“I’m rather surprised they’re friends,” said Ariadne. “I’ve never known Grace to have a plan to meet anyone, or a friend to visit at the house. She’s a sort of ghost when Charles isn’t about.”

Anna was not entirely sure Lucie and Grace were friends. It was not in Lucie’s nature to befriend someone who’d caused her brother grief. On the other hand, Lucie was always telling herself stories in which she was the heroine of grand adventures. Investigating the slightly romantic mystery of a boy’s death certainly fell into that category.

They had reached the Victoria Embankment, which ran along the north side of the Thames. The wind off the river was bitter here, and Anna shivered. “Hopefully Grace won’t be troubling you for too much longer,” she said. “Eventually Charles will have to return from Paris and marry her.”

Ariadne laughed softly. “Everyone thinks I should scorn Grace. For the insult of taking up with my former betrothed. But it was actually my idea to take her in.”

“It was?” Anna was curious despite herself.

Ariadne shrugged. “I didn’t want to marry Charles, you know. You would know. Better than anyone.”

Anna didn’t reply. Perhaps you didn’t want to, she thought. But you agreed to marry him, knowing it would break my heart. Knowing you would never love him. I would never have done such a thing.

“When I woke up from being ill and found out that he had left me for Grace, I was more relieved than anything else,” said Ariadne. “I was grateful to Grace, I think. I thought if we invited her to live with us, it would show the Enclave that I bear her no ill will.”

After turning onto Carmelite Street, they passed a brick building with mullioned windows. The spire of the Institute loomed close above the nearby buildings, the warren of familiar streets around the cathedral welcoming them in. “Well, that’s quite a sacrifice to make for the Enclave,” Anna said.

“It wasn’t just for the Enclave. I wanted to get to know Grace better, because of our shared experience.”

Anna laughed shortly. “How are your lives at all alike, Ari?”

Ariadne gave her a steady look. “We’re both adopted.”

It was not something that had occurred to Anna. After a pause, she said, “I have not always seen eye to eye with your parents. But they love you. I think it is doubtful whether Tatiana has any gentle feelings toward Grace.”

“My parents do love me,” Ariadne conceded. “But they never acknowledge my past—the fact that I came here from India when I was seven—nor even that I had a different name when I was born.” Ariadne faltered, seeming to search for the right words. “I feel as though I am always between worlds. As if I am glad to be their daughter, but I am someone else, too.”