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hers. Arthur sat on her right, also holding her hand. She felt restrained by them and the oppressive social convention that made her glance around the room, wondering if anyone was observing Arthur's impropriety.
    Arthur noticed her watching the others and pulled his hand away. "It seems to trouble you too much." He spoke softly, then dropped his voice to nearly a whisper to add, "Damn them all, as Gance would say."
    "Damn them all," she repeated in the same private tone and grasped his hand once more. Jonathan heard her and looked at both of them, frowning.
    She leaned toward her husband, intending to whisper that she loved him, and always had, when Robert Quarles cleared his throat, took a sip of water, and began to address the now silent room.
    An hour passed. Two. Quarles was still listing estates, then factories, then finally…
    The house in Exeter she had expected. Some funds to cover taxes as well. But an apartment in Bloomsbury and a hundred thousand pounds?
    As he had for some of his other beneficiaries, Gance supplied a reason, noting that she was my most loyal friend, and the only truly honest creature I have ever known .
    Jonathan's hand stopped pressing hers so tightly as if he'd managed, finally, to relax. Gance's reason for the fortune he'd left her seemed almost pure, as if she were his conscience and not his…
    Winnie, who was sitting behind her. leaned forward so quickly she nearly lost her black felt hat. "Did you hear that!" she exclaimed. "Fifty thousand for the hospital. I think we will have to name some part of it after him!"
    Quarles glared at her, the iciness of his expression quelling even her enthusiasm, and continued on.
    Another hour passed. The bequests grew smaller, covering everyone from Arthur Holmwood, who received the bulk of Gance's wine cellar, to Oscar Wilde, who received "not one but three" casks of amontillado (a literary reference hardly lost on the more euphoric members of the crowd), to a favorite music tutor who inherited the Steinway from the ballroom of Gance's Exeter estate. The reading concluded dramatically with a final, huge sum to to Asha Kumar of Delhi, who may not have possessed my heart but certainly had everything else .
    "And more than once. I'll wager one of my casks on that!" Wilde called from the back of the room. Laughter followed. As the group broke up, most of the conversation concerned the absent Asha and her relationship with Gance. How like him to be discreet, even in death, Mina thought, wondering how many other mistresses in this room had escaped notice because Gance had directed everyone's attention elsewhere.
    As soon as the reading was over, Winnie mumbled a quick congratulations to her and headed for the back of the room to speak with one of Quarles's associates. Arthur pulled Mina aside. "Are you still planning on going to Exeter today, or will you be staying at the Bloomsbury place?" he whispered.
    "I'll go to Exeter. I don't know if Jonathan is coming, though. He may have more business here." Mina hesitated, then confessed, "We haven't spoken."
    "But you have an agreement, don't you?"
    "He never wrote either."
    Arthur seemed about to say something, then shrugged and looked over her shoulder at Jonathan instead. "I'll be staying in London indefinitely. But if it should happen that you need any assistance whatever, please wire me. The house is livable, I suppose. But if not, I'm sure the Westenras would be delighted to put you up for a time."
    "Thank you for your concern, Arthur, but the house is charming. You'll have to come and see it soon," Mina replied, wondering if the little cottage would soon become the heart of her problem. She noted Winnie and Emory standing at the door, and whispered a final thanks to Arthur before joining them. "If you wait a bit while I say a few words to Mr. Quarles, we could travel together," she suggested.
    Quarles had papers for her to sign, and keys to the house and flat. He thanked her on her good fortune, without