Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Building the house on Fifth Avenue had taken forever, and it truly was a joint venture. George earned the money and signed the checks and clawed his way to the top so they would want for nothing. Bertha was the one who did the spending. Actually, when put like that, it sounded like George was one of his less fortunate peers, those who resented their wives and found them dull and frivolous. That was not the case here.

Perhaps Bertha was being a hair frivolous, but only in the way a monarch is. George knew that each dollar was calculated. The French chandelier and the dining room gilding wasn’t simply for their benefit or Bertha’s vanity. It was to tell all who set foot in their house exactly who they were dealing with. It was to show the world that he was a King and Bertha was his Queen.

Besides, what’s the point of enduring the slings and arrows of being called a robber baron if he never enjoyed the spoils of his many victories?

Bertha screeched with a smile as he scooped her up. George, she laughed, what on earth?!

George carried his wife across the threshold of their brand new palace of a home. Her hands wrapped around his neck and her body shook in laughter.

Is it not tradition for a man to carry his wife across the threshold of their new home? George asked with a mischievous glint in his eye.

Bertha shook her head with a fond look in her eyes. I believe that’s meant to be when you’re newly wed.

George continued through the foyer and up the grand staircase. Well, you make me feel like a newlywed.

Bertha looked over her shoulder and said, You don’t seriously mean to climb up all these stairs?

My dear, George said, ascending the staircase as if it were nothing, I would climb the tallest mountain for you.

Bertha sighed, Ridiculous man.

Police/Press

To whom it may concern,

At approximately five minutes past noon, two armed men broke into my private train car. One wore a black coat, is about six feet tall, with brown hair and sideburns and a scar near his left eye. The other is slightly shorter, black hair, clean shaven, in a brown coat and pants with patches at both knees. After I demanded to know what was happening, my husband’s former work associate, Richard Clay, came into my car. He made a comment to the two other men about their actions not aligning with his original plan, implying that this was premeditated. Mr. Clay demanded that I send a message to my husband to compel him to come on to the train when it reaches New York City. He said I should comply if I wished to see my husband and children again. He also specifically requested I say nothing implying his presence or anything that would prompt the presence of police, otherwise he would make sure things got messy in his words.

After that message was sent at the next stop, I requested to visit the washroom. One of Mr. Clay’s associates accompanied me. When I was in the washroom, I took a razor blade that had been left there for my own protection. If Mr. Clay’s intention behind using me to lure my husband on to the train is to cause harm to him, I will use that blade to protect him. As the attempt on Mr. Russell’s life happened soon after Mr. Clay’s dismissal, and Mr. Clay has been largely absent since that attempt, my tentative assumption is he is using me as bait to finish what he started, so to speak. If that is his intention, when George boards the train, I plan to do everything in my power to protect him, even at the cost of my own life. Right before George enters the car, I will hand him this letter. If this is not amended, please assume that what has been predicted came to pass.

Signed,

Bertha Margaret Russell

The police officers who had come to respond to the shots (no chance of keeping this out of the papers this time) saw the bloody sight that surrounded George. They saw the lifeless woman limp in his arms, fingers still wrapped around that damn razor blade, and it was all rather obvious what had happened. The Pinkertons had put together a particularly convincing case against Richard Clay for George’s attempted murder. Now, with the literal bodies of evidence surrounding George, the police had no desire to investigate what seemed clear as day to them. One of them even offered to send a messenger ahead to the house to inform the staff so they could begin preparations.

Yes, George hoarsely agreed, that would be best. But make sure they know that I want to tell my daughter myself. She’s staying at the house currently. And my son, I need someone to send a message to the Union Club, tell him to come home urgently.

They brought out a stretcher for her, but George scooped up his wife in his arms and dared anyone to defy him. He was sure everyone thought he was mad. However, when you’re covered in your wife’s blood, no one is eager to question your actions.

George knew at some point he would have to let go. The undertakers would have to prepare her for the viewing. He would have to take charge of the household. They weren’t at that point, though. He could carry her into the carriage, out of the carriage, through their house, and into her room.

A part of George could feel the way the whole station stared at him. He knew it must be quite the sight. George Russell carrying his wife’s body, the pair of them covered in her blood. However, the whole world could stare at him as far as he cared. None of it mattered. Nothing mattered.

