These Shallow Graves by Jennifer Donnelly

as gray as flint and every bit as hard.
    The fearsome admiral had been painted aboard his warship in 1664, only days before he’d taken the colony of Nieuw Amsterdam from the Dutch and renamed it New York. His portrait now hung in Phillip Montfort’s front hall. The Montfort coat of arms, with its Latin motto, appeared in the canvas’s bottom left corner.
    â€œÂ â€˜Fac quod faciendum est,’ ” Jo read aloud. “Do what must be done.”
    William Montfort had lived by that motto, and his descendants were expected to as well. Montfort children learned to say it while still in their cradles. Jo took strength from the words now. If the admiral could confront the entire Dutch navy, she could confront her uncle. She had no choice.
    People didn’t just kill themselves; they did so because they were distraught. If something had been troubling her father so deeply that he wished to end his life, Phillip might know why. The two brothers had been very close.
    The decision to speak with him was a daunting one, though; Jo knew it would lead to trouble. Asking questions, demanding explanations—these things always led to trouble. The moment a girl learned how to talk, she was told not to.
    â€œThis way, please, Miss Josephine,” said Harney, her uncle’s butler. He’d gone to Phillip’s study to announce her and had just returned.
    â€œMy darling Jo! What a lovely surprise!” Phillip exclaimed as she joined him. He rose from his chair by the fireplace and enfolded her in an embrace.
    He looks so much like Papa, Jo thought, with a stab of pain. Phillip Montfort was older by two years—forty-six to her father’s forty-four—and a little taller, but the gray eyes, the shock of black hair, and the smile were the same. And like her father, Phillip had a certain courtly formality about him. He was wearing a three-piece suit even though he was alone in his own study on a Saturday.
    â€œCome and sit down,” he said. “Your timing is perfect. I’ve just had Harney bring a fresh pot of tea. May I offer you a cup? I’m afraid you’ve missed your aunt and cousin, though. They’re out visiting Madeleine’s mother.”
    Jo knew that Madeleine and Caroline always paid social calls on Saturday afternoons. That was why she’d picked this time. Caroline’s brother, Robert, was away at school.
    â€œI’m sorry to miss them, but to be truthful, I came at this time because I want to speak with you alone,” Jo said, settling herself across from him.
    Her uncle’s smile turned to a frown of concern. “Is everything all right?” he asked.
    Jo decided not to beat around the bush. She took a deep breath, then said, “No, Uncle Phillip, it isn’t. I’m afraid I have a difficult question to ask you. … Did Papa kill himself?”
    Phillip blinked, taken aback. “Of course not! My goodness, Jo, where did you get such a dreadful idea?”
    For a second, Jo was tempted to fib, but she knew better. Like her father, her uncle was no fool. He’d see right through her lie, and she’d only get herself into more trouble. She bravely plunged ahead.
    â€œAfter I delivered Papa’s bequest to Reverend Willis, I delivered Mr. Stoatman’s,” she explained. “While I was there, I overheard some reporters talking. They said that Papa committed suicide.”
    Phillip’s cheeks flushed. Here it comes, Jo thought grimly. And it did.
    â€œJosephine Montfort, what the devil were you thinking?” he thundered. “Cavorting through the city unescorted! And to Park Row, of all places! What if someone had seen you? Bram or Addie or Grandmama?”
    â€œGrandmama wouldn’t have seen me at the Standard. She only reads the World, ” Jo said, trying to soften her uncle’s anger with a bit of levity. Grandmama Aldrich was as likely to read the World —much less visit its