The next morning found Daphne and Maitland riding in Lady Celeste’s ancient barouche with Ivy and Kerr, on their way to the town of Battle only a few miles from Beauchamp House.
That they bring along the marquess and marchioness had been Lady Serena’s suggestion that morning at breakfast, and Daphne had seen some silent communication pass between Maitland and his sister before he declared it to be a fine idea.
She’d not seen him again after their encounter in the cave. Maitland having declared himself exhausted after nearly twenty-four hours in the saddle, retired early. Daphne had missed him at dinner, but had taken the opportunity to continue her organization of the library. And somehow, she’d been calmer knowing he was in the house, even if they weren’t in one another’s pockets.
“It was rather clever of Lady Celeste to engineer another way for you to obtain the cipher,” Ivy said as the carriage rumbled along the road overlooking the sea. “It’s almost as if she knew someone else would get to it before you did.”
Daphne considered the notion. She didn’t believe in premonitions, or anything of the sort, but she thought it very likely that Lady Celeste had used her reasoning powers to make the deduction. “It’s not as if the existence of the cipher was a complete secret,” she said aloud. “Though it was considered by many to be a romantic legend, I think there were an equal number of those who thought the legend was rooted in some truth. I first learned of it from my tutor, who said he heard of it while he was at school. So, it was known in mathematics circles.”
“Aunt Celeste was at the very least concerned about ensuring you would be the one to eventually solve it, however,” Maitland argued. “She must have chosen you as one of her heirs because she thought you could figure it out.”
“I wonder that she didn’t attempt to solve it herself,” Lord Kerr said from where he sat beside his cousin in the rear-facing seat. “She was quite formidable at solving puzzles and the like.”
“She did,” Daphne responded, putting a hand on her hat to keep it from flying off in the wind. “She told me as much in her initial letter to me. I do believe that’s why she sought me out. She wished her heirs to be good at different areas of expertise, but she wanted a mathematician in particular because she thought it would make the cipher easier to solve.”
“If only we could find the blasted thing,” Ivy said, holding on to her own hat. “I do appreciate Lady Celeste’s attention to detail, but I do hope this other trail she left is shorter. If we reach the solicitor’s office only to find another clue that leads to more clues, I will be most put out.”
“I am more concerned that whoever killed Sommersby and found the other cipher has already unraveled it and found the gold,” Daphne said. It was something she worried about more than she let on. Because if he’d found the gold, they might never know who had killed Sommersby. And though Squire Northman seemed to accept the notion that someone outside the household had killed the man, Daphne couldn’t help but fear that their lack of success in finding the murderer would lead the magistrate to turn his suspicions back to her. Especially if he ever learned of Sommersby’s assault on her.
“If it was too difficult for my aunt to solve,” Maitland said in a reassuring tone, “then I doubt the killer has managed it either. It’s said that Cameron was fond of maths and codes himself. So it’s likely that he created something that was difficult for anyone but a truly gifted scholar to solve.”
“I hope you’re right,” Daphne said with a sigh. “Otherwise we’re wasting our time haring about the countryside.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Ivy said, grinning. “It’s rather exciting to be on the hunt. Especially if we manage to catch a murderer at the end of it as well as find the lost gold.”
“I fear your success in unmasking my aunt’s murderer has made you bloodthirsty, Ivy,” said Lord Kerr in mock exasperation.
Daphne watched as they shared one of those looks that seemed to convey hours of conversation in a single glance. What must it be like to be so in tune with another person that you could read their feelings as easily as she could read the pattern in a series of numbers? She’d only just learned to meet Maitland’s eyes without looking hurriedly away. She certainly couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
But the same could not necessarily be said for Maitland when it came to him fathoming her thoughts. When she chanced a look at him, he raised a brow in question. He knew something was bothering her. She was able to read that at least, she thought, as she gave a small shake of her head in reply.
When they reached the village of Battle, so named because it was the site of the Battle of Hastings that put William, Duke of Normandy on the throne, it took only a few moments to find the office of Mr. J. Hargrave, Esq.
At the news that not one, but four noble visitors wished to see his master, the pale-faced clerk, a Mr. Fleet, in the outer office turned even whiter. “One moment please, your grace, Lady Daphne, Lord and Lady Kerr.”
Alone with the clerk’s underling, a thin young man who stood gaping at them like a circus exhibition, they waited.
“I take it Mr. Hargrave’s clientele does not generally hail from the aristocracy,” Kerr said in a low, amused voice. “I wonder what possessed Aunt Celeste to give him her business.”
It was a well-appointed office, Daphne noticed, but hardly the sort of place one would expect of someone who enjoyed a thriving trade. At least, not that she imagined. She’d never had occasion to visit a solicitor’s office before.
