“We weren’t expecting Diana to be in London, and Anya Brown has traveled down, too, which seems very soon after her arrival in St. Andrews. It doesn’t feel right.”
“Are they reacting to the attack on the lab?”
“It’s possible.”
“Doing something with the embroidery?”
She was deeply worried that the Fellowship of the Larks had hired Anya to work for them at the Institute, which everyone knew was a front for their hunt forThe Book of Wonder.
Her worry went far deeper than just bitterness that the Fellowship of the Larks had outplayed them over the embroidery. Her fear was that they were closer to findingThe Book of Wonderthan she knew.
The thought that it could be sold tore a piece from her. It would be devastating to the Order of St. Katherine.The Book of Wonderwas an indescribably important text. For the Order it had the status ofa lost relic. It was the first link in a centuries-old chain of women working quietly and with dignity to help one another, for the good of society. It represented their ideological soul.
She couldn’t share her thoughts with Conchita. The Order had a strict hierarchy, and you didn’t share information down the ranks.
“I don’t know,” she said.
There was silence on the other end of the line, then Conchita asked, “Do you want me to do something more?”
“No. We’ll watch and wait for now. Thank you. You know how important you are to us, don’t you, Conchita?”
Conchita was an asset; she had a promising future with the Order.
“I don’t dress up as a cleaner for just anybody. Of course I know.”
She would also have to curb that tone if she was going to make a good marriage.
Diana
Diana sat at the desk in her hotel room in London. She was trying, and failing, to thread a needle. When she flubbed it for the fourth time, she swore in frustration.
Reading the article about the body had thrown her. The arson attack had thrown her. The lack of sleep was catching up with her. This was a difficult day, and it had barely started, though thank God for Henry. The hour she’d spent with him had passed far too quickly, but it had been perfect, and it would sustain her.
She tried with the needle one more time, and this time the thread slipped through its eye. She sighed with relief and laid it down on the desk, then unbuttoned her blouse and removed it, reached behind her to unclip her bra, and took that off, too. It had full cups, and she ran her fingers around one of them and examined it under the desk light. It had a thin, soft layer of padding. She took her nail scissors and, holding the bra even closer to the lamp, madesome small snips until she’d opened up a few centimeters where the cup met the underwire.
She removed the embroidery from her bag. Wincing because she was afraid it would cause damage, she folded it a few times so that it was smaller than her bra cup. Luckily it wasn’t too bulky. She eased it into the cup, between the padding and the fabric that sat next to her skin, so that it wouldn’t show when she wore it. When she slipped the bra back on she could barely feel it was there. She looked in the mirror, turning this way and that. No one looking at her would ever guess it was in there.
She removed the bra again, picked up the threaded needle and, using tiny stitches in a technique her mother had taught her, she sewed up the gap she’d made as delicately and invisibly as possible. When she finished, she was pleased with what she’d done.
A lot had gone wrong in the last twenty-four hours. Two disasters already, and while Diana wasn’t superstitious, she couldn’t help thinking that bad luck is reputed to come in threes.
Sewing the embroidery into her underwear made her feel better. She was damned if she was going to take any more risks by having it anywhere other than right next to her skin.
She got dressed again. It was time to meet Anya Brown.
God help me, she thought as she left the hotel and stepped out into the city. I need this to go well.
Anya
I’d never woken up in Mayfair before, never drawn back the curtains to catch the sun rising on such valuable real estate, never looked down on so many sleek, expensive vehicles waiting to ferry sleek, expensive people to wherever they went every day. It was a very polished scene, topiary in heavy pots and chessboard-tiled walkways, impeccably groomed dogs and elegant wrought-iron railings.
I sent Sid a photo of the hotel’s sumptuous breakfast buffet. Hesent one back of his mug of tea and bowl of cornflakes with a sad-face emoji.
While I was eating, Mum messaged me with another riddle, which made me smile, because it meant she wasn’t feeling too bad. It was a tough one.
Precious gown and wooden throne
Has ancient archetype outgrown.
