“I am familiar with the concept,” said Colin, straight-faced.

Of course, he was. It was his family. And the spy school had been run out of his home, albeit two hundred years before he got there. Colin’s ancestor, the Purple Gentian, had founded the spy school when his marriage put him out of active service in early 1803.

“Well, anyway,” I said, brushing that aside, “the Pink Carnation came back home for Christmas in 1803. Thanks to your archives, I have full documentation on that. While she was there, she solicited the services of a graduate of the Selwick spy school, a Miss Grey.”

“A good name for an agent,” commented Colin. He should know; not only was he descended from spies, he was writing a novel about them—although his novel, or so he claimed, was more of the James Bond variety, complete with extraneous gadgetry and hot and cold running women.

“They dubbed her the Silver Orchid. I suppose they couldn’t very well go around referring to her as Miss Grey in correspondence.”

“Why not just 24601?”

“You don’t think Victor Hugo would have objected?”

“He wasn’t born yet,” Colin pointed out.

“Details, details.”

Colin raised a brow. “And you, a historian.”

“Even historians go on”—the shuttle came to an abrupt halt, sending me lurching forward—“holiday,” I finished breathlessly.

Okay, I got it; the shuttle driver wasn’t a fan of academic history. Or of Hugo.

“Minerve!” he called back. With a long drag on his cigarette, he settled comfortably back into his seat, pausing only to exchange obscenities with a passing driver who had taken umbrage with his stopping in the middle of the street.

Colin went to check us in while I loafed around the inevitable leaflet rack. There were advertisements for various museums and attractions, some of which I had heard, others more obscure.

My attention was caught by one for a special exhibition at a museum I had never heard of. It was a single sheet, on glossy paper, with a diagonal band across the middle that read, in bold letters, Artistes en 1789: Marguerite Gérard et Julie Beniet. It was a little early for my time period, but close enough to pique my interest.