Before any of them could respond to Kerr’s remarks, they heard a shout from the back room where the clerk had gone. Daphne looked at Maitland, who said, “Wait here.” And though she chafed at the order, she and Ivy stood where they were as they watched the gentlemen, followed by the assistant clerk, disappear into the back office.
“I hope all is well,” Ivy said nervously. “I wish I hadn’t said that about this exciting me. I don’t wish people to be harmed. Goodness knows.”
Wanting to comfort her friend, and perhaps needing a bit of comfort herself, Daphne placed a hand on Ivy’s shoulder. “I know you don’t. And perhaps it was nothing. A book falling on someone’s foot. The clerk tripping over his own feet.”
But the longer they waited for the gentlemen to return, the more she knew it couldn’t be anything as benign as she’d described.
When Lord Kerr came back alone, her heart caught in her throat. Where was Maitland?
“I’m afraid Mr. Hargrave has met with an accident,” said Kerr without preamble. “I’m going to find the local physician, though I fear the man is no longer able to benefit from his services.”
Daphne clasped a hand to her chest. “He’s dead?” she asked, horrified.
“What happened?” Ivy asked.
“We’re not sure,” Kerr said. “I’d better go find the doctor. Maitland will be out in a moment to tell you more.”
And with a quick kiss for his wife, Lord Kerr was out the door.
Not content to stay where he’d left them, Daphne and Ivy moved as one to the door and stepped into the office.
Maitland, who knelt beside an unconscious man behind the desk, looked up at their arrival. “I told Kerr to keep you out of here,” he said with a frown. “Go back outside.”
“We aren’t children, Maitland,” Daphne said with a firmness she did not feel. “Perhaps we can help.”
Brushing past Ivy and Fleet, the clerk, who stood wringing his hands, she moved to kneel beside the duke and saw that Mr. Hargrave was bleeding from a rather large gash in his forehead. Beside him lay an open box, the twin of the one they’d found in the secret room in the library at Beauchamp House—and it was glaringly empty.
Ignoring the clue for a moment, she concentrated on the bleeding man. “Give me your cravat,” she said to Maitland, who unwrapped the cloth from his neck and handed it to her.
Taking the starched linen, she folded it into a pad and placed it against Hargrave’s bleeding wound. He had lost a great deal of blood, which ran down the side of his head to pool on the carpet beside him. “What can have happened, Mr. Fleet?”
When the clerk didn’t respond to her question, Maitland turned to the man. “You there, Lady Daphne asked you a question. I know you’re overset by finding your master in this state, but we must find out who did this.”
Blinking, the clerk turned to look away from the pool of blood at Daphne. “I don’t know. I left to visit the stationers and I sent Henry here to collect the post. We were only gone for a half hour or so. Someone must have come in while we were gone.
The man left off with a broken sound. “If only I’d thought to check on him sooner.”
“You can have had no notion of what happened,” Ivy said in a soothing voice. “It’s not your fault. It’s the fault of whoever did this.”
“Has your master had any visitors in the past couple of days?” Maitland asked, rising to begin looking through the papers on the unconscious man’s desk. “Anyone you might have found suspicious?”
“There are always strange characters in and out of the office,” Fleet said with a shake of his head. “It’s part and parcel of the work. Mr. Hargrave isn’t snobbish like some. He will take on work so long as the client’s coin is real.”
“So, you cannot think of anyone who might have done this?” Daphne asked, looking up from where she held the cravat to Hargrave’s bleeding head. “Has anyone else been here asking about Mr. Hargrave’s work for Lady Celeste Beauchamp?”
The clerk blinked. “Yes, there was a man here this morning before we left. But Mr. Hargrave sent him away.”
Daphne and Maitland exchanged a look.
“What did he look like?” Maitland asked, turning from his search of the desk to look more closely at the clerk. “Describe him.”
Sagging a little on his feet, the clerk said, “He was of middle years. Respectable-like, but his clothes weren’t so fine as yours. I knew he wasn’t from around here, though. I didn’t recognize his name.”
“He gave you his name?” Daphne asked, surprised.
“Yes,” the clerk said shakily. “Sommersby. Mr. Richard Sommersby.”
* * *
Maitland watched, arrested, as Daphne gasped at the clerk’s pronouncement.
“Are you sure that’s the name the man gave?” she asked, her face losing all color. “Richard Sommersby?”
Moving to her side, and indicating with a nod that the underclerk, Henry, come tend to his master’s wound, Maitland pulled Daphne to her feet and saw her to a chair. “What did this person look like?” he asked once she was settled.
Fleet took a deep breath and closed his eyes for moment, as if trying to recall. Finally he said, “Not quite as tall as you, your grace. Dark hair with some gray mixed in. And spectacles.”
“That’s him,” Daphne said with a helpless shake of her head. “My former tutor. Perhaps it’s only a coincidence that he was here this morning.”
