It resembled Mardi Gras, and she thought disdainfully of New Orleans. Was there anything at all in those locked rooms of her aunt’s mind? Were they fully furnished and only a little dusty and cobwebby and in need of an airing, or were they stark vacancy except, perhaps, for a cockroach or so or the gnawing of a rat? What was the mental equivalent of a rat’s gnawing? The image was going astray. “I’ve thought about it. Mercifully, John had been sick for two of the three days of Thanksgiving week, giving her reprieve from both his presence and the machinations of Katy Pfister, who was always less active on days when he was not around. ‘I have an arthritic complaint, which is why you find me retired from fashionable life. And I think I must pursue my acquaintance with the fulsome Madame Valade.
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