The de Valery Code (27 page)

Rhys tensed. His fingers ran over the exterior of his coat pocket, which held a small pistol. He moved closer to Margery who was standing stock-still, staring at the now-stopped carriage.

The driver jumped down and opened the door. The figure who emerged was tall and when he caught sight of Rhys and Margery, he moved toward them, his long legs striding across the churchyard.

Rhys exhaled and his muscles relaxed. “We were coming to see you,” he said with a grin.

“Were you?” Septon smiled in return. He reached them and offered Margery a bow. “Good afternoon, I’m Septon.”

“Miss Derrington, let me present my friend, Lord Septon. Septon, my . . . friend, Miss Derrington.” Rhys didn’t know how to describe her, but decided “friend” would have to suffice.

She curtseyed in response. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, my lord.”

“As am I to make yours, Miss Derrington.” Septon turned his gray eyes to Rhys. “Why are you skulking about the churchyard?”

“It’s a long story, but one I’m eager to share.” Rhys decided they might as well call a halt to their so-far-fruitless search in favor of seeing if Septon could help them. “It’s quite fortuitous that you’ve happened across us. Indeed, what are you doing here at the church?”

“I like to spend time meandering amongst the dead. It gives me inspiration when I’m working on a project.”

Rhys hadn’t known that about him, but didn’t say so. “What are you working on?”

“Just some old texts. Why don’t you come for tea, and I’ll tell you about it? Then you can share your long story. My cottage isn’t far.” Septon leased a cottage from a farmer. It wasn’t grand, but he’d filled it with comforts over the past few years so that it resembled a sort of bachelor’s hermitage.
 

He led them toward the lane where the vehicles were parked. Rhys offered his arm to Margery and they made their way to his coach.

“Why not ride with me?” Septon asked. “Your man can follow us.”

Craddock, who’d stood poised at Rhys’s carriage door, eyed Rhys in question. Rhys nodded in return.
 

“Thank you.” Rhys helped Margery into Septon’s carriage, where she took the forward-facing seat. Septon climbed in next, sitting beside her, which left Rhys to sit alone on the rear-facing seat.

A moment later they were on their way. Margery looked askance at Septon. Rhys recognized the shadow in her gaze—she didn’t trust Septon. Rhys wasn’t surprised. He was beginning to think she didn’t trust anyone.

Septon leaned back in his corner. “Tell me your story, Bowen.”

“We’re, ah, looking for something.” He looked at Margery whose mouth was tight. “You may find this hard to believe, but we’ve deciphered the de Valery code.”

His eyes flickered with surprise and his lips parted. He looked between them. “You have both manuscripts?”

Rhys nodded. “One of them belongs to Miss Derrington. She sought me out and we were able to track down the second book.” He purposely left out any other information in deference to Nash’s request.

“Extraordinary,” Septon breathed. “May I ask . . . What does the code say?”

The thrill Rhys had experienced when they’d solved the code washed back over him in the presence of his friend’s excitement. “Three words: St. Tathyw, Venta Silurum, and Anarawd. We know the first two, but the last one isn’t a name we recognize.”

“It’s Welsh,” Septon said. “But you know that. Is that what you were looking for in the churchyard?”

“It made sense to start there since it’s the Church of St. Tathyw.”

Septon gave his head a brief shake, but his lips curved up. “It’s called St. Tathan of course, but you know that it likely means St. Tathyw. You’re a well-educated fellow.”

“Thank you, but I’ve learned any number of things since we started this quest. We’re anxious to find the treasure, but there’s a group—the Order of the Round Table—that seeks to prevent us from doing so. I’d never head of them before, have you? Your Arthurian knowledge exceeds mine.”

Septon leaned forward, his eyes darkening. “Do you believe they’re aware you’ve solved the code?”

“They can’t know that—we just completed the deciphering last night. They know we have the tools, however.” Rhys eyed his friend, aware of his heightened interest and perhaps anxiety. “What do you know of them?”

