Then with quick fingers, she struck flint and steel against the cotton inside and as it caught, Phoebe waggled a splint within the flame, such animation to her pale features.
Two candles were then lit side by side and Phoebe clasped her hands in excitement as Amelia passed the blank sheet of paper back and forth over the flames.
Quick enough not to burn but slow enough to warm the paper.
A waft of smoke did indeed curl but as though by magic, brown lettering appeared. The penmanship was a little scratchy and hard to read, but it was not easy to write with transparentlemon juice or maintain it on a quill nib, so an excellent first attempt.
As a governess, Amelia was unsure whether to approve or not, but as an intelligence officer…
“Very clever, Phoebe.”
“I’ve been readingMagia Naturalison secret writing and invisible inks.” She scrunched her nose. “But…how did you know that heat would reveal it? And…you must also have known it was written in lemon juice? Have you been reading that book also?”
Amelia cleared her throat. “A governess reads many a book, Phoebe. Besides, Mrs Dawkins is lamenting her missing lemons. You need to speak to her before she accuses Mr Cadwalader of pilfering them.”
“Oh. I’d best go now, if I may.” She grinned at the charred paper. “I’ve written the essay in normal ink as well, so might I keep this? My first attempt.”
“Of course. But correcting the essay will have to wait until the morrow now as I shall not be here this afternoon or evening. You are to depart for Lady Kemble’s at dusk, yes? I believe she has a certain Monsieur DePont arriving with a desk telescope in order to familiarise you with the night sky?”
Phoebe swished her skirts. “Hmm. But where are you going?”
Amelia garnered a deep breath, so disliked lying to Phoebe now. “Well… I have a…”
A small hand enclosed her own. A hushed whisper. “Is it… Is it to do with my father?”
Amelia’s gaze flicked up. “Phoebe…”
“Uncle Hugh told me he was searching,” she gushed quietly, “and…and I know you came home with him the other night with blood on your cheek, Sally said so and…and you know so much about invisible inks and locks, and…and Uncle Hugh allows you to use his study, so you must be helping him.”
Amelia sighed and rubbed the chill hand betwixt her own. “All I can do is nod.” She nodded. “And no more.”
“I understand. But there’s no…no risk for you tonight, is there?”
“No, I do not believe so. We are purely looking for someone at the Theatre Royal.”
Phoebe’s hand pressed. “I wish I was old enough to help. To do…something.”
“You help by being here for your uncle – safe and content.”
“I am content, so much more than before, but there must be… Oh!” And she abruptly fled from the schoolroom.
Bemused, Amelia followed the flapping black skirts as Phoebe dashed to her bedchamber, flung open the door, kneeled and rummaged under her bed. A battered valise was dragged forth and she commenced hurling papers about.
“What are you doing?”
“The Theatre Royal on Drury Lane or Covent Garden?”
“Drury Lane.”
“Well, I started collecting useful bits and pieces a while back. Cuttings and… Ah ha! Here it is! A plan of Drury Lane Theatre that was published inThe Timeswhen it reopened last year.”
Amelia grinned. “Perfect, Phoebe. Thank you. We are alike as I keep a book with pasted newspaper cuttings too, but I do not have this theatre. Well done.”
Phoebe grinned back. “Is there anything else? I would lend you a dress, but all I have is black. Have you something suitable?”
“I have dresses at my lodgings, which is where I am going this afternoon. And…perhaps you should call me Amelia.”
“Such a pretty name. I will, thank you. And… Hmm.” An assessing eye was cast from Amelia’s head to her toes. “Green would suit you. Dark green.” She batted her lashes. “And Uncle Hugh likes green.”
