After ensuring that Mr. Hargrave, who was still clinging to life, was safely settled into Dr. Eustace’s surgery, the party from Beauchamp House made the journey back home in a much more somber mood.
Without discussing the matter, Maitland and Ivy had switched seats, so that he could ride the entire way back with his arm holding Daphne close. She felt as if she should protest, but she had to admit that she needed the comfort of his nearness. Perhaps she had learned that the one person she thought she could trust above all was a murderer, but she still had Maitland.
When they reached Beauchamp House, they were met at the door by Serena, who informed them that Mr. Ian Foster was waiting to see Daphne in the drawing room. Wondering what the crown agent could want, Daphne hurried upstairs with Maitland hard on her heels. When she stepped into the blue-and-white room, it was to find Foster impatiently tapping his fingers on the mantle.
“Finally,” he said without greeting as they stepped into the room, Maitland closing the door behind them. “I thought you’d eloped to Gretna.”
Ignoring the man’s complaint, Daphne stalked over to where he was standing with his back to the fire. “We’re here now, Mr. Foster. And it’s been a trying morning, so I hope you will get on with whatever it is you wish to say.”
She knew she was being unforgivably rude, but what she’d said was true. It had been a trying morning. And she wanted nothing more than to hide away in her bedchamber and think about what she’d discovered about her tutor.
Foster frowned and turned to Maitland for support, but he didn’t get it, because he said, “Well, I suppose I should have known you’d not exactly welcome me with open arms.”
“How clever of you, Foster,” said the duke with a pointed look. “But then, I daresay you Home Office spies are used to being given the cold shoulder. That happens when you lie to everyone around you and get a man killed in the process.”
“For the last time,” Foster said with a grimace, “I didn’t tell Sommersby he should break into Beauchamp House. If I’d known what he was planning, I’d have warned him against it. And I certainly didn’t stab the fellow to death.”
“But it was your information that made him think the cipher was hidden there,” Daphne retorted, feeling all the anger and frustration of what they’d found that morning bubbling up within her. “You are just as responsible for Sommersby’s murder as the man who actually killed him. If not more so, because as a representative of His Majesty’s government you’re supposed to protect the lives of his citizens.”
“I can’t be responsible for every damned fool who decides to go in search of hidden treasure,” Foster protested, looking aggrieved. “I wasn’t even sure the tip about the cipher being hidden in Lady Celeste’s library was even true.”
“Where did you get that tip, by the by?” Maitland asked from where he’d stopped beside Daphne. “As far as we know, Lady Celeste told no one but Daphne, and that was in a letter she didn’t receive until after my aunt’s death.”
Foster looked defiant for a moment, then as if coming to some decision, he gave a short nod. “Fine, but if I tell you, you must promise not to hold it against the man. He’s been useful to us in the past. And he is actually quite good at his profession.”
Daphne, who hadn’t expected Foster to tell them anything caught her breath.
“I learned of it from Lady Celeste’s solicitor. A man who keeps offices in Battle, by the name of Hargrave.”
“What?” Daphne and Maitland asked in unison.
Thinking they were shocked because of the breach of ethics on Hargrave’s part, Foster raised a hand. “I know it sounds as if the man broke his client’s trust, but in matters of national security such as this, it’s not unusual for a solicitor to give us information about his clients. In this case, Hargrave was privy to Lady Celeste’s possession of the cipher because he was also her man of business. So he knew about all of her assets. And it was his idea that she create the secret room—a playful replica of a Priest’s Hole as the Catholics used during the Reformation, and later the secret rooms Jacobites used during the rebellion.”
“Who else knew about this?” demanded Maitland, while Daphne looked on in horror. Was it possible that Foster was indirectly responsible for both Sommersby’s murder and Mr. Hargrave’s attack?
Foster frowned. “I told only Sommersby,” he said, some of his defiance seeping away. “Though I have no idea whom he might have told. I didn’t say so before, but I suspected he had an accomplice. I mean, it’s obvious, I suppose, considering his murder.”
