“Oh, Your Grace,” she uttered, hurrying towards Ruth. “Has he gone?” she asked, looking at Charles.
Ruth nodded, her weeping becoming increasingly frenzied. She tried to stand up but her body was stiff and aching and her legs and arms didn’t seem to want to do what she wanted them to. The grief was overwhelming. There was a dreadful sharp pain in her chest. She knew what it meant now when people said their heart was breaking. It was happening to her. It was excruciating, like a knife tearing through her, ripping her insides out. At that moment she wanted nothing more than to die; to go with him; be with him. She couldn’t live without him. She couldn’t.
“I loved him so much, Mrs. Hardy,” she sobbed. “What am I going to do without him?”
“Hush, hush,” whispered the housekeeper, taking Ruth in her arms and cuddling her close. She was near to tears herself. She and her husband had worked for Charles since he was a young man and a fairer and reasonable employer would be hard to find in her opinion. She was deeply saddened. He would be a huge loss to them all.
“Let’s get you into another room and tucked up in bed, Your Grace. You look done in and there’s nothing you can do here. I’ll ring Dr. Arnold … and Lady Victoria.”
Ruth was shaking badly. She was terribly cold and was grateful for Betty, who helped her through to a nearby guestroom, fetched a warm nightdress, helped her undress, and tucked her into bed.
“I’ll fetch you a nice hot cup of tea, Your Grace, and I expect Dr. Arnold will give you something to help you sleep when he arrives. Don’t you worry about anything. Hardy and I will see to whatever needs to be done for now,” she said, handing Ruth a big box of tissues from the bathroom.
It wasn’t long before Dr. Arnold arrived. Ruth heard his car crunching across the gravel outside and then, minutes later, his footsteps coming along the corridor, entering the master bedroom and closing the door behind him. She was still shivering, even though Betty had brought her a hot water bottle, hot tea and placed another quilt over the bed. Her whole body just shook uncontrollably and the tears wouldn’t stop. She had never cried so much in her whole life.
It wasn’t long before Dr. Arnold knocked on her door and came in, his face sombre and downcast. He took one look at her and rifled in his bag.
“I am so sorry, Your Grace,” he said. “The Duke was a lovely man. He’s going to be sorely missed by many people … however; I am worried about you now. I think you should take some of these.” He handed her a bottle of pills. “They will help calm you down and give your mind and body a chance to take this all in. I suggest two now and two more in around four hours and then see how you feel. I will arrange everything that needs doing for now, with the help of the Hardy’s, so there is nothing you need concern yourself with for the time being. Just be kind to yourself for a while. You need it.”
Ruth drifted in and out of consciousness for the next forty-eight hours, only vaguely aware of Mrs. Hardy and Vicky at her side now and again. Every time she woke and remembered what had occurred, the pain was too great to bear and she swallowed another couple of pills, sending her back into oblivion and away from the dreadful, painful truth.
On the third day, she woke early in the morning and when the awful realisation that Charles was no longer alive and it wasn’t just a horribly bad dream hit her again, she automatically reached out for the pills but stopped herself. She sat up in bed and looked out of the window at the wet, dismal day. It was a typical April morning. A light shower caressed the window panes and a slight breeze rippled through the trees. It chilled her soul. She slipped out of bed and walked to the master bedroom, pretending that when she opened the door Charles would be dressing and would smile and ask her what she would like to do today.
The familiar scent of his cologne overcame her when she opened the door but he was gone. Although it was freshly made up with clean linen she moved to his side of the bed and caressed his pillow, the scene of their last conversation vivid in her mind. The awful, excruciating pain enveloped her again. It was absolutely unbearable and she collapsed on the bed, sobbing desperately into his pillow.
“Charles, Charles,” she wailed. “I can’t go on without you. I can’t ….”
“Ruth!” Vicky, who had been on her way to see if Ruth was awake and heard her anguished cries, came rushing into the room and threw her arms around her. “Ruth, darling Ruth. Please … let me take you back to bed.”
“What am I going to do, Vicky? What am I going to do without him? It hurts so much. I feel as if I’m breaking in two.”
“I know, darling. I know. I can’t believe he’s gone either. I’m going to miss him terribly,” replied Vicky, the tears welling up in her own eyes.”
“Oh, Vicky. I’m being so selfish. I forgot how much you loved him too,” Ruth sobbed, clutching Vicky’s hand.
“Yes. Life is going to be dreadful not having him in the background; advising, helping, loving. He was a wonderful father to me. It’s going to be so different without him.”
The two women held each other tightly and cried for the man who had been their rock and who had cared for them both the best he could.
“Let’s get you back to bed,” said Vicky,
