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It appears to have something to do with iron.”
    Gustave’s heart took a huge leap. Rushing blood prickled his scalp and extremities. He stared at the pages, flipping them again and again.
    Suddenly he understood why that drawing had appeared familiar. He possessed another manuscript that contained a similar, less developed image, and that also spoke of iron. He could picture it on the top shelf behind him, thin and worn, untouched for years, filled with the ambiguous, incomplete scratchings of a man running out of time.
    The excitement almost burst his heart. He thought he would swoon. It was all he could do not to jump up and grab that old manuscript, to be sure he was right.
    He only controlled himself because Adrian was in the room. He would need the secretary’s help with the Arabic, but he must not let Adrian know what this text might really be about.
    If he was correct, the name Gustave Dupré would be immortalized for all time.
    He would also become one of the richest men in the world.
             
    A low fire crackled in the hearth. A tray sat on the table beside the bed. Diane could smell the cocoa steaming in its cup. On her third day here she had come upon Daniel drinking some in the garden and he had pressed a taste of the thick, rich fluid on her. He had found her delight in it amusing, and ever since a cup had been brought to her each morning.
    A little ritual had developed to open each day. She would drink the cocoa while the hearth fire warmed the chamber. Then the maid would return and help her to wash and dress. She would go down to the breakfast room, where Jeanette would join her and they would discuss the day’s plans. Daniel was never there. By the hour she emerged from her chamber, he was long gone into the city to do whatever it was he did.
    Some mornings the ritual altered a bit. If Jeanette was delayed coming down, Diane went for a walk. No one had forbidden that, but she snuck out of the house through the servants’ entry anyway, and felt very daring and mature as she strolled among the city’s crowds.
    She lifted the fragile cup and the deep aroma beckoned her. She sipped the bittersweet substance.
    A girl could get accustomed to this.
    She gazed at the cocoa. Richly colored, deliciously flavored, very expensive. It trickled down one’s throat in a thick flow, bringing a sense of well-being. Like so much else in this house, it was a luxuriously sensual distraction.
    Yes, a girl could get accustomed to it, and when she took a position as a governess, the renewal of deprivations would chafe at her.
    She threw back the bedclothes and hopped down. She would not lie abed like some queen and await attendants today.
    She did for herself and it did not take nearly as long as it did with the maid. She brushed out her hair and secured it in a little knot on her nape and examined the effect in the mirror. It was not very elegant, but it would do.
    The breakfast chamber was not empty as she had hoped. Her anticipation of sneaking out for a walk died.
    Paul sat at the table in a pose very relaxed for a servant. Beside him, finishing the last of his meal, was the dark presence of Daniel St. John.
    Their conversation drifted to her as she passed through the threshold and walked to the sideboard.
    “All is in place,” Daniel said. “I should hear today exactly when to move. Is it ready?”
    “Only the details need to be added, once you get the draw—”
    Her back was to them, but she knew she had been noticed. She imagined Daniel’s hand rising in a gesture that cut the sentence off.
    Sounds scraped behind her. She helped herself to a plate of rolls and allowed herself the luxury of one little sweet cake. She turned, expecting to find the table deserted.
    It wasn’t. Paul had left, but not Daniel.
    He subjected her to a lazy inspection. His gaze lingered on her hair just long enough for her to wish it had been dressed properly.
    She could not stand there like some child caught pilfering food.