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quickly for us—and for yourself, too, Beret. Come home and talk to your uncle before you do anything.”
    Beret had intended to go directly to the police station, but the trip had been hard, the train cold and dirty, and she was tempted by the offer of a hot bath. Her aunt would have the servants prepare tea and sherry. Lillie was dead. What did it matter if Beret waited a day or two to talk with the police?
    “Come, Beret,” Varina said again. “Your uncle will want to see you. And you are the only one who can console me. You understand this is not something I can talk about with others.”
    Her aunt, her mother’s sister, had been a comforting presence in Beret’s life, kind, generous, and like Beret, she was made of strong stuff. Nonetheless, she looked frail and old, well over fifty. Beret had been selfish, thinking only of herself. This was a family tragedy. “Of course,” she said, and Varina led her to the carriage.
    They sat in the vehicle, gripping each other’s hands. “I asked why—” Beret began.
    Varina cut her off. “Not now, dear. We’ll talk later.” They were silent until they reached the Stanton house. “I hope you will not think me rude, but I must leave you here while I return a call to the wife of one of your uncle’s political backers. It is not to be helped. Please understand, my dear. Although it saddens me, life must go on. I won’t be long. Your uncle and I will see you at dinner.” She told Jonas to stop the carriage in front of the house, and the young man helped Beret out of the conveyance.
    As Jonas lifted her trunk from the carriage, Beret walked to the front door, reaching for the brass knocker. Before she could lift it, however, the massive door swung open, and William, the Stantons’ butler, bowed and said in a solemn voice, “Miss Beret, it is a pleasure to welcome you to Denver once again.” Beret smiled, not so much at the formality but at the fact the Stantons employed a butler, an extravagance she felt sure was the work of her aunt. Beret’s father, Henry Osmundsen, had refused to hire such a servant, remarking that it was a sad day when the host and hostess themselves did not open the door to guests. Beret wondered if her uncle felt the same way and was only indulging his wife in employing a factotum.
    “Thank you, William,” Beret replied. After the long and tiresome trip, she felt welcome and warm. Stepping into the Stanton house was like going home.
    He lowered his voice. “I wish you were here for a more pleasant occasion. This house is a dreary place of late.” There was a touch of sadness to his words, making Beret think that Lillie had charmed the servants as she did everyone else. “Mrs. Stanton has readied your room, and Nellie will draw you a bath. Then she will unpack for you.” He nodded at the trunk Jonas was carrying upstairs.
    “Has Judge Stanton arrived?”
    “Not yet. I believe Mrs. Stanton will fetch him on her return.”
    Beret nodded and started up the staircase, realizing then that she was exhausted, so tired that she had to hold on to the railing to keep herself upright.
    She bathed, listening through the door to Nellie hum as the girl unpacked Beret’s trunk and put the contents into drawers and the massive wardrobe. When she heard Nellie close the bedroom door, Beret dried herself and put on a nightdress that Nellie had laid across the bed, a huge walnut piece with a carved headboard that reached almost to the ceiling. The bed had been turned down, and Beret decided to nap until her aunt and uncle returned. But her head hurt and she needed one of her powders, so first, she went to the wardrobe for the small case of medicine she had tucked into the trunk.
    She searched through the dresses hanging on pegs to find it. Beret stopped when she spotted a blue silk gown. She herself had bought it for Lillie just the year before. Beret remembered that Lillie had worn it with only an ermine jacket and diamond earrings that were shaped like