contemplation, faithfully carrying out your work at St. Rose. But it may be that you will be needed for
a larger purpose. There is a reason your father chose St. Rose Convent as your home and a reason you
have been trained in the angelological tradition that has nurtured our work for more than a
millennium.’
“‘Mother Francesca, the founding abbess of the convent in which you have lived and grown these
past thirteen years, built St. Rose Convent through the sheer force of faith and hard work, designing
every chamber and stairwell to suit the needs of our angelologists in America. The Adoration Chapel
was a feat of Francesca’s imagination, a sparkling tribute to the angels we study. Each piece of gold
was inlaid to honor, each panel of glass hung in praise. What you may not know is that at the center of
this chapel there is a small but priceless object of great spiritual and historical value.”’
“That is all,” Evangeline said, folding the letter and slipping it into the envelope. “The fragment
ends there.”
“I knew it! The lyre is here with us. Come, child, we must share this wondrous news with Sister
Perpetua.”
“But the lyre was hidden by Abigail Rockefeller in 1944,” Evangeline said, confused at
Philomena’s train of thought. “This letter tells us nothing.”
“Nobody knows for certain what Abigail Rockefeller did with the lyre,” Philomena said, standing
and heading toward the door. “Quickly, we must speak with Mother Perpetua at once. Something lies
at the heart of the Adoration Chapel. Something of use to us.”
“Wait,” Evangeline said, her voice cracking from the strain of what she must say. “There is
something else I must tell you, Sister.”
“Tell me, child,” Philomena said, halting at the doorway.
“Despite your warning I allowed someone to enter our library yesterday afternoon. The man who
inquired about Mother Innocenta came to the convent yesterday. Instead of turning him away, as you
instructed, I allowed him to read the letter I discovered from Abigail Rockefeller.”
“A letter from Abigail Rockefeller? I have been searching for fifty years for such a letter. Do you
have it with you?”
Evangeline presented it to Sister Philomena, who snatched it from her fingers, reading it rapidly.
As she read, her disappointment became clear. Returning the letter to Evangeline’s, she said, “There
is not one piece of useful information in this letter.”
“The man who came to the archives did not seem to think so,” Evangeline said, wondering if her
interest in Verlaine could be detected by Philomena.
“And how did this gentleman react?” Philomena inquired.
“With great interest and agitation,” Evangeline said. “He believes that the letter points to a larger
mystery, one his employer has charged him to uncover.”
Philomena’s eyes widened. “Did you determine the motivation for his interest?”
“I believe that his motives are innocent, but—and this is what I must tell you—I have just learned
that his employer is one of those who mean us harm.” Evangeline bit her lip, unsure if she could say
his name. “Verlaine is working for Percival Grigori.”
Philomena stood up, knocking her teacup onto the floor. “My word!” she said, terrified. “Why
haven’t you warned us?”
“Please forgive me,” Evangeline said. “I didn’t know.”
“Do you realize the danger we are in?” Philomena said. “We must alert Mother Perpetua
immediately. It is apparent to me now that we have made a terrible mistake. The enemy has grown
stronger. It is one thing to wish for peace; it is quite another to pretend the war itself does not exist.”
With this, Philomena folded the letters and cards in her hands and scuttled out of the library,
leaving Evangeline alone with the empty tin of cookies. Clearly Philomena had a morbid and
unhealthy obsession with avenging the events of 1944. Indeed, her reaction had been fanatical, as if
she had been waiting many years for such information. Evangeline realized that she should never have
shown Philomena her grandmother’s confidential letter or discussed such dangerous information with
a woman she had always felt to be a bit unstable. In despair, Evangeline tried to understand what she
would do next. Suddenly she recalled Celestine’s command about the letters: When you have read
them, come to me again. Evangeline stood and hurried from the library to Celestine’s cell.
Times Square, New York City
The driver rolled through rush-hour traffic, stopping at the corner of Forty-second and Broadway.