Hearing the hope in her voice, Maitland’s heart ached for her. It was possible that two men had called upon Hargrave that morning, but unlikely. The man who had assaulted the solicitor was almost certainly the elder Mr. Sommersby.
Ivy, who had been watching aghast from the other side of the desk, came forward and lay a hand on Daphne’s shoulder. “I see some brandy, there,” she said in a soothing voice. “Perhaps Maitland will pour you some?”
Grateful to have something to do, Maitland moved to the sideboard against the wall, and set about unstoppering the decanter and pouring a glass.
“I’m perfectly fine,” Daphne protested, even as she took the glass from him. Their eyes met, and he saw how upset she was at the idea her mentor was tied up in all of this business. Even so, she squared her shoulders and took a sip, closing her eyes against the fiery taste. “I haven’t seen Mr. Sommersby in a long time,” she continued. “We’re practically strangers now.”
But Maitland couldn’t help but remember what she’d said about her tutor being the one man she’d been able to trust in her life. Of course, that had been before he left their home unexpectedly, but she’d seemed to explain that away, blaming it on her father. What would she do if she discovered that he’d turned out to be just as unreliable as everyone else?
He didn’t like to imagine the effect that would have on her.
On them.
Just then, the door leading into the office opened and Lord Kerr entered, followed by a man of middle years carrying the black bag that denoted his profession.
“Dr. Eustace,” Kerr said to them as the physician hurried to the prone man’s side and began examining him. “We’ve arranged for a couple of men to come with a litter to carry him to the surgery if necessary.”
“Perhaps we should get out of their way,” Maitland said, moving to offer Daphne his arm. She looked over to where the doctor was examining Hargrave’s wounds, then with a sigh, she rose and allowed him to lead her out.
Fleet, who had regained some of his composure, remained behind to assist the doctor, sending his assistant, Henry, back to watch over the outer office.
Once they were back out in the outer room, Maitland explained in a low voice what they’d learned about the solicitor’s visitor that morning
“Sommersby’s father?” Kerr asked in surprise. “What is he doing in Battle? Wouldn’t he have come to Beauchamp House or Little Seaford to collect his son’s things?”
“I’m afraid it appears as if Mr. Sommersby is searching for the cipher,” Daphne said, her disappointment evident.
“We still don’t know that he is the one who hurt Hargrave,” Maitland said, trying to reassure her.
“But logically, it’s the only explanation that makes sense,” Daphne said. She ticked off her points one by one using her fingers. “First, he is the one who initially told his son and me about the Cameron Cipher. Second, he may very well have been the one to encourage Nigel to go in search of the cipher. Third, he was not a wealthy man, and certainly would benefit from the hidden cache of gold.
“Most damning of all, however,” she continued, “is that he could have had no reason to visit Mr. Hargrave other than to see if Lady Celeste left any other clues about the cipher with him. He was her solicitor—and people often leave important papers in the care of their solicitor.”
“But why attack the man?” Maitland asked, not sure he understood the connections Daphne made between the tutor and the attorney. “It certainly doesn’t help him find a solution for the cipher.”
“We can have no idea what actually happened until we talk to one of them,” Daphne said, “but the fact that the box was lying empty beside Mr. Hargrave seems to indicate that Sommersby took what was inside.”
“I saw some blood on it,” Maitland said. He’d wanted to keep the information from Daphne for as long as possible, but she was already leaping to the same conclusions he was. “Before you came into the room, I examined it. I’m quite sure it’s what was used to bludgeon him.”
“Dear God,” Ivy said, raising a hand to her chest.
They’d all seen how strong the blow had been that cracked Hargrave’s skull. It had taken a great deal of strength, and perhaps anger, to do that sort of damage.
“He would be quite frustrated,” Daphne said softly from where she stared out the window. “He’s likely already tried and failed to solve the decoy he stole from the hidden room. And I suspect he hoped that whatever was in the second box would make his task easier. If it was the real cipher, then he was met with just another puzzle impossible for him to solve.”
* * *
“Why impossible?” Ivy asked, from where she perched on Kerr’s chair. “I thought he taught you everything you know about mathematics and ciphers and the like?”
Daphne, turned, and gave a bitter laugh. “Actually, that’s not correct. I did learn a great deal from Mr. Sommersby, it’s true. But he was only my tutor for a year or so before I surpassed his ability to instruct me. He guided my studies, of course, but he didn’t fully understand everything I worked on.”
“But if you believe he’s been after the cipher all along…” Maitland began. He stopped because to finish would mean putting into words what was for Daphne a horrific discovery.
She pressed on. “If he is the one who’s now in possession of the cipher,” she said in a sad voice, “then it is almost certainly the case that he murdered his own son.”