Julia smiled. It was all she could manage in the face of such praise towards her husband. That, or dig her nails into the tabletop and risk leaving permanent gouges in the woodwork.

  “But I often wondered why you didn’t go home to your family, rather than languish with Mrs. Cochran as you did. But I told Edward… Well, I mentioned to him how important it is to feel as though one has some independence, yes?”

  “And I have the school on Sundays,” Julia added, twisting the folds of her skirt in her lap.

  “Oh, of course! Your little class! And how kind it was of Mr. Benton to allow you the organization of it. I’m sure that was such a comfort for you, to have a distraction during your… difficult times.”

  Ah, her difficult times, yes. Julia was tempted to inquire as to which ‘difficult times’ Mrs. Cutler referred. The label could have applied to her marriage as a whole, her inability to have children, the loss of her husband, or the financial straits that followed it. “The class has been wonderful. Though hopefully more for my pupils than for myself, of course.”

  Mrs. Cutler leaned forward a few inches, her expression open and sincere. “It’s nice to show a bit of charity to the less fortunate. It is how your dear Mr. Benton always spoke, to think of others before we think of ourselves.”

  “Yes.” Julia bit at the inside of her lower lip. “That is… something he said.”

  Mrs. Cutler straightened up, her smile broadening again. “Now, what will we have today, hmm?”

  Julia ordered tea for herself and hot chocolate for Zora.

  “Can we have biscuits or…” Her gaze darted towards a few of the confections in the display window.

  “And a few of those little cakes for Miss Halberd,” Julia added.

  Mrs. Cutler’s eldest daughter worked at the shop as well, and she brought their tea and chocolate to them while her mother filled a plate with a sampling of the delectable petit fours.

  “For Miss Halberd,” Mrs. Cutler said, with a smile and a wink to the girl as she set the plate on the table. “And I must say, it is an absolute wonder how much you resemble your dear mother. “Why, when you first set foot through the door, I almost thought Mrs. Halberd had come back to pay me a visit!” She laughed and tugged at one of Zora’s limp curls. In response, Zora scooted her chair several inches towards the other side of the small table. “Oh, but she was such a beauty,” Mrs. Cutler went on, seemingly oblivious of the silent rebuff. “And she was so good with all of her parties and fetes she organized every year, along with the charitable works she arranged with your husband,” she added, glancing again towards Julia. “All of the little baskets and things she put together and delivered to the poor, and it was so good of her to take care of it all when you were too indisposed to manage it yourself.”

  Julia picked up her cup with a grip she feared might shatter the delicate porcelain of the handle. “Yes, she was—”

  “It’s really no wonder, then, why she was so adamant about recommending your husband as vicar when the post became vacant. They worked extraordinarily well together.”

  “She…” Julia returned her cup to its saucer with a faint clatter. “What?”

  “Oh, yes! I remember it well. It was supposed to go to Mr. Pennyworth, as he was more senior and also a local gentleman, but Mrs. Halberd was stubborn as a mule about it! Declared she didn’t know a finer candidate than Mr. Benton, though I suspect some of her partiality had to do with the two of them growing up together…”

  “They grew up together?” Julia shook her head. “You must be mistaken. My husband made no claim of any acquaintance with her before he was offered the post. They were strangers, I’m sure of it.”

  Mrs. Cutler wiped her hands on her apron, while her gaze skimmed the rafters of the ceiling as though she was searching them for her own memories. “Well, I never heard Mrs. Halberd say it directly. But your husband was originally from Cornwall, was he not? A small place outside of Tregony, if I’m not mistaken?”

  She was not mistaken. Frederick had indeed hailed from Cornwall, but was sent to be educated for the church under the tutelage of a Mr. Burney in Surrey, where Julia had met him. But he had never mentioned knowing Mrs. Halberd before being called to the post in Barrow-in-Ashton. In fact, she remembered the day they had met, when Mrs. Halberd and Alexander had come to greet them at the vicarage, there had been no word or sign of a previous acquaintance between them. “Yes, just a few miles east of Tregony,” she managed to say, her mouth suddenly gone dry. “But Mrs. Halberd wasn’t from Cornwall. She was from London.”

