The family crypt lay about a mile from the main house, right behind the old chapel. The chapel itself had been allowed to fall into disrepair after Victoria’s great-grandfather had built a new one adjacent to the house. The crypt, built into the side of a small berm, had not been relocated. On top of the berm sat a large marble wall that proclaimed the names of the fallen male Buxtons. The female Buxtons had burial plots surrounding the berm. The entire family stood on the berm where the name Philip Alexander Buxton had been freshly carved at the bottom of the list. Well, not the entire family, Victoria thought. Prudence wasn’t here. Victoria had whispered that fact to Rowena before they left the house, but had received a black look in return. Rowena hadn’t wanted to rock the boat; she was scared of falling over and drowning. But Victoria was not afraid. Restlessly, she twitched her shoulders and stamped her feet quietly to warm them. She, Elaine, and Rowena had walked to the crypt, spurning a ride in the trap.