“Hargraves was assaulted this morning in his offices in Battle,” Daphne said coldly. “That is where we’ve been this morning. Picking up the pieces of another man who was harmed as a result of your callous disregard of the safety of others.”
Ian Foster paled. “What?” he asked, his voice strained. “That’s not possible. I only spoke to Hargrave the day before Sommersby’s murder. He was fine.”
“I hope I don’t have to tell you that there is a difference between then and now,” Maitland said severely. “I daresay whoever it was that killed Sommersby sought out Hargrave thinking he might have more information about the cipher.”
“But I don’t understand,” Foster said, oddly deflated. “If he has the cipher, what more does he need? He only needs to solve it and find the gold. There’s no need to search for more information.”
“We believe that the man who stole the cipher from Sommersby is unable to decode it,” Daphne said wearily. Was it really only a week ago that she’d been excited at the prospect of finding the cipher and discovering the treasure? It seemed like a lifetime ago.
“Then why did he seek it out in the first place?” Foster asked, clearly baffled by the idea. “I was planning to take it to an expert the government consults with sometimes at Oxford. I certainly know my limitations and that there’s little to no possibility that I’d be able to crack it. Though I’d likely give it a try for a bit at first.
“This man may have an elevated sense of his own abilities,” Maitland said, exchanging a look with Daphne. He seemed to be asking how much she wished to tell Foster about her tutor’s involvement.
“Who is it, for God’s sake?” the agent demanded. “I can have the man taken into custody in a day’s time. Or less, if the weather holds.”
“We don’t know where he is,” Daphne said tightly. “If we did, we would have turned him over to the authorities ourselves when we found Mr. Hargrave.”
“But who is it?” Foster pressed. “Is there some reason you’re not telling me? Is it someone you’re close to?”
Daphne sighed. She wasn’t sure why she still felt any loyalty to Mr. Sommersby, considering all he’d done, but somehow she did.
Then, before she could even decide whether or what to tell, Foster’s eyes grew wide. “It’s Richard Sommersby, isn’t it?”
She must have revealed he’d guessed correctly through her expression, for Foster’s mouth gaped. “I knew it was no coincidence that Sommersby’s father was visiting the seaside when we arrived in Little Seaford.”
“Why didn’t you tell us the elder Sommersby was here before?” Maitland demanded, looking as if he wanted to lift Foster by the cravat and shake him. “He’s the one who told Daphne about the cipher in the first place, years ago. He’s likely been on the hunt for it for decades.”
“He went on his way—or seemed to—after we met him in the village that day,” Foster said, looking ill. “But it’s quite possible he came back while I was traveling to Battle to visit his son. And I did tell Sommersby where I was going and whom I was planning to see.”
Daphne said the foulest curse word she could think of, and far from looking shocked, Maitland nodded.
“Agreed.”
“I’ve made a mess of this from the beginning,” Foster said with a groan. “The Home Office will never trust me with anything again.”
The duke scowled. “We aren’t concerned about your career with the government, just now, Foster. A man is dead. And another is fighting for his life. In part because you conducted yourself with all the circumspection of a circus performer.”
To his credit, Foster looked abashed. “What can I do to make it right?”
But the thing was, Daphne, who had always prided herself on her intellectual abilities, simply had no idea.
* * *
Once Foster had gone, Maitland watched helplessly as Daphne, all but vibrating with nervous energy, paced the area between the window overlooking the gardens and the fireplace.
And unfortunately, what he had to say would not make her any less agitated.
“Daphne,” he said, stopping her motion with a hand on her arm, “I want you to go to London.”
She stopped, her body stiff with shock. “Why on earth would I do that? I’m the only one here who really knows Sommersby. How he thinks. I cannot possibly leave now.”
