I rubbed a hand over my face. The woman would be the death of me. I walked further into the hall and turned into the drawing room. The one lamp shone at the back of the room, where the chalkboard stood with the logarithm written out across the top. I walked slowly over to it. I felt positive I had seen this precise piece of work before. It could not be a Mr Turner original. I studied the numbers and read the small passage underneath.
Fear them not therefore: for there is nothing covered that shall not be revealed; and hid, that shall not be known.
What I tell you in darkness, speak ye in light: and what ye hear in the ear, preach ye upon the housetops.
And fear not them, which kill the body, but are not able to kill the soul: but rather fear Him, which is able to destroy both soul and body in hell.
I had found the Cipher. I felt sure to the marrow of my bones. It lay hidden here, written out on the chalkboard behind me the whole time, in plain sight. Excitement rose in my stomach. I turned quickly, searching for my travelling writing case. In my haste I jolted my arm.
Freya found me wincing and holding back a number of choice curses. She shook her head and set a tray with porridge and a teapot onto the table next to my favourite chair. “Please try tae take it easy fur once. Captain, nae shame in having a rest. I am sure the barber will be around this morning tae take wee look at yer bandages.”
I wanted to shout at her in my excitement to start work on the cipher and decode Turner’s diary. Instead I walked over to my seat and tried to become comfortable with her fussing over everything. I grabbed her hand when she tried to unfurl the napkin over my legs. “I am perfectly capable, as you can see, I still have use of one arm.”
Sniffing, Freya left the room and I began to shovel hot porridge into my mouth, burning my tongue in the process. I needed to wait a few minutes for the pain to ease before tucking back into breakfast. I would reveal all of Mr Turner’s secrets in due course. I finished a cup of tea to clear the tray and set it aside. Looking forward to spending the rest of the afternoon unravelling some of Markinch’s secrets. I had just leaned over to pick up my writing desk when the bell for the front door rang out.
Freya shouted something from the back of the cottage and I waited for her to answer the portal, exchange friendly greetings and usher the barber into the drawing room. The man beamed his approval at my leisurely state. I narrowed my eyes in response.
“Captain, I checked at the Thistle fur ye this morning and found ye hae up and gone.” He bustled into the room and set his familiar leather case on the couch opposite my chair. “I am happy tae see ye are recovered enough to move from bed.”
I bit back an impatient retort and let the man inspect the bandage. He hummed cheerfully under his breath. Freya watching every move he made, while I stared at the rope around the beam in the ceiling. After several minutes the barber gave his verdict. “I believe it is healing nicely. I will refrain from changing the bandage fur another few days, though I think ye should wear a sling.”
Taking one look at my mutinous expression, Freya steered the barber from the room gently, picking up his case on the way. I only heard the beginning of the conversation. “I think the Captain can manage fine without one. I will be here all day tae make sure he does nae engage in any strenuous activities.”
The front door clicked shut and Freya bustled in once again to clear the tray. “Ye know, Captain, if ye insist on getting yerself intae these scrapes. Ye will hae tae learn tae live with the consequences.” She stood after imparting the sage advice and walked from the room.
Getting shot and falling into a bog were not my first intentions upon arrival in Markinch. I thought sourly. The woman thought I fell into scrapes on purpose in order to make my life more difficult, or perhaps she thought I tried to make her life more difficult. Either way, I could finally look forward to an afternoon spent in quiet revelations with the help of the logarithm. I turned in my seat to look at the numbers once again.
A small rapping on the front door hardly interrupted my thoughts, the damned barber must be back to hassle me. I used my good hand to retrieve a piece of blank paper and reached for a new quill. I did not want old thinking in the way of my new discovery. I read the numbers in sequence over a few times. Sure I had come across the configuration before. It would come to me if I sat quietly for a moment and relaxed, the dull pain in my arm acting as a centre.
