. Now, if you don't mind, there are cases to be loaded on the cart there." He indicated the open cart where Compton and Mrs. Price were loading the family's cases.

Edward bowed his head at Lord Ribble’s order to get moving so they could get home. Indeed it had to be their priority. He went to help load the cases onto their carriages so that they could get the family home quickly and safely.

Lord Ribble looked around at his gathered kin. "I'd rather you all not make a fuss about who takes which coach." He said, his voice sounded a bit strained as if he were holding something back. He took a quick glance at the assembled faces. "Albert, Louis, Mama. In ours." He nodded towards the first coach. "Fredrick, please accompany your sister and Lady Charlotte." He offered a pointed look to his younger son. "Once the servants are done loading the baggage into the cart they will follow us up." He looked around for comments and questions.

"Needn't tell me twice." The Dowager Marchioness pronounced. With a gloved hand, the woman reached out in the direction of Captain Eliot hoping to lead him towards their prescribed carriage. Which would allow her to also comfort the young man for the loss of his dear aunt. "Bertie darling, may we help each other along?" She asked him, partly needing the assistance and partly wanting to help him.

A last inhale. Sweet, steadying tobacco. With it, the pleasantly warm odor of vanilla-like, baked tobacco. Then Bertie crushed out his cigarillo. But his mind was no more quiescent. His thought had been stuck in a loop, what he could self-diagnose as shock. His night-like eyes settled on the matriarch of Ribble. He smiled. "My pleasure, Mum." He offered the older lady the nook of his elbow to guide her to their coach. "Let's get you home." He added with a kindness to his face as he regarded her. He was hurting. And he was in shock. But others came first.

Catherine fought the urge to correct his pronunciation, as she had been corrected many, many times by her wretched great aunt while she learned English as a young girl. She took his arm but didn't lean on him as she generally would. She stayed steady, in case he needed the support.

Louis nodded, numbly, at his father’s instructions. He also chastised himself mentally for overstepping his boundaries. He should have known that his father would react the way he did, he told himself. Louis felt a pang of bitter resentment bubble up but he quickly dismissed this. He had no right, he told himself, to judge his father’s reaction to anything. Louis wasn’t the one who had just lost his wife.

He caught Fred’s eye as he passed, as though to say “I understand now.”

Fred nodded. He gently placed a hand on his brothers shoulder as he passed to escort both his sister and Lady Charlotte to the coach. He knew too well how it felt to feel their fathers displeasure doing or saying the wrong thing in normal circumstances. It would feel far worse now in this situation. "See you back at the house," he said quietly to Louis.

"Lady Charlotte," Fred offered his arm walking up to both women. "Lees," he said quietly offering his other one.

Felicity nodded and took her brother’s arm, glad for his steadying gesture. It felt like the world had turned upside down and every step forward was on shaky ground. Though her grandmama was right, her mother’s suffering was over, she didn’t think she could feel happy about it, not at all.

Charlotte had not experienced much loss in her gilded life. Aside from the grandmother’s recent funeral she had never attended one before. So she was uncertain on how to behave at that moment, choosing only to remain as silent as a church mouse, hoping to simply blend in with the group and go unnoticed. As Fred offered her his arm she slipped her gloved hand into the crook of his elbow.

Near the cart that was tasked with taking the luggage to Thrushstone Park, Mrs. Price was carrying two smaller cases from where the Porter was unloading them. She lifted them without complaint onto the cart and pushed them in with the already loaded cases. She was turning to grab more when she was confronted by Mr. Compton.

"Mrs. Price," Ralph said as the family started to walk towards their coaches. "You get in and settled. We have got this in hand." Although he knew she wanted to help he didn't like the idea of the Housekeeper navigating and lugging heavy cases. It wasn't what he deemed women's work nor did he want her hurting herself. And the cases were heavy even for him, so much younger than her. He offered his hand to help her up into the cart.

Without a word, Mrs. Price simply shook her head and continued on her path to the shrinking pile of cases on the platform. She wanted to feel helpful, and stay busy. staying on task was the only thing keeping her as calm as she was, especially after spending the last few hours doing nothing but waiting, tormented. There were only a few cases left now, the Housekeeper grabbed one that seemed to be within her strength and lugged it to the cart. With a low grunt she lifted it into the back.

Turning back to the handful of servants, Mrs. Price forced an unconvincing smile. "We best get on if we're to make it back to the house in reasonable time." She announced, hoisting herself into the back of the wagon. She had to step over a few cases, but found a spot on the edge to sit.

Fitzroy nodded to Mrs. Price and moved to stand near the open door of the coach. He held out a hand, offering to help the ladies up into the waiting cart. He had a brief moment alone with his thoughts and they, of course, turned to the matter at hand. For the next few days or even weeks, David would need to be a source of strength for the Marquess. He resolved to do just that.

Once Edward made sure that all of Louis' cases and the other's cases were on the coach, he joined Fitzroy at the servant's cart, and took his spot when everyone had got on. This was a dark day indeed, he realized, and he told himself he would do his duties to the utmost, to make sure there was nothing added onto the eldest's son's shoulders because of him. If each of them did their best for the family, then the family would be able to solely focus on healing, and that was important at times like these.

The line of carts and carriages pulled away from the station, the trusty horses of the estate pulling them with ease. Though the sky was blue and the sun shining, a figurative dark cloud hung over the procession all along it way through the village of Marnemouth on Ribble.

 

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