“How was your day? She was dying to know.”
“It was great,” I said. “Tell her I’m sorry I missed her.”
I felt bad. Until I’d started the new job, we’d spoken every day since she was diagnosed.
Chapter Five
Diana
Diana Cornish boarded the Caledonian Express train bound for London’s Euston Station at Leuchars, just west of St. Andrews, at 23:28 in the evening. As it pulled away from the station she made her way down the swaying corridor in search of her cabin. Inside were two narrow bunks. She lay down, fully dressed, on the bottom one and fell asleep at around midnight.
Outside, the Scottish countryside rushed past in the darkness. Diana slept as the train slipped over the border into England. Her alarm woke her just before it pulled into Preston at 04:35. Minutes later, Charlotte Craven, the editor in chief ofThe Wimpole Magazineand high-ranking member of the Fellowship of the Larks, boarded the train.
They met in the dining car. It was as dim and empty as an Edward Hopper bar, Diana thought. No one to overhear them, and preferable to their tiny cabins, which were too cramped to talk in comfortably.
They sat in a booth. Charlotte set some knitting on the table in front of her. Diana did the same with a pen and puzzle book. Charlotte had never knitted anything in her life—she preferred tobuy cashmere in Edinburgh—and Diana was more accustomed to working on complex logistical problems than simple word searches, but they left these carefully selected symbols in view, knowing their power to render two women unremarkable.
“Anya Brown?” Charlotte asked.
“She arrived at the hotel in London. She wasn’t happy about leaving St. Andrews so soon. We should have given her more time to settle in at the Institute before bringing her to him; it feels hasty.”
Charlotte waited as another passenger walked through the dining car. Once they were alone again, she said, “I need you to trust me. This isn’t just a knee-jerk reaction to the arson attack. I have good news, too. Last night I had dinner with a businesswoman, one of us.”
“Have I heard of her?”
“Undoubtedly.”
“A collector?”
“She enjoys acquiring seventeenth-century books and drawings relating to a very specific theme, and I’ve been able to help her with that.”
Diana raised an eyebrow. No point in asking more, because Charlotte wouldn’t tell. One of the most effective ways Charlotte extended her networks was through her work advising private collectors. The more niche their interests, the more they needed her, and her reputation for discretion.
“She says she knows of a site that’s perfect, but we have to act fast,” Charlotte said.
“Where is it?”
“Beside the river in Greenwich, within half an hour of central London by public transport. It couldn’t be better. I’ve spoken briefly to one of our friends in the City for advice on negotiating a long-term lease—in this case she recommends we ask for a term of one hundred years—and she stressed the importance of proving our credibility. The fact that we’re proposing to build a foundationdoesn’t help, because it means we won’t be generating cash on site. Obviously, lettors prefer tenants who are running a provably profitable business because they want to be certain that they can cover the lease. So, that’s a challenge for us, and they’ll see us as a risk in that respect. We’ll need to show them a massive chunk of cash to offset our lack of balance sheets and credit facilities.”
Diana felt her heart rate quicken. This was a welcome bit of good news, and it explained the rush on getting Anya down here. They would have to accelerate their plans.
Charlotte said, “There’s also the fact that we’re a loose coalition of women, not a corporation or a structured organization, and not a man in sight. That could work against us.”
“Of course,” Diana said. “Our old friend misogyny.”
The carriage listed to one side as the train took a bend, then straightened again. Outside, the sky was brightening, a slight silver stain spreading like mercury on the horizon.
“But if Anya Brown does what we need her to, it shouldn’t be an issue. We’ll have enough money that no one will say no to us,” Charlotte said.
The Book of Wonderwas worth millions. If Anya played her part and the Larks found it, they could make enough from its sale to fund their foundation. But they had to hurry. The Order of St. Katherine valued the book equally, but for a different reason. They considered it to be the foundational text for their cause. If they got their hands on it first, they would lock it in a vault somewhere instead of using it to make useful change for women, but even behind the door of a safe it would bring them power. An object like that created reverence and obedience through its mystique and uniqueness. It would give the Kats something to gather around, something to entice new believers with. It would be their Bible.
The main lights in the dining carriage came on suddenly. Staff were arriving to prepare for breakfast service. They couldn’t talk openly here any longer.
“I’ll do everything I can to ensure she delivers,” Diana assured Charlotte.
Charlotte nodded. “We may not get another opportunity like this again, not in our lifetimes. This is a pivotal moment for the Fellowship. It’s taken more than a hundred years of work to get us here.”
As if Diana didn’t know that. Charlotte could be patronizing sometimes, but Diana was used to it. She looked out the window and allowed herself a quiet moment of satisfaction. She’d learned so much since they’d founded the Institute. Starting small, somewhere out of the way, had given them space to enjoy some successes and make some mistakes and learn from both. The plan to scale up to a foundation was a huge step, but she was hoping for a significant role in the new organization. She felt she’d proved herself.
