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boys.
    â€œI think you will agree that it is unlikely she is hiding either somewhere in the nave or the north transept. Both areas are too open. Surely you know somewhere better.”
    The smaller of the two, called Percy, perked up. “She’s a lady, so I say she’s in with Elizabeth.”
    â€œOr the Lady Chapel, more like,” said the taller, named Crispin, who looked very serious.
    â€œThere’s nowhere good to hide in the Lady Chapel,” Percy said.
    â€œWe shall search both,” I said, taking them by the hand, remembering a time when I had caused a disturbance of my own in the Lady Chapel while engaged in attempting to solve a murder some years ago. I had to agree with Percy that it would not be the best place to hide, but we searched it nonetheless, to no avail, before entering the chamber in which the tombs of both Elizabeth and the ill-fated Mary Queen, of Scots stood and following the narrow path around them both, but found no sign of Mrs. Leighton.
    â€œPerhaps we should call out to her,” Crispin said.
    â€œIt is an excellent idea, but I am afraid she would only try harder to hide from us,” I said.
    â€œEdward the Confessor,” Percy said. “He’s hidden away up in his chapel, and all those kings buried near him would protect a damsel in distress.”
    I appreciated the boy’s spirit of enthusiasm. We descended the stairs that went to the Lady Chapel and headed back to the west, to another set of stairs that would take us to the Confessor’s chapel. Crispin tugged at my hand. “Henry the Fifth is much better.”
    â€œYou just say that on account of your name,” Percy said. “No one cares about St. Crispin, no matter what Shakespeare wrote.”
    â€œPercy, that is very unkind,” I said. “Crispin, Henry the Fifth was an exemplary king, but isn’t he buried in Edward’s chapel?”
    â€œYes, he is, madam, but—“
    â€œWe shall be sure to take note of his tomb while we are there.” These boys were proving less useful than I had hoped and I began to wonder if I should have left them to the priest. Once at Edward’s shrine, it took only a few moments to confirm that Mrs. Leighton was not there, and my frustration began to mount. Perhaps I had been wrong altogether about the abbey and ought to return to Park Lane. Crispin tugged at my hand again.
    â€œMadam, please, Henry the Fifth—“
    â€œYes, his monument is very affecting,” I said, distracted by my thoughts.
    â€œNo, madam, please, his chantry chapel,” Crispin said, pointing to the archway above us. “No one ever goes up there—“
    â€œExcept on the feast of the Annunciation, you dolt,” Percy said. I looked at him severely and turned to the other boy.
    â€œTake us there, Crispin. It is an excellent idea and I appreciate it greatly.”
    We made our way back down to the north aisle and followed Crispin to a wooden door over which a stern stone saint stared down at us. I pulled on the door, and it gave way only after several hard tugs, revealing a set of narrow stone steps that spiraled to the small chapel above. There, on the stone floor in front of the Altar of the Annunciation, sat Mrs. Leighton, hugging her knees close to her chest, her cloak wrapped snugly around her. She was shivering, and a small puddle of water suggested there had been a quantity of snow on her shoes and her gown; she must have walked all the way from Park Lane.
    â€œHow did you know I’d be here?” she asked.
    I thanked the boys for their service and told them to go find the priest. They argued all the way down the steps and were still at it when their voices faded in the distance.
    â€œI understand you had hoped to be married in the abbey and thought it to be as good a place as any to search,” I said. “Your husband is beside himself with worry and combing London for you.”
    â€œHe is not with