Page 46 of Stolen By the Rogue
A sparkle glinted in the man’s eye. “And, of course, you would want to be able to read what your gentleman friend has written?”
When Jane nodded, he gestured for her to follow him.
This looks promising.
At a large wooden counter, the shop assistant produced two glass jars. One contained a pale brown liquid, which looked like a cup of weak tea. The other jar contained a yellowish liquid.
Is that urine?
“Now, these are the two main components you need for sending secret letters,” he explained.
He pointed at the brown jar. “That is oak gall, made by soaking gall nuts for four days. Your friend writes his note using it. Then he waits for the paper or fabric to dry. It writes invisibly. Then, he sends it to you.”
“And how do I retrieve the note?” she asked, fascinated.
He pointed at the second jar and smiled. “You dip a brush in that liquid, which is iron sulfate, then carefully wipe it over the paper. His words will magically appear.”
Could it be that simple? Please Lord, let it be.
“And this is something that people have always used?” she enquired.
“Well, yes, because it is how most ink is made. All you are doing is separating the two compounds at the beginning. This method of sending secret messages was used extensively during the English Civil War. It was how Charles the First’s supporters used to write letters and evade Cromwell’s men. Quite ingenious, don’t you think?”
“Why, yes, it is. Could you perhaps sell me a jar of each please?” she replied.
He smiled knowingly at her. “Certainly. One must aid communications between friends as best as one can.”
Jane left the shop a short time later with two well-sealed jars and a small paint brush in her possession. The fond farewell she received from the shop assistant warmed her heart. It was lovely to meet someone who no doubt thought he might be playing a small but vital role in helping the way of young love.
Back at Coal Yard Lane, she closed the front door and locked it. She took two steps toward the kitchen, then went back to make certain the door was closed fast. If she was about to unveil the secrets of the treasure, the last thing she needed was to have unexpected and unwelcome visitors.
George would kill me.
Her hands were trembling as she placed the jars onto the table and reached into her pocket for the note. She set the tea-colored oak gall ink to one side before unscrewing the lid of the jar containing the yellow iron sulfate.
And then she paused for a moment—first to send a prayer to her father in heaven, then to hold a special thought for George.
“I wish you were both here,” she whispered.
She swallowed a lump of tension then, after picking up the brush, she dipped it into the liquid. The first stroke across the paper had her gasping. Two words magically appeared.
My love.
A single tear snaked down her cheek as she went back to the jar and soaked up more of the reagent.
Five minutes later, Jane sat staring at the words which had been hidden for over one hundred and sixty years.
My love’s greatest treasure be
Not under stars or moon
The one true heir did tarry here
As does this royal boon.
She slumped in the chair. “It’s a bloody cypher. Oh, Jane, why couldn’t you just have said ‘X’ marks the spot? It would make my life so much easier.”
Knowing that the treasure was real meant she could somewhat forgive her namesake. The task which lay ahead of her was to decode the message.
