Page 7

Mary served us both tea, and Azriel waved his hand, dismissing her wordlessly. His eyes remained fixed on me with such an intensity, I felt sweat erupting on the back of my neck at the same time that a chill took hold in the pit of my stomach.I took a sip of my tea, wondering how this man could make me feel both overwhelmingly hot and dreadfully cold at the same time. The warm tea did nothing to calm my nerves, nor soothe the chill within me.

“You must know how worried I was this morning,” Azriel said softly. “Seeing you so distressed. I think it made me all the more aware of my duty to you.”

I knew it was my guilt that made me imagine the cynicism in his voice, but my tea almost came straight back up as my stomach curdled.

“What did you want to come and speak to me about?” I asked, replacing my teacup on the table. “How rude of me to sit here prattling on about my grief when you came here with a purpose.”

“I wanted to discuss the funeral arrangements, of course.”

“Certainly, I am sure we have much to plan.”

Azriel shrugged. “Not especially. As befitting a man of his age, my father had arrangements in place. He wishes to be buried in the family crypt.”

“Yes, he had mentioned the mausoleum before.” That marble monstrosity that took pride of place in the parish churchyard. Its size was almost comical, were it not for the abundance of dead children and wives within its walls.

“So many of us are there now,” Azriel said slowly, brushing his fingertips over the velvet armrest, his words echoing my own uncouth thoughts. “My brothers and sisters who barely lived, my mother, rest her soul, and my first stepmother of course.” His eyes settled on me again, bright and intense, as though trying to see into my very mind. “All those deaths left in my father’s wake. It seems almost as though Death was always following him so closely, and now finally caught up to him.”

I swallowed hard, clasping my shaking hands in my lap, grateful I was not holding a cup, as I no doubt would have dropped it. “I am so very sorry for all you have lost, Azriel. I can only hope the future is brighter for you.”

“So do I, Evie. For us both.”

That tone made my toes curl again, cold and foreboding. I gave myself an internal slap, tired of how wary and timid the guilt was making me. Acton was dead, and no one suspected a thing. My plan had worked, so why was I falling apart under Azriel’s gaze?

I straightened my shoulders, and met his eyes square on,pulling my mask into place, the mask I only had to wear for a few more weeks until I would be free of this place.

“Since all the arrangements are in place, what do you require of me?”

Azriel narrowed his eyes for a moment, then reached for his tea. “He will need a suit to be buried in.”

“I shall make sure the finest one is laid out.”

“And I trust you can arrange the flowers, I am unsure what his favourites were.”

Acton’s favourite flower?I had no idea myself. I didn’t think a man as coarse and unrefined as Acton ever even considered something as frivolous as flowers to be worthy of his time.

“Lilies,” I replied, and Azriel nodded.

“Very fitting, then.”

“I shall arrange for them, do not worry.”

“And George informed me that my father had wished for a memento mori.”

Oh god, would I now be forced to wear a locket containing Acton’s greasy hair? “Certainly, did he say what kind?”

Azriel’s mouth lifted into a crooked smile. “A photograph.”

My mouth went dry. I had less than no desire to sit with the grotesquely posed corpse of the husband I had murdered. The thought made my breath catch in my throat, and I quickly gulped down more tea to suppress a cough.

“Oh,” I murmured, hoping my discomfort was not too obvious.

“Do you find the thought unpleasant?”

“No, why should I? Has the photographer been arranged?”

Azriel nodded, rising to his feet. “They shall be here tomorrow afternoon.”

“Wonderful.”