“You’re right, Lucy. We’ve got some way to go with this,” Alex said. “But the number thirty-four underscores every word, every text. If we haven’t seen how in all of them, I suspect it’s our failure. We have Venus and Adonis, and Ariadne. The month of May could be significant; and roses wind through the puzzles. The first sheet—copied and handed down through every generation—answers ‘William Shakespeare’ to its riddle. And ‘rose’ is, I think, intended as a near homophone for the Latin ‘ros,’ or ‘dew,’ a prime ingredient in alchemy. In Will’s reference books I found the words below Dee’s ‘monas’ symbol, ‘God give you the dew of heaven, and fatness of the earth.’ Alchemy was a principal interest for Dee.”

“But, Alex,” Henry said, laying aside the page he was reading, “I think, crucially, roses are about female beauty and strength. The whole shape is suggestive of female allure and sexual regenerative power. I imagine they intend something hopeful and positive concerning women. My own reading this week reminded me that Queen Elizabeth—also a Virgo—was known to Dee’s circle and her literate courtiers as Astraea, the goddess of justice from the Golden Age. Then, the gods and heaven itself were on earth. Perhaps—it’s a lot to hope—Dee is expecting a new golden age, under a successor to Elizabeth, to come soon.”

He looked directly at his son, and Alex felt this was of major significance; but the discussion was cut short by a phone call, which he took inside on his cell phone. When he returned he was preoccupied.

Without any idea how she knew, Lucy guessed the call had come from Calvin, and that Alex would be secretive about it. Was this only because none of them liked him?

It was close to six o’clock and getting cold, so Alex loaded the remnants of their afternoon tea onto a tray and called the boys to arrange walking Max’s guest home. Grace and Simon put on warmer layers and wandered in the garden; Henry still had his head in Shakespeare; and Lucy took another path, lost in a goddess’s thoughts. She spent a little time around the mulberry tree, completely bare of buds though it was, and felt something pull at her. She kneeled, contemplated, and saw in her mind a lady’s gloved hand closed on something beating—like a bird, perhaps? The image disturbed but didn’t repel her. She turned back along the path and started gathering flowers. She cut perfumed narcissi for the room she shared with Alex, which recalled the days that followed her transplant; then she hunted for some early anemones for Siân’s room. She was picking them when her thoughts suddenly spilled from her mouth in a moment of illumination.

“Alex, I understand!”

The words carried such conviction that everyone came to her. She explained.