Chapter Five
Diana
Diana Cornish boarded the Caledonian Express train bound for London’s Euston Station at Leuchars, just west of St. Andrews,
Inside were two narrow bunks. She lay down, fully dressed, on the bottom one and fell asleep at around midnight.
Outside, the Scottish countryside rushed past in the darkness. Diana slept as the train slipped over the border into England.
Her alarm woke her just before it pulled into Preston at 04:35. Minutes later, Charlotte Craven, the editor in chief of The Wimpole Magazine and high-ranking member of the Fellowship of the Larks, boarded the train.
They met in the dining car. It was as dim and empty as an Edward Hopper bar, Diana thought. No one to overhear them, and preferable
to their tiny cabins, which were too cramped to talk in comfortably.
They sat in a booth. Charlotte set some knitting on the table in front of her.
Diana did the same with a pen and puzzle book.
Charlotte had never knitted anything in her life—she preferred to buy cashmere in Edinburgh—and Diana was more accustomed to working on complex logistical problems than simple word searches, but they left these carefully selected symbols in view, knowing their power to render two women unremarkable.
“Anya Brown?” Charlotte asked.
“She arrived at the hotel in London. She wasn’t happy about leaving St. Andrews so soon. We should have given her more time
to settle in at the Institute before bringing her to him; it feels hasty.”
Charlotte waited as another passenger walked through the dining car. Once they were alone again, she said, “I need you to
trust me. This isn’t just a knee-jerk reaction to the arson attack. I have good news, too. Last night I had dinner with a
businesswoman, one of us.”
“Have I heard of her?”
“Undoubtedly.”
“A collector?”
“She enjoys acquiring seventeenth-century books and drawings relating to a very specific theme, and I’ve been able to help
her with that.”
Diana raised an eyebrow. No point in asking more, because Charlotte wouldn’t tell. One of the most effective ways Charlotte
extended her networks was through her work advising private collectors. The more niche their interests, the more they needed
her, and her reputation for discretion.
“She says she knows of a site that’s perfect, but we have to act fast,” Charlotte said.
“Where is it?”
“Beside the river in Greenwich, within half an hour of central London by public transport. It couldn’t be better.
I’ve spoken briefly to one of our friends in the City for advice on negotiating a long-term lease—in this case she recommends we ask for a term of one hundred years—and she stressed the importance of proving our credibility.
The fact that we’re proposing to build a foundation doesn’t help, because it means we won’t be generating cash on site.
Obviously, lettors prefer tenants who are running a provably profitable business because they want to be certain that they can cover the lease.
So, that’s a challenge for us, and they’ll see us as a risk in that respect.
We’ll need to show them a massive chunk of cash to offset our lack of balance sheets and credit facilities. ”
Diana felt her heart rate quicken. This was a welcome bit of good news, and it explained the rush on getting Anya down here.
They would have to accelerate their plans.
Charlotte said, “There’s also the fact that we’re a loose coalition of women, not a corporation or a structured organization,
and not a man in sight. That could work against us.”
“Of course,” Diana said. “Our old friend misogyny.”
The carriage listed to one side as the train took a bend, then straightened again. Outside, the sky was brightening, a slight
silver stain spreading like mercury on the horizon.
“But if Anya Brown does what we need her to, it shouldn’t be an issue. We’ll have enough money that no one will say no to
us,” Charlotte said.
The Book of Wonder was worth millions. If Anya played her part and the Larks found it, they could make enough from its sale to fund their foundation.
But they had to hurry. The Order of St. Katherine valued the book equally, but for a different reason. They considered it
to be the foundational text for their cause. If they got their hands on it first, they would lock it in a vault somewhere
instead of using it to make useful change for women, but even behind the door of a safe it would bring them power. An object
like that created reverence and obedience through its mystique and uniqueness. It would give the Kats something to gather
around, something to entice new believers with. It would be their Bible.
The main lights in the dining carriage came on suddenly. Staff were arriving to prepare for breakfast service. They couldn’t
talk openly here any longer.
“I’ll do everything I can to ensure she delivers,” Diana assured Charlotte.
