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Elfreda was halfway home when she spied Papa striding through the park.

“Look what Clutterbuck gave me!” He gesticulated wildly as she approached, something tiny pinched between his fingers.

“A halved penny struck in the name of Empress Matilda. The pompous arse discovered a buried pot packed with coins from the Anarchy, near Watford. He wanted to rub it in that I wasn’t invited to the Watford excavation, or to Llangollen. ”

“Perhaps he gave it to you because of Matilda,” suggested Elfreda, trotting to keep up.

“Matilda?” Papa stopped short, thunder on his brow.

“Your daughter. Matilda. He is the twins’ godfather, after all. Perhaps he meant it for her.”

“Oh.” Papa started walking again. “No, indeed. He meant to humiliate me. I shall hurl it in the river.”

“You mustn’t.” Papa liked to be begged not to follow through on his threats, as though there was a chance he would. “Add it to your coin cabinet. You’ve made such important contributions to the study of British numismatics. Mr. Clutterbuck knows that.”

“He knows nothing. He has not so much brain as earwax. Mark my words. I will pen my letter of resignation this very night. I, Harold Marsden, esquire, refuse to carry on the works of the Society another day under a hog’s turd such as Walter Clutterbuck!”

When Papa began to mix the insults of Shakespeare with the insults of Chaucer, there was nothing to do but play along.

“Don’t resign from the Society, Papa,” she begged.

“You hate London. You skip three-quarters of the meetings. That’s why the Fellows elected Mr. Clutterbuck.

They don’t respect him more than they respect you.

It’s just that he’s there. The president attends Society business in Gray’s Inn.

No one believed you would take up residence in town. ”

“I wouldn’t. If I were president, Society business would come to me.” Papa stopped walking again. “That is what Bartholomew Mortimer intended.”

Bartholomew Mortimer, the previous Society president, had died last spring, leaving the office vacant.

Elfreda had wished for Papa’s appointment as fervently as Papa himself.

If Papa were president, he’d rally the Fellows to submit a supplemental charter for her admission.

Mr. Clutterbuck would be much harder to convince.

“You were Mr. Mortimer’s rightful successor.” Elfreda spoke in soothing tones. “He held you in the highest esteem.”

“Yes, I was. Yes, he did.” Papa turned his gaze on the clouds. He was a big man, with a large beard and white hair that waved back from his brow to end in a perfect curl below his ears. When Elfreda was a little girl, she’d thought that he looked like God, or at the very least, like King Alfred.

“Clutterbuck, Clutterbuck.” Papa sighed and put on his quoting face. Of late, he had been comparing himself alternately to Caesar and Macduff.

Silence settled over them.

Elfreda guessed Caesar.

“This was the most unkindest cut of all,” said Papa.

“The toad-hearted knave. The wretch. The traitor! I championed his candidature for fellowship. I read a testimonial on his behalf before the whole Society. See how he repays me! With a stolen presidency and a rotten half penny!” Papa opened his hand and glared at the fragment of silver in his palm.

The moment had come.

“Papa,” she said. “The Fellows won’t care what Mr. Clutterbuck finds in Watford, or Llangollen.

Because I have found something extraordinary.

On the bluff.” She stood straighter. “An amulet. Hammer shaped, cast in lead, about the size of my thumb.” She paused, the engravings appearing in her mind’s eye.

Her finger twitched and traced the angles in the air.

“Papa,” she said. “It was inscribed with runes. From the alphabet of the Northmen.”

His expression altered. “Youngling. Are you saying what I believe you are saying?”

She nodded. “The Great Heathen Army made their camp on the bluff.” She gazed over the green sweep of the park, up to the towering bluff, and the miracle of it hit her again.

“The Northmen were there, just there,” she whispered.

“Oh, my dear girl!” Papa was all smiles. “Tonight, we celebrate with a saga. And you can drink a glass of my Canary sack. Out of the green goblet.”

Elfreda’s chest warmed. Papa never shared his sack. And the green goblet had been Grandpapa’s. Fourth century, Roman. Touching it was absolutely forbidden.

“Now.” Papa tucked the penny into his pocket and held out his hand. “The amulet. Show me.”

The warmth in Elfreda’s chest leached away. She hadn’t thought this part through.

“I don’t have it.”

“You don’t have it.” Papa blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of her words.

“I found it.” Elfreda swallowed. “And then I lost it.”

Papa’s lips moved inside his beard, but no sound came out.

