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discover the secrets of the universe by delving into his soul, where hidden abilities lie. The transmutation of the baser elements in one’s self is what mystical alchemy is all about.”
    When my tutor’s leg was pronounced healed, my father prevailed upon him to stay an indefinite time with us, for by this time Father had found in him so congenial a companion that he was loath to see him go. It mattered little to my father that Jacob was a Protestant, for Father—whatever his faults—was of the opinion that each man should make up his own mind as to how he should worship. Our family had been Catholic for generations and still was, although it was growing very risky to practice one’s faith. In secret we attended mass, celebrated by the priest who had lived in our house. He had a special room—a “priest’s hole,” as it was known—but because of the perilous times for those of the true faith he had taken leave of us a month ago and gone to a monastery in France.
    Oliver Cromwell, a militant Puritan and the general of Parliament’s New Model Army, for years had been whipping up sentiment against the king, who had been raising taxes without the consent of Parliament, until the whole country was divided. Generally, we Catholics supported the king, while Protestants supported Parliament.
    Cromwell’s army had soundly defeated the Royalist forces and was keeping the king a prisoner on the Isle of Wight. Would we have a monarchy still under Charles Stuart, or perhaps a republic, or—an even worse fate—would Cromwell proclaim himself king?
    Many were the evenings that Jacob and my father sat by a crackling fire and discussed these and other matters of great import. Sometimes they argued: Father staunchly upholding the divine right of kings to govern as they pleased—in his estimation, Charles I was within his God-given rights to raise taxes without the consent of Parliament for as long as he pleased—while Jacob argued for the right of men to put checks on the power of kings.
    Both agreed that the Dutch and English were making the world a vastly different place by setting up colonies in the New World, which had led to new beverages like coffee, which Father noted had become all the rage in coffee shops in London.
    Dan moved uneasily in his chair. While they were sitting listening to Caleb drone on, someone could still be out there planning another way to get rid of them.
    Caleb stopped reading and said, “If anyone cares to, you can take the memoir and read it for yourself.”
    â€œMay I look at it?” asked Gerry, standing up.
    As Caleb handed the memoir to her, she said, “Thank you, Caleb. I’m rather tired, so I’m going to call it an evening.”
    She wasn’t the only one who seemed tired, thought Dan. J.J. could hardly keep his eyes open, and Laney was yawning behind her hand. Even though the attack had been foiled, the whole thing was bound to affect them all.
    â€œTomorrow I have some business to attend to, so feel free to wander around the city by yourselves. If you need anything, ask Cummings,” said Caleb, nodding to his butler, who was standing by the door, hands laced over a gently swelling paunch.
    Dan hurried to catch up to Gerry. He felt like a high school kid again. He’d ask her out for lunch once more. If she gave him the brush-off, that would be it. “Gerry,” he called out. “I know you’re meeting with an author tomorrow, but would you like to do something after? Cummings told me about a great little place that serves Chinese food.”
    Gerry hesitated, then squared her shoulders and said, “Why not?”
    Dan’s heart lifted. “Could you make it to the Golden Dragon in Chinatown by eleven thirty? I hear it gets really busy around noon.”
    â€œI’ll be there.” Her smile sent a wave of warmth through him.
    Laney was dawdling in the hall. Dan put an arm around