Once, he carried her through the house and up the stairs was when construction was completed enough for Bertha to consider the place habitable. The first time they entered their home was how George regarded it. Now, he carried her for the last time she would ever enter her home.

George could feel Mrs. Bruce and Church trailing behind him, but they, at least, knew enough to keep their distance. He trudged up the stairs, each step a knife in the heart. He turned the corner and Mrs. Bruce rushed ahead of George to open the door to Bertha’s room.

Thank you, Mrs. Bruce.

Her eyes were red and the tears that rolled down her cheeks betrayed her mask of professionalism as she nodded in return.

George laid Bertha on her bed and wanted to collapse into the floor. A not insignificant part of him wanted to join Bertha entirely. What was life when half your heart was gone?

Instead, he turned to his staff. Even Church, ever the stoic butler in the face of chaos, had to take a trembling breath before he said in a heartbroken monotone, The undertaker has been called. By all accounts, he’s one of the best in the city. The staff is in the process of preparing the house for mourning. Black drapes will be arriving later today for the front of the house and most mirrors and paintings should be covered by now. Lady Gladys was taking a walk in Central Park with her husband when the messenger came and has not returned. I don’t know if Mr. Larry has been sent for yet, but if not, a message has been sent to the Union Club

George nodded, Sent a message to the Union Club when I sent one to the house. I’m sure the duplicate messages will only help convey the urgency. Please inform me when my children come and send them to my study. I want to be with Mrs. Russell for as long as I can, but I don’t want them to see her like this. She wouldn’t want that.

George could see the way Church swallowed back his own emotion. Very good, sir.

Church left, but Mrs. Bruce remained. Her voice trembled as she asked, Sir, may I— her hat is still pinned on.

George stepped aside in silent permission. Mrs. Bruce walked towards the bed with trepidation, as if George were a snarling guard dog who would bite at the slightest provocation (there may be some truth to that). Her back was to George, but he could hear the choked back sobs as she gingerly pulled the hat pins out and took the hat off of his wife’s head.

Since the beginning, George had never understood why Bertha wore such towering hats. Sure, all the ladies did, but hers were always a bit more so (at the expense of her neck and shoulders that she always complained about). But now, it all made sense. With her hats, she could be an imposing figure over her foes. Without her hat, she was so small. She was so slight in truth, and yet, she managed to save him. He failed in his duty, while she went beyond her own.

I’ll leave you be now. Mrs. Bruce said. Just before she walked out the door, she turned around and said, For what it’s worth, the whole house, myself included, feel this loss in our hearts. We aren’t just mourning the lady of the house, we are mourning someone we cared for and admired. We all consider her a great woman.

George didn’t look at Mrs. Bruce. He was too busy sitting in the chair next to his wife’s bed stroking her hair as if she were merely asleep. Thank you, Bruce.

Mrs. Bruce scurried away without another word.

The whole world melted away and it was simply him and her. Sometimes he could trick himself into thinking she was having an afternoon nap. As though at any moment, her eyes would flutter open, and she would smile and ask him why he was wasting a perfectly good afternoon with a tone that told him he was very welcome to waste an afternoon with her. Unfortunately, that trick only worked if his eyes didn’t move lower than her shoulders. The mess of blood all over her dress was highly effective at ruining that illusion.

George didn’t know how long it had been, but in some amount of time, Mrs Bruce knocked on the door and said, Mr. Larry and Miss, I mean, Lady Gladys are back and in your study as you requested.

George sighed and looked at his wife. Wish me luck, darling. George knew this wouldn’t be easy. It’s never easy to tell your children that their other parent was gone from this world.

Then he looked down at his shirt and realized it wouldn’t do to walk in splattered in red. Mrs. Bruce?

Yes, Mr. Russell?

George poked his head out the door. Could you bring me a clean shirt?

Mrs. Bruce gasped, as if she’d made a grave error. Of course, I’m so sorry, Mr. Russell. Right away.

Mrs Bruce returned barely a minute later with a completely new set of clothes. Just leave the other set here, I’ll take care of it after you leave. George nodded and began to change while Mrs. Bruce stood outside the door.

