Chapter Twenty-Two #2
“If you include her brothers’ possessions, then no,” Charlotte answered. “On average, she loses more than she wins. But she did earn enough here and there for a trinket or two. She is also not betting enough to gamble away a fortune like her husband did. She only plays with pin money.”
Hannah sighed as worry and frustration burgeoned inside her. “All we have discovered is that the brothers likely have another source of income.”
“That is still valuable information.” Sophia reached over to pat Hannah’s arm. “It could be an indicator that either Hugh or Francis is the Purveyor, or at the very least, they are helping him.”
“Why are we only searching their rooms?” Hannah’s father asked. “Perhaps the men made them as disgusting as possible as a deterrent? If so, it worked on us.”
“The castle is massive.” Eoin spoke for the first time, his gaze on everyone but Hannah. “We figured it would be best to start in the easiest place for my aunts and uncles to stash objects.”
“But where would you hide things?” Papa pressed. “You were a boy here. What nooks and crannies did you play in?”
“I was not permitted to roam. My grandfather found rambunctious curiosity inappropriate for his heir.” Eoin gazed unflinchingly at Hannah’s father.
“I have read most of the tomes in the library, and I can tell you the tale behind every portrait of my ancestors, but I know little of the actual building. I sometimes escaped to the gardens, but there aren’t any structures or follies on the castle’s grounds that would be suitable for squirreling away records. ”
“You know your family history, though,” Sophia pressed, leaning forward. “Did you ever hear mention of a secret tunnel in case of a siege? Perhaps one leads to the river. Or a priest hole?”
“No, especially not the latter.” Eoin held himself extremely stiffly, and Hannah wanted so desperately to squeeze him. “The Aucourtes have always been staunchly anti-papist since Henry the Eighth broke with the Catholic Church.”
“That is not precisely true,” Championess Quick said. “Your paternal grandmother was Catholic. She taught your father his catechism before she died. Her teachings, in fact, began his interest in the Church.”
“But she was only an Aucourte by marriage,” Charlotte pointed out, “and she lived here over a hundred years after the priest hunts under Queen Elizabeth.”
“True,” Championess Quick agreed, “but she wasn’t the only wife with Catholic sympathies. Now that I think about it, your father did mention a priest hole. One of his female ancestors had hidden her crucifix and other items of worship in it.”
“Do you remember where it was?” Hannah asked as she bounced one of her legs impatiently. She wanted to fly from her seat and chase down the clue immediately.
“Oh, I was never here before yesterday,” Championess Quick said, “and I haven’t thought about that conversation in over twenty years.”
“The east wing was added less than half a century ago, so it would either be in one of the old towers or the west wing.” Eoin rattled off the information until he paused.
“There were major renovations to the south tower in the fifteen hundreds. At that time, the Aucourtes were still earls, and I believe the modifications were a wedding gift for a new countess. She insisted on having one of the solars redecorated before marriage. We should start there.”
Matthew spoke up. “I know a trick for finding hidden rooms. Where do you keep your candles?”
Ten minutes later, everyone had gathered in the tower across from the original keep.
Thankfully, its staircase, although still twisty and narrow, had much larger openings into the rooms than the older, unrenovated structure, so it had been easier to reach the old solar, where they were standing.
Square-shaped wooden panels completely covered the room’s sandstone walls.
Although the extreme use of oak felt overbearing, it was still more welcoming than the bare rock of Eoin’s boyhood chamber, and the false work would be a perfect way to hide a chamber.
“This room does feel smaller than mine although it could be just the effect of the paneling.” Eoin glanced around the chamber. “And the towers were built almost a hundred years apart, so there is no telling if their outer dimensions are the same.”
“We’ll soon see.” Matthew lit a candle and then slowly began to pace the perimeter. When he passed any joinder, he ran the flame up and down the seam.
“What precisely are you testing?” Calliope asked.
“If there’s an empty chamber behind one of the walls, the draft from the crack might blow out the light,” Matthew explained.
“How do you bloody well know that?” Powys asked. “Is that standard knowledge of physicians?”
Before Matthew could answer, the flame winked out. “Here.” Matthew began feeling around the area, searching for a trigger to open the obscured door.
“Let me help,” Calliope offered. “My ancestral seat is full of hidden passages.”
“Of course it has those,” Powys muttered.
