creaking wood and metal, and occasional questions breaking the silence. Mrs. Marshall appeared with a tea tray and plate of muffins, which she left on a side table.
Clara went to the table where Mrs. Fox sat examining notebooks. She took a scroll from a pile and removed the string. A sheaf of papers unfurled onto the table, a stack of notes embedded in the center. Clara smoothed her hand over the curling edges of the diagram and weighted them with books so the scroll would lie flat.
The intricate diagram resembled a music box, with gears attached to a central wheel. Notes decorated the paper like the margins on an illuminated manuscript—elegant boxes of Monsieur Dupree’s penmanship.
“What about this one?” Clara asked Uncle Granville.
After a brief inspection, he shook his head and started to turn away, then paused. He put his hands flat on the table and bent to look more closely at the drawing. His forehead wrinkled.
“What is it?” Clara asked.
“I don’t know. But I’ve never seen its like before.” Granville reached for the pages that contained Dupree’s writings. “Get me a pencil, please, Clara.”
Clara hurried to find a pencil and paper, which she placed on the table beside her uncle. She glanced at Mrs. Fox, who was watching Granville with her unwavering gaze. Sebastian came to stand next to her.
Granville muttered something to himself as he examined the diagram and read the papers, then began scribbling incomprehensible notes. Clara’s fingers curled into her palms as she waited, sensing her uncle’s flare of curiosity. He rubbed a hand through his hair and wrote a series of letters in the form of a square.
“Uncle Granville, what is it?” Clara finally asked after a good half hour of his muttering and scribbling. Impatience tightened in her chest. “Is it the telegraph machine?”
“No. It’s a machine meant for transmitting messages, but via some sort of cipher.”
“That’s it.”
Clara and Granville turned to stare at Sebastian. “What?”
“That’s the machine.” Sebastian’s spine straightened. “It transmits telegraphic messages through some form of secret writing. I believe some call it cryptology.”
Granville frowned. “I can only conclude that Monsieur Dupree would have sent such specifications to me in the hopes I’d know what to do with them.” He looked at Sebastian, the reflection of sunlight on his glasses enhancing the suspicion in his eyes. “Clara tells me you are seeking the plans for your brother?”
“Yes.” Sebastian rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, discomfort flashing across his expression. “He wrote to me from St. Petersburg asking for my help. He has since come to London. He wants to present the constructed machine to the Home Office, with full credit to Monsieur Dupree as the inventor. I would venture to say that should a patron wish to fund the project, Darius will ensure the profits go to Monsieur Dupree’s family.”
Granville looked steadily at Sebastian. For a moment, a wealth of questions and answers seemed to pass between the two men, heightening Clara’s impatience.
The devil himself could have the plans, for all she cared. Anyone could have them if it meant a chance she would be reunited with her son.
“So that’s it, then,” she said. “Give them to your brother and have the whole thing done with.”
Granville placed his hand on the diagrams, the stack of notes. “Clara, please understand Monsieur Dupree must have sent them to me for safe-keeping. I cannot allow the originals to leave my possession.”
“Make copies, then,” Clara said. “You can do that, can’t you?”
Granville didn’t respond, his forehead creasing. Clara clenched her fists.
“Please,” she said.
Her uncle looked at her. His eyes flashed with a wavering combination of reluctance and concern.
“Only for you, Clara,” Granville said, “will I agree to this.” He turned to look at the notes and diagrams, then nodded. “I’ll start right now. Should take me a day or two.”
Relief flooded Clara alongside a strange apprehension—the portent of what finding the machine plans actually meant to her future. The uncertainty of it all undulated before her like heat rising from cobblestones, hazy and indistinct.
She stared at Sebastian. A thin stream of light glinted off his dark hair and illuminated the golden flecks in his brown eyes.
He began questioning Granville about the cipher alphabet and transmission methods, his voice a deep cascade over the dusty sunlight.
Clara took the opportunity to escape the room, her heart pounding like a wind-whipped leaf. Her breath came rapidly as she stopped in the foyer and struggled to calm her turmoil of emotions.