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in childhood? Perhaps forged was the right word, it seemed to fetter her like iron. It made Grandmama furious, with Agnes and with herself. It was a coward’s way, and she knew cowardice intimately, as one knows one’s own face in the glass.
    Clara turned to her husband, then her mother-in-law, expecting some response.
    But it was Arthur who answered.
    “Yes, it would,” he agreed.
    “Arthur!” Bedelia said crisply. “I am sure Mrs. Ellison means well, but she really has no idea of the extent or the nature of Maude’s…travels, or the unsuitability of making them public.”
    “Have you?” Arthur asked, his dark brows raised.
    “I beg your pardon?” Bedelia said coolly.
    “Have you any idea of Maude’s travels?” he repeated. “I asked you if she wrote, and you said that she didn’t.” He did not accuse her of lying, but the inevitability of the conclusion was heavy in the air. She sat pale-faced, tight-lipped.
    It was Clara who broke the silence. “Do you think it will still be acceptable for us to have the Matlocks and the Willowbrooks to dine with us on Christmas Eve, Mama-in-law? Or to go to the Watch Night services at Snargate? Or would people think us callous?”
    “I don’t suppose we can,” Agnes said sadly. “I was looking forward to it too, my dear.” She looked at Clara, not at Zachary who had drawn in his breath to say something.
    “Death does not alter Christmas,” Bedelia responded after a moment’s thought. “In fact Christmas is the very time when it means least. It is the season in which we celebrate the knowledge of eternity, and the mercy of God. Of course we shall go to the Watch Night services in Snargate, and show a bond of courage and faith, and solidarity as a family. Don’t you think so, my dear?” She looked at Arthur again, as if the previous conversation had never taken place.
    “It would seem very appropriate,” he answered to the room in general, no discernible emotion in his voice.
    “Oh I’m so glad,” Agnes responded, smiling. “And we have so much to be grateful for, it seems only right.”
    Grandmama thought it an odd remark. For what were they so grateful, just now? The fact that Lord Woollard had considered Arthur suitable for a peerage? Could that matter in the slightest, compared with the death of a sister? Of course it could! Maude had not been home for forty years, and they had considered her absent permanently. She had chosen to return at a highly inconvenient time, otherwise they would not have dispatched her to stay with Joshua and Caroline. Was there really some family scandal she might speak of, and ruin such a high ambition?
    Any further speculation on that subject was interrupted by the announcement of dinner. The meal was excellent, and richer than anything Caroline had offered.
    Conversation at the table centered on other arrangements for Christmas, and how they might be affected either by Maude’s death, or the weather. They skirted around the issue of a funeral, and when or where it should be conducted, but it hung in the air unsaid, like a coldness, as if someone had left a door open.
    Grandmama stopped listening to the words and concentrated instead upon the intonation of voices, the ease or tension in hands, and above all the expression in a face when the person imagined they were unnoticed.
    Clara appeared relieved, as if an anxiety had passed. Perhaps the visit of Lord Woollard had made her nervous. She might be less confident than she appeared. Had she been socially clumsy or otherwise unacceptable? Since her husband was the only heir, that would have been a serious problem. Perhaps she came from a more ordinary background than the rest of the family and had previously made errors, or her mother was one of those women ruthlessly ambitious for their daughters, and no achievement was great enough?
    Zachary did not say a great deal, and she saw him look at Bedelia more often than she would have expected. There was an admiration in him,