Almost as if her spirit said Forgetting something? George remembered right before he left the room the letters Bertha had pressed into George’s hands. He’ll never know how they were completely free of blood, but he’ll thank whatever divine entity was responsible for that stroke of luck. He looked at the letters and realized he had never actually seen them at all. They were so hastily pressed into his hands that there was no time to examine them. Each slightly crumpled piece of folded paper had a recipient written on the quarter of the page that was showing. There was one for him, one for Larry, one for Gladys, one labeled “police/press”, one for Marian, one for Hector, and one for Aurora Fane. The last one seemed odd, but Bertha had notably championed her continued presence in society even when it was a radical, unpopular move. Maybe she just wanted to tell her to not lose faith or give up in her absence. It wasn’t for George to know, anyway.

George did look at the police/press one. It was an account of what happened with a detached, clinical precision. How and when the two thugs broke into Bertha’s train car, how Clay had planned to use Bertha to lure George on to the train, how she planned to sacrifice herself to save her husband using a razor blade she found in a washroom, all with the kind of accuracy one would expect from an oracle. She really did think five steps ahead of everyone else. He had to admit, the story would be a fine obituary for Bertha Russell.

When George left Bertha’s room, he handed that paper to Mrs. Bruce. Give this to Church. Tell him to arrange it so it appears we’re giving this to the police, but leak it to the press.

Mrs. Bruce nodded without question. We’ll take care of it. Is there anything else?

Um, actually, I… could you stay with her? I don’t want her to be alone.

Mrs. Bruce tearfully nodded. It would be my honor, sir. I’ll stay until the undertaker comes. George nodded his thanks and walked across the hallway. He didn’t realize how much Bertha had done to ensure the house did not feel hollow until that moment. This walk that normally felt like nothing at all felt like a miles long journey.

George supposed that was the thing about a sudden death. You never realize just how much was being done until it’s no longer done.

George opened the door to his study and there sat his children, both on the chaise next to each other, both pale and anxious. They had to know something had happened.

At least they were already sat.

George pulled a mahogany leather-upholstered chair to sit across from them.

Father, what’s happening? Gladys asked.

Larry, with hollow eyes and a slight tremble, looked like he already knew the answer.

Even if he was at his best, George wouldn’t know how to do this. As it stood now, he was even more at a loss. But it had to be done, and it had to come from him.

I wish I knew the best way to tell you this, but I don’t think that exists. Your mother is dead.

Gladys shook her head and Larry looked like he had just been punched in the gut. What, what do you mean, how, what? Gladys sputtered.

George almost wished he’d kept the police paper so he didn’t have to recount the whole thing himself. But he didn’t, so he did.

George forced himself to not look down. He kept his eyes on his children as he told them in a voice worn from sobs and screams, She was returning from Newport by train. At some point, Clay broke into her train car, held her captive, and used her to lure me to the train when it arrived in the city. I, he shuddered. They were now at the part he was present for, the part that would now haunt his every dream. She met me at the door and held my arm as we entered the train. When I entered and saw Clay, she used her grip on my arm to swing me to the ground. Then, she charged at him with a razor blade, he shot her, and she cut his throat.

Gladys shook her head. No. This can’t be happening. This isn’t real. She can’t be gone.

George didn’t know what to say. All he could think to do was mutter, I’m sorry, Gladys.

Reality began to sink in on Gladys face. She thought through everything she had been told and her face became stony as she looked at the pair of them. Her voice was a low growl with a simmering rage that showed she was every bit her mother’s daughter. Why was she traveling alone?

This line of questioning wasn’t what George had expected. Now he was the one sputtering. Well, I was already in—

I know where you were, Gladys snapped, I know where both of you were. But why was she unaccompanied? Why didn’t you make sure she was guarded? I know you have guards whenever you’re out or at the office after what happened.

