Samuel failed to comment as he handed her back into the carriage, and Cecily wisely held her tongue as well. If the young man was smitten with the seamstress, so be it. Though judging from what she had seen, Caroline Blanchard did not seem eager to reciprocate. If that were so, Samuel was doomed for disillusionment.

She soon forgot about the problem, however, as they neared the house where Jimmy Taylor’s family lived.

The cottage was in darkness, the windows shrouded with green velvet curtains. The woman who answered the door looked as if she hadn’t slept in quite a while. Her white face was drawn, with deep lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth. She wore a plain black frock, with a black lace cap over her graying curls.

Cecily felt a surge of sympathy for the woman, and quickly apologized for intruding. “I didn’t know your son very well,” she said, after Samuel had introduced them, “but he delivered almost daily to the Pennyfoot Country Club. I wanted to pay my respects and say how dreadfully sorry I am for your loss.”

“Very kind of you, I’m sure,” Mrs. Taylor murmured. “Won’t you come in?”

Following the woman into the sitting room, Cecily saw a large portrait of the young lad on the mantelpiece, bordered by a fluttering candle on either side. He looked happy in the picture, smiling broadly to show a row of uneven teeth.

She paused in front of it, shaking her head. “Such a dreadful thing to happen to one so young.”

“He didn’t deserve to die that way,” Mrs. Taylor said, her voice breaking.

“No, indeed.” Cecily seated herself on a worn sofa, while Samuel chose to hover near the door, one anxious eye on the clock. “Who do you think could have done such an awful thing?”

Mrs. Taylor sank onto the edge of an armchair. “I can’t imagine. Jimmy wasn’t always easy to get along with, but he had some good friends, and his customers always treated him well.” She stared at the leaping flames in the fireplace. “Of course, there was Basil.”