I longed to confide in Dolly, but it wouldn’t be right to share Delia’s news without her consent. I decided to ask if we could share her condition with our sister-in-law, for soon enough the time would come when decisions would need to be made.
“No,” I said. “She’s taken everything very hard.”
Dolly frowned in sympathy. “The poor dear. But Jack did mention that the police no longer consider her the primary suspect. That’s a bit of good news.”
“It is,” I agreed. “But, frankly, I’ll feel better when they make an arrest.”
“Understandable.” Then she turned her sympathetic gaze on me. “And what about you? Are you sure you’re able to attend the funeral? It won’t bring back any bad memories?” she added hesitantly.
“Sadly, this is not the first funeral I have attended since Oliver’s. But thank you for your concern,” I said with a grateful smile.
“Of course. And please, don’t worry about Tommy. He is a dear boy, and we’re happy to have him here.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that.”
I’m not sure what my brother did to convince Dolly to marry him, but he was a lucky, lucky man. I left shortly afterward, as I still needed to dress for the funeral. I hadn’t wanted Tommy to see me in my black dress, as that would only lead to questions I didn’t want to answer. Back at my aunt’s flat, Mrs. Ford pressed my dress and then helped mefix my hair. When she finished, she stepped back with an admiring look.
“That dress fits you very well, if you don’t mind me saying so, Mrs. Harper.”
As I looked at my reflection in the floor-length mirror, I was tempted to agree, though it wasn’t really appropriate for the occasion. “Thank you. If only I was going to a dinner party and not a funeral.”
But Mrs. Ford looked unconvinced. “I’ve known more than a few ladies who met their husbands at funerals. There’s something about realizing how fleeting life is that gets the blood running,” she said with a sage nod.
“Goodness,” I marveled. “I never considered that.” Then I turned back to my reflection. “I do wish I had brought one of my brooches from home. I hardly ever wear them as it is. They spend most of the time tucked away in a drawer.”
Mrs. Ford’s eyes suddenly lit. “I know just the thing.” She then moved to the dressing table and pulled open a drawer. “Your aunt took all her best jewelry with her, of course. But she has a few lovely pieces in here. And you’d never know they were paste.”
I had a vague memory of hearing about Aunt Agatha’s penchant for jewelry growing up, but could only recall her spectacular moonstone engagement ring from her visits to Corfu. Mrs. Ford pulled out a red-leather jewelry case, set it on the dressing table, and opened it. The baubles glittered in the morning sunlight, and as I leaned down for a closer inspection, I saw that she was quite right. They really did look genuine.
“The pearl and gold one would look best, I think,” she said, pointing to a brooch designed to mimic a flower. “Understated, but lovely.”
“I agree.” The rest of the pieces were quite ornate: a pair of ruby earrings, a large sapphire necklace, and a thick diamond bracelet. If these were my aunt’s paste jewelry, I couldonly imagine what she had taken with her. Mrs. Ford then pinned the brooch to my dress and stepped back.
“That looks marvelous.”
I touched it daintily. “I’ll be very careful,” I said solemnly.
But the housekeeper just waved me off. “Do as you like. It’s all to be yours someday anyway.” I shot her a confused look, and she tilted her head. “Surely she told you.”
“That she’s giving me her jewelry?” I said on a laugh.
Mrs. Ford continued to stare in surprise. “She’s giving you everything. Said it before she left.”
“Oh.” I truly couldn’t form more of a response. Aunt Agatha had always been incredibly generous to me, and even more so since Oliver died, but had never said a word about an inheritance. “Why—why wouldn’t she tell me?”
Mrs. Ford shrugged off my distress. “Who else would she be putting in her will? She has no children. And you must know how fond she is of you and the children.”
“I do.” But now I worried we hadn’t done nearly enough to earn such a gift. My aunt was a wealthy woman, and while I sincerely hoped she would live for at least another decade, even a small sliver of her estate could be life-changing.
Mrs. Ford seemed to intuit my worry. “You can talk all about it with her when she comes back. But it’s nearly time for you to leave,” she said, glancing at the clock on the mantel.
I followed her gaze and let out a groan. “Heavens, yes.”
I retrieved my reticle with the funeral invitation already tucked inside while Mrs. Ford fetched my coat. The service was being held nearby at St. Mark’s in Mayfair, and as it was a fairly nice morning, I decided to walk. There was a line of carriages in front of the towering neoclassical building, and as I neared the entrance, I wondered if this church had been chosen to reflect the deceased’s interest in antiquity. Vaguely, I noticed the figure of a well-dressed man just up ahead, pacingrather idly, as if he was waiting for someone. As I grew closer, the man took notice of me and stopped. It was Mr. Dorian.
“Hello, Mrs. Harper,” he said as I approached. “You look nice. Is that a new hat?”
I lifted my chin, determined not to blush at his compliment. “Yes. What are you doing out here?”
