February 15, 1889 Midday
The ride to Henrietta Street was fraught with tension and nerves.
There were too many possibilities in how the investigation could play out, too many uncertainties.
The main factor was whether or not Castel could adequately distract Admiral Hoddle while they made their search.
And then there was the matter of Maureen, about which Mira and Byron did not agree in the least.
“It would be much easier if we just told her the truth,” Mira said. “We can’t exactly ask her the right questions if we are still hiding your profession.”
“It would be simpler, yes. But it would put her in danger. Think of what would happen if we told her and then didn’t find the documents today. She would be left with the knowledge that her guardian is an imposter and have the burden of keeping it a secret.”
“But if we tell her, won’t we be more likely to find what we are looking for?”
Byron sighed. “I’m not prepared to take that chance. It is bad enough she is under his guardianship as it is, and we don’t want to give him reason to harm her.”
Castel folded his arms. “I still don’t see why we don’t turn the matter over to the police.”
Byron’s expression pinched. “If this is another slight towards my choice in—”
“Not at all. I am merely suggesting that if Hoddle were arrested for, say, impersonating an officer, then you would be able to search the house at your leisure.”
The carriage fell silent. It was certainly something to consider. If Admiral Hoddle was arrested, they wouldn’t have to worry about Maureen. And yet . . .
“Do we trust the police here in Bath?” Mira asked.
Byron sucked in a breath through his teeth.
“I don’t have enough experience with them to know.
But I can’t imagine it would be an immediate arrest. There would be a larger investigation into the man, and in that time, Circe could make other arrangements to secure the documents,” he said.
“I’d rather work with a known enemy than an unknown one.
Besides, we don’t want to risk the police finding the documents during the investigation.
After all, Circe is awfully keen on procuring them.
I’m sure they would find a way to convince the police to part with them. ”
“I’m interested to read them myself,” Castel said. “It must be quite the secret.”
***
“What a pleasant surprise!” Admiral Hoddle said as he let them into the house. “Did Maureen know you were coming?”
“She asked us to come round to listen to a piece she’s been working on,” Mira said.
“Oh, lovely! I do believe she’s already in the music room. We can all go up together.”
Castel opened his mouth as if to say something, but nothing came out. Byron took pity on him.
“My brother here isn’t particularly fond of the piano, but my mother insisted on him coming to chaperone.”
Mira tucked her hands behind her back and swapped her ruby ring to her right hand while Byron continued making excuses.
“Would you mind entertaining him while we talk with Maureen?”
“Why, I thought . . .” Hoddle let out a laugh, round and full. “Of course, I’d be happy to keep you company, Mr. Sherard. Do you play billiards?”
Castel visibly relaxed. “I certainly do. Lead the way, sir.”
The two men walked down the hall and Mira let out a breath of relief.
“That’s settled then. Now to find Maureen.”
Byron nodded, gesturing for her to lead the way upstairs. “I’ll need to fulfill my promise of looking at her music, so you’ll be the one to guide the conversation. If you can find a way to divert the subject to her father, I think that will be our way in.”
Mira nodded. “I’ll do my best. Though I don’t know how we’ll convince her to let us look through his files.”
“You are forgetting how clever we are when we work together.” His eyes twinkled. “We’ll find a way.”
The door to the music room was slightly ajar, so Mira knocked on it, pushing it open.
“Miss Harris?”
Maureen turned from where she sat on the chaise lounge with a book.
“Why, Mira! And Mr. Sherard! I had forgotten you were coming.” She closed the book and stood, coming over to greet them.
“I did promise to have a look at your sheet music,” Byron said.
“So you did. Though I’m not sure you’ll be able to make anything of it. Come in, please, and take a seat.” Her dress glided over the floor as she moved to the credenza and retrieved her folder.
“I thought that perhaps I have been playing it in the wrong key, but I’ve tried just about every configuration, so maybe there’s something else to it.” She passed the folder over to Byron.
He opened it and scanned over the notes. He tapped his fingers on his leg, humming to himself.
“It is so good of you to come,” Maureen said. “I hardly remembered that we’d made an appointment.”
“Yes, you were rather preoccupied with Mr. Corbet last night,” Mira said.
Maureen flushed. “I do hope I didn’t make a fool of myself.”
“He didn’t seem to mind.”
