Lessons in Discovery (16 page)

“So,” Richard Stewart intervened, with a note of glee in his

voice, “those historians were barking up the wrong tree all the

time? It’s not a matter of whodunit but whowasitdunto?”

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“Exactly. And where did Shaa take himself off to

afterwards?”

The company at table listened, fascinated. As Orlando and

Jonty explained the theorem afresh it only served to settle in their minds that they’d got things the right way around in this case at last. Mrs. Stewart let the frivolity go on for a decent length then declared that as all of
her
gentlemen were still convalescent, there was to be no port or cigars, just an expedition for everyone to

their blameless beds.

The next day was bitterly cold, so the “three invalids” as

Mrs. Stewart called them weren’t allowed to venture their noses

out of the door, Orlando and Jonty being made to use the passage through the cellars to reach the main part of the building from

their bedchambers. The lady herself had domestic and parish

business to attend to so they sought the sanctuary of the library, Orlando producing their dusty (now not quite so dusty given his

constant poring over them) papers, for sharing.

Jonty took to the settee with a large cup which he frequently

refilled with coffee and into which he dunked biscuits on a regular basis. He’d set himself the task of going through all the

documents they possessed to establish whether there was any

evidence, corroborative or contradictory, to the theory that it

wasn’t Shaa in the well.

By the end of the exercise he could categorically state that

he’d found nothing to challenge their ideas, not that he would

have minded if he had. In that case the theory would have been

changed in response; he wasn’t one for ignoring overwhelming

evidence. To his satisfaction he’d even found one tiny little thing that might go in the idea’s favour.

In amongst all the reports about the body’s discovery was a

single line saying the college chaplain of the time had expressed www.lindenbayromance.com 111

Charlie Cochrane

doubts as to the eagerness with which the corpse had been

identified. A small thing perhaps, but worth noting and something that had been ignored by everyone else.

Jonty shared this discovery with his co-investigators over

lunch but their noses were so deeply ensconced in their coding

theories that they couldn’t be bothered to notice. Rather miffed, he set off to hunt down the book in which the local rector had

spoken of the Woodville Ward’s visit. If he was lucky then there might just be a clue to this mystery that could gain his lover’s attention from those wretched codes.

His luck was in, in trumps. He found the book, he found the

reference and he found much more. Not only had the Shaa family

visited in the late fifteenth century, Queen Elizabeth herself had been to the Manor in the early sixteenth. The former visit was

given short shrift but the latter, of much more importance, had

been dealt with in detail. She’d travelled without the king,

entertaining and being entertained very well. She’d given a speech which was reported in flowery detail, much of which must have

been made up by the author of the work but which might just be

based on a local oral history. If the account was truthful, the

speech made clear reference to her distress at the disappearance of her beloved protégé.

Of more interest was a report of her conversation with the

man who served as priest to the local parish. Elizabeth was said to have told him of a recurring dream she had of Charles Shaa

meeting her—once in a garden, then in the Tower—and rather

than asking for her help, always asking for her forgiveness of his sins. The priest had assured her it was evidence the man had

indeed run off to sea. At least one scholar had known of this

reference and used it to support some theory or other, yet none

had sought to connect it with Shaa being the actual murderer

rather than the victim. It wasn’t evidence, of course, but it was a nice coincidence.

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Jonty soon bored of his own researches and decided to report

back on his findings, something which would allow him to

indulge in a little innocent annoyance of the two men who meant

the most to him in all the world, but he changed his mind when he saw that they appeared quite annoyed enough already. The last

few encoded documents were proving impossible, despite

Orlando trying many a method on them and Mr. Stewart

introducing a few more, but a whole day’s work had yielded

nothing.

“What about this thing of Wheatstone’s you were telling me

about? Have you thought of trying that?” Jonty held up the

documents to the light as if there might be some watermark that

would elucidate all.

Orlando grabbed at them, landing a slap to the back of

Jonty’s hand in the process. “That would be of no use. And mind

those papers, they’re not to be made all dog-eared.”

“Why wouldn’t it be of any use? Seems like a perfectly good

way of keeping things hidden.” Jonty’s nose had been well and

truly put out of joint, not just because he’d been smacked, he quite liked that, but his lover ignoring him was beginning to rile.

“Ah, but Jonathan,” his father explained with great patience,

“the system was only invented this last century. Shaa could have had no knowledge of it.”

“Don’t see why not,” Jonty continued belligerently. He had a

valid point he felt would give him one over on
mathematicians
and he was determined to make it. “If you look at how we lived

here in the Dark Ages, you’d have no idea that the Romans had

invented domestic plumbing and under-floor heating and brought

it with them to this country. These things got forgotten about. It’s just conceivable that Shaa or one of his colleagues invented

something like your Playfair and it was lost in the interim.”

Orlando’s eyes lit up. “You’re absolutely right. Not just

about Playfair, it could apply to any of the more recent coding

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systems that we think are new inventions. Mr. Stewart—” he

turned to his host, “—I think we need to look at these documents afresh. It’s just as well you have such a prodigy of a son.” He

beamed at Jonty, a look full of what could only be love and pride in equal measure and for the recipient of that look, everything had suddenly come all right, as it had not been since November the

fourteenth.

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“Sod this for a game of cowboys!” Richard Stewart uttered

what was quite a spectacular oath for him then quickly looked

around in case his wife had happened to hear it.