“Captain,” the slightly nervous Scots lilt cut through my thoughts as cleanly as the bullet went through my flesh. “I heard of yer unfortunate accident and I thought ye might enjoy reading another pamphlet.” I turned in my seat to face Philomena who came through the door and watched me, as a bird might a cat.
Sighing, this morning I felt doomed to entertain every person who casually walked by the cottage. I damned the mysterious shooter for not only injuring me, but also making me an object of focus after potentially discovering the key to the whole mystery. I held out my hand to indicate the sofa. “Please sit, you are most welcome, Miss Phil.” I stumbled not to say the rest of her name.
Phil beamed a smile and for a moment I felt its heat on my skin and sat back as she handed me a folded broadsheet. She explained while I clumsily opened it with one hand and inspected the illustrations. “It is an explanation of Jethro Tull’s seed drill, an interesting device. I know yer interest in steam engines, Captain, and I thought this might interest ye. Tull is a bit of a maverick, I gather. He wanted tae improve the common seed drill used in his fields tae make them more efficient. He used the foot pedals from his local church’s organ tae distribute the seeds in a much more even fashion. If you follow the first illustration . . .” finished with her short prelude. Phil sat back on the sofa, as Freya came to the doorway.
“I thought I heard someone in here, Miss Philomena, how neighbourly of ye tae visit the captain while he is indisposed.” Freya brought in a tea tray laden with scones and jam and I briefly wondered why I usually settled with oat biscuits.
“Naturally after I heard of the captain’s injury. I thought tae bring him some reading material tae alleviate the boredom of remaining indoors.” Phil smiled after hearing my loud sniff from behind the broadsheet. “I shall nae be staying tae long, these do look scrumptious.”
Freya hummed under her breath as she left the drawing room. Her happiness at Phil’s comment making her steps light, and why should it not? It came from a genuine assessment of the tea and scones. I wondered why I never thought to say something as simple.
“Shall I pour the tea?” Phil made the statement as she delicately lifted the pot from the tray. I tried not to show my impatience as she handed me a cup and saucer. “Ye appear a bit on edge, Captain. I suppose it is tae be expected after yer accident yesterday.”
“It was hardly a damned accident.” Some of the tea splashed over the rim of my cup. “Some bounder shot me and I am positive he did it on purpose.” I looked over my shoulder at the chalkboard and down at the blank paper resting on the travelling writing case. “I must apologise, not only for my recent behaviour. The other day I behaved abruptly with you and for no reason other than my own nervous speculations.”
Phil frowned more than smiled at me. “The blame lies with me. I now realise we nae hae a close enough acquaintance for me tae be snooping through yer papers, asking impertinent questions.” Phil sighed and took a sip of the hot tea. “Every time I come intae this room, filled with maths. I suppose I find it magical.” She finished with a blush.
“You have an inquisitive mind, there is no shame in it.” I tried to console her. I knew how it felt to want to know how things worked. What made them tick? A thought made me sit up a bit straighter. “Phil, do you recognise the numbers written out on the board behind me? I am sure they belong to a logarithm of some variety, yet I cannot place where I might have seen them before.”
Setting her cup and saucer down, Phil studied the numbers for a minute. Her brow furrowed in concentration. Her shoulders sagged and I thought she might be giving up, when a light lit
her features and she turned her bright eyes to me once again in triumph. “I believe it is John Napier’s logarithm ‘e’, or what he refers to as the natural logarithm.”
I stood up to make a closer inspection of the numbers running in a line. I nodded and turned my head to look at her in approval. “I think you have it, Phil. You are quite right. I could not place the numbers, even though I felt quite certain of seeing them before. This must be the code I have been searching for.”
Phil stared back at me. I felt uncertainty roll in waves from her body. She wanted to show interest, yet she held back after her previous experience. I could let her in. Her clever wits might prove useful, yet a knot in my stomach urged caution. I made a quick decision. “I have made some discoveries, Phil, and I must admit. I was not fully honest with you. Would you like to know of them?”
