‘Whatever can you mean?’ Laura asked, all innocence. She would rather that the valet seemed to have found his confidence by his own exertions.
‘I mean that he appears to have acquired a backbone – and a chin – and has almost stopped apologising every third word. I cannot quite see Mrs Bishop having a motherly word with him.’
‘It is clearly your example. And your encouragement.’ Theo raised his eyebrows in disbelief. ‘Oh very well, I did have a few words with him and offered some advice,’ she admitted, flapping her napkin into her lap, embarrassed that she had been found out. ‘His father seems to have left him full of self-doubt and he needs his confidence boosting. I certainly was not motherly, in fact I gave him what I hope was a bracing talk. He is very worried about letting you down and disappointing the Duke and his terrifying valet, Flynn.’ She hesitated, then could not resist adding, ‘And he worries that when you marry that your wife will not take to him and he will be dismissed.’
Theo went very still. ‘That is nonsense. I will not be marrying before October and besides, my wife will have no say in the employment of my valet. I cannot imagine that she would be remotely interested. It was kind of you to spare time for Pitkin when you have worries of your own.’
‘I know what it is to feel inadequate and afraid,’ she said simply, then, when Theo looked as though he was going to respond, said hurriedly, ‘Is the inscription in Latin?’
‘Yes. Can you read that?’
‘No. I have had the usual education for girls – my languages are French, Italian and some little German. But I am used to working out involved patterns for embroidery, so perhaps I can help with the details, even if I cannot read them.’
They settled in the library with the rubbings spread out and weighted at the corners with books of sermons which, as Theo remarked, looked as though they could do with taking down for an airing.
‘Hic jacet, Brandon Flyte, armiger,’ Laura read, brushing away a dead moth that fluttered out of one of the sermons. ‘I can manage that – Here lies Brandon Flyte, knight.’
Theo peered at the rest of the inscription, took pen and paper and began to write down what he could decipher, leaving gaps where he could make no sense of it.
Laura studied the shields from the sides and started to draw what she could in the hope it might make it easier when they compared the coats of arms with the books of heraldry. From time to time she glanced over at Theo whose hair had fallen into his eyes with the constant rake of his fingers through it. He had a smudge of ink on his cheek. The lack of perfection was oddly endearing. Once he looked up, met her gaze, grinned and went back to peering between the lettering and two Latin dictionaries.
Strange that he did not refer to his betrothed by her name, she thought. Or say anything about her at all. Surely he misses her?
Eventually he sat up, put down his pen and announced, ‘Sir Brandon Flyte was an unmitigated bore with a wildly inflated sense of his own importance, even though there i
s not a single example of what exactly he did do to deserve being memorialised as Prudent, Gallant, Charitable, Noble and Loyal. No clues there.’
‘I cannot find anything like these coats of arms in the Heraldry either.’
‘I am beginning to think that Flyte never existed. But why such an ostentatious tomb for a fiction?’
‘Might the inscription be a code? Perhaps treasure is buried in the churchyard.’
‘A memorial plaque in the church might be a less expensive option,’ Theo grumbled. ‘I know nothing about codes.’
‘Neither do I.’ Laura shut the weighty Heraldry with a bang that sent up clouds of dust. ‘Oh, I’ve just had an idea. When did this tomb appear in the churchyard? Because if Sir Brandon is fictitious, surely everyone in the parish knew it, so, if we know when, we at least know who might have been involved.’
‘He is supposed to have died in 1767, less than fifty years ago. I suppose we should allow for a year or two for the tomb to be created – if he was real, that is. We could start looking in books of architecture, church histories and antiquarian surveys of the county.’ Theo got up and, hands on hips, began to scan the shelves.
‘Perry’s sure to have got that kind of thing somewhere – although his father was the one who bought all the books, as you can tell by the dust.’ Laura told herself to concentrate on the work in hand and not on admiring the tall figure against the leather bindings. ‘Dear Perry is not one of life’s great readers,’ she said fondly.
‘No.’ Theo sounded somewhat crisp.
Perhaps he is frustrated at not finding answers. Giles would have been throwing books around by this point, but somehow she thought Theo had more self control. Besides, he was scanning the shelves with what looked like unflagging interest.
‘Here we are. Augustus Humbleton. A Survey of the County Of Norfolk: comprising a compete review of all features of historical, artistic and antiquarian interest comprised within the boundaries… Etcetera, etcetera. In five volumes, no less and written in 1790. It can’t have taken all that long since 1767 to have the tomb made, so it ought to be mentioned.’
He hauled all five books off the shelves and laid them out. ‘Too much to hope there will be an index – and they are arranged by Hundred.’ He flicked through the first volume, turned to the second. ‘Ah, here’s Holt, we must be close. Yes, Hempbourne Marish.’
Laura came to read over his shoulder and pointed. ‘There’s the church.’
They read in silence then looked at each other. ‘No tomb,’ Theo said. ‘He lists every tiny monument, half the gravestones, each and every carved stone – but not that great tomb. Even if it had been overgrown, he couldn’t have missed it, it is right by the porch.’
‘Which means we are right – there is a mystery. Someone put up that tomb after 1790. Or, to be on the safe side, let’s say 1785, if Mr Humbleton toured the area a few years before publication.’
‘Who was the Rector at that time? The churchwardens? The Squire, come to that? The local people must have known what was going on, but it is hardly a church that people from surrounding parishes would have made an effort to visit.’
‘The Reverend Gilpin was Rector before Mr Finch and he died eight years ago, I think,’ Laura said. ‘I don’t know when he was appointed.’