“You are also the only one who can solve the cipher,” he said carefully. He’d known she would object to his plan, but knowing Sommersby had been brazen enough to kill his own son, he couldn’t risk allowing him to get to Daphne. What if, somehow, she was unable to solve the cipher? He had every faith in her quick mind, but in times of stress, surely even she would falter. And the consequences would be fatal. “I don’t want you here, at risk of being kidnapped by Sommersby so that he can use your mental acumen to solve the damned cipher.”
It was a testament to his degree of concern that he swore in front of her. Like most gentlemen, he’d been raised to refrain from coarse language around ladies. But these were trying times.
“Who’s to say he won’t follow me to London?” Daphne was clearly not going to meekly do as he asked, it would seem. “Much better that I stay here in case he does decide to seek me out. At least here, I know I’m among friends.”
“You’re being ridiculous,” Maitland said, knowing it was the wrong thing to say, but past the point of finesse. “He has killed his own son. He won’t stop at killing you, should you fail to give him what he wants. Sommersby is a dangerous man and he knows how capable you are of unraveling the cipher. He knows first-hand how brilliant you are. It’s only a matter of time before he comes to you with the cipher. I am only shocked that he hasn’t done so sooner.”
He moved closer to her, but when he tried to pull her to him, she resisted.
“You seem to think that I am unable to work that out for myself,” Daphne said, mouth tight with anger. “I am well aware that I am in danger. In fact, the only reason I would go to London is because leaving here would remove the rest of you from danger. But the fact remains that Mr. Sommersby needs me. His own skills are not up to the challenge, and he needs help. And if he can’t get that help from me, he will go to some other great mind for it. I cannot in good conscience allow that to happen. Besides,” she continued, her eyes meeting his, pleading for understanding, “there’s no guarantee that he won’t figure it out on his own. It is a small chance, but if he found some clues at Hargrave’s office, then he may even now have found the gold.
He heaved a sigh. “You’re never going to agree to leaving, are you?” he asked, torn between admiration for her bravery and exasperation at her refusal to see sense.
“I can’t, Dalton,” she said stepping closer so that he could pull her into the circle of his arms. “And I wouldn’t want to be separated from you, anyway. We are at our best when we’re working together. Haven’t you realized that yet?”
It was hard to maintain his anger when she said things like that. Dash it all. He needed his anger to keep her safe.
“I don’t want to be away from you either,” he said, resting his forehead against hers. “But just for clarity’s sake, if you’d agreed to go to London I would have gone with you. There’s no way I’m letting you out of my sight while there’s a murderer on your trail.”
She was silent but did not argue. Instead she lifted her face to touch her mouth to his, and Maitland lost himself in the maelstrom of passion that swept over them whenever they touched. But they had work to do, so after a few moments, he pulled back. “We should go tell the others what Foster said.”
Nodding, Daphne walked over toward the door, but Maitland almost ran into her when she stopped just short of the threshold. “What’s wrong?”
“Look at this painting,” Daphne said, pointing to a still life he’d always thought rather ugly. It depicted an ancient Greek man, complete with toga and a wreath of leaves in his hair, holding a scroll.
“What about it?” he asked, puzzled.
“There’s a message written on the scroll,” Daphne said as if that would explain everything. Then, to his further surprise, she flung open the door and all but ran down the carpeted hallway toward the library doors.
When he followed her at a jog, his cousin Ivy, Sophia, and Gemma all looked up from where they were each poring over separate tomes. They’d been searching for clues to where Lady Celeste might have hidden the second cipher while he and Daphne met with Foster.
“What’s amiss?” Ivy asked, frowning as Daphne hurried to the shelf that served as the door to the secret room. She didn’t respond to Ivy’s question, so Maitland answered for her. “She’s found a clue, I think. Or something.” He wished he knew more, but he was as puzzled as they were.
He made his way toward the secret room, and met Daphne coming back out, the painting of Bonnie Prince Charlie in her hands.
“Bring the lamp,” Daphne said, laying the painting flat on one of the wide library tables.
