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solve the mysterious thefts from the Palace. To do al she could for Lang, while preserving her distance. And, most importantly, to keep her mixed-race parentage a secret. It was too complicated. Certain to mark her out as different. Foreign. Tainted. It was a hindrance and a handicap, when al she wanted was to blend in
    – with the outside world, but especial y here.
    She walked past the front door and round the side of the building to the Agency’s private entrance. She was expected. Only a moment after her coded knock, a thin, bespectacled woman opened the narrow door.
    “Good afternoon, Miss Treleaven.”
    Anne’s watchful grey eyes scanned her face.
    “Good afternoon, my dear.” She indicated the stairs.
    “After you.”
    Mary felt a sudden impulse to throw herself into Anne’s arms, weeping – as though a childish confession would right everything that was wrong in her life! – and she had to restrain herself with real effort before climbing the narrow, four-storey staircase to the attic.
    The Agency’s office looked more like a teachers’
    common room than a secret headquarters: slightly shabby, with an assortment of mismatched chairs and sofas salvaged over the years. There was the usual tea tray, the brightly polished lamps and – very happily – a blazing fire.
    As Mary entered the room, Felicity Frame turned expectantly. Her eyes widened at Mary’s muddy, bedraggled state. “My dear, al this way on foot?
    Most unnecessary.”
    “I needed the walk, Mrs Frame,” explained Mary.
    She was always slightly shy of Felicity’s beauty and rather theatrical manner. “And I don’t mind the rain.”
    Something glinted in Felicity’s eye – Mary was almost certain she would ask an uncomfortable question – but she said only, “As you prefer.”
    “Sit by the fire,” said Anne, closing the door quietly behind her. “You’l soon dry.” She took one of the two chairs facing Mary, while Felicity remained standing.
    It was an awkward arrangement, but neither woman seemed aware of it.
    There was a strange, hesitant silence. Mary final y broke it, saying, “I was surprised to receive your message.”
    Anne nodded. “It’s a highly irregular situation. I should like first to emphasize that it has nothing to do with your performance on the case.”
    A weight she hadn’t quite realized she carried was plucked from Mary’s chest, and she breathed a little more deeply. “That is a relief.”
    “In fact, it’s a damn shame you’re so set on recal ing her,” said Felicity in a velvety but definitely combative tone.
    Anne blinked rapidly – a sign of irritation, Mary knew from experience. “Let us explain the situation first, before entering into reproaches and fantasies.”
    Felicity smiled, her eyes holding a complex blend of triumph and anger. “The explanation is simple enough, my dear.” It was unclear whether “my dear”
    referred to Anne or to Mary. “As you know, London’s entire drainage system is to be repaired and rebuilt.
    This
    includes
    the
    ancient
    sewers
    beneath
    Buckingham Palace which, according to my contacts at Westminster, are in exceedingly poor condition. I’ve learned from these same sources the name of the firm engaged to perform these urgent and highly confidential repairs. It is—”
    Mary eyed her with disbelief. She wasn’t going to say… Oh, God, anything but this.
    “Easton Engineering.”
    Mary stared at Felicity for a long moment, wil ing that name unsaid. Her cheeks, forehead, even the tips of her ears were scorching hot, which meant that she was blushing furiously. Her heart kicked wildly against her rib-cage. Her throat seemed too smal . It was preposterous. A prank. Utterly ludicrous, to think that in a city of a mil ion souls, she should keep crossing paths with this one man. She’d never believe it in fiction.
    “You see why we were forced to recal you,” said Anne, “despite the definite disadvantage it represents to our case. We shal have to