Any lengths at all.
1
THREE WEEKS LATER
What a day.
Asher rubbed the bridge of his nose between his eyebrows, as though he could erase the headache that was gnawing at him — that always did after a morning spent with his mother and his sister.
He loved them more than anyone, but they still drove him mad.
This was not the life he had planned for himself. A life of responsibility, of providing pin money to his mother and deciding which charities to support and how to make sure there was enough revenue being produced from all of the estates to fund their way of life.
All he had planned to worry about had been how to spend his allowance.
But everything had changed rather more abruptly than he had intended.
Passing the gentlemen’s clubs of Pall Mall, he stepped through the doors of the British Institution — one place inLondon where he sometimes came to find a little peace and to challenge himself, in a way that had no effect on anyone else. He usually visited late in the day but had required its solace even earlier today.
Despite its modest exterior, the building opened up into a cool, quiet entry lined with marble tiles. Asher gave his hat and gloves to a footman before presenting his admission token, allowing the faint scent of beeswax and polish to soothe his frayed soul.
He checked the front table, bypassing the announcements of current exhibitions, featured artists, and commentaries, and instead focused on the puzzle that sat in the center of it all.
Good. It was not yet solved. Perhaps today — finally — he could be the first. Every time he visited, he had hoped to solve the puzzle before any other codebreakers, but he had been thwarted, time and again, by another guest who seemed to be able to solve it in moments.
He was very intrigued to meet the man who showed such intellect.
Asher lifted the printed card.
I am a master who never held a brush,
Yet many painters follow in my shadow.
I contain a battle where no sword was raised,
And a journey walked by none.
Seek me in the third chamber,
Where Knight and Maiden face one another.
There, find the error inked in haste:
A number which betrays my name.
Asher repeated the words in his head as he peeked into the first gallery, the central exhibition space, where high ceilings with skylights washed the room in natural light as paintings hung in a salon style from floor to ceiling. The elegant benches scattered throughout were nearly empty. He moved on from theroom featuring paintings from old masters to the second gallery, which he far preferred. It was quieter, the paintings smaller, more intimate.
But he had to guess that the clue meant the third gallery, where all of the historical objects were gathered.
The quiet of the fine art institution was broken only by the swish of silk skirts, the scrape of pencils, and the soft voices of scholars.
Asher guessed the clue led to a tapestry, but that was all he had deduced.
The chamber was empty but for a woman, whose back was to him as she studied a grouping of tapestries on the wall. Her dark hair was pulled back in a low chignon, her head unadorned. She was tapping a finger against her chin, and for a moment, Asher stood still in the doorway, taking her in.
He couldn’t say what it was about her, but she captured his attention, soothed him with the calm in her demeanor. Her profile was striking, yes, but more than her looks called to him. Perhaps it was how intently she was studying the tapestry in front of her, as though she could learn all of its secrets through her stare. She was so transfixed, she didn’t even notice him there, staring at her.
One thing was for certain — she was in his way.
