Page 95 of No One's Bride
“Miss MacTavish has a theory.” Sebastian looked at her, admiration swimming in his eyes. “Together, we should be able to identify some of the markings.”
Five minutes later, they were seated around the dining table. Ailsa had the letter spread out in front of her, while Sebastian had the old grimoire. Daventry paced back and forth, his impatience stretched as tight as a bow.
Mr and Mrs Murden sat watching, whispering between themselves, confused why Mr Hibbet would write in code.
Ailsa studied the symbols beneath the light of two silver candelabras, though deciphering them posed a problem. She glanced at the grimoire before meeting Sebastian’s gaze. “In the grimoire, the symbols appear beside words. In Mr Hibbet’s missive, one symbol replaces one letter.”
Mrs Murden gave a discreet cough. “There was a note with the letter, but I threw it in the fire. It said to look for a book hidden in Joshua’s bedchamber and all would become clear. My husband looked but couldn’t find one.”
“Christian said they’re using the symbols like an alphabet.” Pushing out of his chair, Sebastian added, “Wait a moment. I’ll be back shortly.”
“Be quick, Denton.”
Sebastian left the room and returned with his brother’s grimoire and the book of sigils found in Mr Hibbet’s apartment.
Mr Daventry noticed these new additions but said nothing.
“Let’s assume you’re right,” Sebastian pointed to the symbol on the paper, “and the strange arrow represents the letter T.”
Ailsa snatched the pencil from the table and wrote T under every arrow. “Now we need to find the other twenty-five letters.”
Sebastian studied the sigils, comparing them to those drawn in the grimoire. “The sigil for courage is drawn next to the words beginning with C in the book.”
“That’s it!” She scrawled C next to the corresponding symbol. “’Tis as simple as finding the pattern and looking for the first letter of each word.”
They continued their task in earnest, the incessant ticking of the mantel clock reminding them they had less than an hour before Sigmund carried out his master’s orders.
Despite Mr Daventry being a heavy presence over their shoulder, the words on the coded letter became clear.
Ailsa wasn’t sure what she had expected to find. Perhaps the name of a murderer or secret information that might prove invaluable to Mr Smith.
“What does it say?” came Mrs Murden’s anxious question. Perhaps shewashaving relations with the assistant and feared it might be a confession.
It was a confession.
One with greater implications than that of a romantic entanglement.
Mr Daventry tutted. “Now it makes sense.”
“What makes sense?” Panic flared in Mr Murden’s eyes.
Ailsa took a deep breath. “Mr Hibbet confessed to spying for the French. He was part of an elaborate network that’s been operating since the end of the Napoleonic Wars.”
“Hibbet!” Mr Murden looked like he’d been slapped in the face with a fish. “A spy! But I’ve known the man for years. He never leaves London. His work at the auction house is dull. How could he have acquired the information?”
“He acted as a broker,” Mr Daventry said. “Passing secrets between two parties. We might assume Mangold arranges the meetings. Why else would Hibbet risk his life to prevent the professor getting his hands on the grimoire?”
“Mr Hibbet’s contact must have discovered his plan to turn traitor, and that’s why he killed him,” Ailsa said, her suspicions shifting to Mr Murden.
Mr Smith said no one entered the building. Had the killer been waiting in the shadows for hours to avoid detection?
She folded the letter, ensuring Mr Murden couldn’t read the last line. Hidden in the apartment was a document naming all conspirators. They needed to find it without drawing the attention of Mr Smith’s men. Else they might never learn the truth.
It was then she noticed Sebastian underscoring words in his brother’s grimoire. The words explained how one should perform the incantations, yet the secret message surely told a different story.
The story seemed to tear the soul from the man beside her. Sebastian dashed his hand across his eyes, stood so abruptly the chair legs scraped the boards and almost toppled over.
He stormed from the room.
