Now, Caldecott stared intently at Jane, as Mr Dutton read: ‘it is my final and incontrovertible wish that my house, designated as Number 2a Tite Street, together with the rest of my Estate, including all monetary investments, furniture and chattels, clothes and jewellery, be given absolutely to my beloved niece, Miss Jane Elizabeth Adeane and that my dear friend Mr Ashton Roderick Sims, together with the honourable firm of Dutton & Caldecott, Solicitors and Attorneys at Law, act as executors in this matter, to ensure that Miss Jane Elizabeth Adeane inherits her Portion precisely as stated in this, my Last Will.’

The room was silent. Jane stared at the solicitors, who were now smiling at her. She had heard what had just been stated, but could not, on the instant, take in the enormity of it. All that had preoccupied her since her aunt’s death was grief for the loss of her. No speculation about what might be in her Will had entered her mind. If she had thought about the house, it was as some beautiful treasure which would always and ever be inhabited by Emmeline, even in her absence. Always, her pictures would hang on the walls and be stacked in the studio. Always, it would be filled with the sound of Emmeline’s voice and with her laughter.

But now, all of this had passed to her! She saw it entire, forever containing the presence of Emmeline, and understood that there was logic in the extraordinary bequest, for perhaps it was only she – who had been a kind of daughter to her aunt – she alone in the world who could become the guardian of Emmeline’s legacy, keeping her house just as it had always been and inhabiting it with love.

Jane lowered her eyes to the glass vase of anemones, liking the feathery raggedness of them. She knew that she would never forget this single detail in the offices of Dutton and Caldecott and that the moment would always be coloured by these flowers. And she realised with surprise that a small thread of happiness was being allowed to reside somewhere near her heart.

But something else was happening now. Valentine Ross was speaking. Nobody had asked him to speak, but he had leaned across the mahogany table, closer to the solicitors, intent upon bringing himself into the proceedings.

‘Mr Dutton,’ he said, ‘I do not know if you and Mr Caldecott are aware that Miss Jane Adeane and I are engaged to be married. It is my hope that the wedding will take place as soon as the requisite period of mourning for her aunt is past, and thus before the year’s end.’

‘Ah,’ said Mr Dutton, ‘we did not know. Congratulations, Sir.’

‘Thank you. However, in consequence of this, there is one important matter which must now be addressed.’

‘Yes, Doctor Ross? What is that?’

Ross plunged on. ‘I am not a student of the Law,’ he said, ‘but what I do know is that married women are not legally entitled to own property. Am I correct in that?’