Lady of Ashes by Christine Trent Page A

could beat them. The pair had been together since working together in a country estate in Berkshire. In his youth, Walter burned to be his own man, and so convinced a young Hazel to elope with him to London, where he then opened a barber’s shop. It failed miserably within two years, and together they returned to service, working in various homes and ending up in the household of an eccentric widowed woman who kept a menagerie of parakeets, spaniels, and even rabbits inside her home.
    The widow had recently died, bequeathing them a small inheritance, but not enough to allow them to retire. The Porters vowed to stay together in service and sought a home with a bit less chaos than the screeching, barking, and dander cleanup that went on twenty-four hours a day at their previous location.
    Violet’s heart wanted to soar over the Porters, but she knew better than to get too excited yet. While Graham managed the shop by himself, she visited as many of the Porters’ previous employers as she could, including the menagerie woman’s grown daughter, who knew the couple and gave them a glowing reference.
    When there was no investigation left to do, Violet took a deep breath and offered them employment, promising that she would have the attic converted into a small apartment for them, since the small bedroom off the kitchen would never do for two people. Along with their quarters, she offered them forty pounds per year with no extra allowances.
    The bargain thus struck, Violet prayed the Porters would be a success and that they would stay until the day she or they died, so she would never have to go through the torment of hiring another servant again.
    She was glad to get this all behind her so she could return to the comfortable world of crypts and coffins. Her comfort was not to last, though, for word soon came that Ida Morgan had had an accident and was not expected to survive.

    Dearest diary, I had a most uncomfortable encounter with the law today. I boarded an omnibus, intent on implementing a minor swindle on an unsuspecting passenger. I didn’t have quite enough to make my rent this month. I know you understand.
    I sat next to a kindly-looking woman who also seemed to be the richest aboard the carriage, given her richly dyed silk dress and the gold bobs dangling from her ears. Showing her the worthless ring I’d picked up from a street vendor, I explained that it had passed through my family—one with French aristocratic roots that had been destroyed during the Revolution. Hard times were upon the family; would she care to purchase the family’s signet ring for a very fair price?
    Naturally, she was most eager for the ring, but I wasn’t aware of a constable watching our transaction. At the following stop, he made his way to our bench and began asking questions.
    Fortunately, my mark proclaimed herself quite happy and in no need of assistance, so the officer removed himself and I made sure to depart the omnibus as soon as I could.
    Sometimes I wonder how the rich get that way, they’re so bumbling and stupid. I pocketed several gold coins, and she is undoubtedly off waving her pudgy, beringed finger in her friends’ faces, telling them of her connection to the fictitious Lefronteau family.
    I was able to pay my rent and can now concentrate on more important things.

6

    Spare me the whispering, crowded room, the friends who come and gape and go, the ceremonious air of gloom—all, which makes death a hideous show.
     
    —Matthew Arnold (1822–1888), English poet and critic

    June 1861
     
    V iolet and Graham flew to his mother’s bedside, where Fletcher was already posted, his eyes bloodshot and his clothing crumpled.
    “I took Mother on an outing to Regent’s Park. She wanted to see the zoo’s aquatic vivarium. Afterward, we were visiting the Rhino House, where a young child began taunting the beasts in their cage. A black rhino, smaller than the others but with two devilishly sharp horns, charged at the boy.