George looked at Gladys, eyes wide. He had no explanation or excuse. I don’t—

Gladys shot up out of her seat. The volume of her voice climbed higher as she demanded, Tell me, Father, is it that she wasn’t important enough? That she wasn’t worth protecting? That’s certainly the message you two have been sending during your little stay at the Union Club that, by the way, I learned about from Carrie Astor of all people. No one has business that keeps them away from the house that long and everyone, and I mean everyone knows it. Gladys choked back a sob and said much more softly, She was the only one who answered my letters. She was the one who got on a boat and came to my aid when I needed it. For all your supposed concern for me and my marriage, she was the reason I didn’t feel isolated and defenseless, not either of you. And even as, Gladys covered her mouth as a cry escaped her throat, even as the pair of you dismissed and abandoned her, she still defended you to me. She was the one making excuses and reassuring me that the pair of you were busy and she was sure you would write back soon. But what does that matter to you? The way you cast her aside has made it crystal clear to me that we’re just livestock to be bought and sold and discarded once we’ve outlived our use. I was forgotten once I’d been sold off to the highest bidder, Mother left for dead as soon as she no longer pleased you. It’s all so clear to me now. That’s all we will ever be to you.

George tried to protest, Gladys, I never—

Gladys shook her head and held up her hand. Don’t. Don’t you dare argue with me, Father. I don’t want to hear your excuses or denials. It's bad enough I'm going to have to spend my time pretending you two weren't wretched to her before her death. The pair of you will always be my father and brother, and I do love you as such. You’re also the people who have failed me and whose negligence has led to the death of the only person I felt I could rely on while I still learned to trust Hector. I love you, but I don’t know if I can ever forgive that. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to figure out how to run a proper funeral. The least we can do is ensure Mother has one that befits a high society woman.

Gladys didn’t leave time to respond as she stormed out the door and slammed it. George and Larry both winced and sat in stunned silence.

Gladys was right, and they had to live with that.

Chapter Text

Gladys knew it was probably wrong to feel satisfaction upon seeing her father and Larry’s shocked faces as she told them off, but she felt it all the same. A good daughter shouldn’t compound the pain she knew they felt.

As if they hadn’t compounded her own pain first.

She wanted to cry and scream and break every plate and glass and throw letters and books into a roaring fireplace. Instead, she ran to her rooms that she now shared with Hector. It was strange walking such a familiar route, yet the destination looking so unfamiliar. She was already off-balance by being a guest in her own home. Now, her whole world had been knocked on its side and made irreparable.

What’s happening? Hector asked as she closed the door. He had to have known someone had died. Even she and Larry knew before her father uttered a word. One doesn’t simply cover mirrors for their own amusement.

Gladys looked at her husband and saw a man filled with love and concern. Fixation on the title notwithstanding, Gladys knew that her mother also fought for the match because she knew this was a man who would be good to her. Even though there was a time it didn't feel like it, Gladys now knew that Hector was a gift. He was her mother's final gift to her. Her fury disintegrated into sobs as she broke down in her husband’s arms.

She’s gone, Gladys sobbed, my mother, she’s gone.

Gladys could feel Hector’s arms wrap tighter around her. Oh, my darling one.

They thought to protect themselves, but they didn’t protect her, she cried. She shouted into Hector’s chest, Thoughtless, spineless cowards! I hate them! I never want to see them again! I never want to return to New York for as long as I live!

Gladys’ body trembled with sobs, and Hector stood firm and rubbed circles on her back. She finally understood what people meant when they described their spouse as their rock. Hector was the steady ground on which she stood. He was the reason she wouldn’t fall, both literally in this moment and figuratively during her time in New York. As her cries became less violent, Hector murmured, We don’t have to. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. You’re the Duchess of Buckingham. You’re my Duchess. My dearest Gladys.

Gladys had never felt more secure than this moment in his arms. I love you, Gladys sniffled.

I love you too, Hector said as he kissed Gladys’ forehead. He bent down ever so slightly to look into Gladys’ eyes. And whatever you need, I’m here. I know I haven’t always been the best at being the husband you need, but I dearly hope I can redeem myself now.

Gladys smiled and wiped her eyes. I fear you’re the only man in my life who doesn’t have to redeem himself at the moment.

Hector nervously chuckled. Dear me, if it were under happier circumstances, I would rejoice at my good fortune. He sighed and said, So, what needs to be done? What can I do?

Gladys gratefully accepted the handkerchief Hector offered as she dabbed her eyes. She sniffled and brought her voice back to her Duchess of Buckingham voice, as Hector had dubbed it one night by the fire after he watched her plan a dinner.

