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“Not yet,” she said, shaking her head Most of Isabella’s books were poetry A few seelish poets, translated into Italian As Hyacinth reached the midpoint of the shelf, however, the books turned to nonfiction History, philosophy, history, history…

Hyacinth’s breath caught

“What is it?” Gareth demanded

With tre hands she pulled out a slim volume and turned it over until the front cover was visible to them both

Galileo Galilei

Discorso intorno alle cose che stanno, in sù l’acqua, ò che in quella si muovono

“Exactly what she wrote in the clue,” Hyacinth whispered, hastily adding, “Except for the bit about Mr Galilei It would have been a great deal easier to find the book if we’d known the author”

Gareth waved aside her excuses and motioned to the text in her hands

Slowly, carefully, Hyacinth opened the book to look for the telltale slip of paper There was nothing tucked right inside, so she turned a page, then another, then another…

Until Gareth yanked the book from her hands “Do you want to be here until next week?” he whispered irasped both the front and back covers of the book and held it open, spine-side up so that the pages formed an upside-down fan

“Gareth, you—”

“Shush” He shook the book, bent down and peered up and inside, then shook it again, harder And sure enough, a slip of paper came free and fell to the carpet

“Give that to rabbed it “You won’t be able to read it in any case”

Obviously swayed by her logic, he handed the clue over, but he re over her shoulder with the candle as she opened the single fold in the paper

“What does it say?” he asked