“Are there many in London?”
“Yes. There is, of course, the Freemasons’ Hall on Great Queen Street, and also many Arch chapters in London. Are you wishing to join, Lord Talbot?”
“I have given it some thought recently,” he lied. In fact, he hadn’t even given it a passing thought, for no other reason than he knew no one who was a member.
“May I ask you, Mr. Redfern, do Freemasons branch intoother things?” The words sounded a little odd, but he wasn’t sure how else to say what he wanted to.
Mr. Redfern lowered the pen he’d been using and looked at Ambrose. His gaze was steady. “I’m not sure I understand your question, my lord.”
“Do the words Societas Rosicruciana mean anything to you?” Ambrose asked, watching him closely.
He didn’t twitch or show any expression other than the polite one that had been on his face since Ambrose arrived. “Why do you ask, my lord?”
“Because I have recently come across a book with those words in it. I was curious,” Ambrose lied smoothly. He’d never told so many untruths in such a short space of time.
“Well, I know one must be a Trinitarian Christian Master Mason, who professes belief in the Holy Trinity to be in the Societas Rosicruciana, while standard Craft Masonry requires only a belief in a Supreme Being.”
“Interesting,” Ambrose said.
“The society focuses on the teaching of the inner mysteries of nature and science, combining Christian theology withHermeticism. It is a complex and varied order, as I understand it,” Mr. Redfern said. He then hesitated before speaking again.
“Speak freely, Mr. Redfern. I will tell no one what we have conversed on.”
“I believe there have been some wrongdoings carried out by some of those who belong to the Societas Rosicruciana. But that is only hearsay, you understand.”
“Wrong doings?”
“Sacrifices and rituals,” Mr. Redfern said, looking nervous for the first time as his eyes shot to the door and then back to Ambrose.
“Well, perhaps I will take the book to a shop and removeit from my household, Mr. Redfern, as I have no interest in any of the things we have discussed.”
“It’s probably for the best, my lord, even if you can now read the words clearly.”
He paid the money owed, took the small leather pouch with his glasses, and left the shop after ordering two more pairs.
His stomach rumbled. As it happened, there was an excellent teashop nearby, and he did not have his sisters with him, so he could enjoy the solitude of a cup of tea and scone in silence and think about what he’d learned, which wasn’t a great deal, but enough to pique his interest.
It was as he was passing Tomley Street that he saw the sign stating that Lolly’s Bookshop was this way. He decided that if Tilly was in the area, it could be to visit that bookshop. Ambrose cut down Lacky Lane, walking past an array of unusual little shops. Lolly’s was at the end, narrow and several stories high. It surprised him he’d not been here before—or that one of his sisters hadn’t told him about it.
He opened the door, and a small bell chimed as he entered. The scent of old books and something else hung in the air.
“Good day to you, sir.”
Searching the rows of books for the owner of the voice, he found her behind a long counter. The woman wasn’t young, about his mother’s age, perhaps, but that was where the similarities stopped. This woman was tall with startling red hair that he didn’t think was natural, but Ambrose had no idea how or what would have given it that color. She was dressed in magenta that clashed horribly with her hair and made her look like some kind of exotic parrot.
“My name is Mrs. Lolly, and this is my bookshop.”
“Good day to you,” another voice called.
He found a man behind a large pile of books. “I am Mr. Lolly.”
“You missed your calling, surely?” Ambrose found himself saying.
“Alas, we are no good at creating delicious confectionary. However, we do excel at purchasing just the right books,” the man said.
Unlike his wife, he wore brown, and his grey hair was cut short.
“How may we be of assistance to you, sir?” Mrs. Lolly asked.