“I would be greatly honoured if ye shared yer knowledge with me.” Phil took her cup up once again and drained it. “Nae since my days away at finishing school did I hae a person tae speak of science with. I am afraid Markinch is nae bustling hub of scientific research.”
Sitting back down, I faced Phil and gathered my thoughts. “First I apologise for throwing you out the other day.” I picked up Turner’s diary from the floor next to the chair and, taking a deep breath, I handed it to her. “You were correct, this is a diary in code. It is not however mine, and I believe it belonged to Mr Turner.”
Looking from my face to the book in her hands, Phil opened it carefully to reveal the now familiar rows of numbers inching across the page in perfect uniformity. Running her finger from the top to the bottom of the page. “It is an amazing piece of work.” She flipped through a few pages. “And ye hae tried tae use all the popular methods of ciphers, the Caesar, the date method . . .” Her voice trailed away as I nodded.
“This script has frustrated me since my recovery from the incident in the bog. The persistent rumours I heard of Mr Turner’s involvement with the deaths of the McKinneys drove me to find a key to his words. I hope to find answers to many questions in there.” I nodded towards the book. “Only this morning I looked at the logarithm and thought it might act to decode the mystery.”
Phil let my excitement infuse her face before she looked down, her expression hidden by the top of her head, a neat part in her hair running from her forehead beyond. In a small voice she continued. “Do ye believe he might hae written of his motives fur ending his life?” Her eyes darted to the rope a few feet away. “I dinnae think I could believe he killed the McKinneys. He nae appeared tae be the sort of man tae resort tae violence.”
I leaned back in the chair and carefully studied Phil’s expression as she looked back up, choosing my words with care. “Many times in the army, fighting. I witnessed a sudden transformation take over a man. If he believed he might be in mortal danger. He would commit acts he never dreamt of in his life.” The stark truth, even I committed acts of savagery and barbarity, as Beathan said yesterday. I single-handedly took out a militia command while they supped. It was a minor miracle none of the men I attacked died, too focused on my main target to care of their lives.
Phil looked small on the couch. She appeared to be running my words through her highly tuned brain, looking for all the things I said and did not say. I did not think much escaped her notice. Her shoulders squared and she looked me directly in the eye. “Where do we start, Captain? I am ready tae face the worst.”
Picking up the blank piece of paper once more, Phil helped to place the writing case on my knees between us and opened the inkpot. I turned to her. Her face hovered close to mine in order to study the opened diary numbers. “With the same method I have used for dismissing the rest of the ciphers, as based on a process of scientific elimination.”
I wrote the alphabet out over the top of the page as Phil watched. I could feel her excitement over sharing an interest with someone and I realised for a moment she must be bored living up here in Markinch, away from her friends. As I wrote out the numbers of the logarithm, I asked. “Why do you not spend more time in Edinburgh? I have heard it is a veritable hotbed of scientific learning. You might join a society?”
“There hae been many times I hae thought a move tae Edinburgh might be best.” Phil sighed and looked across the room and out the window into the cloudless sky. “We hae a townhouse and it is hardly used. Faither hates town. I think because of Mother. I feel as if I am abandoning him every time I contemplate leaving.”
“Magnus appears to be the most indulgent of fathers,” I looked up at her after finishing writing out the code. “He seems only to want you to be happy. Surely he will not go without company with Beathan and Tavish around the place? You never know. You might find a man with the same interests.”
Phil’s eyes squinted for a moment and she studied me with an air of intensity. “I hope my brother did nae put this bug in yer ear and if he did I would like tae remind ye of yer lack of subtle persuasive skills.” She focused on the scrap of paper and used a slender ink-stained hand to slant it towards her.
We both stared at the paper. Looking at the numbers and letters whose discovery might lead to the unravelling of secrets to recent events.