Well, the big issue is that I hardly know the first thing about what a proper, no expense spared, New York City high society funeral looks like. Obviously, the staff knows the basics and they’re already working on it, but we need to work out the higher level items.

Hector nodded, Of course. Is there someone you trust that you could ask?

Gladys frowned. That’s the thing, I don’t know who I can trust that would have this knowledge. It would have to be someone from the old guard of New York society, except they all but detested Mother.

Gladys could see the wheels turning in Hector’s head as much as they were in her own and felt nothing but love. They were a team. Her problems were not her’s alone. Gladys could feel the burden of the funeral lessen as she saw his mirrored devotion to the task at hand.

What about Larry’s, erm, former fiance? The blonde one you’re friends with? Didn’t you say she’s part of the old? Wasn’t that one of the obstacles they faced?

Gladys sat up. You may be on to something. Marian probably won’t be able to help us too much but her aunt will almost certainly know what to do. And, what’s more, they’re right across the street. Yes, I think that will be a fine place to start. Gladys smiled and kissed Hector’s cheek. Thank you, darling.

Hector gave a bashful smile and Gladys could have sworn there was a slight blush on his cheeks. I’m glad I could help. Would it help if I came with you?

Gladys shrugged. I know them well enough through my friendship with Marian. I don’t wish to trouble you.

Hector clarified, To be clear, love, the offer was not perfunctory. I would like to come with you, but not if I would be more hindrance than help. I want to support you in every way I can.

Gladys looked at Hector and her eyes softened. You’ve grown into quite an exemplary husband. You know, their butler is British, and Mrs. Van Rhijn can be a rather notorious snob. I am sure the charm of welcoming both a duke and duchess will not go amiss.

Well, Hector responded as he took Gladys’ arm, I’m an old hand at charming the snobs of American society.

Gladys chuckled at the look of pride on Hector’s face. You most certainly are, my love.

Gladys knocked on the door to the Van Rhijn house. Bannister answered, and his eyes widened when he saw the man on Gladys' arm. Your Graces.

Is Mrs. Van Rhijn in? Gladys asked. I urgently wish to speak to her.

Bannister sputtered for a moment, then said, Of course, you're quite welcome. Come in and I will fetch Mrs. Van Rhijn.

Mrs. Van Rhijn emerged from the drawing room. No need, I’m here. Bannister, could you fetch our guests something to drink. Tea, perhaps?

Bannister nodded and Agnes showed the Duke and Duchess into her drawing room. This is certainly unexpected. What brings you here? I cannot imagine this is a social call.

Gladys opened her mouth, but no words came out. Hector looked at his wife, silently asking if she wanted him to say the dreaded words, and she nodded. Hector exhaled, took Gladys’ hand, and said, Mrs. Russell has passed away.

Agnes’ eyes widened in shock, yet she maintained her even voice as she replied, I’m sorry to hear that. My condolences to you and your family.

Agnes had no idea, but that mention of family was the spark that lit the fire in Gladys. She shook her head and said in a low, trembling voice. No, she was killed. She was killed by the man who tried to kill my father. He afforded her no protection, and in return she sacrificed herself for his protection. Because of this and because she is my mother, I want to make sure she has a proper funeral with no expense spared.

Agnes saw so much pain and heartbreak and smouldering rage in Gladys’ eyes that she thought she was looking into a mirror of a younger version of herself. At least the man Gladys had married wasn’t the one who had let her down so spectacularly. Agnes knew the reason Gladys had come to her. She was such an established presence in New York society. She would know the rules better than anyone. However, Agnes was just as glad that Gladys had come to her because she would wager that few people could handle Gladys' rage in stride quite like she could.

I assume you’ve come here because you want to know what a proper high society funeral is?

Gladys nodded. Exactly. I know you did not always agree with her but—

Agnes waved away Gladys' hesitation. But nothing. She was an accomplished woman whom I’ve come to respect. Here, let me fetch Miss Scott. She can write down what I tell you.

When Bannister returned with tea, Agnes looked up at him and asked, Could you fetch Miss Scott?