  “No, no. That’s what she preferred people to believe, I think.” And Mrs. Cutler wrinkled her nose at this little quirk in Mrs. Halberd’s personality. “She did live with an aunt and uncle for some years, and it was with them she had her come out and everything! But, no. It was Mrs. Powell who said she hailed from Cornwall, not far from where your Mr. Benton came from. I suspect she didn’t speak about it much as her family was not…” She glanced at Zora, fully engrossed in her cakes and hot chocolate, and hesitated. “Well, her father was a gentleman. But I heard tell their family had fallen on hard times, and so what a fine thing it must have been to end up as mistress of Langford!”

  Julia nodded. She found it impossible to do more than that. So instead she took a sip of her tea, but the taste of it was suddenly too bitter and acrid on her tongue, and she set it down again with disgust.

  At that moment, the bell over the door rang, announcing the arrival of another customer. Mrs. Cutler excused herself and Zora slurped down her hot chocolate while Julia sat with her fingers threaded together in her lap, her gaze focused on nothing in particular.

  Surely Frederick would have told her if he had been acquainted with Mrs. Halberd before moving to Barrow-in-Ashton, especially if her influence had been so critical towards his having earned the post in the first place. What reason would there have been to keep it a secret? Unless he was acquiescing to Mrs. Halberd’s wishes to keep her humble origins in the dark, so her past could not become fodder for gossip.

  And of course, Mrs. Halberd may have grown up quite near to where her husband had been born and raised, but it did not necessarily mean they had known one another. Merely a coincidence, and nothing more. But as they departed Mrs. Cutler’s shop and began the walk back to Langford, Julia had difficulty shaking off a disconcerting restlessness that invaded her limbs.

  “I want to share my candy with Papa,” Zora declared, clutching the small paper sack that contained her sweets. “Do you think we’ll have dinner with him again tonight?”

  “I don’t know.” Julia was distracted. A niggling worry burrowed its way into the foundation of her thoughts, but every time she tried to focus her full attention on it, it slipped away, as ephemeral as smoke between her fingers.

  By the time they made it home, the clouds had broken apart and brilliant shafts of sunlight stretched down from the sky, illuminating the puddles and turning them to silver coins scattered across the drive.

  “Wipe your feet,” Julia remembered to say when they reached the door, even as she nearly tracked mud across the foyer with her own boots, such was the muddle of her thoughts. They went upstairs to change, their hems soaked and streaked with dirt, then settled together in the nursery. Zora scattered the pieces of a puzzle across the table while Julia read to her from a book about the flora and fauna of Scotland.

  If someone was to ask Julia what she was reading, for her to recite a single word or idea of it back to them, she would not have succeeded. She read line after line in a flat monotone, her mind somewhere else, far from the moors and mountains of Scotland, instead reeling back through her memories and all the times she had seen her husband and Mrs. Halberd together.

  Had there ever been a spark of something between them? The glint of a secret shared over quiet glances or a brief touch, the sort one would share with a friend? Or… perhaps more than a friend?

  She closed her eyes, fighting the urge to laugh at such a suspicion. Of all the people to suspect of carrying on an affair with someone else, her husband was at the bottom of the list. His adherence to the tenets of the Bible had always been unparalleled. Never could she even imagine him committing the sin of adultery, not even in the privacy of his dreams. He, who had only ever been cold and passionless—

  “Why did you stop reading?”

  Julia opened her eyes. The book lay in her lap, forgotten. “Oh, um.” She cleared her throat and tried to find her last place on the page. “I’m sorry. My mind must have wandered.”

  She began reading again, but a sudden hoarseness in her throat made her stop. She told herself that the walk in the damp air had been too much, that perhaps she’d unwittingly caught a chill and was in need of a hot cup of tea to clear the congestion from her head. But she knew the thickness in her voice had nothing to do with any walk in the rain.

