Ornate hand mirror on upper back

I have been at Aunt Maud's since Tuesday, sorting the dresser drawers, and you were right that nobody should have to do it alone. The house still smells of Pear Drops and coal dust. In the bottom drawer, under the good linen, I found the hand mirror, the one with the scrolled frame that Grandad said came off a ship from Bombay. You remember it lying face down on the vanity, its handle curled like a fern.

I meant to post it to you with a note, but the glass is missing. Only the oval frame is left, lacy and black with age, and when I held it up to the window the light simply went through and landed on the back of the wallpaper. Mum always said Maud kept her looking-glass wrapped because it had a crack that would bring bad luck. I thought that was nonsense until I saw how neatly the paper had been cut round the rim.

Then Mrs Okafor from number nine knocked, asking after the rent book. She stood at my shoulder, looked through the empty frame at me, and said, "Oh, she's had that since the war. She used to say you could see anybody in it if you waited." She laughed and left. I have been waiting for twenty minutes now, feeling foolish, and the wallpaper is still just wallpaper.

Still, I am bringing the frame to the reunion on Saturday. Sheffield is only an hour on the train. You can hold it up to Dennis and tell me what you see.

Love, Jo