That was the last she saw of James’s good humor. On the following Monday, the marquess’s funeral was held in the church near the edge of the estate. When his father’s coffin was brought from London, a noticeable change came over James.
He conducted business as usual, but there was a dullness to his eyes, a flat quality to the way he answered questions. He didn’t really become himself again until the day of the funeral. On that cold January morning, he scared the daylights out of the gravediggers. He sent them away in a completely irrational fit of shouting, and his reasons for this remained a mystery, for no one had the courage to ask James why he dug his father’s grave himself.
Of course, nothing was said of Mrs. Armistead or the circumstances of the old marquess’s death, but Ravenna wondered if this played a part in James’s odd behavior.
When the funeral was over, he regained a little of his old character. He asked Ravenna dizzying amounts of geographical questions that evening. He kept her up until well after dawn, and when she told him there was no more, that she’d not taken enough geography classes and couldn’t remember another thing that would render her invaluable to Vancouver’s voyage, James took her impromptu charts and ordered his carriage.
Against her protests, he went out just as he was—clothes wrinkled, eyes narrowed. He was going to see Vancouver, he said, confide in him about Father’s affair with Fox’s lover and the way Ravenna’s prediction had come true. When Paul and her had gotten a night’s sleep, they were to go to Hallett House, their London residence, where James would meet them as soon as he could.