“NESBITT!” Ford charged down the gravel path to meet his guest. “It’s been entirely too long.”
He hadn’t seen Rand since leaving Oxford. Ford’s life had changed so much that seemed ages ago, but criminy, had it been but six weeks? Regardless, his young friend’s dark blond hair looked longer, and he’d grown a mustache.
A mustache with horrendous pointy tips sticking straight out at the sides.
King Charles wore a similar mustache, but unlike Rand, their monarch had the gravity to pull it off.
Ford struggled to keep his face neutral. He’d have to call on his former schoolmate more often. Academic prodigy or not, the poor fellow clearly needed looking after.
Lord Randal Nesbitt swung off his black horse. “This had better be important, Lakefield.” His words sounded serious, but he ruined the effect by giving Ford a friendly thump on the shoulder. “So this is the place, is it?” He turned to squint up at the house.
“Well, yes.” His gaze following Rand’s, Ford shifted on his feet. “I’m planning some renovations.”
He hadn’t been, not really, since his stay here wasn’t permanent and he couldn’t afford renovations in any case—not without a significant change of lifestyle. But seeing his home through Rand’s eyes made him wonder how Violet must see it.
The paint had worn entirely off the front, leaving bare beige stone. He’d never noticed before that it was a darker color on the left half, which had been added early this century, and a lighter color on the older half. The windows were different, too—four modern ones on the new side, five mullioned ones on the Tudor portion. The house was sound, but aesthetically…
Well, it left something to be desired.
“Rand.” In an effort to draw his friend’s attention from the pitiful sight, Ford touched him on the arm. “I may have found Secrets of the Emerald Tablet.”
“Secrets of—?” Rand spun back to Ford. His steel gray eyes narrowed. “You’re jesting.”
“I’m not. At least I hope not.” He ushered Rand up the steps. “I found this book in a shop in Windsor—looked like it’d been there for ages. It has five words in the title and the alchemical symbol for gold on the first page, and it looks exactly as the book has been described. But I cannot read it. Not a word.” He led his friend through the entrance hall and into the study. “Violet’s sister—”
“Violet?”
“A neighbor.”
Rand dropped onto a faded green chair, smoothing his mustache manfully. “What happened to Tabitha?”
“She eloped with the Earl of Berrescliffe,” Ford said with an impatient gesture. Somehow it no longer seemed important. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“The way you said ‘Violet’…”
Wishing not to alienate his friend by sitting behind the massive oak desk, Ford sat himself on an iron chest against one wall. “I didn’t say ‘Violet’ any special way.”
He sounded sulky even to his own ears. Sighing inwardly, he wondered for the hundredth time today whether she would agree to come to London.
And then wondered for the hundredth time today why he cared so much.
“Come on, man,” Rand said. “You think you can fool me after all these years?” His quick grin emerged. “I know when you’re interested in a lady.”
Ford leaned back against the dark, Tudor oak paneling. “Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think.”
Rand seemed to consider that for a moment. He ran his tongue around his teeth, a contemplative habit of his that Ford remembered well.
“Bosh,” he said finally, his smile returning. ”Now, what were you saying about Lady Violet’s sister? Violet is a lady?”
“She is.” Guessing where his friend was leading, Ford sighed. “And her sister is a linguist of sorts. Her younger sister,” he added in a warning tone, noting the interest that lit Rand’s eyes.
He knew Rand every bit as well as Rand knew him.
“How young?” Rand asked, sitting up straighter. He was Ford’s junior by four years—a brilliant student who had entered Wadham College early, while, due to his family’s exile, Ford had started late.
“Fifteen,” Ford said. “And a sheltered country miss.” Though accurate, the description somehow didn’t fit Rose.
“And me only just turned nineteen—that’s not so big an age difference. A woman can marry at twelve with her father’s consent.”
Ford thought of Jewel just six years hence. “A girl of twelve is not a woman.”
“Fair enough.” Rand reclined in his chair, propping one foot on the opposite knee. “So what of this sister?”
“She knows a language or three, you see, and she examined the book.” Ford rose, crossing to the desk to retrieve it. “She noticed a word she thought was Italian. For silver,” he added significantly as he opened the bottom drawer.
“And that was enough to make you decide it was Secrets of the Emerald Tablet?”
“You think me so simple-minded?” He handed the book to Rand, then sat again on the iron chest. “The moment I saw this book, I suspected it might be the one. Besides the book’s appearance and the clues on the title page, it includes diagrams that are clearly scientific. Other than that, though, I couldn’t really say why I think this is it. It just…feels right,” he added, suddenly feeling foolish.
