The crib, changing table, and rocking chair were all made of black lacquered wood. Hammered bronze covered the chest of drawers sitting in front of a wall painted in deep red tones. Normally Gwen loved the fresh simplicity of the Japanese style, but instead of the soft muted hues usually associated with it, Poppy had opted for the drama of scarlet and black. Panels of rice paper covered the windows, and a folding screen painted with cherry blossoms was the only hint of joyfulness in the child’s nursery.

“It’s very artistic,” Aunt Martha managed to stammer, and the other aunts nodded in vigorous agreement.

“Yes,” Aunt Helen said, clutching her cane as she scrambled for something nice to add. “It’s very, very artistic.”

Gwen leaned over the crib to pick up a doll dressed in a silk kimono. “This is darling,” she said.

She passed the doll to Martha so the kindest of her aunts could enthuse about the beautifully embroidered kimono. Martha murmured polite comments, then passed the doll to Helen, who looked at Poppy in dismay.

“Dearest, I’m afraid I can’t see it very well in this dim light,” she said. “My eyes aren’t what they used to be.”

“Yes, it’s quite dark in here,” Martha said. “Might we go to the breakfast room, where we can admire this charming kimono properly?”

Poppy seemed annoyed that the old ladies didn’t want to linger in the oppressive nursery, but they were already filing out of the room. The mood brightened once everyone was in the sunlit breakfast room, where a proper tea graced the table and the aunts made a suitable fuss about Poppy’s baby, due to arrive in two months.

After ten minutes discussing the baby, Natalia set down her teacup. “It’s eleven o’clock and past time for me to be at the bank.”

Poppy’s expression cooled. “Then, by all means, run along. It’s certainly no surprise where your priorities are.”

Natalia kept a serene expression on her face as she gave each aunt a quick hug in farewell, then departed. An awkward silence filled the room until Aunt Martha filled it.

“I imagine Oscar is so excited about the baby,” she said. “Have you picked a name?”

Poppy nodded. “We have decided on Alexander. I wanted to name him Frederick Samuel after our fathers, but Oscar wanted something entirely new.”

“What if it is a girl?” Aunt Helen asked, and Poppy looked taken aback. Everyone knew Oscar insisted on having a son. If Poppy dared to produce a girl, she would probably find herself expecting again by the next full moon.