“I know they are absolutely committed in their mission.” Septon glanced between Rhys and Margery. “Did you go into the church, see anyone inside?” His question was low and urgent.

Rhys recalled the bent head in one of the pews. “We did see someone, but we didn’t engage with them.”

“They saw you too, I’m sure. I’d wager that was a member of the Order.”

When they arrived at Lord Septon’s cottage a few minutes later, Margery stepped from his coach with Rhys’s assistance. Her nerves were on edge upon hearing they’d come so close to another member of this cryptic Order, and she was anxious to learn more from Septon.

Their host led them into the cheery interior of the home, which boasted a second floor. The main room was large, with a dining table on one side and a seating area clustered around a fireplace flanked with overstuffed bookshelves. The focal point, however, was the bank of wide windows along the back wall, in front of which was situated a long table covered in paper, books, and a few random objects, such as a cracked wooden plate, an earthenware crock, and a small pile of coins. It reminded Margery of Rhys’s worktable at Hollyhaven.

“What are you doing over here?” Rhys asked as he approached the work area.

Septon joined him. “These are some items that were found last week. I’m just recording them for my collection.”
 

Rhys looked over at Margery, who’d come to stand a few feet from the table. “Septon’s antiquities collection is quite large. Most are on display at his estate in Somerset, but a few of his most prized treasures are in the Ashmolean Museum at Oxford.”

Margery was vaguely intrigued by the items on Septon’s table, but she was far more interested in what he could tell them about the Order and the treasure. She was also concerned about the de Valery manuscripts just sitting in Rhys’s coach, which had followed them to the cottage.

Rhys picked up one of the coins and held it up to the window to inspect it. “Roman.”

“Fourth century,” Septon said.

Rhys tossed him a glance before setting the coin back down and picking up another. “Before Arthur, if you believe he existed, of course.”

“Do you?” Septon leaned a hand on the back of his chair.

Rhys placed the second coin back on the pile. “I didn’t, but with everything we’ve now seen . . .” He looked at Margery.

“And what is that?” Septon asked them both, looking from Rhys to Margery and back to Rhys.

“The de Valery code exists. It leads to something.”

Septon’s brow furrowed. “We don’t know that for sure, but the fact that you deciphered words that led you here certainly seems to infer that there is a tangible treasure.”

“Or de Valery sent us on a wild goose chase,” Margery said, feeling unaccountably nervous and a bit frustrated.

“Perhaps. Let us sit.” He moved to the settee and a pair of armchairs positioned near the fireplace. He waited until Margery sank to the settee before taking one of the chairs.

Rhys looked at where Margery sat, but ended up settling in the other chair, as if he’d decided maintaining space between them was for the best. She couldn’t help but agree.

“What do you think the treasure might be?” Septon asked.

“I can only theorize,” Rhys said. “I suppose it could be something grand like the Heart of Llanllwch.”

Septon rested his elbow on the arm of his chair. “One of the thirteen treasures, you mean?”

Rhys sat straight, rigid almost. Was he feeling anxious, like Margery? “Perhaps. It could also be nothing—a whimsy. Though, given the cipher glass we found, de Valery went to a great deal of trouble to create the code.”

Septon leaned forward, his eyes bright with interest. “A cipher glass, you say?”

Rhys dug it out of an interior coat pocket and held it out to Septon. “We found it at his house on the Severn.”

Septon’s intake of breath was audible. “May I?” At Rhys’s nod, he took it from Rhys’s palm, his movements slow and almost reverent. He held it up to the light streaming in from the window. “De Valery’s brother was an alchemist. I wager he created this device. How does it work?”

“Look at one of your books over there—at one of the illustrations. It strips the colors from it. As you rotate the glass, it will remove all color except blue, then red, and then yellow. Doing so revealed numbers in one of the de Valery manuscripts, which we used to decipher the code buried in the other manuscript.”

