“Now, that is good news,” she said.
“I thought you’d be pleased.”
“When?”
“Last week.”
“Where did they find her?”
“A privately owned island in the Western Isles.”
“Did she have the embroidery?”
“Yes. Do you want to see it?”
“Of course.”
Charlotte removed a slender box from her desk drawer and handed it to Diana. Nestled inside was a fragile fragment of embroidery, the upper edge ripped away along a diagonal. What remained was decorated with three complete roundels, one in the center and the others lower left and lower right, each containing a profile of a different woman. A partial roundel, upper right, contained just a woman’s neck; her head had been torn away. The roundels were surrounded by densely sewn and very detailed foliage. Beneath each one was a letter—an initial relating to the women depicted?—woven into the foliage, almost obscured by it. She could also see a shield shape. Heraldic? That could be a clue. She squinted at it, but it was impossible to make out what was inside or around it, though she thought maybe she could see a pair of wings. Part of what might be the bottom of a second shield was visible just below the torn edge, though most of that had frayed away.
Diana let out a low whistle. They’d been looking for this for so long.
The embroidery’s frailty didn’t surprise her, but it alarmed her. It was a reminder of how vulnerable the objects they sought were. If this fragment was too degraded, the Larks might have lost themeans to find the prize they’d been seeking for so long: an extremely valuable book, known asThe Book of Wonder.
“It’s not in great condition,” she said.
“I know,” Charlotte replied. “But it could be worse.”
Diana heard the hope in Charlotte’s voice, and the determination. The embroidery was, they believed, one of the objects that was the key to finding the book. With the help of Anya Brown, they hoped to have the other soon. If it had survived its own journey through the centuries.
“Do we know if Eleanor Bruton got anywhere interpreting this?” Diana asked.
“We don’t think so. Our girls turned the place inside out. They found books, but nothing else of use. There were also a lot of signs that Eleanor wasn’t looking after herself. The place was a mess. Rotting food, unwashed bedding on the sofa downstairs.”
Diana snorted. “I thought she was supposed to be a model housewife.”
“The girls said it was so bad that they wondered if she’d been losing her mind a little. They also found a lot of ashes in the stove, which might indicate she was burning her notes.”
“Perhaps she was afraid we’d find her. I hope so. I hope she was terrified.”
“Indeed. But it does mean we have no idea what she may have discovered about the embroidery and who she told.”
“Hopefully she spent so many years playing trad wife that her brain atrophied.”
“We both know that’s wishful thinking.”
“True. Hopefully we can bring more expertise to it than she had. If she died a week ago, her lot must know by now. Any repercussions yet?”
Charlotte shook her head. “No. But it’s only a matter of time. The Kats will act, we just don’t know when, or how.”
“It’ll be slow, because they’ll need to cook supper or iron underwearfor their husbands or their daddies first. How do they not understand that giving up your independence so willingly humiliates all women? They are such sanctimonious bitches, and it will be my greatest pleasure in life to make sure their organization collapses.”
“Mine, too,” Charlotte said. “But don’t forget they got to the embroidery before we did. We can’t underestimate them.”
Diana said, “Trust me, I don’t. But I will wipe that smugness off their faces if it’s the last thing I do.”
Clio
In the heart of London’s West End, a stone’s throw from the north bank of the River Thames, a group of detectives were gathered in the basement of Gordon’s Wine Bar. It was a disparate crew. The cragged and weary old guard, a lot of life between the eyes, some of them deep in the wine, were crowding the cheese boards like gannets. A younger crowd was there, too, leaner, fitter, ambition running hard through their veins. Some of them didn’t know Detective Sargeant Lillian Shapiro too well, but they knew to turn up to her retirement do and press hands. They aspired to climb the ranks.
