CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Rachel turned the two keys clockwise and counterclockwise respectively, swung open the lid of the trunk, lifted out the silk-covered tray, and reached down for the next letter in the collection. She was excited to see she was nearing the first of the two smaller wooden boxes and couldn’t even guess at what they contained. The next envelope in the pile was of a coarser paper than the others so far—thicker and darker, with black threads of cotton through the pulp. It was one of the few envelopes that was addressed, written in a serifing script more elaborate than even Mary Shelley’s own copperplate. The broken blue-wax seal appeared to be an “A” in a circle.
Rachel photographed the front and back of the envelope, made detailed notes on her spreadsheet, then carefully lif