Calliope shot him a glare. “Must you always comment snidely about my family and me?”
Powys was not chastised. In fact, the rascal even grinned in what appeared to be a genuinely friendly smile. “Yes. You are, after all, a muse, and I am a playwright. I can’t help that you inspire such lines.”
“That is only because your unrefined mind can’t truly comprehend the brilliance that I engender.” Calliope flounced over to where Matthew stood.
Lizzie leaned over to her brother and asked in her unintentionally booming voice, “Lovers’ quarrel?”
“It is not a lovers’ quarrel,” Powys snapped. “It is simply a quarrel quarrel.”
“Ah yes, your mastery of the English language is nearly Shakespearean.” Calliope didn’t even spare Powys a glance as she tapped on her chin and studied the decorative scrollwork that ran parallel to the floor and was positioned about a third of the way up the wall.
“What are you looking for, Calliope?” Hannah asked, desperately wanting to end the spat—whether it was between lovers, enemies, or an amalgamation of both.
“An uneven part of the carving. Perhaps it sticks out a little more than the other designs or it is further depressed. Anything that could be pushed or jiggled,” she explained.
“I am good with details,” Eoin said woodenly as he joined Calliope. His broad shoulders seemed locked in place as he clasped his hands behind his back. When he stiffly bent to study the artwork, Hannah swore that she could hear his body creak.
“Here,” Eoin declared after just a few minutes. “The center of this flower is higher than the others.”
“Try moving it,” Calliope suggested.
Eoin placed his thumb on the oak circle, and a clicking sound filled the air. Several wall panels popped open at the exact spot where Matthew’s candle had been extinguished. The physician stepped back and motioned for Eoin to take the lead. “This is both your castle and your search, Your Grace.”
Eoin hesitated, and his aquamarine eyes found Hannah’s. Bittersweetness blossomed inside her as she realized that he still instinctively turned toward her for advice. Yet she’d tainted their bond. Before his gaze could skirt away, Hannah tilted her chin toward the hidden passage in encouragement.
Eoin audibly sucked in his breath and marched over to the gap. Gripping the oak, he yanked back on the paneling to reveal a narrow space. Matthew relit his candle and handed it to Eoin, who stepped inside the room.
“Is there anything in there?” Sophia called as she stepped closer.
“I think…” Eoin’s reply was muffled. “The passage runs the entire length of the wall, and it appears as if something is piled at the end.”
Hannah heard Eoin’s footsteps as he moved unseen. Then there was a pause followed by banging noises. Eoin grunted but it sounded like it was from exertion, not pain. Still, Hannah wanted to confirm he was uninjured, but his mother was quicker.
“Are you fine, Eoin? Nothing fell on you?”
“I’m… unscathed,” Eoin answered between huffing breaths. Loud scraping echoed through the room. Moments later, a dust-covered Eoin appeared hauling a massive trunk that looked very similar to the one that Hannah had sorted through in Hugh’s bedchamber.
“Bollocks, not another one of those!” Hannah’s father groaned in dismay.
Eoin paused in trying to wedge the chest into the main room. “Should I not have brought this for everyone to see?”
“Pay him no heed.” Hannah’s mother shot her husband an exasperated look. “It is just that we found rather naughty pictures in the last one.”
“How naughty?” Calliope asked brightly.
“How disheartening is it that I had the very same question?” Powys asked.
“Do not get excited. They are very unrealistic,” Sophia reported.
“Well, they are fantasies, are they not?” Powys pointed out.
“Should I… uh… um… just open this in the priest hole?” Eoin asked, his face a deep scarlet.
“Ignore them all.” Hannah swooped in to rescue Eoin as she glared at each of the troublemakers. “This is serious. Banter can happen later.”
Eoin reached for the latch and paused. “It’s padlocked.”
“I can take care of that.” Matthew, whose face had also pinkened at the mention of scandalous drawings, walked over to Eoin. Kneeling down, he produced a set of picks from his boot.
“Who are you?” Powys asked rhetorically, but then he glanced over at Hannah in mock sheepishness. “Pardon. That question was not central to the mystery at hand.”
Within seconds, Matthew opened the chest. This one contained neither blankets nor rolled-up scrolls. Instead, books lay in neat stacks.
“Those look like the diaries that Joan uses to keep track of her gambling losses and wins!” Charlotte called as she hurried over. Eoin reached for one of the journals and handed it to her.
