Three silent, cloaked figures enter the chamber and close around the man. A rolled leather case opens, revealing surgical instruments. One fine-gloved hand reaches to the old man’s wrist, measuring his pulse. They wait. At last, she nods.

No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move…

The delicate, gloved hand, now bloodied, encloses the still-warm heart of Dr. John Dee in the leaden-topped casket. The other two, one of gold, and the other silver, are gathered up and given to the now bewildered Patrick Saunders, who sweeps them together with the letter and a precious gift of books, departing in shock.

SEPTEMBER 19, 2003, CHELSEA, LONDON

LUCY HEARD THE SOUND OF AN AIRPLANE OVERHEAD AND, LOOKING UP with the trace of a smile, returned from her daydream. The skies had changed suddenly; and what was only a drop of light rain quickly became heavier. She left the tree under the inadequate cover of the poetry book. The muses would hopefully protect her. In the moist air, the fluid movement of her body in her oyster silk skirt and cream lace shirt made it appear as though she’d melted into an impressionist painting, and was about to dissolve.

Her pager rang: it was the Brompton Hospital. She had to get back urgently.

3

I have a will to be what I am, and what I will be is only what I am.

THE MYSTERIOUS SCRIPT HAD COME TO THE YOUNGER BROTHER WITH THE modest silver key in an addendum to his mother’s will. Family tradition decreed they should be passed from mother to daughter but, having only sons, she had agonized in her last weeks over what to do with these funny, seemingly valueless objects that had been handed down for generations. As the elder, Alex should perhaps have been the recipient in the absence of a daughter, yet Will was one with her somehow, and though she genuinely loved her boys equally, she kept returning to the feeling that Will was the rightful recipient. The document seemed to say as much.