Chapter 4: The Rout at Stormcroft House and Zeus's Empty Vault

The invitation arrived on Thursday, which Petra noted was precisely two days after Lord Stormcroft had sat in her parlour and declined to explain himself, and precisely one day after Fennwick had located his preliminary bibliography and begun the comprehensive one with the focused intensity of a man who had found, in research, a reliable substitute for peace of mind.

It was written on paper of such quality that Petra's fingers registered the difference before her eyes did—thick and cream-coloured and possessed of a faint luminescence that was either exceptional manufacture or something she had decided not to examine directly until she had finished her breakfast. The seal was gold. Not gilt: gold, with the faint smell of ozone that she was becoming, against her wishes, familiar with.

"Stormcroft House," said her mother, reading over Petra's shoulder with an ease that suggested she had given up the pretence of waiting to be offered the letter three years ago. "The Zeussons. Oh, my dear. Oh, this is very—" She paused, searching for the word most precisely inadequate to the occasion. "Providential."