The de Valery Code (29 page)

Mrs. Powell entered with the soup course and they fell silent while she served them.

Margery picked up her spoon and tested the soup, while she watched him warily.

He ignored his soup. “As I was saying, there was a purpose for my interest in you. Your aunts possessed a manuscript I was most interested in finding—a medieval text of an Arthurian legend,
The Ballads of Gareth
?”

He knew about the manuscript and he just
happened
to find her here in Caerwent? Her trepidation crystallized into alarm. “Have you been following me?”

His eyes widened with horror. “Goodness no! I came to Caerwent to do some research—I’m a bit of an Arthurian enthusiast. Finding you here was completely unexpected, though I must say gratifying.”

Her mind grappled to understand his intent. “So you attempted to court me in order to gain access to a manuscript? That’s incredibly mercenary, don’t you think?” She didn’t bother to mask the derision in her tone.

He surprised her by laughing. “I don’t blame you for thinking the worst. Indeed, when you describe it, I sound like an unscrupulous scoundrel. But, and please forgive me, when I met you, I almost forgot about the manuscript entirely. You possess such a keen wit . . . I’d never met a lady like you.” He looked down as a flush spread up his neck. “I’m afraid I don’t have much experience in matters of courtship.”

Margery began to adjust her opinion. He seemed genuinely embarrassed, and she didn’t want to humiliate him. “Social situations can be difficult to navigate. I must be forthright and tell you I’m not interested in courtship or marriage at this time.”

His head shot up. “I see. How . . . unusual.”

She paused in lifting a spoonful of soup to her mouth. “I beg your pardon?”

“Most young women in your station are eager to wed.” He made the statement without inflection, as if they were discussing a point of reason.

She couldn’t argue with his assessment. “Yes, that’s true. I am not, however, ‘most young women.’”

His lips curved into a smile. “No, you are not.”

They discussed mundane topics during the remainder of the soup course, the warming trend of the weather and the charm of Caerwent. Throughout, she thought about what he’d said, that he was an Arthurian enthusiast. Could he know anything that would help her find the treasure?

As the second course was laid, Margery decided to broach the topic. First, however, did he know about the code and the treasure? And how had he even known they possessed the book when her aunts had forgotten it in the attic? “Why were you looking for the book and how did you learn that my aunts had it?”

He quickly swallowed his bite of fish as he chuckled. “I think you’re trying to covertly ask if I’m aware of the de Valery code and the treasure it leads to. The answer is yes.”

She tried not to reveal her surprise at his candor. Would he have tried to obtain the book without telling her of the code, as Rhys had done?

“I’ve been trying to find this de Valery manuscript for quite some time and had finally tracked it to your aunts’ great-grandfather. That’s why I came to see you last week—or tried to. I’d wanted to talk with you about the book.”

“Why didn’t you do that when we met?”

He glanced away, the color rising in his face again. “I was too overcome with my reaction to you. I’m not proud of my insecurity.”

Again, she had to rethink her first opinion of the gentleman. Given her experience with all matters relating to her book, she was right to be skeptical. However, she could give Mr. Digby the benefit of the doubt—for now. “You’d planned to talk to me about the book and the hidden code, perhaps to solve it and find the treasure?”

His eyes lit. “Of course. It would be marvelous, wouldn’t it? Deciphering the code? Finding the treasure?”

Yes, it would. It
was
. At least the deciphering part. She hesitated to reveal what she knew, but he if he could help . . . She forked a bite of fish and raised it. “What do you know of the treasure?”

He set his utensils down and dabbed at his mouth. “Nothing specific, as far as what it might be. I believe it’s important, however, something vital to Arthurian legend. It could even be one of the thirteen treasures.”

Margery swallowed the succulent fish. “Such as the Heart of Llanllwch.”

He smiled. “It’s pronounced thlan-thlooch, though that was a good effort. Welsh is the devil to pronounce.” He said it the same as Rhys, so he was at least educated in the Welsh tongue.
 

“You think the treasure is valuable?”

“For its historic importance alone, yes.” Like Rhys, he seemed to want to find it for the right reasons, yet . . . He looked at her intently. “I failed in our previous encounters and I don’t wish to do so again,” he said. “As you were forthright, let me be the same. Why are you here in Caerwent? Are you . . . alone?”

She’d been risking her reputation by traveling with Rhys, and now it seemed the threat would finally come to fruition. Mr. Digby might not be a prominent member of society, but he was still a peer and capable of ruining Margery with just one well-placed comment.

However, she couldn’t think of a plausible lie, not when he would most certainly learn that Rhys was also a guest of the inn. “I’ve been working with Mr. Rhys Bowen to solve the code and find the treasure.”

Digby registered surprise, his mouth parting, and not in the way it would to eat the bite of turnips on his fork.
 

“Are you familiar with Mr. Bowen? I went to him as a medieval manuscript expert and together, we were able to decipher the code.” She didn’t want to get into the particulars with Digby, not when it would reveal her association with Lord Nash, and perhaps by extension his daughter. She forged ahead in an effort to stave off any questions. “The code led us here—to the Caerwent church. However, there is one piece that we don’t understand.”

He’d replaced his turnip-laden fork to his plate and was staring at her, enthralled. “You solved the code? I can’t, I just, it’s extraordinary!” His face lit with wonderment and he shook his head in disbelief. “You haven’t yet found the treasure, you say?”

