Lessons in Discovery (8 page)

partnership.

It struck Jonty as odd that no one had tried to pin the

disappearance on Breton. Just about everybody else had been put

forward as a suspect by some author or other, even the queen

herself had been accused, the motive being that Shaa had turned

down her advances. Jonty reflected that with the references made to women in these newfound letters, he found it unlikely that Shaa would have turned down any reasonably young and fairly willing

female.

He considered the two mysteries he and Orlando had been

involved in and the lessons they’d learned. In both cases it had been the least likely suspect who’d been found to be guilty. So

who was the least likely person in this case? He would have put

his money on Henry VII or Elizabeth, though not Margaret

Beaufort—she sounded far too much like his own mother to have

put anything past her once she set her mind to something. Neither a king nor his consort nor even, he supposed, the Archbishop of

Canterbury himself should be discounted.

“What do your papers show, Orlando? Look like gibberish

to me.”

“I’ve no idea what they contain, Jonty. I’ve played about

with some of them and there’s nothing so far, although it’s early days. I’m fairly certain some of them are merely letter

substitutions, given the patterns that seem to recur, but others look much more complex.”

“Never realised you were such an expert in cryptograms. Is

there no end to your talents?”

Orlando beamed. “I thought you knew everything about me,

but I guess I still have a surprise or two in store. I loved codes www.lindenbayromance.com 53

Charlie Cochrane

when I was a lad, used to send myself messages and then translate them and send them back.” He looked blissfully happy, the first

glimpse Jonty had ever had into something good in Orlando’s

childhood. It was typical that it involved only him. “When I first came here I found all sorts of books on the subject and I’ve

tackled many of the things for amusement—my mathematical

colleagues pride themselves on cryptography. I must have found

the diversions of the last year rather took my mind off them.” He blushed, becomingly.

Jonty grinned in memory of some of the forms those

diversions of the last year had taken. “And what is your favourite method, if you distain the easy substitution?”

“Wheatstone’s old coding. They’re calling it ‘Playfair’ now,

or so I understand from one of the men at Thomas’s who has

connections in Whitehall, but Wheatstone was the man behind it

as far as I’m concerned. Difficult to break unless you know the

code word. I doubt that Shaa used anything like it.”

He returned to his papers, as did Jonty. It was pleasant at

present just to sit together, the tension of earlier having gone now that the great secret had been brought into the open and their

friendship had survived it.

They worked on until hall, where they took their places at

the end of the table that Lumley, the chaplain, frequented.

Orlando sat next to him and Jonty opposite, the candlelight

sending strange shadows up onto the ancient walls, the all-

pervading—wonderfully familiar and comforting—smell of

cabbage not lessening the allure of the setting. Lumley was

relating the tale of an undergraduate who’d been allegedly

labouring under the misapprehension that Noah’s wife was Joan

of Ark.

Jonty giggled, although he’d already heard the story. It had

the same effect on Orlando, who produced the revelation that

when
he
was young, he’d been convinced that the words to a 54

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Lessons in Discovery

certain famous hymn had been “Onward Christian soldiers,

marching on the wall”.

Jonty hadn’t heard that tale and, this being Orlando’s second

disclosure of the day, felt quite excited that his erstwhile lover might have all sorts of eye-openers in store for him, the loss of recent memories somehow leading to easier access to half-forgotten childhood ones. Jonty produced his own confession that as a child he’d always wanted to read the Song of Songs but had

never been allowed to, that part of the Old Testament having

mysteriously disappeared from the copies which the Stewart

children had access to. He’d not discovered it till he was

seventeen and hot stuff it proved, very similar in style and

substance to the works of the Bard.

At this, several of the fellows looked curious, so Lumley

hurriedly launched into a little speech about Solomon’s use of

allegory which fooled no one, least of all himself. He discreetly changed the subject. “I hear Miss Peters has got you onto the case of the Woodville Ward.”

“She has indeed.” Jonty smiled. It was rumoured around

Bride’s that the chaplain had a soft spot for the Master’s sister, although in this college gossip was for once wrong. It was upon

the expansive bosom of Cecily Hatfield that he actually longed to rest his head.

“It is a shame that no one has taken an interest in the chapel

records in this regard.”

Orlando’s ears pricked up like the 1906 Derby winner’s had

as the horse approached the winning post with a wodge of Stewart and Coppersmith money on its back. “Would they have found

something of interest?”

“I believe so. Nothing much, I grant you, but something I

feel to be too important to have been overlooked.” Lumley now

had both fellows’ rapt attention. “Just previously to the time when Shaa disappeared, a young lad—I assume he was young, all the

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details I have are that he was ‘Stephen, a college servant’—went missing as well. I find that to be quite possibly significant.”

“It may be.” Jonty’s eyes shone in the candlelight. “Was

there any other reference made to him?”

“No. Sadly, in all the kerfuffle about the disappearance of

the queen’s friend, poor Stephen’s loss seems to have been given no more consideration. And after the events of last January, it did strike me as odd for two men to have been lost at the same time.”

The chaplain paled at the horrors the college had endured the

previous winter. He’d found one of the bodies and the sheer

hatred in evidence in the killing had distressed him enormously.

“But why has no one considered this already? The two might

well have been linked.”

“I daresay people have considered it, Dr. Coppersmith—”

Jonty lunged into a particularly delicious-looking crème caramel,

“—and if this fact didn’t suit their pet theory they probably just as soon discarded it. Even if you mathematicians pride yourselves on your intellectual rigour and honesty, I can assure you that it isn’t uncommon for evidence to be ignored or even suppressed willy-nilly by some of your rather less-scrupulous counterparts.”

