Page 81 of The English Wife

“I see,” said Mrs. Van Duyvil bitterly. “There was a time when an unmarried girl would not be put on display in such a way. But perhaps I am behind the times. I must offer up my offspring to the vulgarity of every passing member of the public who might take a fancy to enter the courtroom.”

“For what it is worth, I do not believe that is the coroner’s purpose. He hopes, as do we all, to discover the method of Mr. Van Duyvil’s untimely death.” Mr. Tilden looked longingly towards the sherry.

Mrs. Van Duyvil ignored him. “Then, why, I ask you, have they not done so already? It is nothing but sensation-seeking. We should be allowed to bury our dead in peace. Or such peace as we may find in this fallen world.”

Mr. Tilden shifted nervously. Mrs. Van Duyvil’s peculiar mixture of grief and gall left him unsure whether to proffer a handkerchief or back slowly towards the door. Taking pity, Janie moved soft-footed to the decanter, holding it over Mr. Tilden’s glass.

Mr. Tilden gave her a look of real gratitude. “If I might presume to offer some advice? It is always best to say as little as possible when being questioned. Answer with a simple yes or no to all questions that bear of such answer and do not succumb to the temptation to elaborate.” He lowered his voice, as though speaking of something slightly indelicate. “It gives the, ahem, members of the fourth estate less meat for their speculations.”

Mrs. Van Duyvil rose from her chair, moving restlessly across the room. “The press will invent what they lack.” She stopped in front of Anne, favoring her with a look of naked distaste. “We have my niece’s indiscretions to thank for that.”

Anne lounged back in her chair, with a poor imitation of her usual grace. “You do me too much credit.”

Mr. Tilden cleared his throat again. “If you would permit me? Might I tender my apologies on behalf of my colleagues? The confidential papers referring to”—he looked from Mrs. Van Duyvil to Anne, finding himself incapable of voicing the term divorce—“er, ahem, ought never have been made available to the press. Mr. Newland’s attorney, Mr. Archibald Newland, has informed me that the guilty party has been let go. It was most unprofessional. Most unprofessional.”

“That was not the indiscretion to which I referred.”

“It is hard, isn’t it,” murmured Anne, “when there are so many from which to choose?”

Janie shot her a warning look, but Anne only shrugged.

Ignoring her daughter and her niece, Mrs. Van Duyvil turned to Mr. Tilden, her voice like steel. “Ten years ago—”

“Was it that long ago?” Anne smiled brightly at Janie’s mother. “It feels like just yesterday. Perhaps because you keep reminding me of it.”

“Ten years ago,” continued Mrs. Van Duyvil grimly, “Anne attempted to elope with an actor. He had, of course, expectations of her fortune.”

Anne made a minute adjustment to the French lace at her cuffs. “Such a pity my father squandered it all. Or perhaps not. Had he been more provident, Aunt Alva, you should have had to pay far more for a house in Newport.”

The lawyer sucked in his lips. Janie winced at the raw vitriol in her cousin’s voice.

Mrs. Van Duyvil’s eyes narrowed. “Had you been more provident, Anne, we might have been spared this circus. Or do you mean to tell us that our persecution by Mr. Burke of The World is none of your doing?”

“Mr.… Burke?” Janie interjected.

Nobody paid the least attention to her.

“Did you think I hadn’t noticed?” said Mrs. Van Duyvil to Anne. “I hope you are pleased. Your lover has finally found a means of bringing even greater disgrace upon our name.”

Sharply, Anne said, “The press was never going to ignore a man with a knife in his chest.”

Mrs. Van Duyvil’s words came out one by one, soft and deadly. “You will not speak of my son that way.”

“Why not?” Anne tried for bravado, but Janie saw her blink hard. “I saw him that way. You didn’t. You didn’t.”

Mrs. Van Duyvil’s chest rose and fell. The only sound in the room was the rattle of her jet beads and the ticking of the clock. “I would prefer,” she said through clenched teeth, “to remember Bayard as he was.”

Anne swallowed an ugly laugh. “You mean as you would have liked him to be.”

Mrs. Van Duyvil’s lips tightened, but she recovered herself magnificently, her voice strengthening as she took command of the conversation. “Have you renewed your acquaintance with Mr. Burke? Have you betrayed your family for your lover?”

Mr. Burke. Janie could feel her face go hot and cold. Lover. Anne’s lover.

I got my start performing in Mr. Herne’s plays, that was what Mr. Burke had told her. He had been an actor once.

No. There must be dozens of men named Burke in the city, hundreds.

But how many who had acted at Daly’s Theatre and wrote for The World?