  “Come along,” she said, and closed the book with a snap. “Let us find something else to do.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  * * *

  They sat together on Julia’s bed, sorting through her trinkets. There was nothing like precious jewels or combs of silver and ivory, but instead little odds and ends that Julia had collected and saved through all the years of her life.

  “What is this?” Zora asked over and over again, holding up each new item from the small wooden box Julia had taken down from the top shelf of her wardrobe. It didn’t seem to matter that most of the items — a feather, the shell of a starling’s egg, an empty vial of perfume with a carved soapstone stopper — needed no description. It was the stories Zora wanted, the accompanying tales of how Julia had acquired them and why she had chosen to hold onto them.

  “And this?” Zora held up a small button between her thumb and forefinger.

  “Oh.” Julia held out her hand, and Zora dutifully dropped it into her palm. “I was at a party. A Christmas party, in fact. And… I found it on the floor. It must have popped off someone’s waistcoat or gown. But I liked it, and so into the box it went.”

  That wasn’t the entirety of the story, of course.

  Julia had been a guest at the annual Christmas party at Langford. It was the only time she had felt well enough to attend, and so she and Frederick had dressed and prepared, Julia taking extra time with her hair, instead of simply pinning it to the back of her head in its usual bun. Mr. Benton had complained the entire time, claiming that balls and parties were frivolous and a waste of time that could be better spent doing something much more rewarding for one’s immortal soul. But of course — of course, he always said — it was necessary for him to at least make an appearance at the event, insisting it would be impolite of him to refuse every invitation.

  Alexander had been there, as expected. Mrs. Halberd was the hostess, and so she had seen to it that every inch of the great house was transformed into an exaggerated recreation of a woodland glen, complete with pine boughs and silver ribbons and enough candles to suffuse every room with the aroma of beeswax. Julia and Frederick took their turn through the receiving line, Mrs. Halberd glittering like a star as she complimented Frederick on his sermon from the previous week. Julia tried to push her shoulders back and straighten her spine, tried to appear as she thought the wife of the vicar should. But all the while her legs trembled beneath her and her jaw ached from the tension running through her bones.

  “Good evening, Mrs. Benton.”

  Julia had smiled at Alexander. She remembered that, how her expression had felt as brittle as an autumn leaf. “Mr. Halberd,” she said, her voice a taut thread of sound. “Th-thank you for inviting us. The house is lovely.”

  He nodded to her before the next guests in line moved them along. And then he spoke again, his words coming out in a low rush, as though he hadn’t thought to say them until the very last moment. “It is good to see you, Mrs. Benton. Here, at Langford,” he added, before they were ushered further into the house.

  At dinner, Julia had eaten little and avoided the wine, the former to prevent Frederick from offering a criticism of her eating habits in public, and the latter to avoid feeling ill from the effects of the alcohol. But all through the meal, she had caught herself glancing at the upper end of the table, where Alexander sat. He had looked so much the portrait of a happy husband and father — Mrs. Halberd having given birth to Zora earlier that year — that it twisted in her abdomen, the pain that she would never be able to bring such contentment to her own household.

  After dinner, the guests retired to the drawing room for games and music. Julia had taken herself off to one side, usurping a cushy armchair near the fire (and a tray of bite-sized cakes set out for anyone to pick from as they chose). Frederick had complained about the heat of the fire and so had settled in another part of the room, nearer to the piano where Mrs. Halberd was entertaining everyone with a selection of songs. But Julia didn’t mind being alone, not really. A few people stopped to converse with her, but for the most part, she kept to herself beside the fire and the tray of cakes, able to watch everything without having to interact beyond her boundary of comfort.

  Mrs. Halberd was in the middle of her final song when it happened. Alexander had been slowly making his way around the outer edges of the room, trading a few words with each guest and inquiring as to any needs they might have before moving on to the next group. And then he came over to the fire and Julia’s chair.

