It all felt terribly familiar.

It had, after all, been less than a fortnight since Adeline herself participated in the elaborate and ostentatious display of a grand funeral ceremony. An intricate and painstaking gesture, rigidly governed by convention. An act of the living to acknowledge and venerate the dead.

The procession of black carriages and grimly decorated horses was quiet and somber, the people in their mourning attire a shadowy lake of charcoal as they moved at a respectable pace through the street, trailing behind those closer in relationship to the deceased.

The hearse, second in line, with its glass windows and gold trim, sported a canopy of ostrich feathers and an array of fragrant chrysanthemums and lilies which skirted the exquisite cherry hardwood casket.

As was customary and with great care, the days preceding the funeral were marked with acts of superstitious tradition. The clocks in the family home were stopped at the time of death, not to be wound again until after the burial. A wreath of laurel tied with crape and black ribbons was hung on the front door, communicating to all passersby that a life has been lost.

So as not to trap the spirit of the deceased within a looking glass, all mirrors within the home had been ritually veiled and any family photographs were to be placed down to avoid the possession of depicted family member by the spirit of the deceased.

It was all rather convoluted to Adeline's stalwart practicality.

The joyless procession journeyed toward the well established West Highgate Cemetery located in the London Borough of Camden, a fashionable and elegant final resting place for any who could afford. Tombs, vaults and winding paths dug into hillsides were surrounded by trees, shrubbery and wildflowers, all of which grew naturally, untamed by human influence.

It was quite a lovely place, Adeline thought. A splendid spot to visit a departed loved one to be sure.

The way in which Adeline learned of the death of Mrs. Rose Grant had been rather formal in relation to the informality previously shared between Adeline herself and Mrs. Grant's dear husband, Eli. She received an impersonal letter written by an undertaker and nothing more.

After their last lamentable interaction, Adeline could not fault Eli for withdrawing. In fact, Adeline could not fault Eli for anything.

She had felt justified in her treatment of Eli after learning of his possible involvement in the theft from clients at the bank and more so for being a suspect in Thomas' murder, but what proof was there of guilt?

The only thing Eli was surely guilty of was looking after a bereft widow in the best way he knew how. After learning of Rose's unfortunate passing, Adeline thought more and more about Eli's confounding behaviour and arrived at the probability that the poor man simply lacked power in his own life. He could not help his wife in her illness and her suffering. He was helpless, forced to watch on over the many years it took for his beautiful wife to succumb to her disease. Eli needed so desperately to be of good use and, whether or not intended, he found it in Adeline.

She could not bear to leave things as they were with Eli. She would be there for her friend in the very ways in which he had been there for her when Thomas died. The pair were quick to reunite in the days prior to the funeral ceremony, both keen on mutual absolution, Eli for his overbearing involvement and Adeline for her quick judgement.

'The mirror in the parlour fell from the wall and shattered into pieces. I knew then that it wouldn't be long,' Eli confessed wistfully to Adeline the morning before the funeral.

Adeline rested a soft hand over her friend's, 'I'm so terribly sorry, Eli. Rose was a wonderful woman.'

'I find that I still feel as if I could walk up those stairs and into her bedroom to see her there as if nothing has happened,' Eli glanced through his parlour toward the staircase.

Adeline nodded knowingly, 'It will feel that way for a while, I'm afraid.'

'And yet, I can sense the void she's left in her wake,' he added, dropping his gaze.

Adeline gently squeezed Eli's hand. She was well acquainted with the icy grip of that particular void, 'It is a truly painful thing to endure.'

Eli looked up to his friend and offered a dolorous but reassuring smile, 'I dare not imagine what I would do without you, Adeline. To endure this alone, why I don't think I could.'

'It is the least I can do,' Adeline paused, 'I wish that I could spare you the suffering of this loss altogether.'

Eli leaned back into his chair and exhaled a breath of air, 'Rose suffered more than I ever could. She suffered the loss of her body and mind. Her kindness, her youth, her beauty. These last six years I bore witness as my wife turned into a shell of a woman. Half alive, miserable, simply awaiting death. I must shamefully admit that, I too, waited. Part of me wonders if this wasn't a gift, for both she and I. The end of suffering. She is free, at last from the prison of her own body, and I am free from the burden of watching her waste away. . That must sound monstrous,' Eli finished, looking to Adeline searchingly.

'It is not monstrous to wish for the end of suffering, Eli,' Adeline gently reassured.

Eli pursed his thin lips, 'Perhaps you're right.'

◇

On the carriage ride back to her home the evening after the funeral, Adeline thought painfully about Thomas and whether he suffered in his last moments. She had to admit that she was grateful that, if he did, indeed suffer, it was only for a short time.

Adeline could scarcely imagine what it was to watch a loved one die so slowly, that when death finally arrived, it came as a relief.

How horrendous must the suffering have been.

Yet, Eli bore it with such little complaint, Adeline very rarely saw the heartache that must have existed within him for every day that Rose fell more and more ill.

Adeline felt an unsettling sort of guilt over having not seen Eli's pain, not entirely. Not enough so that she might be a pillar for him to lean on. For that, she had a burning regret.

The carriage came to a sudden, milling halt in front of Adeline's doorstep, waking her from deep thought and reminding her of the world outside of her own mind.

Adeline stopped at her pedestal postbox on the way to her front door and collected the mail, finding only one letter with no return address. She entered into her home and removed her coat before opening the curious letter to read:

Your husband was a filthy rat & well deserving of the very fate he recieved. Continuing with this investigation of yours will only serve to solidify your fate at his side. Heed my words, Mrs. Moore. I demand that you leave the note intended for your dearly departed husband & the contents of the lock box Thursday at Hyde Park, midnight under the bench. You know the one. You will go alone. If you do not meet my demands, know that I will stop at nothing to see you in ruin.

Blackthorn