Stolen Remains by Christine Trent

as possible.”
    “I’m afraid that’s true. She isn’t interested in much, although this particular funeral situation seems to have roused her. It’s ironic, I suppose, that death is what enlivens her.”
    Will shrugged. “Same is true with us. How can we help you?”
    In a typical arrangement with a grieving relative, Violet would retrieve her bulging book full of coffin drawings, suggested funeral plans according to the deceased’s social class, and price lists, and have the relative make selections. As it was, she merely ticked items off on her fingers.
    “I want an elm burl coffin with your best brass fittings, a wool mattress, and lined with the finest cambric. Something like what we did for Admiral Herbert, remember? Also, a large silver plate on top, engraved ‘Anthony Fairmont, the Viscount Raybourn, Perfect Father and Friend.’ Have a broken column engraved on either side.”
    A broken column symbolized the death of the family patriarch.
    “Simple mourning cards with a quarter-inch line of black around them. Black-edged stationery for the new Lord Raybourn. Twelve pots of lilies for the home in Park Street. Enough black bunting for twelve windows. A card for placement beneath the doorbell announcing ‘No Visitors.’ A half dozen black armbands.” Violet continued detailing the items she had discussed with Stephen and Katherine.
    “What about a postmortem photograph?”
    “Absolutely not,” Violet said. “The deceased is in no condition for it.”
    “Shall we post an obituary? When and where will Lord Raybourn be buried?” Will asked as he once again dipped his pen in an inkwell and wrote furiously to keep up with Violet.
    “An obituary, yes. Make sure it also states that the family isn’t accepting visitors. We shan’t announce his burial just yet.”
    “What? An important lord dies and the family doesn’t want society to know about the planned funeral route?”
    “It’s just a temporary delay.”
    Will shook his head. “I presume the family would like the finest of services?”
    He meant the large glass carriage with velvet curtains inside, four horses, each wearing ostrich plumes, more plumes on the four corners of the carriage, multiple professional mourners, and a long travel route to the cemetery.
    “I’m sure they will eventually wish to have these things.”
    “Eventually? When is eventually? How odd, Mrs. Harper.”
    “Please, don’t ask me any more for the moment. Right now I just need to see Lord Raybourn comfortably ensconced in an elegant coffin and to make sure the lying-in is done properly.”
    “As you wish, of course. And now, ahem, if you don’t mind my asking since you are not our typical customer—will they pay?”
    Violet understood his question. Aristocrats frequently pretended bills didn’t exist, especially those aristocrats living beyond their means. A death was a prominent way of showing off class and wealth to the community, since carriage size, number of mourners, and the like indicated the relative position of the family. Therefore, some aristocrats would order funerals they could ill afford to ensure society was assured they were as prosperous as ever and also to ensure the newspapers would write glowing accounts of the services.
    Such public accounts would enable the aristocrats to gain more credit, thus enabling them to spend more.
    “I think so. My father worked for the family long ago, and so I believe the new master of the house will endeavor to keep his debt clear with me. In any case, I shall keep an eye on it.”
    “Very good.” Will wiped his pen on a cloth and set it down, capping his inkwell.
    Violet stood. “Now I’m off to see Mary Cooke. Is she also still in the same location?”
    “Indeed she is.”
     
    Another reunion awaited her at Mary Cooke’s mourning dressmaking shop in Bayswater Road. “Violet, dearest! How happy I am to see you. How is Susanna? And Sam? What of Colorado? Is it as wild and majestic as I read about in