Best Kept Secret

reference to
his father.
    Reverend Donaldson ended his eulogy with the words, ‘Elizabeth’s life was cut short by her untimely death at the age of fifty-one, but it is not for us to question the will of our
Lord.’
    After he had returned to his pew, Giles and Sebastian each read a lesson, ‘The Good Samaritan’ and ‘The Sermon on the Mount’, while Emma and Grace recited verses by their
mother’s favourite poets. Emma chose Shelley:
    Lost angel of a ruined paradise!
    She knew not ’twas her own, – as with no stain
    She faded, like a cloud which had outwept its rain.
    While Grace read from Keats:
    Stop and consider! life is but a day;
    A fragile dew-drop on its perilous way
    From a tree’s summit; a poor Indian’s sleep
    While his boat hastens to the monstrous steep . . .
    As the congregation filed out of the church, several people asked who the attractive woman on Sir Giles’s arm was. Harry couldn’t help thinking that
Elizabeth’s prediction was already coming to pass. Dressed entirely in black, Virginia was standing at Giles’s right hand as the pall-bearers lowered Elizabeth’s coffin into the
grave. Harry recalled his mother-in-law’s words:
I still have one card up my sleeve.
    After the burial service had been completed, the family and a few close friends were invited to join Giles, Emma and Grace at Barrington Hall for what the Irish would have called a wake.
Virginia moved deftly from mourner to mourner, introducing herself as if she were already the lady of the house. Giles didn’t seem to notice, and if he did, clearly didn’t
disapprove.
    ‘Hello, I’m Lady Virginia Fenwick,’ she said when she met Harry’s mother for the first time. ‘And where do you fit in?’
    ‘I’m Mrs Holcombe,’ Maisie replied. ‘Harry’s my son.’
    ‘Oh, yes, of course,’ said Virginia. ‘Aren’t you a waitress or something?’
    ‘I’m the manager of the Grand Hotel in Bristol,’ Maisie said, as if dealing with a tiresome customer.
    ‘Of course you are. But then, it will take me a little time to get used to the idea of women working. You see, the women in my family have never worked,’ Virginia said, quickly
moving on before Maisie could respond.
    ‘Who are you?’ asked Sebastian.
    ‘I’m Lady Virginia Fenwick, and who are you, young man?’
    ‘Sebastian Clifton.’
    ‘Ah yes. Has your father finally managed to find a school that will take you?’
    ‘I’ll be going to Beechcroft Abbey in September,’ countered Sebastian.
    ‘Not a bad school,’ replied Virginia, ‘but hardly top drawer. My three brothers were all educated at Harrow, as the past seven generations of Fenwicks have been.’
    ‘Where did you go to school?’ asked Sebastian, as Jessica came rushing across to him.
    ‘Have you seen the Constable, Seb?’ she asked.
    ‘Little girl, don’t interrupt me when I’m speaking,’ said Virginia. ‘It’s frightfully rude.’
    ‘Sorry, miss,’ said Jessica.
    ‘I’m not “miss”, you should always address me as Lady Virginia.’
    ‘Have you seen the Constable, Lady Virginia?’ asked Jessica.
    ‘I have indeed, and it compares favourably with the three in my family collection. But it’s not in the same class as our Turner. Have you heard of Turner?’
    ‘Yes, Lady Virginia,’ said Jessica. ‘J. M. W. Turner, possibly the greatest watercolourist of his age.’
    ‘My sister’s an artist,’ said Sebastian. ‘I think she’s just as good as Turner.’
    Jessica giggled. ‘Excuse him, Lady Virginia, as Mama often reminds him, he does have a tendency to exaggerate.’
    ‘Clearly,’ said Virginia, leaving them to go off in search of Giles, as she felt it was time for the guests to leave.
    Giles accompanied the vicar to the front door, which was taken as a sign by the remainder of the guests that the time had come for everyone else to depart. When he closed the door for the last
time, he breathed a sigh of relief, and returned to the drawing room to join the family.
    ‘Well, I think that went as well as could be expected in the circumstances,’ he said.
    ‘One or two of the hangers-on treated it more like a feast than a wake,’ said Virginia.
    ‘Would you mind, old chap,’ Giles said, turning to Harry, ‘if we dressed for dinner? Virginia feels strongly about that sort of thing.’
    ‘One can’t afford to let standards slip,’ volunteered Virginia.
    ‘My father couldn’t have let them slip much further,’ said Grace, which caused Harry to