right amount of sugar into my coffee. “I don’t mean to be too
bold, but perhaps I might be of help?” she suggested uncertainly.
“That is, I know I’m only a secretary, but I follow all of the
society columns, especially the weddings. Just...just in case.”
For some reason, she turned absolutely
scarlet. Why she seemed so embarrassed I couldn’t guess; the very
fact the newspapers ran such columns, lavish with detail, proved
many people shared her interest.
“And I have a good eye,” she hurried on.
“For colors and the like.”
Recalling the puce scarf she’d knitted me, I
had severe reservations. The gift had probably saved our lives, but
it wasn’t the most flattering of shades, to put it mildly.
Christine, however, looked relieved. “If
you’re willing, then please, join us. I’ve no head for this sort of
thing, and Whyborne is even more hopeless.”
Miss Parkhurst pinked again. “I suppose I
could take the afternoon off, then, if Dr. Whyborne agrees it’s all
right.”
“Don’t be absurd!” Christine exclaimed.
“You’re his secretary. This might not be within your job
description, but if anyone asks, we’ll just pretend he had you
cataloging something in a distant storeroom or some such. There’s
no reason for you not to get paid, especially as you’re doing a
favor to us.”
“Agreed. Thank you, Miss Parkhurst,” I said,
taking the coffee she passed to me. “I appreciate all the
kindnesses you’ve done me over the years, this latest one not the
least.”
“Oh.” She turned even pinker and all but
fled the room. I watched her go, a bit mystified.
Christine shook her head. “Poor girl.”
“What? Why? Is something wrong?”
“Never mind.” Christine sipped her coffee,
then prodded the envelope with the photographs. “Are you going to
take those to show your father?”
“I ought to, I suppose.” I picked up the
envelope and pulled out the photos, shuffling through them.
Iskander had captured several angles of the standing stones as a
whole, before taking a number of photographs of each side of the
altar stone. As I inspected the worn carvings, one image caught my
eye.
I opened the codex, flipping hurriedly
through the pages. “Christine, look. This image—the swirl symbol on
the altar and the one in the book.”
Her eyes widened. “They’re identical.” Then
she frowned. “If the symbol is from some European system of the
arcane, that must mean the stones date from the colonial period at
the earliest.”
My heart beat very loudly in my ears.
“Perhaps.” I turned to the folded page, slowly unfurling the image
of the Mother of Shadows. “But the Eltdown Shards from England and
the city of umbrae in Alaska were connected.”
“Which doesn’t mean that’s the case here,”
she replied firmly. Then she wavered. “Although it does raise the
possibility. Damn it.”
“Yes.” I closed the codex again carefully.
“I’ll take the codex with me when I meet Father. Perhaps we’ll be
lucky, and he’ll have the answers we require.”
And, I added silently, not be behind it all
himself.
Chapter 15
Griffin
Dryden & Sons,
Tailors proclaimed the sign above the neat
shop on River Street. The electric trolley rolled past behind me.
Shoppers, mainly women and servants at this hour, went in and out
of the large department store nearby. The omnipresent smell of fish
strengthened as the wind blew from the direction of the market,
replaced a moment later by the more noisome scents from the
cannery.
A small bell rang above the door as I
entered the shop. A man in an excellent, though somber, suit
immediately came forward to greet me.
“Good morning, sir, welcome to Dryden and
Sons,” he said with a smile. The electric lights lent a sheen to
his receding gray hair, and sparkled from the rims of his silver
glasses. “How may we be of service?”
“Mr. Dryden?” I guessed as we shook hands.
“My name is Griffin Flaherty. I’m afraid I’ve come with
bold, but perhaps I might be of help?” she suggested uncertainly.
“That is, I know I’m only a secretary, but I follow all of the
society columns, especially the weddings. Just...just in case.”
For some reason, she turned absolutely
scarlet. Why she seemed so embarrassed I couldn’t guess; the very
fact the newspapers ran such columns, lavish with detail, proved
many people shared her interest.
“And I have a good eye,” she hurried on.
“For colors and the like.”
Recalling the puce scarf she’d knitted me, I
had severe reservations. The gift had probably saved our lives, but
it wasn’t the most flattering of shades, to put it mildly.
Christine, however, looked relieved. “If
you’re willing, then please, join us. I’ve no head for this sort of
thing, and Whyborne is even more hopeless.”
Miss Parkhurst pinked again. “I suppose I
could take the afternoon off, then, if Dr. Whyborne agrees it’s all
right.”
“Don’t be absurd!” Christine exclaimed.
“You’re his secretary. This might not be within your job
description, but if anyone asks, we’ll just pretend he had you
cataloging something in a distant storeroom or some such. There’s
no reason for you not to get paid, especially as you’re doing a
favor to us.”
“Agreed. Thank you, Miss Parkhurst,” I said,
taking the coffee she passed to me. “I appreciate all the
kindnesses you’ve done me over the years, this latest one not the
least.”
“Oh.” She turned even pinker and all but
fled the room. I watched her go, a bit mystified.
Christine shook her head. “Poor girl.”
“What? Why? Is something wrong?”
“Never mind.” Christine sipped her coffee,
then prodded the envelope with the photographs. “Are you going to
take those to show your father?”
“I ought to, I suppose.” I picked up the
envelope and pulled out the photos, shuffling through them.
Iskander had captured several angles of the standing stones as a
whole, before taking a number of photographs of each side of the
altar stone. As I inspected the worn carvings, one image caught my
eye.
I opened the codex, flipping hurriedly
through the pages. “Christine, look. This image—the swirl symbol on
the altar and the one in the book.”
Her eyes widened. “They’re identical.” Then
she frowned. “If the symbol is from some European system of the
arcane, that must mean the stones date from the colonial period at
the earliest.”
My heart beat very loudly in my ears.
“Perhaps.” I turned to the folded page, slowly unfurling the image
of the Mother of Shadows. “But the Eltdown Shards from England and
the city of umbrae in Alaska were connected.”
“Which doesn’t mean that’s the case here,”
she replied firmly. Then she wavered. “Although it does raise the
possibility. Damn it.”
“Yes.” I closed the codex again carefully.
“I’ll take the codex with me when I meet Father. Perhaps we’ll be
lucky, and he’ll have the answers we require.”
And, I added silently, not be behind it all
himself.
Chapter 15
Griffin
Dryden & Sons,
Tailors proclaimed the sign above the neat
shop on River Street. The electric trolley rolled past behind me.
Shoppers, mainly women and servants at this hour, went in and out
of the large department store nearby. The omnipresent smell of fish
strengthened as the wind blew from the direction of the market,
replaced a moment later by the more noisome scents from the
cannery.
A small bell rang above the door as I
entered the shop. A man in an excellent, though somber, suit
immediately came forward to greet me.
“Good morning, sir, welcome to Dryden and
Sons,” he said with a smile. The electric lights lent a sheen to
his receding gray hair, and sparkled from the rims of his silver
glasses. “How may we be of service?”
“Mr. Dryden?” I guessed as we shook hands.
“My name is Griffin Flaherty. I’m afraid I’ve come with
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