“But that’s scandalous! If an established fact doesn’t fit a

theory then it’s the theory that must be changed, not the other way around. I know people say it’s the exception that proves the rule but they misunderstand the meaning of the word
prove
.” Orlando looked indignant, as he always did when sloppy methods were

proposed.

“They do indeed, sir,” Lumley chipped in, “and I’m afraid

that some of my fellow clerics are the worst offenders. However, I feel certain—” he beamed at both of his friends, “—that you will take my poor Stephen into your considerations.”

“You may rest assured of that.” Jonty nodded his head with

great determination. “We’ve learned our lesson from jumping to

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conclusions or complicating issues. This time we’ll be as clinical as you like.”

After dinner, coffee in the SCR was rejected in favour of

some peace and quiet in Stewart’s set. They sat companionably in the chairs in front of the hearth, the fire stoked up high this bitter November evening. Orlando had found a book on the nature of

the electron which he swore was fascinating. Jonty was content

with a book about Marlowe, one likely very near the truth about

the man’s life and making much of the great reckoning that had

proved so deadly in the small room.

Jonty kept glancing sidelong at his friend, wondering if he

should risk reaching across to touch his hand, maybe venture a

tentative touch and see if any electrons were sent flying in the process. It had taken months the first time—could he risk being

more forward now? The remembrance of Orlando retching came

flooding back, Jonty’s mind’s eye awash with the sight of his

lover wiping saliva from his chin. He could wait; he would have

to wait. Orlando seemed to have accepted the nature of their

previous relationship, but what would he do if faced with

meaningful physical contact? Jonty returned his attention to

Christopher Marlowe although he didn’t seem to have the answer,

either.

Orlando wandered back to his rooms in a puzzled state. It

had been another few days of emotional ups and downs. To

discover that he thought his friend not just handsome but beautiful had been shock enough, although he hadn’t understood its

significance at the time. To then find out they’d been lovers the best part of this past year had been a severe jolt, yet it explained so much about the changes in himself. He hadn’t really been

disgusted, his sickness simply due to the shock to his system, and he was grateful that Jonty’s interest in him hadn’t been flushed www.lindenbayromance.com 57

Charlie Cochrane

away with the vomit. He’d had to think very hard in the hour

afterwards, while cleaning himself up.

We are great friends. He lights up my life like no other. I

have no inclination towards women. I think Jonty attractive. I
must be the sort of man who finds his own sex desirable. We were
lovers.

A thesis about the last twelve months, about his whole life

up to this point, had begun to form. He knew about the legal

penalties he and Jonty had risked over the year and was amazed at his own audacity. He ignored the detail that the church frowned

on such liaisons, although he was puzzled that Jonty, whom he

had soon established was a great believer, didn’t appear that

concerned about his unorthodoxy. And Jonty still seemed

interested in him, not just as a friend—there was a special

tenderness that had perhaps been evident from that first meeting in the sick bay.

For the first time he could recall, Orlando counted his

blessings. He had a friend, he’d had a lover, and maybe one day

he’d be brave enough to try kissing Jonty. His life was once

again—as it must have been this last year if he could only damn

well remember—full of possibilities.

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The birthday cake was magnificent, if unusual. Certainly the

college kitchen had never been asked to produce an item

decorated with an image of an ammonite, but it had done Drs.

Stewart and Coppersmith proud. The resultant creation, displayed proudly on Jonty’s desk, which was—for once—clear of clutter,

looked just like the intended object in form if not in colour. No bright pink ammonite had ever been found on the fossil hunts

which Miss Peters had attended. Nevertheless she was delighted

with the offerings of cake and a tea party, going so far as to kiss both men on the cheek and making Orlando turn the colour of

beetroot. As he’d predicted, there was no cloud of powder such as Mrs. Stewart emanated although there was a strong fragrance of

an elegant scent and the merest suggestion of some sort of subtle cosmetic on the lips. Miss Peters was proving to be a dark horse.

“I’m sorry it’s not a planarian worm, knowing how fond you

are of the little blighters, but I suspected that a drawing of them might have scared the cook.” Jonty beamed at his companions. He

was in a contented mood, had been ever since the return of his

ring had shown him there was a light at the end of the tunnel.

Miss Peters laughed heartily, like a man. “Now that might

have been too much of a good thing. Lemuel has already given me

some marvellous engravings of planaria which is an ample

sufficiency. Just being out of that sick bay for an hour or two is a delight. Shall I cut the cake?”

Charlie Cochrane

“Please do, but no dissection-sized pieces please.” Orlando

smiled as he spoke. He too seemed all aglow.

The men might not have glowed quite so much if they’d

been able to read their guest’s thoughts. Ariadne Peters knew how much Orlando had changed since he first came to Bride’s and

recognised that her old friend Jonty Stewart was at the root of it.

She might be an aging spinster but she knew a thing or two about the world—there had been a young man called Tom to whom

she’d been much closer than her family had suspected, and it was only a fortune of the calendar that a young Wilkinson hadn’t been born while its father had been weathering the Lizard. Miss Peters knew what passed between a man and a maid, and between two

men as well. As much as she despised historians she understood

the significance of the death that Edward II had suffered at

Berkeley.

She’d observed certain signs every time she was in the

company of Coppersmith and Stewart, despite the fact that

everyone else in the college, even her brother, was seemingly

blind to them. It had to be love, and she wished good luck to