She nearly smiled at his difficulty in keeping up. His excitement was palpable and reminded her of that moment when they’d solved the code. The moment that had led to her and Rhys allowing their passion for the adventure to overcome their sense of reason. “We haven’t. As I said, there is one piece we can’t puzzle out—the name Anarawd.”

His lips spread into a beatific smile. “Now
that
you pronounced perfectly,” he said softly. “I can tell you precisely who he was.”

Now it was Margery’s turn to be astounded. She set her utensils down and leaned toward Digby. “Who?” The single word sounded quiet in the room, or maybe she couldn’t hear over the blood pounding in her ears.

“Anarawd was a sixth-century monk. He lived at St. Tathyw’s monastery, which was founded very near here—at Christchurch.”

Margery was breathless with anticipation. “How does he figure into this? I fail to see how a monk has anything to do with Arthurian treasure.”

“I understand your confusion.” He laid his palm on the tablecloth. “You see, he was more than a monk. Anarawd was a scribe, and he may have documented some of the exploits of Arthur and his knights—directly from their oral stories.”

Directly?
“You mean he was a contemporary of Arthur?”

“Perhaps. This is all conjecture, but there are some who believe the treasure could validate
everything
.” His brown eyes took on a luster that revealed a confidence he didn’t possess regarding social matters.

“What do you mean by ‘everything’?”

“Anarawd’s role in documenting
history
—not legend.” His voice quivered with excitement. “The existence of the thirteen treasures of Britain, and of course the very existence of King Arthur and his Round Table. Imagine, at last, putting the question of whether he was a man or myth to rest.”

That sort of discovery would be astounding. What would Rhys think? “You believe the treasure could prove all of this?”
 

He lifted a shoulder. “I hope it does, but we won’t know until we find it.” He glanced away. “Sorry, until
you
find it.”

She wanted to share in his elation, but there was still the issue of the Order and whether they would even allow them to find the treasure. “I’m afraid it might not be that easy. Even if we knew where to look—and we still don’t,” the revelation of Anarawd’s identity didn’t illuminate anything for her regarding the location of the treasure, “there are those who would stop us.”

His face darkened. “The Order of the Round Table. They’ve intervened?”

Margery couldn’t contain her intake of breath. “You know of them?”

He nodded grimly. “I’ve done extensive research on all things Arthurian, Miss Derrington. The Order rears its head time and time again. They will stop at nothing to prevent you from finding the treasure, and will employ methods both daring and subtle. You must be vigilant.”

So far they’d opted for daring, but she would keep her senses attuned for anything. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you sharing your knowledge with me.”

He touched his chest. “I consider it a privilege to do what I can to see you safe.”
 

They focused on their meal for a few minutes and soon the fish was removed and replaced with a course of roast pheasant. Mrs. Powell served their plates and refilled Mr. Digby’s wineglass before departing once more.

Digby sampled the pheasant and leaned back in his chair as he contemplated her with a wrinkled forehead. “You say you don’t know the location of the treasure?”

Margery cut into her pheasant. “No. The code was just three words: St. Tathyw, Anarawd, and Venta Silurum.” She fleetingly wondered if she shouldn’t have revealed the code, but Digby seemed so earnest and unlike Rhys, he’d shared information with her readily—and immediately.

“Fascinating,” he breathed. “I would agree that it points to the church. I wonder how Anarawd fits into that.”

“You said he was a monk in Christchurch; could we have the wrong place?”

He frowned. “I don’t know. Have you investigated the church here?”

“Just the churchyard, because there was a man from the Order inside.”

“I see.” He cocked his head back and looked at the ceiling as if he were seeking some sort of divine direction. When he lowered his gaze, there was a determined glint in his eye. “We shall have to lure him away from the church.”

Now it was her turn to frown. “How would we do that?”

“I’m not entirely certain, but I will devise a plan.” A flash of color highlighted his cheeks again. “My apologies, I’m overstepping. This is your endeavor. Yours and Mr. Bowen’s.”

It was, but Mr. Digby had demonstrated a knowledge that surpassed Rhys’s and even Septon’s—neither one of them had known who Anarawd was. Did that mean she wanted to invite Digby’s assistance? How would Rhys react to including him?
 

Wait.
What was she thinking? Splitting the treasure with Rhys—not to mention Lord Nash’s half—was one thing, but dividing it with Digby would diminish her share even further. She needed this treasure to keep her family from losing everything, while Rhys and Mr. Digby were merely enthralled by the potential for discovery. For her, the situation was far more desperate. She’d already lost the book. The treasure represented her last hope.

“It is our enterprise,” she said slowly, “but I deeply appreciate your assistance. Perhaps tomorrow morning we could meet. If you and Mr. Bowen compare your knowledge, something might become evident.”

“I shall do whatever you require.” He lifted his glass. “To finding the treasure.”

She raised her glass in response. “To finding the treasure.”

And then what?

Chapter Seventeen

Following a delicious dinner of kidney pie prepared rather hastily by Septon’s housekeeper, Rhys and his host prepared to select books to peruse. Sconces illuminated the space, so they had plenty of light by which to conduct their research. Rhys hoped it would prove fruitful.

“Before we begin, I’d like to discuss something with you.” The tone of Septon’s voice carried a hint of foreboding.
 

Rhys’s neck tingled. “What is it?”