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“No, I’d actually be curious to hear how you can possibly find fault with such a simple statement,” said Sylvia.

“Perhaps we should move on to—”

“ ‘Every little bit helps’?” she cut across Willie. “What are you doing for the war effort from your mansion flat in Marylebone, then?”

Sylvia held her gaze for a long moment before turning back to Willie. “Perhaps we should move on.”

He cleared his throat and began to shuffle the papers on his desk. When he was ready, he said, “As I mentioned on Friday, your mother was very clear in some of the instructions she left me, although I regret to say that she offered little insight into why she expressed her wishes in the way she did. That remains a mystery.”

“What do you mean ‘a mystery’?” asked Izzie.

She thought she saw a flash of sympathy in his eyes, but he looked down again before she could be certain.

“Why don’t I begin to read the will and things will become clearer?” he asked. The paper crinkled in his hands as he lifted the edge of the page. “ ‘I hereby declare that this is the last will and testament of Margaret Mary Shelton…’ ”

A long string of anachronistic legal sentences followed attesting to the fact that Mum had been of sound mind when she made the will. Then Mum named Willie as her executor.

Izzie let the words wash over her, worry creeping in. She wished that Mum had trusted her with more of the business side of things at Mrs. Shelton’s. She didn’t know the first thing about the accounts or where to find anything in Mum’s messy office.

No. She might not know the ins and outs of the business when it came to money, but she knew the order and appointment books, and that was a start. She could learn how the suppliers were paid and how to do the accounting and—

“ ‘I leave my estate, including my business, Mrs. Shelton’s Fashions; the building at number four Glengall Road; the flat; and the building’s contents to my daughters, Mrs. Hugo Pearsall and Miss Isabelle Shelton.’ ”

“What?” Izzie blurted out.

Sylvia leaned forward, grasping the arms of her chair. “That cannot be right.”

“You’ve read that wrong, Willie. Read it again,” Izzie demanded.

“I have only read what your mother wrote here. Her last wishes,” said Willie, his tone sharper than it usually was.

This could not be happening. Mum wouldn’t have done this to her.

“There must be a misunderstanding,” said Sylvia. “Our mother wouldn’t have left the shop to me. Surely it must be Izzie’s.”

“There is more, if you will permit me,” said Willie, clearing his throat.

“Please do go on, William,” said Sylvia, like she was the lady of the manor.

“Mrs. Shelton continues, ‘I hope that, as it has for me, the shop will take care of them when they need it most.’ ” Willie looked up. “That is all.”

“What could Sylvia possibly need the shop for?” Izzie demanded.

Willie looked up at her, the sympathy so clear in his eyes that it made her miserable all over again. “I’m very sorry, Miss Shelton.”

“But it’s not fair.” She’d been the one to work for years at Mrs. Shelton’s, not Sylvia. She’d steeled herself to harangue delivery drivers and cope with Miss Reid’s moods. She’d sewn until her eyes had felt like sand to make sure orders were delivered on time. She’d swept and cleaned and done everything to keep the doors open every day. And what had Sylvia done except hitch herself to Horrible Hugo’s tailored coattails as soon as she’d seen a chance to escape.

“That’s an old will,” she said. “It must be. Mum would have changed it after Sylvia left home.”

“It’s the most recent will,” Willie said.

“But that can’t be right. Maybe Mum left Sylvia an interest in the building because of the flat, but she never would have left her the business,” she insisted.

It was supposed to be hers and hers alone.

“I’m very sorry, Miss Shelton,” said Willie, retreating behind his professionalism. “I know that this is the most recently witnessed and executed will because I was the one who drew it up for her. Miss Hubert was one of the witnesses.”

“And you never said?” she snapped.