Chapter 45: Closure, May 4, 1887

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here...”

As soon as the reverend started into the burial service, Anthony Carter, 4th Baron Lambert, followed his own train of thought. He had sat through too many burials of late. His uncle Antonio had succumbed to pneumonia two years ago. A half year later, Esra and Ruth Turner, his wife’s parents, had died within two weeks of each other. Aunt Marie’s husband, Sir Earl Parker, had badly broken his leg last autumn, and he died just before Christmas.

Now it was the Carters’ turn. Sir Richard Carter, GCB, 3rd Baron Lambert, had passed on three days ago. He had died peacefully in his sleep at age eighty. He had been in his office as usual, in the new building of Lambert&Norton, doing his normal workload. He had gone to bed like every day, but on the next morning Anthony’s mother had found his body cold.

Of course the shock was severe for her as it had to be. They had been married for fifty-eight years, not counting almost three years of engagement, and Anthony had found his mother barely coping with the loss. She came out of her paralysis only when the arrangements for the funeral were discussed. Anthony had planned the burial in London where all the important people of his father’s acquaintance would have a chance to give him the last honours. Lord Lambert had been a very important man after all. Not only a millionaire banker himself, but also an adviser of fellow financiers and of government officials who had all sought his insight and impartial views.

Yet, his mother had vetoed those plans and insisted on a simple burial service in the church of Matcham where they had married.

Anthony cast a glance at his mother. She was flanked by his aunts, Eleanor Ruiz de Costa and Lady Marie Parker, her closest friends, who supported her as she’d had to support them in their mourning in the last years.

Anthony looked up, stirred from his musings. The reverend had lost his thread and he stuttered badly trying to get into the flow again. The man was terribly nervous. Anthony could understand that. After all, Reverend Singleton was not used to performing a service in front of his sovereign.

In the front pew to the right sat the dumpy figure of Queen Victoria of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland. The Queen had insisted on attending the service out of her friendship with Lady Lambert who had been her erstwhile tutor and lifelong friend.

Anthony knew that his mother had been with the Queen in the first terrible days after the death of Prince Albert, and again, four years ago, when her favourite servant, John Brown, passed away. It was kind of the monarch nonetheless to attend this funeral so close to the celebrations of her Golden Throne Jubilee.

Anthony felt a movement on his right side. Sarah, his wife and now the new Lady Lambert, was kneading a handkerchief. She was almost as distraught over her father-in-law’s death as her mother-in-law. After all she had been his adopted daughter for a few months before her real father claimed her. Sarah was a wonderful wife for Anthony. People had ridiculed him for marrying the daughter of his own wet nurse, but he had never regretted his decision to marry her three years after the death of his first wife.

Naturally, his thoughts strayed to his first wife. It had been an arranged marriage, for Edwina Archer, the great-granddaughter of Sir Robert Norton, brought her family’s shares of Lambert & Norton as dowry. Nevertheless, the young couple learned to love each other and when Edwina died after giving birth to their first son, Anthony mourned her deeply.

Their son Andrew sat in the second pew with his wife Beatrix, their two sons Richard and Robert, and their daughter Ellen. Beatrix was the granddaughter of Marie Parker. In Beatrix, the beauty of the O’Shaunessy women had resurfaced and she was a favourite of Anthony’s mother. Andrew was Sir Andrew Carter of Woodbridge now. With the peerage passed on to Anthony from his father, the lesser baronetsy that had been bestowed upon Admiral Sir Anthony Carter was now vested upon Andrew.

Over his musings, the service had proceeded, and they had to stand for the prayer. This gave Anthony a chance to look to the right. His sisters sat in the pew behind the Queen.

Siobhan sat with her son Reginald. Poor Siobhan! Her marriage had lasted but two months before her husband, Major John Pryce, was sent off into the Crimean War against the Russian Empire. He fell in the glorified but senseless attack of the Light Brigade in the Battle of Balaclava. Siobhan had just given birth to Reginald when she received the news and she never married again. Reginald Pryce had decided against a military career. He was a staff writer for the Evening Standard and he contemplated to run for Parliament.

Harriet was accompanied by her husband Benjamin York and their three daughters. Benjamin was the second son of Samuel and Rebecca York. He was a member of Parliament already, but he had nowhere near the drive and abilities of his father Samuel. Nevertheless he was a good husband for Harriet and Anthony liked his unassuming demeanour.

The prayer ended and they sat again. The clatter of a scabbard against a wooden bench was heard above the noise of sixty people sitting down. That had to be Henry, his cousin and best friend. Henry had fought in the Crimean War too where he served as Fourth Lieutenant in the Sea Lion under Captain Jonathan Hornblower. The Navy ships had few chances to distinguish themselves in that war. Nevertheless, Rear Admiral Sir Henry Ruiz-Costa was the only naval hero of their generation, having fought several engagements in the Far East, back in the 1860s. Lucky Harry as they called him enjoyed not only professional success but also a wonderful marriage. Lady Moira Ruiz-Costa was a catch. Being the oldest daughter of Lord Brougham and his wife Maddalena, her dark beauty eclipsed even her mother’s and she was the sweetest woman one could imagine.