‘Of course.’ I did my best nonchalant, just leave me to get on with code-breaking, expression and picked up a ledger. He’d said he wanted to talk. All I wanted was to be quite clear in my own head whether I could cope with having this man as my lover.
Luc and James left, Garrick went off behind the green baize door to perform whatever miracles of organisation were required. Or possibly to clutch the brandy bottle and dream about a nice quiet life as the valet of a country clergyman.
I assembled paper, pencil and ledgers and wrote a column of figures from one to twenty six. Then I wrote A against one, B against two, all the way to Z and twenty six and looked at the first page in the first ledger. It began:
1722131618138
1518771522 192623192614
192699188
722141182112923
The there was a space and then a similar set of four lines, so presumably each was a separate entry.
If it was a substitution cypher, and he hadn’t started numbering somewhere at random, then probably we were looking at numbers one to twenty six. I remembered Dorothy L. Sayer’s detective novel, Have His Carcase. That has a complex substitution cypher where a code word which does not have any repeated letters is used first, written in the squares of a grid and then the rest of the alphabet filled in, leaving out any letters already in the code word.
I sucked my pencil a bit. How complex would this code need to be? The books had been very well hidden. The room had restricted access. If I was Doctor Talbot I would want to be certain that anyone glancing at the book, perhaps if I forgot and left it out, wouldn’t see anything they could read. On the other hand, I wouldn’t want to make life difficult for myself.
‘Let’s try a straight A = One,’ I muttered. It was complicated by the fact that there was no spacing between the numbers, except the two blocks in the second line. The numbers couldn’t be larger than twenty six, but did line one start 1, 7, 2, 2… or 17, 22… or 17, 2, 2 or...?
I tried all the possibilities and got results including AGVAC, QBB and AGBB. ‘All right. Not A = one, then.’ Could he have put a code word first? What would have significance for the doctor? George wouldn’t work, there were repeated letters. I tried Coates. That produced rubbish. What about medical terms? Lancet? Labour? Cervix? Womb?
I almost jumped out of my trainers when Garrick brought in a lamp and began lighting candles. When I looked around me the table was littered in paper. And in this time paper was handmade and expensive, I recalled. ‘I’ve probably used up every sheet in the house,’ I apologised. ‘This is not working out.’ I thought longingly of the internet. There would be a code-breaking app somewhere, surely…
‘I believe his lordship can bear the expense,’ Garrick said, with the twist of his lips that stood for a broad grin. ‘Are your labours not bearing any fruit, Miss Lawrence?’
‘Not so much as a shrivelled grape.’
‘Would it help to talk it though?’
We ended up two hours later with an empty wine bottle, a great deal more wasted paper and – at least as far as I was concerned – a definite tendency to find most things amusing.
‘Dinner,’ Garrick said, pushing his chair back. ‘Look at the time.’
It was nine and we were most certainly in want of a microwave, if not a takeaway menu.
‘Steak, mushrooms, onions,’ he said, heading for the door. ‘There is an apple pie only half-eaten.’
‘Chips,’ I contributed. ‘Um, fried potatoes. I can do those.’
Yes, I know. I should have been looking for something high in protein and vitamins – a large bunch of kale and some lightly steamed fish if nothing else. But I’d had a trying – and very long – day and I wanted comfort food.
We worked in companionable silence while Garrick did miraculous things with gravy and I managed to approximate chips, then we sat down at the kitchen table, opened another bottle of his lordship’s excellent wine – or possibly it was two – and proceeded to get quietly kettled.
At least, I did. Garrick’s head is probably made of marble.
‘Has he missed me?’ I asked abruptly.
Garrick put an earthenware mug of evil black coffee in front of me. ‘Yes, Miss Lawrence, he has.’
‘It’s complicated.’ I stirred in rather too much sugar.
‘That would appear to be the appropriate word.’
‘It’s more complicated for me,’ I complained. ‘Luc’s in his own time. He’s not going anywhere. I have no idea how often this is going to happen. I have no idea where I am, when I am, from one day to the next.’
‘Might I offer some advice?’