“The army camped in Twynham.” She tried to push her certainty through her eyes. “It says so in the Chronicle . And the hammer is proof. Once we mount a serious excavation, we will—”

Papa laughed, not a nice sound. “You propose I hire more laborers? Incur enormous expense? On what basis? You’ve shown me nothing. For all I know, you had a whimsical experience with a pebble.”

That stung.

She spoke softly. “It wasn’t a pebble.”

“This isn’t the first time you’ve succumbed to whimsy.

” Papa began to pace. “You are prone to it, as was my mother. But she didn’t have the benefit of the education I’ve given you.

I educated your understanding, not your sentiments.

I educated you as I would have educated my own son.

And yet you still behave like a silly daughter. ”

That stung more. And Papa hadn’t finished.

“I haven’t forgotten you thought the old rabbit warren by the orchard was a barrow. I told you it wasn’t, but you insisted the rabbit skeletons were the remains of miniature men.”

Elfreda’s eyes smarted, and she had to bite her lip to stop its trembling. “I never thought it was a barrow of miniature men. That was a game of make-believe with Agnes. And it was years and years ago. I’m hardly ever silly anymore. Papa, the amulet is real.”

“Then where is it?” He stepped to her and loomed, like Thor himself demanding his lost hammer. “Did it sprout wings and fly away?”

“More like gills,” came a pleasant voice. “The amulet is in my pond.”

Papa’s head snapped around. Georgina was sauntering toward them. “And it wasn’t any fault of your daughter’s.” She smiled as she drew up to them. “I knocked her into the water—accidentally, of course. We collided.”

Elfreda felt Papa’s eyes move over her.

“You are wet, aren’t you?” He cocked his head. “Child, you look as though you were wallowing like a swine.”

“Not at all,” said Georgina. “She was more swan-like than swine-like, in truth.”

Papa’s eyes swung back to her.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Marsden,” she said. “It has been too long.”

Papa clearly did not agree. His nostrils flared. “Did you see the amulet? A little lead hammer? Did you see it?”

Georgina hesitated.

“As I thought.” Papa stroked his beard disapprovingly in Elfreda’s direction.

“Go up to the house before you take ill. And you”—he addressed Georgina—“you accidentally knocked my daughter into the water. I assume you have wandered accidentally into my park. I bid you remove yourself.” He inclined his head. “Good afternoon, Captain Redmayne.”

Elfreda’s mouth dropped open. Her eyes met Georgina’s.

“Actually,” said Georgina, with a hint of a smile. “It’s Major Redmayne.” She tucked one hand into the front of her coat, the ubiquitous pose adopted by war heroes in portraiture.

“Major.” Papa nodded. Elfreda turned to stare at him .

Could he truly have mistaken Georgina for her brother?

Georgina was tall, but Henry Redmayne was over six feet, and much heavier.

Their coloring was the same, and they shared the same abhorrent cockiness, and Georgina had dressed for the part.

Was that what convinced him? Breeches made the man?

Papa continued, “I thought you were still in France.”

“Oh, I am in France,” said Georgina, smoothly. “Stationed in Cambrai with the Army of Occupation. But they have to let us officers put on mufti and pop over to our country estates every now and then. Ride to hounds.” She glanced at Elfreda. “Build a dyke or two.”

Elfreda’s blood boiled.

“Georgina—” she began.

“Is also here,” supplied Georgina. “With two very dear friends, Miss Poskitt and Miss Mahomed. They request the pleasure of Miss Marsden’s company, for dinner.”

Papa’s eyes narrowed. “And where will you dine?”

“With the other officers, of course.” Georgina smiled an ingenuous smile. “In Thornton.”

“There are no officers in Thornton.” Elfreda felt as though she were chewing glass. “The militia disbanded in 1816.”

“Did it? That’s a shame. The neighborhood will be wanting a bit of dash, then. I suppose I’ll dine at home.” Georgina bowed to Elfreda. “If Miss Marsden doesn’t object to having me at the table.”

Miss Marsden objected with every ounce of her being. She objected so strongly her throat closed up like a fist.

As for Papa, his face had turned a strange shade of puce. “You are designing. But I can easily penetrate your scheme.”

Elfreda caught her breath. So Papa wasn’t fooled.

Georgina didn’t have the grace to look sheepish. She looked amused. “Designing, am I? And what is my design?”

“My land, Major. You are after my land. I assure you, your money cannot buy the rest of it. Nor can you gain it by marriage. I would never consent to such a connection.”

Elfreda’s cheeks flamed and she made a choking sound.

Georgina’s cheeks had pinked too, but not with embarrassment, with anger. Even after all this time, Elfreda knew her expressions well enough to know the difference. The anger crackled around her for one long moment, and then she smiled, nonchalant.