Bannister hesitated, I’m afraid Miss Scott had to step out to take care of something—

What do you need Peggy for? Could I help? Marian asked as she entered the house. She stopped in her tracks when she saw the Duke and Duchess sitting on the couch. Her face paled as she put together what she was seeing across the street and the solemn looks on their faces. Gladys. Your grace. I didn’t expect to see you here.

I can't say I expected to pay a call here, Gladys answered.

Agnes pointedly looked at Gladys, and she gave her permission to her to break the news to Marian. She knew she'd have to get there eventually, but she still wasn't ready to say the words aloud.

Agnes looked up at her niece and told her, Mrs. Russell has passed, and Her Grace came here because she wanted to know what a proper funeral would look like. What I would like some assistance with is having someone to write down what I tell the Duchess. No matter how put together she looks, I would not expect anyone in her position to remember words or instructions.

Marian, to her credit, knew how to toe the line of expressing sympathy without a suffocating level of pity. Perhaps because it wasn't so long ago that she had lost her father. I'm sorry for your loss. Of course, whatever you need. After this, I could come back with you to the house and help with preparations, if you'd like?

Agnes nodded. That would not go amiss. Now, Marian, get a pen and paper. We'll start with what the timeline will look like from now until burial.

Gladys was grateful Marian had kept a couple of her mourning dresses. Their measurements weren't identical, but the fit was close enough that she could be in proper first mourning while waiting for her own dresses to arrive.

I know this must sound like a silly question, but how are you feeling? Marian asked as she helped Gladys out of the dress she had been wearing.

Gladys shook her head. Sad, obviously. Well, it's not even the most pronounced feeling. I am sad, but more than anything, I'm enraged.

Marian looked at Gladys as she laid her dress upon the bed and pulled her mourning dress from the closet. Enraged? At her death?

Gladys shook her head. Well, I suppose at her death, but more so, I don't know if I can ever forgive my father and my brother.

Marian paused as Gladys pulled the skirt on over her petticoat. What do you mean? What did they do?

Gladys sniffled. It's more what they didn't do. They knew their lives were still in danger. Whenever they travel or go outside the office, they have bodyguards who discreetly keep an eye on them.

Marian's eyes widened. How did I not know that?

Gladys shrugged. You know how it is. They try to keep things as hushed as possible. The only reason I knew was so I would worry a little less. But, they protected each other, but they never thought to protect Mother.

Marian helped Gladys button the bodice of her dress. Wait, what do you mean? Was the manner of her death... what happened?

Gladys frowned. Right, I suppose you wouldn't know if your aunt told you downstairs before. Gladys motioned for Marian to sit, so she did. She continued, My mother was held hostage on the train back from Newport by the man who tried to assassinate my father, a man by the name of Clay. He used to be Father's right hand man. When the train made it to New York, Father boarded the train, and when Clay tried to kill Father, she put herself between them and managed to kill Clay at the cost of her own life. So, the reason I am so focused on this funeral going well isn't just because my mother was so high up in society. It's because she ended her life on an unparalleled level of strength and bravery, and I will have everyone in this city know how great this woman was.

Marian looked up at Gladys. Her eyes widened and her hand hid the way her jaw had dropped. Her eyes reddened and glistened as she shook her head in shock at the whole thing. I... I don't know what to say.

Gladys sat on the bed next to the chair where Marian was sitting. I doubt anyone will know what to say. But I hope this explains why I feel the way I do.

Marian nodded. Of course. Even if, it wouldn't matter if she had died of consumption, you are entitled to feel however it is you feel. Grief is not a simple beast. But, of course, I understand the rage, and I won't tell you how to feel.

Gladys pursed her lips. She knew Marian was a more sentimental woman, and she knew her affection for Larry. What, you're not going to tell me to forgive Larry and my father?

A tear snuck down Marian's cheek as she shook her head. No, I won't. If I were a bit more foolish, I would say something around how they have also lost a mother and a wife, but no. Given the circumstances, if I were in your shoes, the person who told me to forgive would no longer find their head attached to their body.

Gladys let out a laugh. I'm glad you understand.

