Chapter 17
March 1896
Our fears do make us traitors.
IV.ii
The afternoon after the funeral was a lonely one. The household was quiet, with Henry and Judge Armstrong ignoring Concordia and one another, and retreating to their rooms. After sharing a cottage with twenty lively girls, Concordia was unaccustomed to empty silences. She needed bustle and noise; if she couldn’t have that, at least she could find something to occupy her.
Concordia went into Mary’s dressing-room. It still possessed the character of its owner, with Chantilly-lace curtains and the lingering scent of rose-water. The vanity table held neatly arranged brushes, combs, and a monogrammed hand mirror—Concordia’s wedding gift. She picked it up. Water drops began to spatter its surface.
How did she think she coul
