“Why is there a three in that feather?” she asked.
“A what?” Maggie said.
“A number three.” The girl pointed to a swirl of paint. “Right here.”
All the adults crowded in front of the painting.
“By God,” Rhys said, astounded. “Thatisa three.”
The number was hidden in the eddying strokes of navy, royal blue, and green…but it was there. A tiny yet distinct number three.
Squinting behind her spectacles, Hypatia said, “Leave it to the young eyes to catch that.”
“Well done, poppet.” He gave a playful tug on one of Glory’s plaits.
She grinned at him.
Newton brought over a lamp while Hypatia went to fetch a notebook. Rhys, Maggie, and Glory began scouring the painting, calling out letters and numbers.
“By Jove, there’s a two in this feather over here,” Rhys said.
“Is this an “N” on the bird’s throat?” Maggie said simultaneously.
“I see an “F” right here!” Glory exclaimed.
“Is there a sequence to this?” Hypatia mused. “Or will this be another anagram?”
“We ought to be marking where we see the letters and numbers on the painting,” Maggie said. “Ink won’t work on the oils—but I know what will. I’ll be right back.”
She returned a few moments later with a pincushion studded with pins.
“Never say I came unprepared,” she said.
Rhys felt his lips quirk. “Knowing you, you’d be prepared if there was another Great Fire.”
“Planning is essential.” Her words were prim, her eyes sassy.
Smiling, he took a handful of pins. Between him, Maggie, and Glory, the painting was soon dotted with the metal heads. He stood back to look at their handiwork, putting together the numbers and letters left to right...
“32 Lincoln’s Inn Fields.” Satisfaction rolled through him. “That’s our next stop.”
29
Rhys,accompanied by Maggie, Hypatia and Newton, arrived at 32 Lincoln’s Inn Fields early the next morning. The modest brick townhouse bordered a square, the front door visible to all passers-by. This could prove an inconvenience for Horatio hadn’t left them a key, and Rhys might have to gain entry through other means.
Thanks to the bullies at Eton, however, he’d found himself on the wrong side of a locked door more than once. Indeed, he considered lock-picking to be the most useful skill he’d gleaned from that hallowed institution.
“Should we go around back?” Newton darted nervous glances around. With his red, sweat-sheened face, he looked like a guilty schoolboy called to the carpet. “We might garner too much attention here.”
“Perhaps if you didn’t look quite so anxious, Mr. Newton,” Hypatia said, “we would be less conspicuous?”
She gave him a reassuring smile and her handkerchief, and he gratefully mopped his face.
“I fear our presence has already been noted.” Rhys nodded toward the gated park in the center of the square, where a pair of strolling matrons had stopped to peer over suspiciously at them.
“Why don’t we first find out if anyone is at home?” Maggie suggested.
He nodded, raising his gloved fist to knock.
