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‘Tomorrow morning.’

Both pulled off their caps and she noted they wiped their boots on the mat at the door. They were both good lads.

‘Wash your hands, remember.’ She smiled, gesturing towards a trough at the entrance. ‘I always do,’ she assured them, so they didn’t feel she was being bossy.

She took a last look at her sleeping friends and bid them a silent farewell. They couldn’t have looked more beautiful, she thought. ‘Very gently lads, please. I don’t want either of the bodies to be disrupted.’

They did an excellent job of transferring mother and daughter into the coffin. After thanking them, Fleur folded soft muslin to cover Mrs Saville up to the crook of her elbows. Mr Saville could look upon his wife and child now with pride at their beauty, even in death, never knowing how hard Fleur had worked on his beloved girls.

She went in search of her father.

In the house there seemed to be a flurry of activity with Irma supervising the laying out of the best dining crockery, admonishing one of the new staff who was cleaning Mae Appleby’s silver.

‘Have you seen my father, Irma?’

‘Not since he left after breakfast,’ she replied, sounding distracted. ‘No side plates this side of the dinner plate,’ she snapped, pointing, and then making a tutting sound at poor Nan.

‘Why is my mother’s best china coming out, Irma?’

‘Well, it’s doing no good sitting in a cabinet as dead as she is.’

Fleur gave a low gasp. Both women working paused to glance at her, looking shocked.

‘Get on with your work!’ Irma snapped. She looked back at Fleur. ‘I’m only speaking the truth. Tell me what good crockery is if it’s not used or admired.’

Fleur blinked. The hateful woman’s question was not without logic. ‘I asked why it’s being used. I didn’t say it shouldn’t be,’ she replied, surprised by how rational and, indeed, neutral she sounded. It felt like a triumph to hold her anger in check, entirely under her control.

Fleur’s reply must have taken Irma by surprise because her small eyes flared, unsure, searching for guile. She had been expecting an argument. Fleur kept her own expression even but enquiring, and watched her stepmother’s chins settle back towards her broad neck, where they found wide support against the crepe-like skin.

She imagined how tricky it would be to work on Irma’s corpse because of all that soft, flabby skin, which would fall to the sides and flatten out. There would be little that someone, even as talented as she was, could do to combat gravity’s pull. It emboldened her to think such dry, bruising thoughts about Irma, who seemed to lack any compassion for anyone.

‘We have people coming for dinner on Saturday,’ Irma confirmed.

‘I see. Well, enjoy the—’

‘And your father and I expect you to attend.’

Attend? What an odd word to use for a member of the household. Irma never let any opportunity pass to alienate Fleur, having not yet worked out that Fleur did a reasonably good job of that all on her own.

‘Leave us,’ Irma said to Nan and her companion, still holding the side plates. ‘Go put some coffee on. Mr Appleby will be wanting his noon meal.’

The women couldn’t get away fast enough.

Fleur could tell this discussion was going to be akin to gunfighters squaring off in the cowboy movies she’d seen at the local picture theatre. ‘They have names, you know, Irma. One is Nan and the other is Jean. Why don’t you use them instead of simply barking orders?’

‘I pay them. I’ll call them what I like.’

‘My father pays them, and it could be said that I earn most of the money that allows my father to pay for your indulgences. But if you insist on having waiting staff, please address them with some basic courtesy. They are not slaves. A please and thank you now and then wouldn’t go astray.’

‘Don’t lecture me, Fleur. It’s just noise and wasted breath. I can’t wait for you to be married and living elsewhere.’

‘Who are your guests?’ Fleur asked, knowing it was exactly what Irma wished her to ask so they could get their duel going.

‘The Coglins,’ Irma replied.

Fleur felt the rise of frustration and it momentarily silenced her. This father and son, who, as it was, ran a suspect coffin-making business that she was hoping to detach Appleby’s from as soon as possible, were now being given Irma’s full welcome treatment. And as Irma did nothing without an agenda, Fleur imagined she had already hinted at a possible engagement. It made her inwardly gag. ‘Of course. Well, unfortunately I shall be—’

‘Right here,’ Irma interjected, pointing to a place at the table. ‘At your father’s behest. Our guests are arriving at six. Don’t be late, Fleur, and do not disappoint your father.’