A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
2 7 1 8 2 8 1 8 2 8 4 5 9 0 4 5 2 3 5 3 6 0 2 8 7 4
Clearing my throat, I reminded myself to never mention eligible young men or marriage in Phil’s presence again. “I surmised previously the cipher would have a sequence of the same numbers. Rather than allocating two numbers for some of the letters, as you can see in the book.” I lifted the journal. “The frequency of some of the numbers is too obvious.”
“Well done, Captain,” Phil shifted in her seat and looked up into my face, her over-large eyes pinning me where I sat. I felt encouragement radiate from her. She reached for the travelling case. “Shall I take over the writing duties fur the next portion and ye can call out the numbers? This way ye can make sure I am nae writing the incorrect letter down.”
I reluctantly gave up the writing case. It was the only item I owned over which I felt possessive. I never let anyone use it, yet watching her place it on her dainty knees. It looked comfortable, as if the case waited for Phil to take it up and carry on my work. I shook my head and handed over the inkpot. “Let us begin?”
I used the last page of letters, speaking each number succinctly while Phil dutifully searched through and found the corresponding letter. The whole proceeded slowly because each number corresponded with at least two letters, yet we patiently worked through until I read out all the numbers on the last page.
“Now the real work begins.” Phil grimaced at the mess of neat letters on the page in her own elegant script. She opened the lid of the travelling desk and carefully lifted another piece of blank paper from inside and set it next to the page full of letters. “I think we should work on it line by line,” Phil patted the place next to her on the sofa.
Without thinking I stood and sat next to her, my larger frame towered over hers on the sofa. She was such a delicate woman. I worried I might crush her with my clumsiness. Yet she shuffled closer, so our thighs met under our protective clothing. The heat of her skin burned through and I shuffled an inch away for safety. She appeared completely unaffected by the contact. Already solving the first words of the sentence. She wrote down alternative spellings until a sentence formed. The effect of her closeness made it difficult to concentrate, even over something I had worked on for days.
“Nae tae give myself the credit, yet I think we might hae the first sentence of our cipher.” Phil lifted her eyes to mine, excitement over the accomplishment shone in them. I looked down at her and the rest of the room melted away for a second. A pull I never experienced before urged my head lower until it remained only an inch from hers. I thought I would kiss her. Phil gulped down a nervous breath and the spell broke. I studied the first sentence to cover my clumsiness. I read it aloud. “Again today I watched Logan question the McKinney grain farmers.” I stopped at the end of t
he sentence, the last words hung in the air, leaving me hungry for more information.
Looking over at Phil, the dimness in her eyes indicated deep thought as she stared out the window. I wished to intrude on her private musings. A strange desire to know her thoughts nudged forward my curiosity. “Do you know these farmers? Do you know of them?”
Phil glanced back at me. I could tell from her hooded eyes that she carefully constructed her answer. “I know a minor scandal broke in the community when the McKinneys commenced purchasing their grain from a farmer down south. Scotch in Markinch hae always been made with grain from Markinch.” She smiled at me for a moment before retreating back into memories. “Markinch may be a backwater Highlands village tae ye, Captain, however we are a loyal bunch as it happens. Even when the auld Laird died in battle, we nae drove his kin away. We took care of them until they could stand on their own. We hae principles.”
I thought of the old clan system in Scotland; it appeared it still lived, though turbulent times might see it broken, even here in Markinch where no Laird ruled. “What happened with the McKinneys and the grain?”
Phil wrinkled her forehead in thought. “I dinnae pay much attention at the time. Idle village gossip, yet now with everything ending in such a miserable fashion.” She took a deep breath. “I think I remember Tavish mentioning the McKinneys even stopped having the grain milled down at Deoch, thought they could get it cheaper.” She glanced back at my face. “Scotch is a craft, Captain. It takes patience and an understanding of science, though my brother might tell ye it’s all gut feeling. Everyone thought the McKinneys might be protecting their trade. I dinnae know what would hae interested Logan.”
Scotch Rising Page 16
