They made small talk for a minute, then Durant politely excused himself. Miriam sat on the telephone stool for several minutes in stunned surprise, before she managed to get a grip on herself. “He really said it,” she realized. “He’s really going to buy it!” Back home, in another life, this was the kind of story she’d have covered for The Weatherman. Bright new three-month-old start-up gets multimillion-dollar cash injection, signs rights deal with major corporation. I’m not covering the news anymore, I’m making it. She stood up and slowly climbed the stairs to her bedroom. Two more days to go, she remembered. I wonder how Olga and Brill are doing?

The next morning Miriam telephoned her lawyer. “I’m going to be away for a week from tomorrow,” she warned Bates. “In the meantime, I need someone to handle the payroll and necessary expenditures. Can you recommend a clerk who I can leave things with?”

“Certainly.” Bates muttered something, then added, “I can have my man Williams sit in for you if you want. Will that do?”

“Yes, as long as he’s reliable.” They haggled over a price, then agreed that Williams would show up on that afternoon for her to hand him the reins.

Later in the morning, a post boy knocked on the door. “Parcel for Fletcher?” he piped to Jane, who accepted it and carried it to Miriam, then waited for her to open the thing.

“Curiosity,” Miriam said pointedly, “is not what I pay you for.” Jane left, and Miriam stared at her retreating back before she reached for a paper knife from her desk and slit the string. If I’ve got to have servants around, I need ones who can keep their mouths shut, she thought gloomily. It wasn’t like this with Brill and Kara. The parcel opened up before her to reveal a leatherbound and clearly very old book. Miriam opened the flyleaf. A True and Accurate History of the Settlement of New Britain, it said, by some author whose name didn’t ring any bells. A card was slipped into the pages. She pulled it out and saw the name on it, blinked back sudden tears of relief. “You’re alright,” she mumbled. “They couldn’t pin anything on you.” Suddenly it was immensely important to her to know that Burgeson was safe and out of the claws of the political police. A sense of warm relief filled her. For a moment, all was right with the world.

The doorbell rang yet again at lunchtime. “Oh, ma’am, it’ll be a salesman,” said Jane, hurrying from the kitchen to pass Miriam, who sat alone in the dining room, toying with a bowl of soup and reading the book Erasmus had sent, her thoughts miles away. “I’ll send him—”

Footsteps. “Miriam?”

Miriam dropped her spoon in the soup and stood up. “Olga?”