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these.”
    The three miniatures showed a heavy-jawed officer, a solemn young woman with dark hair, and an infant. “I don’t even know who these people are. Jane might, but from the fashions, they look decades old.”
    â€œI think the woman might be the one in the drawing. Her mother.”
    Simon compared the miniature to the sketch. “You could be right. I wonder if the child is Jane. The coloring’s right, but she looks so . . . reserved. Of course, yesterday that wouldn’t have struck me as strange.” He put them down. “I need to start on the business papers, though I don’t relish returning to the office.”
    â€œI’ll come with you.”
    As they crossed the hall, Simon asked, “When do you plan to leave?”
    â€œWhen you do.”
    Simon stopped. “Thank you. I apologize for this mess, but by God, Hal, you’re a godsend.”
    He was uncomfortably aware that some of his relief was because Hal being here meant less time alone with Jane. And that would extend to the six weeks or more it would take to travel back to England.
    â€œOnward to the paperwork,” Hal said, “though I warn you, it’s not my forte.”
    â€œIt’s not mine, either. I’ve had nothing to do with Isaiah’s business dealings.”
    Simon entered the office braced for unpleasantness, but Ross and his people had done their work well. It looked as always except that the carpet had been taken away. And that a small stain on the wood showed where blood had seeped through.
    Perhaps his nose detected blood and other odors of death, but the fire crackled merrily, filling the room with that pleasant, tangy smell, and someone had uncovered Jane’s potpourri.
    Looked at with an executor’s eye, the room was a daunting jumble. Shelves were crammed with books, ledgers, and boxes, but he also saw a riding whip, a saber, and more pipes. Drawers doubtless concealed yet more chaos. Isaiah had known where things were, but he’d not been the most organized of men.
    â€œI’ll start on the desk,” Simon said. “Perhaps you can flip through the books. He was always tucking papers and even money into them.”
    Too late, he wondered if Hal could do such a thing, but he could hardly imply now that he couldn’t. Damnation, he thought, gathering the papers on top of the desk into one pile, why is everything so complicated today?
    He saw Hal pull a book off a shelf, put it down, and riffle through it. So that was all right. It was over two years since the amputation, so he must have learned to cope, and surely they were friends enough that he’d say if he couldn’t.
    Simon settled to an orderly investigation of the papers. He’d deliberately left the door open so he’d see if Jane left the dining room or hear if she called for him.
    He found Isaiah’s will, and it was exactly as Baldwin had said. Apart from a few specific bequests—he’d left Simon his guns and some Indian artifacts—everything went to “my dear niece, Jane Anne Otterburn, who has brought such pleasure to my life.”
    How much would it amount to? Baldwin didn’tconsider it much, but Jane thought it enough to live on. A substantial sum, a few thousand even, would make her more acceptable to his family.
    He found a number of invoices and bills and a hodgepodge of recent letters. Presumably these people should receive an announcement of the death, but Simon knew few of them. Who should get a personal letter? And what did one say?
    He dug his fingers into his brow.

Chapter Five
    â€œC an I do anything to help?”
    Simon looked up to see Jane in the doorway.
    She said, “I can imagine Uncle Isaiah’s opinion of my sitting watch over his earthly remains when I could be doing something useful. Ross has supplied a professional mourner.”
    Simon rose. “If you feel able, I would be very grateful. I find I don’t