After the War Is Over Read Online Free PDF

morning. With nowhere to leave an overnight bag during
     the funeral service, she had only her handbag by way of luggage. Once she’d packed
     an extra set of combinations and stockings, and her toothbrush and comb as well, there
     hadn’t been enough room for a book. Then again, she rarely managed to read while she
     was traveling, for the countryside provided too engaging a diversion. Even now, at
     the wan end of spring when the trees had barely come into bud and the fields beneath
     lay fallow, the land was beautiful, achingly so.
    Alone in her compartment, Charlotte felt secure enough to nap for half an hour, her
     bag tucked securely under her arm, and then to eat the tinned salmon sandwich Janie
     had made up for her. It wouldn’t do for her stomach to disrupt the funeral proceedings
     with a plebeian growl.
    Her train arrived at Euston a little past one o’clock, which left just enough time
     to visit the ladies’ waiting room at the station and ensure her face was free of any
     soot or grime. It was too far to walk, at least three miles, and she didn’t dare risk
     taking the Underground if the trains were running behind.She would have to splurge on a taxicab, although she was loath to spend so much for
     such a short journey.
    The journey to Belgravia took no time at all; with motorcars and horses alike still
     in short supply, traffic was light. Everywhere she saw signs of rebirth, of the nascent
     spring: advertisements for luxuries like chocolate, bicycles, face powder, and hair
     pomade now adorned billboards in place of recruitment posters, while fresh paint gleamed
     on the façades of public houses, private homes, and shop fronts.
    The cab drew to a halt on Wilton Street, just north of the church, for the street
     beyond was thronged with carriages and motorcars, many of them draped with swaths
     of black crape.
    “A funeral you’re going to, miss?” asked the cabbie.
    “Yes. The father of a friend.” She handed over her fare, together with a generous
     tip, and let herself out of the cab. “Thank you very much.”
    St. Peter’s was set well back from the street and had, to Charlotte’s eyes, a forbiddingly
     austere exterior. Inside, however, the sanctuary was warm and light, with soaring
     Romanesque arches, delicately carved screens, and jewel-bright chapels. The altar
     itself had been adorned with garlands of hothouse flowers; additional arrangements
     flanked the chancel entrance, their heady scent perfuming the air even yards away.
    Declining the assistance of an usher, she found a seat near the back of the congregation
     and settled down to watch a parade of England’s elite fill the church near to bursting.
     The prime minister and at least half his cabinet were there, together with nearly
     every duke, marquess, and earl in the land. Last of all the guests were the Prince
     of Wales and Prince Albert, and despite the solemnity of the occasion Charlotte was
     unable to quell a flutter of excitement as they marched past.
    And then it was time for the Cumberland family to process to the front of the church.
     A phalanx of Lilly’s relatives swept past, most of them unfamiliar to Charlotte, and
     then finally her friend appeared, arm in arm with Robbie. More relatives followed—several
     sisters and their families, as well as Lilly’s younger brother, George. Finally Edward,
     now the Earl of Cumberland, entered the sanctuary on the arm of his mother, who looked
     more or less as she always did: pale, dignified, and utterly composed. He was using
     a cane, Charlotte noticed, but didn’t seem to be putting much weight on it.
    Although Charlotte’s religious observance and belief had become rather frayed in recent
     years, she had grown up in the bosom of the Church of England, and the traditional
     funeral service was a balm to her spirits. Everything was exactly as it ought to have
     been: “Guide Me O Thou Great Redeemer,” Psalm 23, and words of prayer so familiar
     she scarcely