Kerr, who had hung back from the rest, picked up the lamp he’d been using to read by and brought it over. When it was close enough to illuminate the painting, Daphne pointed to a plaque in the background of the scene. “Look there. At the inscription on the wall.”
Squinting, Maitland leaned down to examine the section she’d pointed out. But there didn’t appear to be any meaning to the jumble of letters there.
“It’s nonsense words,” he said, standing up to look at Daphne quizzically.
“It’s the cipher,” Daphne said, barely able to contain her excitement. “It was hidden here in plain sight the whole time.”
He looked down at the painting again, then back at Daphne. “You’re serious? But if the cipher is there, why leave clues leading us around the coast on a wild goose chase in search of it?”
But Daphne was already sitting down at the table holding her notebooks and pencils.
“I daresay she was doing a bit of matchmaking,” his cousin said from behind him. “From what you said about the note Aunt Celeste left for you, Daphne, she wanted you both to spend a great deal of time together. Not unlike her scheme with Ivy and me. What better way to bring you together than on the hunt for a cipher that was here all along?”
“It’s mad,” Maitland said, though he had to admit the theory made some sense. “Why couldn’t she introduce us while she was alive and let nature take its course?”
“I daresay because planning all this was a great deal more amusing for her,” Kerr said with a grin. “Aunt always did enjoy plotting.”
With a sigh, Maitland walked over to where Daphne had begun scribbling in the margins of the page where she’d written the code. She didn’t look up, and appeared to be lost in thought as she attempted to work out a solution for the cipher.
“Perhaps we’d best leave her to it, then?” Sophia asked from where she stood beside her sister. They all were watching Daphne as she worked, as if they would miss something if they looked away.
“You all may go,” Maitland said with a nod in the direction of the door. “I’ll stay here and keep watch.”
But, clearly not as wrapped up in her thoughts as she seemed, Daphne looked up then. “You must have something to keep you occupied,” she said to him with a sheepish smile. “I’m afraid I’ll be at this for a while. It’s as difficult as I could have hoped.” Then she looked a little stricken. “I suppose that’s awful of me when it’s caused so much heartache.”
Maitland, however, could understand her excitement. It gave her the opportunity to use her gift, and perhaps that was why his aunt had left the cipher to Daphne in the first place. “Not awful,” he said aloud. “Just competitive. Which isn’t a bad thing.”
She gave him a thankful smile, and said, “You really may go. I will be perfectly safe here. And my table is far from the French doors, so there’s no danger of flying bullets.”
If she thought the jest would make him feel better, she was mistaken. “He was able to break into this room before,” he reminded her. “There’s nothing to say he won’t do it again.”
“Fine,” Daphne said, throwing up her hands. “Stay. But you must be quiet and still. Otherwise I won’t be able to concentrate.”
Hiding his satisfaction at convincing her, Maitland watched as the others left, and mindful of her admonition about bothering her, he picked up a volume of Byron’s poetry and settled into the only comfortable chair, which happened to be on the other side of the room.
And waited.
He’d only got a short way into the first canto when the door opened to reveal a nervous-looking Greaves.
“Your grace,” the older man said with a glance in Daphne’s direction, “I’m afraid Lord Forsyth is below asking for you.”
Maitland’s eyes also went to Daphne, who was in deep concentration. “He didn’t ask for Lady Daphne?” he asked the butler in a low voice.
“No, your grace. You specifically.” The butler looked as if he would like to say more, but clearly having been warned that Daphne needed quiet, he said in a low whisper, “Please, your grace. He says if you do not come he will come up. And Lord Kerr told me how important it is that Lady Daphne is not disturbed.”
With a sigh, Maitland called to Daphne, “I’m just going downstairs for a moment. I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”
But if she heard him, she gave no sign of it. Clearly, when she was immersed in her work, Daphne was deaf to anything else.
Following Greaves from the room, he prepared himself for a difficult conversation.