"I'm so sorry," Vivienne whispered. She dropped to her knees and began to pick up the pieces. "I am so . It was my grandmother's china. Mother will be so angry."
"Leave it," I said, and knelt beside her.
Our hands touched among the broken pieces. Hers were ice cold again. I did not say anything about the engagement. I picked up the white one by one and put them gently in her palm.
"Vivi, you are not well. Let me ask the maid to bring you some water."
"No, no. I'll go myself. Excuse me." She stood up so fast that she nearly fell. "I'll only be a moment. Theo will keep you company. Theo!"
She hurried out of the room, with her shoulders , like a child who has been scolded.
Theo came in with his hands in his pockets and a polite, tired smile. He had a tin soldier in one fist, painted red and blue and badly chipped.
"Are you very angry at my sister?" he asked.
"No," I said. "Why would I be angry?"
"Because she was awful at the banquet. She told me." He sat on the edge of an and started turning the little soldier over and over. "She came home white as a sheet. She wouldn't eat. She cried all night. Mother says that Vivi is only nervous about growing up. But she was crying about *you.*"
My heart tightened. "About me?"
"She said she was a ." He lowered his voice. "She says it a lot lately. She says it in her sleep, too. I hear her through the wall."
I said nothing. I could not.
Theo looked at the tin soldier. "Father gets angry when I ask about it. He says there are things children should not know." He coughed, a small, dry sound. "But I am fourteen. I know there are black letters."
"Black letters?"
"They come on the first of every month. Father reads them in the study, and then he pours a very large drink." He his thin shoulders. "We have sold the piano, the silver, and Grandmother's clock. Mother cried when the clock went."
Before I could ask more, there were three knocks at the front door. Slow. Polite. Terrible.
Theo went white. "Mother says that when they come, I must go upstairs." He slid off the chair, and then stopped. "But you will be alone."
"Go," I said gently. "I am only a guest."
He went, holding his tin soldier. I stood in the doorway of the drawing room and watched the maid open the door.
Two men in long black coats stood on the step. One was heavy and silent. The other was young, thin, and smiling, with the face of a very polite . He did not look at the maid. He looked straight past her, at me.
"Lady Elise Hallowell," he said, and bowed. "How kind of you to visit the Harts. The Trust sends its warmest regards to your father."
I had never seen him in my life. He knew my name.
He gave the maid a black envelope, touched his hat, and strolled away down the street, as unhurried as a man leaving church. The maid carried the envelope into the dining room and laid it on the long bare table, beside a vase of dying flowers, with a face of stone.
It was black. A thick, expensive black paper.
It was sealed with a drop of red wax, and the seal was stamped with a tiny, perfect shape.
I crossed the hall to the dining-room doorway. From there, I could see the seal clearly. A small circle of red wax. Pressed into it, the outline of a bird with wings spread wide, holding something in its claws.
I had seen that seal two days ago on a black envelope that my father hid in his coat. It was the same seal. The same wax. The same paper.
"Lady Elise?" Theo said behind me. "Are you all right?"
"Yes," I said. My voice sounded as if it came from the bottom of a well. "I only needed some air."
Two families. Two black envelopes. One red seal.
Hallowell and Hart, two old houses with great names and empty , both trapped by the same hand. And I had sat for years at the same tea tables as Vivienne and never once asked why her family was sinking.