  There had been a smile on his face before he approached her, a few lines on his face carrying the laughter he’d shared with another guest. But it faded as he stepped into the circle of light cast by the fire, his expression suddenly guarded. “Mrs. Benton,” he said, and nodded in greeting.

  “Good evening, Mr. Halberd.” He was all shadows and gold in the firelight, while the black of his jacket and waistcoat flowed over him like cloth cut from a puddle of ink.

  “Are you well?”

  At the time, she had not imagined his question to have carried any serious measure of concern, at least not more than he would feel for any other person in the room. And so she had given him the reply she would’ve offered to anyone else, something vague and mired in politeness and untruth.

  “I am very well, thank you.”

  “And the fire…” He glanced at the blaze, sending up sparks as the logs shifted. “You’re not overwarm here?”

  “Oh, not at all. I’m often too cold, and so this is perfect.”

  “Are you still cold now?” There, his brow had creased in worry.

  “No, I’m—”

  “Because I can fetch a blanket if you—”

  “Please, no.” And she had smiled, because all of the fuss and bother was too much, more than she believed she needed or deserved. And Frederick would not have wanted her to make a spectacle of herself, to take too much of Alexander’s attention away from the rest of his guests. “The only thing I shall want is to take a turn about the room when my feet begin to fall asleep. Aside from that, I’m fine.”

  He looked down at the floor, around her legs and behind the chair, until he bent down and pulled out a small, padded footrest. “Should you need it.”

  It was as he stood that there was the ping and strike of something hard landing on the floor. Julia saw it before he did, the bright shine of a button, and she reached down and picked it up before he even had a chance to notice it was missing.

  “I think this belongs to you,” she said, and held it out to him.

  Rather than take it from her, he checked his sleeves and his jacket, then discovered the frayed threads of a missing button on his waistcoat. “Forgive me, it seems I am falling apart in your presence.” He smiled, and Julia’s abdomen had tightened at the sight. “Just keep it for now. No doubt I’ll turn around and lose it again the moment you entrust it back to my care.”

  And so she had held onto it, thinking she might leave it on the table beside her for him to discover once all of the guests had departed and the house was once again his own. But instead, it found its way into her handkerchief, wrapped up snug and tucked into her sleeve.

  “Is it gold?” Zora asked, poking at the button’s shining surface while it sat in Julia’s palm.

  “Most likely not.” Julia tipped it back into the box. “Possibly painted steel, or maybe silver. I’m not well-versed in precious metals, so I really couldn’t say.”

  “My Mama used to wear gold and jewels all the time.” And with that pronouncement, Zora slipped off the edge of the bed and dashed from the room.

  “Zora!” Julia fit the lid back onto the trinket box and followed her charge. “Zora, where are you off to? You know you’re not to run indoors!”

  But Zora would not slow down. She trotted along in that determined way she had when she wasn’t to be thwarted from her purpose, down the hall, past her father’s room, around the corner, and further along until she came to a door at the very end of the corridor.

  “Wait, no—” Julia managed to say, just as Zora opened the door and stepped inside.

  It was a bright room, a circumstance helped along by the fact it was afternoon and they were on the westernmost side of the house. The walls and trim were painted in shades of white and a soft blue, like fine porcelain shaped into a bedroom. The curtains were made out of a sheer fabric, allowing light to stream in through the windows even though the draperies were all closed. Julia stopped in the doorway, her gaze skipping over the bed, the rich carpets, the delicate furnishings as pristine and free of dust as though they’d only been carried into the room the day before.

  “These are some of Mama’s jewels.” Zora helped herself to a silver jewelry box set on top of the dressing table. “Some of her things have been put away for safekeeping, but there are few pieces left I like to come in and play with.”

  “Zora.” Julia continued to hover on the threshold, uneasy about setting foot in the former Mrs. Halberd’s personal space. “I suspect you’re not allowed to come in here whenever you please.”