“Is the penmanship the same?” he asked when she flipped to the first page.
Charlotte’s eyebrows rose as she started furiously scanning the record. “I—I am not sure. It is written in a very odd style, and I cannot decipher anything.”
Eoin grabbed another book and scanned it. “It appears to be some sort of code.”
“Code?” Sophia stepped forward to snare a volume. “Who would write in code?”
“The Purveyor would!” Hannah’s heart thumped wildly. Unable to contain herself, she darted over and plucked up a journal. Thumbing through it, she found an odd combination of letters, squiggles, and numbers. Yet everything was precisely organized into what appeared to be paragraphs.
“I wonder if there is a word key to the cypher?” Sophia asked.
“I was thinking the same thing myself,” Matthew said.
“I’ll pull out the rest of the chests,” Eoin said before he once again disappeared into the priest hole.
The men went to help him while the women continued to riffle through the current trunk.
Although Charlotte had unearthed a physical set of keys, they found nothing else other than more coded record books.
Hannah kept staring at the odd text. Although she had no prayer of reading it—at least quickly—there was a noticeable pattern.
It was clear by the spacing that the jumble of letters, numbers, and symbols represented words.
Each paragraph started with three to five words, and the first ones often consisted of just a few letters.
Those that didn’t start with a short collection of symbols seemed to almost always contain a long word, then one with two characters, and finishing with another lengthier amalgamation.
And the two-character words were always and invariably the same.
The first short words also repeated frequently.
“They’re names!” Hannah hollered to no one in particular.
“Pardon?” Sophia asked as she lifted her head from the trunk she was searching.
“Here!” Hannah stabbed at what was an obvious record, but of what she did not know. “This right here, before the dash, it’s most certainly someone’s title. See that two-character word? That must be ‘of.’ The other shorter ones might be Mr., Mrs., Miss, Hon., and so forth!”
Sophia opened a book and ran her finger down the page. “I do think you’re right!”
“Which means we can figure out what some of the symbols mean,” Charlotte cried out in excitement.
“But even with knowing a few, it will take ages to figure out,” Hannah sighed. And during that time, the Purveyor would still be trying to kill Eoin.
“What’s happening?” Powys asked as he helped Eoin drag out another trunk.
As Sophia told the men about the discovery, Hannah glanced back at the writing. When she spoke, she mostly muttered the words to herself. “I don’t think this is a simple account book. There are too many words, nor do they appear in list form.”
Sophia scanned the journal that she held. “I see what you mean.”
“Do you think they could be descriptions of bets?” Hannah asked.
Charlotte looked over Hannah’s shoulder and then shook her head. “The entries are much longer than those in Joan’s diary.”
“It is as if they are telling a story or recording an event in the person’s life,” Hannah mused as she rubbed along the ink, almost as if she could conjure the author’s thoughts.
“Also why bother writing a bet in code?” Powys asked. “The entire point of recording a wager is to create evidence if the other person tries to wriggle out of the agreement. You wouldn’t wish to keep it a secret.”
Secret. The word rushed around Hannah’s mind and tugged at a half-forgotten memory.
“We know that the Purveyor began by selling gin,” Hannah said slowly.
“From the little that I know, that is correct,” Eoin’s mother confirmed.
“But gin no longer makes a profit.” Hannah tapped her foot as she thought. “Thus, the Purveyor must be selling something else now.”
“There’s the bearbaiting and boxing, not to mention the tavern itself. Entertainment can be very profitable as both Championess Quick and I can attest,” Powys pointed out.
“But none are illegal.” Eoin’s voice was measured and distant, and Hannah knew that he was working through the facts just like she was. “There must be something illicit that the Purveyor wishes to hide. If not, why would he try to kill me for poking around his enterprise?”
Don’t go chasing after spirits and secrets.
The half-remembered words ushered in an epiphany. Hannah slammed the book closed.
“I’ve got it! I know what’s recorded in here!”
Before Hannah could say more, Lord Percy burst into the room, followed by a vaguely familiar and very raggedy boy. As the youth nervously worried his fingers, recognition slammed into Hannah. He was the adolescent who frequented the Horse and Hen—the young man who Eoin had twice saved.
“The Black Sheep is going to be attacked in two days hence by the Purveyor,” Lord Percy gasped out.