"Because he went straight from Lady Elinor's to a...er...club of sorts with Bertie."
"You believe him?"
"I believe the Prince of Wales."
"Mr. Berry needn't have been inside the coach himself, you know. He might have hired someone to drive it."
"A valid point, but I don't see how he could have alerted the driver to our departure from the party. The prince collected him at the Routledge house, and they left together more than an hour after we did."
"And was Mr. Berry never out of sight during that hour?"
"Lady Elinor's watching Isabelle like a hawk — didn't let her out of sight the entire evening. She's a chaperone nearly as ferocious as your own mother."
"You've never had to tolerate my mother as a chaperone."
"Ashton told me all about it."
"Oh." A feeling of vague discomfort swept over me, but I forced myself to ignore it. "He could have arranged it ahead of time."
"He might have, but I'm certain that the coach was not following us."
"It could have been on a street out of sight, waiting to see us leave Lady Elinor's. As soon as we'd passed, it rushed to Berkeley Square ahead of us and was there, ready, when we arrived."
"I shan't discount the possibility," he said. I handed him one of the letters I'd been working on. "Will you help me? I'm close to cracking it."
"I think you're headed in the right direction," he said after I'd told him my theory about the number words being the key. I kept track of each system I'd tried, and the list was growing hideously long.
"Paragraphs — that's what I've ignored," I said, my head bent over the letter before me. "Of course. It's not simply the third letter of each word. The code doesn't begin until the third paragraph." I quickly copied the letters; more nonsense. I threw down my pencil and picked up another note.
"It's incredibly frustrating, isn't it? I've a colleague who refuses to spend more than thirty minutes on any single code. Insists that if he can't break it in that time, he'll never be able to."
"Thirty minutes?"
"Well, he's quite good. There's not much he can't crack that quickly."
"Where is he now?"
"Vienna."
"How unfortunate."
"Have you tried applying the numbers to the next note in the series?"
"Yes, no luck."
"What about the dates?" he asked. "They're the only other place that numbers appear."
"Combine them with the others, you mean?" I asked.
"Yes," he said. I stared at the document in front of me.
"Yes, I think that's it. Look, the number in this one is vingt, and the date is the vingt-trois juillet. Subtract twenty from that and you're left with three." I scribbled down the pertinent letters. The result appeared to be another random string, so I decided to skip to the third sentence, and when that failed, to try every third letter of every third word. This last attempt didn't result in enough letters, but I was convinced that I needed to look at every third word. Maybe every other letter of every third word?
And this, at last, provided something other than nonsense, which I read aloud to Colin, translating from the French:
Safe house found. B will travel with LC.
"Louis Charles. The dauphin. My dear girl!" He pulled me out of my seat, put his hands around my waist, picked me up, and spun me in a circle.
Truly, it was exhilarating. But we could not afford to bask in the moment and immediately applied the system to the next letter:
S sympathetic. May help with escape. Travel unlikely before fall at earliest. LC in good health, asking after MT.
"You've no need of my help," Colin said, his eyes shining. "Brilliant work, Emily."
"MT" was undoubtedly Marie-Thérèse, the dauphin's sister, but I had no clue who "B" or "S" might be. Perhaps Mr. Wainwright at the British Library would have an idea. Both of the letters I had decoded were from Léonard. Now I turned my attention to one written by the queen.
Longing for mon chou d'amour. I trust B but worry about this S. Promise they will send him where we discuss ed.
I could hardly wait to read the rest. But I would have to learn patience, for no sooner was I poised to delve into the next note than my mother arrived.
"Mr. Hargreaves! What a pleasant surprise."
"Delighted to see you, Lady Bromley," he said, leaping to his feet and kissing her hand. "You look well. Are you one of those ladies immune to aging?"
This was too much, but I resisted the urge to glare at him. "You are too kind, sir," she said, an expression of smug satisfaction on her face, and sat down. "I must say, I had no idea how much Her Majesty depends upon you. When Emily and I were having tea at Windsor..."
Clearly, this was a dialogue that could go on without me, so I kept at my work, paying only the slightest attention to what they were saying. Colin played my mother flawlessly, in turn flattering her and asking for advice about mundane household matters. He needn't have wasted his time; there was no question but that she would support a marriage between us. Nonetheless, it was amusing to watch him play the part of aspiring son-in-law.
"What are you working on over there, Emily?" she asked, ready to draw me into the conversation.
"Oh, nothing of significance," I said. "Just my Greek, as usual."
"She's a very smart girl, you know." Her voice was a melodramatic whisper.
"Only one of her many charms," Colin replied, and I decided I'd had enough of this nonsense. I walked over to them and sat next to my mother on the settee.
"Did you receive my note?"
"I did and thought discussing it with you in person would be preferable to writing an answer. I don't entirely trust your servants. Discretion is my utmost concern." This last sentence was directed to Colin.
"Quite as it should be, Lady Bromley. Shall I leave you alone with your daughter?"
"It might be best, sir."
"Very good," he said. "May I call on you again tomorrow, Lady Ashton?" His eyes danced with laughter.
"Of course," I replied.
"He is all politeness!" My mother exclaimed as soon as he had left the room. "You'd be hard-pressed to find a man who could better him, although I do wish he were a peer."
"He's rich enough to make up for that," I said. She could not have missed my wry tone but did nothing to acknowledge it.
"His family has been prominent in England since the time of William the Conqueror, and rumor has it that no fewer than two of his ancestors refused offers to become peers. A bit strange, but wealthy men are often eccentric. And as fond as the queen is of him, I shouldn't be surprised at all if she bestowed a title on him."
"I wonder if he would accept it."
"Of course he would! How could you think otherwise?"
"He might follow the lead of his ancestors."
"Hmpf. And tell me, have you seen much of Bainbridge?"
"He's been a bit scarce lately."
"Make sure you encourage him, Emily. There's no need to cast him aside unless you've a settled arrangement with someone else."
I decided to change the subject. "Have you information about Mrs. Reynold-Plympton for me?"
"Your note was most interesting, Emily. Are you at last taking an interest in society?"
"Just Mrs. Reynold-Plympton."
"Her husband is a retired ambassador. They spent years in the farthest reaches of the empire, and she's always been rather...untamed."
"She's much younger than her husband, isn't she?"
"He's at least thirty years her senior. They've eight children; the oldest stands to inherit a most significant fortune. If she is a friend of Mr. Hargreaves, I shouldn't let it trouble you much. She's perfectly discreet. Still, I should insist that he break it off before the wedding."