Marian tearfully smiled. Naturally. Gladys, I fiercely defended my father to my aunts when they spoke ill of him, and they were entirely justified. My father did not deserve my loyalty, yet it was unwavering. Your mother, on the other hand, is composed of the stuff that great American novels are made of. Great does not even begin to describe her and her legacy. Besides, while I was not entirely privy, I knew enough of how they had been treating her. If I'm being honest, the fact that we will all have to pretend they were a devoted husband and son fills me with a similar anger. Truly, Gladys, whatever you need, no matter how small, please do not hesitate to ask. I consider you one of my dearest friends.

Gladys squeezed Marian's hands. And you mine. Thank you. Well, thanks to your aunt's list, I'm sure we will have plenty to do.

When Gladys, Hector, and Marian arrived back at the house, Gladys was almost awestruck by how much the place had transformed. Chairs were arranged in the foyer, and flowers were already beginning to arrive. Church greeted the three upon their arrival and Gladys asked, How have things progressed?

Church looked down at the Duchess and saw how she was assuming the role once filled by her mother. While she was in New York, she was the lady of the house. Mirrors and paintings have been covered. The drawing room is nearly completely prepared for the viewing. The undertaker has arrived, and actually he has requested the mistress' burial clothes. I do not believe she had any particular set picked out, so could I ask that you assist the undertaker with this?

Gladys nodded. Of course. Here, I have this list from Mrs. Van Rhijn. I believe many of these items have already been attended to, but could you make sure that all of these items are met?

Church skimmed through the list Marian recorded and nodded. Of course. Is there anything else you require? Otherwise, I will make a start on delegating the items here.

Gladys shook her head. No, nothing else. Thank you, Church.

Church looked at the woman he had watch grow so much in the time he had been employed with the Russells, and Gladys could see the way tears pricked his eyes. You are most welcome, Lady Gladys.

The trio were about to head up the stairs when Gladys asked Hector, Actually, love, could you find Mrs. Bruce and ask her to find the guest list for our wedding? We'll need to put one together for the funeral, and since our wedding was not so long ago, I think that invitation list would be a good jumping off point.

Hector nodded, and Gladys smiled when she saw how relieved he was regarding having a task. God, how she loved that man. She ascended the stairs with Marian and made their way to Bertha's room. Before Gladys knocked on the door, she steeled herself. She could do this. She was the Duchess of Buckingham. She knocked on the door and a stout man in black answered.

I assume you're the undertaker? Gladys asked.

The man nodded. Mr. Smythe. Given your attire, am I correct to presume you're Lady Gladys?

I am, and this is my friend, Miss Marian Brook.

The undertaker held out his hand. Miss Brook. To the both of you, I am sorry for your loss. Has the butler informed you of what I need?

Church said you needed burial clothes, is that correct?

Indeed it is. Your mother did not keep any under the bed like some I know, but perhaps you would be able to pick out something? I would have asked your father or brother, but I know when it comes to a woman deceased, it's the kind of decision she would not like to leave to a man.

Gladys' nostrils flared just the slightest amount. No, you were right to wait for me. There's a white dress she liked to wear in Newport that I believe she would have wanted. Gladys turned to Marian, The one with the high collar and long sleeves, do you remember it?

Marian nodded. I do. Actually, Gladys, since I know the dress, I can retrieve it myself.

Mr. Smythe interjected, I believe that would be wise, if it pleases your Grace that is.

Gladys gave a tight smile to Marian. Yes, I would like that. Thank you, Marian.

Marian squeezed Gladys' hand. Think nothing of it. You should go rest in your rooms a bit. We all know to fetch you if we urgently need your input.

Gladys' hand drifted on top of her stomach, then dropped just as quickly when she realized what she'd done. You're right. I'll go have a sit in my room.

Gladys walked over to her room and closed the door. She probably should lie down, but at that moment, she simply sank into the nearest chair and stared at nothing. In a few minutes, there was a soft knock.

Yes?

May I come in?

The fire began to roar in Gladys' belly when she heard her father's voice. Did he not know to make himself scarce with her? Was he not listening when Gladys told him how completely he had failed her? Gladys pushed herself out of the chair and opened the door just enough to see her father, but not enough to constitute an invitation.

What do you want?

George deflated when he saw the sharpness of the daggers in Gladys' icy stare. I don't expect your forgiveness. I know I let her down, and I will carry that shame for the rest of my days. But, that's not why I'm here. I wanted to give you this letter. Gladys frowned as George held out the folded sheet of paper, then her heart stopped when she recognized the handwriting of her mother. She wrote this on the train, when she knew... after the break-in.