Charlotte nodded. “We may not get another opportunity like this again, not in our lifetimes. This is a pivotal moment for
the Fellowship. It’s taken more than a hundred years of work to get us here.”
As if Diana didn’t know that. Charlotte could be patronizing sometimes, but Diana was used to it. She looked out the window
and allowed herself a quiet moment of satisfaction. She’d learned so much since they’d founded the Institute. Starting small,
somewhere out of the way, had given them space to enjoy some successes and make some mistakes and learn from both. The plan
to scale up to a foundation was a huge step, but she was hoping for a significant role in the new organization. She felt she’d
proved herself.
They ordered breakfast as the train entered London’s outskirts.
Charlotte was looking at her phone. Diana stared out the window. The suburbs were, truly, a graveyard of female ambition,
she thought. Here were women tending to homes, taking jobs that could fit around childcare or around their husbands. Compromising.
It pained her to think of it.
Lights shone from the windows of the houses. Women were waking up, facing their reflections, their husbands, packing their
children’s lunches. Some might be waking feeling loved and fulfilled, but so many would already be engaging in self-criticism,
in domestic scuffles. They might be experiencing violence. She’d seen it firsthand. The drudgery and subjugation of domestic
married life had worn her own mother down and, Diana was certain of it, contributed to her ill health and early death.
They rolled onward through a commercial district of offices, bars, and shops. The streetlamps were still on, with their false
promise of security. Diana thought of all the women discovered dead or hurt by men in places just like this. Women weren’t
safe anywhere. This simple but horrendous truth was at the core of everything the Larks did. Diana could think of no better
cause to dedicate her life to.
The train pushed deeper into the metropolis, and her tired eyes drank in everything she saw.
The City of London looked dazzling, such confident geometry in the architecture, lines straight as a bullet’s path, curves that were elegant yet robust. How bold did the steel and concrete look?
It was virile design. She even saw a muscular touch of poetry in the way two skyscrapers framed the falling moon while their mirrored flanks reflected the burgeoning sunrise. Stunning. Powerful.
Diana wondered if this was how the world appeared to Anya Brown: if everything she saw was inextricably linked to something
else, everything suggesting a dozen connections, good and bad. It could be overwhelming, she supposed. It invited the question:
Was every talent a gift? But that was Anya’s problem, not hers. The world kept turning. Days broke, one after the next, and
sometimes the pace of their progress could feel horribly slow, but not right now. They were Larks. They welcomed new dawns.
And maybe, finally, the sun was breaking on a world in which they would be making a difference.
She looked at Charlotte. “I’m going to freshen up.”
She was brushing her teeth when she heard a knock on her door. She let Charlotte in.
Charlotte handed her a thick envelope, the contents soft enough that the paper crinkled beneath Diana’s fingers.
“The embroidery,” Charlotte said. “I think you should have it. Keep it safe until you are back in St. Andrews. When the time’s
right to show it to Anya, don’t hesitate. But remember, we need to know she’s completely on board with the new benefactor
before you let her see it. Otherwise, she’ll be a liability.”
Diana’s heart beat a little faster. This was more proof that things were accelerating. It was an unexpected responsibility,
but she was up to it.
When Charlotte had gone, Diana slipped the embroidery into a zipped compartment of her handbag. She hesitated, wondering if she could keep it closer to her somehow, because if it were mislaid, it would be a disaster, but she had no suitable pockets.
The bag would be fine for now. She wouldn’t let it out of her sight. When she picked it up, it felt as if she were carrying
a bomb.
Sid
Sid sat at his desk in the attic of the cottage. He had a view of the big sky and the ocean, and its wildness was bringing
him joy. Oxford had felt so dull by comparison, so stultifying. He felt like he could achieve here, like he had the time and
space and energy to focus on Lucis and really make something of it.
It was a welcome surge of optimism, because he hadn’t slept well. Without Anya home to distract him, he’d got spooked late
yesterday evening. On a walk before bed, he’d discovered that there was a dearth of street lighting at this end of town. The
ruins behind the cottage weren’t lit at all. There were shadows on shadows everywhere, and the ocean’s roar had sounded unnervingly
close. The wind had howled all night, too.
He checked his email, pleased to see confirmation for a meeting scheduled for the next day with a professor at the computer