A very ornate one of stone. “He preferred the gardens here at Abingdon Park. He was never particularly close to his father. My husband’s mother died when he was around fifteen. He and his father had a terrible row shortly thereafter. As a result, his father forbid him to use his courtesy title, cut off his allowance, disowned him for all practical purposes, although he couldn’t stop him from eventually inheriting. Lushing was the legal heir, and the law protected his inheritance. Thank goodness for Kittridge. His father had passed a few years earlier, so he’d already inherited the title and properties that placed him in a position to provide a haven for Lushing—or Arthur Sheffield, as he was known at the time—until the titles and properties passed on to him. Or so I was told. I was only a child when all this started. Lushing was twelve years my senior.”

“I can’t get a good look at things, but it seems peaceful here.”

“It is. Like so many these days, Lushing was very much obsessed with the celebration of death. I find it all very morbid. This morning a photographer arrived to take a photo of Lushing laid out in the casket. Apparently, he’d arranged for it to be done some time back. I don’t understand the need to have an image of him dead.”

“For some, who can’t afford photographers, it’s the last, perhaps the only, chance for the family to have the deceased immortalized.”

“Cost was not a factor for him. Nor was it the only chance. He was photographed many times. I don’t fancy death mementos. Lord Kittridge asked if he could take some snippets of Lushing’s hair to have a watch fob made. I know it’s customary to use the hair for various pieces of jewelry, but I can’t bring myself to be so adorned. This way.” They turned down a path and followed it around a small pond, circled by willows, their branches hanging down like gossamer curtains. It was lovely during the day. At night it seemed more mystical. She could imagine sprites darting around. Tightening her hold on his arm, she relished the strength she found there.

On a puff of laughter, she said, “He’ll no doubt roll over in his grave if he catches sight of the risqué clothing I’m wearing.”

“On the contrary, I think he’d appreciate it.”