“Extraordinary!” Septon leapt to his feet and tried the device on one of his books. “I should like to look at your manuscripts with this, see what you saw, if you don’t mind indulging a fellow antiquarian?”

Rhys smiled, his form relaxing into the chair. “Of course not.”

Margery wanted to protest. She didn’t want to share her book with anyone, which is why she hadn’t fetched it from the coach immediately. But that was selfish of her. This man wasn’t a threat; he was simply a scholar. She hoped that was all he was. What if he tried to obtain the treasure before they could? Then the entire adventure would have been for naught. She glanced at Rhys, who watched his friend with a mixture of amusement and shared excitement. Perhaps not completely for naught . . .
 

“If we could determine the meaning of the name Anarawd, we believe we could find the treasure,” Rhys said.

Septon returned the glass to Rhys and then retook his chair. “I wish I could help you, but I don’t know the name.” His tone was clouded with regret. “We should read through some books later. Will you come for dinner this evening? I’m sure my housekeeper can put something satisfactory together.”

“We’d be delighted, thank you,” Rhys said, without consulting her.

Margery’s impatience bubbled over. “Lord Septon, I wonder if you might tell us what you know of this Order of the Round Table. They’ve attacked us on three separate occasions and I’d like to understand why.”

Septon turned his attention to her, his expression grim. “They attacked you?”

Rhys answered. “Twice, they attempted to steal her manuscript, quite violently, I might add. The third time they tried to steal the cipher glass.”

Septon shook his head sympathetically. “I don’t know too much about them, just that they’re a group that believes in the existence of Arthur and his knights, hence their name, the Order of the Round Table.”

“Why did they try to steal my book?” Margery asked.

“Some say they seek to obtain all items that may prove the existence of Arthur.” Just as Lord Nash had told them.

Margery set her palm on the settee cushion beside her skirt. “I don’t understand. If they believe in his existence, why do they need further proof? Why wouldn’t they want that proof made public, so that the mystery of whether he was man or myth could be answered permanently?”

“As I said, I don’t know very much about them,” he said. “I would guess they would prefer to have possession of all things that might lead to Arthur.”

Rhys shot her a glance. “The treasure must exist then.”

“If the Order has been pursuing you as you assert, then yes, it certainly seems they have something they are trying to obtain—or hide.”

Or keep hidden. Margery returned Rhys’s wary look. “Do you think they’re trying to prevent us from finding the treasure?”

“It’s possible,” Septon answered. “I’m sorry I can’t help you more than that. I
can
tell you the Order has been around for centuries. Before de Valery created his code.”

Rhys re-pocketed the cipher glass. “If they want the treasure to remain hidden, I imagine they weren’t too fond of de Valery’s manuscripts.”

Margery couldn’t stand another moment of not ensuring the books were safe. She stood, and the gentlemen jumped to their feet. “Please excuse me, I’m going to check on Jane and Craddock. It’s an awfully warm day; might I offer them refreshment, Lord Septon?”

He nodded profusely. “Of course, of course, I’ve been remiss. My housekeeper and valet have the afternoon off. I have some ale in the cupboard if that will suffice.”

“Thank you, I’m certain it will.” She smiled at both of them, lest either one detect the anxiety roiling inside of her. Then she departed the cottage and strode purposefully to Rhys’s coach.

Craddock and Jane were seated on the grass in the shade of a tree. They looked to be partaking of a small meal, which alleviated at least part of Margery’s concern.
 

Craddock jumped to his feet and met her near the coach. “Miss?”

“I’m just going to fetch the books from the coach.”

Craddock opened the door and she stepped up to grab them . . . only the seat was empty.
 

Alarm shot through her belly and expanded until she felt quivery and hollow. “Craddock, where are the books?” Her question came out thin and raspy. She turned from the coach and speared him with a distraught stare, knowing she must look terribly upset and not caring in the slightest.