Gladys looked up at her father and said with a clenched jaw, When she knew she had been sentenced to death.

George nodded. Yes. For whatever little it's worth, I am sorry. And regardless of your feelings towards me, I will always love you and you will always be my daughter.

Gladys bit her lip and nodded. I've already told you my feelings. Unfortunately I feel the same way.

You did. The pair stood in silence, then George said, I'll leave you in peace now. I'm glad you're getting some rest.

Me too. I'm grateful to have a husband so willing and able to help me and care for me. I'm grateful for the thing you condemned her for.

George gave a pained smile. I'm grateful you have that too.

Gladys closed the door and sat at her old desk, the one she had done countless lessons at and had come to loathe. How much simpler her life was then. She unfolded the piece of paper with trembling hands and read.

Gladys

My dearest Gladys,

If you're reading this, that means that I have departed this life. First and foremost, I am sorry to leave you so suddenly. I cannot imagine the pain you are feeling right now and know that my spirit will forever be with you. I hope that is a small comfort.

On the subject of my funeral, if my prediction is correct, you will step up and become the lady of the house in my absence. I know you are more than capable of taking this burden on, however, I implore you to lean on others as much as you can. If you're unsure about what tradition dictates for a funeral, I am sure Marian's aunts can help. In truth, I'm sure there's a number of people you can call on, but they're closest by proximity and I believe they have lived the great majority of their lives in New York society. Marian can help with the arrangements as well, and I know she will be a great source of emotional support for you. She seems like the kind of woman who can handle the deep, dark sadness that comes with a death like this. Also, when it comes to managing the staff, I would ask that you call on Mrs. Fane. She is a highly capable woman with few obligations of her own, and I know she can put aside emotions when needed.

On the subject of our family, I cannot pretend to know your heart, but I know that you must be feeling a great deal of conflicting emotions towards your brother and father. As much as I tried to stop the rumors, it's no use denying their truth now. Yes, they had both been staying at the Union Club for some time, and yes, your father and I fought regarding the way I handled your marriage. I hope you do not feel any guilt or responsibility around this. The fight was between me and your father alone. But, just as I plan to sacrifice myself for your father, I did the same for you. I knew you did not want the marriage. I was not entirely deaf to your tears as you walked down the aisle. However, I would rather be the villain in your story that gives you the life of a duchess than be remembered as a loving mother that allowed you to enter a union that would stifle you and stop you from achieving your full potential. Perhaps that in itself makes me a monster. I cannot pretend to know or control how history will see me, but I hope you will see me with a bit more kindness than that.

However, back to the subject of your father and brother, regardless of what they have done most recently, I am still the woman who was married to George Russell for a quarter of a century and the mother of Larry Russell. As your father and I were childhood friends, neither of them have known a world without me in it. I will not tell you how to feel towards them, but I do ask you, as a wife and mother, to not be too harsh in your words and deeds towards them. This will not be easy for them, and whether you like it or not, they will always be your family. However, if you have been harsh, know that their love for you runs deeper than anything else in their hearts. I do not believe there is a thing you could say that they would not forgive. They love you, Gladys, as I love you. I also love them too, regardless of what they have done. Do not hold a grudge for my sake, please.

When I think about you and Hector, especially at the ball in Newport, my heart fills with joy. I believe the two of you are well on your way to a happy marriage and family. Especially now, let him support you and love you. I know in his heart, that's what he desires, and it's in these moments of shared grief where a bond can truly grow and tighten. Your golden life will not be solely due to your title, it will also be thanks to the man holding that title. He may not be perfect, but he has the capacity to be a good husband as long as you show him how. I know you can do this because I have seen it with my own eyes. While you will learn and grow your whole life, I can rest easy in the knowledge that you are now a woman fully formed. Perhaps there will be times where you want me, but you no longer need me. You are enough. In fact, you're far more than enough. You're my wildest dreams, and you will soar to heights our ancestors never thought possible.

I love you so much, my darling one. I wish this didn't have to be this way, but I know you will survive and you will be a great woman. I am so very proud of you.

Until we meet again.

Your loving mother,

Bertha