He’d always trusted facts over feelings. Until now, at least.
“It does look quite ancient.” Rand turned the book in his hands, then opened it gingerly, reverently, as such an old book deserved. “You know, Old English is so different from what we speak today, it might as well be a foreign language.”
“But I would still recognize a word here or there, wouldn’t I? Rose—Violet’s sister—thought it might be several different languages. And patterns.” His fingers worried the decorative metal strips on the chest. “I’m thinking it might be a code.”
Rand looked up. “What is in there?” he asked abruptly, indicating the old iron chest.
“I don’t know. It belonged to the previous owners.” Ford looked ruefully at the heavy lock. The key was missing, so it would have to be hacked off with an ax. One of the many things he had yet to get around to doing here at Lakefield.
“Don’t you wonder if it holds something valuable?”
“They wouldn’t have left it had it contained anything valuable. Do you see anything else they left around here that was worth keeping?”
Scanning the shabby room, Rand laughed. “You have a point.”
Ford wasn’t at all handy with an ax, and the book was much more important. “Rose said some of the lines are written backwards. And the letters are mirror images.”
“Etruscan,” Rand said, glancing back down.
“Pardon?”
“Etruscan. A dead language. The people who spoke it lived in what eventually became Italy.”
“Raymond Lully, the author, lived in Italy for some time.”
Rand nodded thoughtfully. “The Etruscans wrote left to right and then right to left on successive lines, with the letters facing backwards and forwards.” He kept turning pages as he talked. “Etruscan is phonetic and easy to read aloud, but no one’s ever managed to puzzle out the words’ meanings.”
Ford’s spirits plummeted. “Does that mean you won’t be able to identify the book?”
“Not at all.” Rand looked up with a grin. “Your ladylove’s sister was right.”
Violet wasn’t Ford’s ladylove, but in his rising excitement, he decided to let the annoying quip slide. “Right about what?”
“About it being many languages. I’ve noticed two or three ancient words here—ones I can read. But not together. I believe you’re correct that it may be a code.”
“And we both know how good you are at cracking those, to Alban’s vexation.” Alban, Rand’s older brother, had been cruel to him as a boy. Rand had retaliated by constantly outsmarting him. “How is dear old Alban these days?”
“I don’t know, actually,” Rand said, his eyes still on the book. “I haven’t been home in over a year.”
“I see.” Averse to the unpleasant company of his father and brother, Rand had often spent university holidays with Ford’s family instead. Apparently matters hadn’t improved. But Ford decided not to pry, knowing it was a sensitive subject.
He rose and moved to stand over Rand, leaning down to turn back to the first page. “Can you read the title?”
Rand stared at the words for a moment, then frowned. “If this is a code, it’s a tough one.” He looked up, shutting the book. “Give me some time, man. Can you not feed a fellow before taxing his brain?”
As if on cue, Hilda walked in, holding a folded piece of paper.
“We’ve another for supper,” Ford told her.
“And what makes you think I can provide with no notice?” She walked closer, scrutinizing their guest’s healthy physique. “I suppose you eat as heartily as this one?” she asked, indicating Ford.
Rand grinned. ”Doubtless.”
With an exaggerated sniff, she held out the paper to Ford. “Here, I came to give you this.” When he took it, she added, “I’ll bring your visitor some refreshments. For goodness sake, milord, you haven’t offered him so much as a drink.”
“Charming woman,“ Rand remarked when she had left.
Ford shrugged. “She came with the house. Besides, she’s a kitten under the gruff exterior. Read this, will you?” He handed Rand the paper and went to the cabinet where he kept brandy.
While he poured, Rand unfolded the paper. “‘Dear Lord Lakefield, The Ashcroft family would be honored to have you and Lady Jewel as our guests for supper this evening. If we do not receive your regrets, we shall expect you at seven o’clock. Yours sincerely, Lady Trentingham.’”
Ford handed Rand his drink. “You’ll come along, of course. I’ll have Harry take a note to warn them of the extra guest. Hilda will be relieved.”
“Lady Jewel?” Rand sipped, his glance speculative over the cup’s rim. “Another woman? Lady Violet isn’t enough?”
“Violet isn’t my woman,” Ford said irritably. ”And Jewel is my niece. Long story.”
Rand settled back. “I’m waiting to hear it.”