Luckily, Mrs. Stewart had taken herself from the room, less

than enamoured to be party to the craze for cryptography which

had swept through her house since her son’s return. Even

Jonathan was at it now, trying to make head or tail of the last few letters from the Woodville Ward, and it was driving the chatelaine insane.

“Still no luck, Papa?” Jonty had put his letter down and

found a macaroon to stuff into his face.

“Not a sausage.” Stewart senior reached over and took a

piece of Swiss roll, something of which he was inordinately fond.

“I’ve tried four different sorts of methods and they’ve all drawn a blank. Even our resident genius is stumped.” He indicated

Orlando, who had spread himself and his papers all over the floor, not even noticing the arrival of tea and cakes.

“No luck either, Orlando?”

“Bugger all, Jonty.” The reply indicated just how frustrated

Orlando found himself.

“So what methods have you employed?” There was an

insouciant air to Jonty’s voice that should have made his friend and father both wary but they were far too involved in their own projects to notice. Orlando began to make a complicated

explanation about looking for patterns and comparing them to

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those found in known codes, Mr. Stewart all the while chipping in about best fits and methodology.

“And no success with any of it?” Jonty had put another

macaroon in his mouth and appeared to be hiding a little grin.

“Right.” Orlando got up from his pile of documents and

made a beeline for his friend. “Out with it this minute. You’re up to something.” He looked at the sheets of paper Jonty held, a

lovely sloping script betraying that they contained his workings out.

“Well, I thought I’d tackle things the other way round to

you. Thought about that Wheatstone thing—”

“Playfair,” Mr. Stewart interposed.

“That as well. And it occurred to me that if the
I
and
J
had to be doubled up for coding then perhaps there mightn’t be that

many
J
’s in the document. Which there weren’t.”

Bugger it
, thought Orlando,
he’s absolutely right. And I
should have spotted that straight away.

“So I guessed it might be your Wheatstone grid thingy and

tried a few code words, obvious ones like
Johan Breton
, and before you ask I
did
remove the repeating letters, but it was all to no avail.”

Orlando felt relieved. Much as he desired to get these

wretched codes broken, the thought of Jonty doing it first was

unbearable. “So you were as fruitless as we were?”

“Up to a point. Then I tried
Elizabeth
as the code word and, well, you know…” Jonty held up the top sheet of paper. “It just all became clear.”

Two hands shot out at the same instant to grab the

document, ignoring Jonty’s squeak of “Don’t snatch”. Mr. Stewart and Orlando began to tussle in a rather undignified manner over

who was to read it first.

“Would you mind, please?” Jonty at last managed to make

himself listened to. “I spent ages doing that and if you’re going to 116

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Lessons in Discovery

ruin it I’ll thump both of you. Worse still, I’ll tell Mama.” The fighting came to an instantaneous end. “That’s better. Now if you can be sensible, I’ll read it to you.”

Jonty adjusted his glasses. “
Tomorrow sees a resolution, one

way or the other.
” Orlando shivered at the associations this phrase formed, memories of his lover’s time in sick bay.
“
Johan will help
me, certain sure, and then we’ll find freedom.
”

“This fits in well with your theory of Shaa committing the

murder.” Mr. Stewart nodded vigorously. “I’ve liked the idea

from the start but we need good hard evidence.”

Jonty continued with more of the same—references to spies,

Shaa’s growing sense of mistrust, unspecified plans for the

morrow. “
He has serv’d his master well. I have seen one of the
letters he endeavoured to send. Stephen fetched it for me.
”

“I wonder if that’s Lumley’s Stephen?” Orlando couldn’t get

the chaplain’s words from his mind.

“
I warrant that he hop’d his code would hide his deceit; did

he not realise that I make and break codes as other men might a
clay pot?
Do you know,” said Jonty, “I’ve never liked Charles Shaa and the more we delve into this case the more my attitudes

towards him harden.”

There followed more about the Woodville Ward’s estimates

of his own capabilities. “
I have the means to make him appear to
be me, presupposing I keep the body from discovery awhile. The
matter of the arm needs attending to.
” Jonty shivered as he read this. “The thought of that deliberate break gnaws at me. And

there’s more.
Will Henry come looking for his agent as his lady
will no doubt come and search for me, all tears and turmoil?
”

“The swine!” Mr. Stewart felt as much affection for his

patroness as any good Bride’s man should. “How could he be so

callous?”

“And by Henry does he mean the king? Was there all along

a House of Tudor slant on this?” Orlando’s eyes lit up as layer

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Charlie Cochrane

upon layer of this case was peeled away. “Is that the end of it, Jonty?”

“No, there is just one final part.
By the time two nights have
passed, Charles Shaa will appear to have left this earth and Isaac
Gaveson will have taken his place on a ship from Lowestoft.
”

“Well, I’m blowed.” Orlando sat down with a marked thud.

“I was sure it was Stephen down the well and now it looks like

Gaveson was the agent who ended up dispatched.”

Richard shook his head. “It hardly seems possible.” He lifted

up his copies of the remaining few letters yet to be deciphered. “I wonder if these will reveal as much as this other note has?”

Jonty grinned. “I think it’s more than possible. We still don’t

know what happened to Stephen, nor where Shaa ended up.”

Orlando looked up suddenly. “You’re right. Not on a ship

with Breton, under the name Gaveson or otherwise, or why would

the man have written from Lowestoft? There’s a lot more to this

tale to be discovered.”

Helena Stewart, entering the room just in time to hear this

last point, groaned loudly and left again.

The night of the twenty-third of December a blizzard began