She carefully pulled the glove off, folding it on its partner, and picked up the second object. This was a piece of parchment, its folds crackling and stiff, and she feared that the paper might break as she opened it. It was a letter, written in an ornate and bold hand, and she sat on her window-seat to read it.

“You have been sent the Jewell by the Jewe, tell mee if this bee not so. Thou knowest its importance. I have long worked for this, and its power bee in your disposall at least till the girl be of twenty-five years. The Covenant is secure if the jewell bee secure.

“It is important that you sende an impression of the Seale to the name I furnished you with, and I doe earnestlie require that you Marke the Seale in a Privatt way that wee bee not undone by counterfeiting. Wee have not seen the Seales of Aretine and Lopez, though they have seen oures, and this device of a Secrett Marke I have made a parte of oure Agreement. Doe not fail mee in this.

“Guard the Jewell well. It is the key to great Wealth, and though the Other Seales are needed too, you may bee sure that One Day this Jewell will bee much sought.

“The Gloves are of the Prescott Girl. You may have them.

“Guard the Jewell.”

It was signed Grenville Cony.

Cony, Covenant. She read the letter again. “Till the girl be of twenty-five years” must, she knew, refer to herself. Isaac Blood had said that the monies of the Covenant would be hers at twenty-five, unless she was married. “The Prescott Girl” had to be her own mother, Martha Slythe, whose maiden name had been Prescott, but Campion could not imagine her fat, bitter mother ever owning lace gloves. She picked up one of the gloves, seeing the pearls hanging at its wrist, and she wondered by what mystery her mother had owned them.

The letter raised more mysteries than it solved. “Aretine and Lopez,” whoever they were, were names that meant nothing to Campion. “You may bee sure that One Day this Jewell will bee much sought.” That had come true. Ebenezer and Scammell had ransacked the house, the strange man had come from London and thrust his leg between hers, and all for the last object in the packet.

Grenville Cony, in his letter, had described the seal as a jewel. She lifted it, marvelling at its weight. The jewel was made of gold, suspended from a gold chain so it could be worn as a necklace, and Campion, brought up in the rigors of her father’s religion, had never seen an object so beautiful.

It was a cylinder of gold, banded by tiny, glowing stones that were white like stars and red like fire. The whole pendant was the size of her thumb.

On its base was the seal, duller than the gold of its setting, and she guessed it was made of steel. It had been cut by a craftsman who had made the seal into a work of art, as beautiful as the gold jewel itself.