Marjorie was in her third-floor studio, painting or forging heaven-knew-what. Jacob and Elizabeth were in the rear garden, practicing some sort of complicated and extremely ill-advised maneuver with swords and hedgehogs.

Graham was the only other sibling in the sitting room, sprawled in his usual sofa with a broadsheet in his hands. He must be hard at work. Every surface within reach was piled high with journals, correspondence, notes, crisp newspapers waiting to be read, and old newspapers blurred and soft from being read too many times.

“What are you looking for?” Tommy asked.

Graham lowered the broadsheet, his brown eyes sparkling. “News of the parcel.”

“The alleged mystery parcel alluded to only obliquely in otherwise innocuous advertisements?” Tommy inquired politely. “Are you certain something nefarious is afoot? Perhaps you’re simply bored because we’ve found ourselves between adventures again.”

“There is a parcel.” Graham rubbed a hand over his black curls and let out a tight sigh. “There was a parcel. I am certain of it.”

“You suspected smugglers, did you not? Perhaps the contraband has reached its destination.”

“Smugglers don’t smuggle a lone package for a lark. They have bills of lading and illicit vendors and unscrupulous clients. I’ve found the trail. There is a mystery waiting to be discovered.”

“Well, if you need me, I’ll be—”

Tiglet jumped onto the table. His paws skidded toward an open bottle of ink. Tommy scooped the curious cat out of the way just in time.

“You’re grown now,” she scolded him. “No more making kitteny messes. Just for that, I’m taking you to your mistress.” But she snuggled him to her lapel all the same.

Quickly, she strode out of the sitting room and across the house to the new library, where the door was wide open. The dozen or so women inside were still waiting for Gracie, but they did not appear to be cross. Lively chatter filled the air.

A small gold plaque next to the door read:

The Agnes & Katherine Library

for women who can accomplish anything

The ladies had each donated copies of their favorite volumes. Philippa had used part of her inheritance to stock the rest. Every wall of the salon was lined floor-to-ceiling with bookshelves, with a ladder to reach the topmost titles.

The sideboard contained artful trays of libations and hors d’oeuvres—including pies.

Clad in her usual cloud of lace, with her heart-shaped face framed by golden ringlets, Philippa was easy to spot. She was deep in conversation with Florentia and Lady Eunice. At the sounds of footsteps approaching, she glanced up and smiled at Tommy.

Or perhaps her grin was at the sight of a calico cat burrowing inside Tommy’s coat, with only his furry behind and question-mark-shaped tail protruding out.

As always, Tommy’s heart warmed every time she glimpsed her.