Byron stood, gesturing to the piano with the music in hand. “May I?”
“By all means,” Maureen said.
He crossed the room, set the music on the stand, and stretched his fingers. Mira turned back to Maureen, mind spinning for a way to bring the conversation to her father and his correspondence. She winced as Byron began to play, the musicality sounding as poor as Maureen’s attempts.
“Admiral Hoddle seems to be in good spirits,” she said, unable to come up with anything at all to steer the conversation.
“Does he? I haven’t seen him today.”
“Do you not spend much time together?”
Maureen shook her head. “He’s always in the study with his papers.”
“I would have thought with him being your father’s friend that the two of you would be more familial.” Mira’s stomach twisted. She’d found her segue, distasteful as it was to her. “My late godfather was my father’s closest friend and he was practically a second father to me.”
“Oh, I didn’t even know who Admiral Hoddle was before my aunt died and he was appointed to be my guardian.”
“I can’t even imagine it. Did your father never speak of him?”
“Not that I remember. But he knew so many different people. It was hard to keep track of them all. I was surprised, though. My father had such a tight relationship with Mr. Corbet, Bertie’s father, I expected to become his ward after my aunt died.”
Byron stopped halfway through the piece and leaned forward, squinting at the notes.
“With all the people your father knew, I’m sure he received so many—” Mira started to say before Byron interrupted.
“Why, there’s a musical cryptogram here.”
“A what?” Maureen said.
“Musical cryptogram,” Byron repeated. “It’s a motif composers use in a piece to represent names.
This is a very common one. B flat, A, C, B natural.
” He played the notes out. “It spells Bach, like the composer. I thought this was all nonsense until I came across it here in measure twenty-three. Makes me think maybe there is more to this.”
“Like a secret message?” Maureen asked.
“Well, no. It’s just the one motif here. A musical cipher would be . . .” he trailed off. “Well, depending on the way it was encoded, it could very well sound like this piece—all a jumble, with little rhyme or reason.” He looked up at her. “Where did you say you found this?”
“My great-uncle sent it to us back in late July. Or, rather, it was finally delivered.”
Mira blinked. “What do you mean by that? Had it been delayed?”
“From what I understand, it was sent to our old house in Hertfordshire just after we moved when I was nine. The new mistress of the house, Mrs. Meadle, meant to send it on to us, but kept forgetting. It wasn’t until she was getting ready to move herself that she found the package and sent it on.”
Mira’s mouth went dry. Maureen would be turning twenty soon. “That would mean she’d had it for almost . . .” she tried to do the math in her head.
“Eleven years, yes.”
Mira locked eyes with Byron. Slowly, he said, “It was in a package?”
“Yes. Wrapped in brown paper and string with a postmark from Austria-Hungary. Mrs. Meadle didn’t even open it. The strangest thing about it was the package was addressed to my mother, Elizabeth Harris.”
“That makes no sense,” Mira said. “I thought your mother died.”
“Yes. Giving birth to me.”
“Perhaps the sender didn’t know?” Mira offered.
Maureen shook her head. “It was from my great-uncle and surely father would have written to let him know. I didn’t even know I had a great-uncle until we opened the package.”
“What was in it?” Byron asked.
“There was the sheet music, a letter, and the musical box over there on the credenza. Father gave me the musical box, and then locked himself in the music room for hours working on the piece. Of course, he spent more time poring over it than playing. That was only a few weeks before he died.” She swallowed.
“So you see, that’s why I’ve been trying so desperately to learn how to play it.
It’s the last connection I have to my father, really. ”
Byron’s mouth twitched a little at the corner. “You wouldn’t happen to still have the letter, would you? It might have some insight into how to play it.”
Maureen’s eyes brightened, and she jumped up. “I never thought of that! Yes, I have it in my room, if you’ll wait here.”
Once Maureen left the room Mira let out a laugh. “It’s the music. The music is the document.”
“It’s quite extraordinary. But of course, whoever sent it had to do it covertly. And I’m certain there are so many women named Elizabeth Harris in England. That’s why it’s taken Circe all this time to find out who had it.”
“Do you think Mr. Harris was decoding it?”
“I presume so.” Byron began playing a little tune from memory. “And with his connection to the Foreign Office, he would be able to deliver the information directly. But he died before he could decipher it fully.”
“What now?” Mira said.