I cannot bear the thought of becoming one of those purposeless spinsters who fill their days with embroidery and gossip.
Henri turned from the window and surveyed the familiar study with new eyes—the walls lined with political treatises and parliamentary papers, the desk where she had drafted letters that influenced the course of legislation, the comfortable chairs where cabinet ministers had confided their concerns and sought Uncle Reggie’s counsel. Would it all disappear when he retired? Would she find herself relegated to managing household accounts and supervising the servants?
There must be something worthwhile I can accomplish while he is away.
Her gaze fell upon a stack of catalogs and circulars that had accumulated in his absence. Publishers’ announcements, auction house listings, invitations to lectures at the Royal Society—the sort of material that usually received cursoryattention when more pressing matters demanded their time. Perhaps she could sort through them, identify anything that might interest him upon his return.
Henri settled back into the chair and began working through the pile. Most of it was exceedingly dull, as she had expected— advertisements for improving agricultural implements, announcements of new novels that Uncle Reggie would never have time to read, notices of parliamentary papers available for purchase. But near the bottom of the stack, she found a leather-bound catalog from Leigh and Sotheby’s that made her pause.
Henri opened the catalog with mild curiosity, expecting to find the usual assortment of classical texts and historical documents that serious collectors favored. The early listings confirmed her expectations with decorated books of biblical psalms, chronicles of the Crusades, and philosophical treatises in Latin and Greek. But as she turned the pages, one entry caught her attention as her mouth dropped open in startled realization.
Lot 128: The Hoole Book of Kyng Arthur and of His Noble Knyghtes of the Rounde Table. Manuscript. Attributed to Sir Thomas Malory. Vellum. Late 15th century. Written in the author’s hand in Middle English, with unique variant readings not found in printed editions. An extraordinary survival from the medieval period, offering insights into Malory’s original conception of the Arthurian legends. Provenance unknown. Estimate: £2,000–£3,000.
Henri stared at the description, her heart beginning to race with sudden excitement. The author’s hand. In Middle English. Not a copy, but Malory’s original manuscript!
She thought immediately of the sketch, of the coded letters and numbers that had defied all their attempts at interpretationusing Uncle Reggie’s Caxton edition. What if they had been using the wrong key entirely? What if the code could only be unlocked using Malory’s original words, written in the medieval English that predated Caxton’s printed version? When Matteo di Bianchi had drawn that sketch three hundred years ago, there would have been more of Malory’s original works available.
Henri checked the auction date listed on the catalog’s cover. January 28, 1822. Six days hence. Her mind began calculating rapidly. If she wanted to examine the manuscript before it disappeared into some private collector’s library, she would need to act quickly. But Sir Alpheus Danbury was notoriously reclusive, unlikely to welcome unexpected visitors during the busy period preceding such an important sale. Friday the 25th would be the fitting day for a social call. Close enough to the auction that the household would be preparing, but not so close as to be intrusive.
Henri closed the catalog and rose from the chair, her earlier lethargy completely forgotten. For the first time in weeks, she had discovered something that demanded her immediate attention, a puzzle worthy of her intelligence and skills. The prospect of solving Signor di Bianchi’s mystery, of proving that she could be trusted with important secrets, filled her with an energy she had not felt since the coronation.
I must speak with Signor di Bianchi immediately.
Henri quickly collected her pelisse and gloves, donning them as she called for her carriage to be sent to the front. She needed to return home at once to arrange a meeting. She made the journey back to her family’s estate with Miss Dulwich, her mind racing with the implications of her discovery.
Once home, Henri slipped out through the shared garden that connected her family’s property with the neighboring estate. The January air was bitter, making her shiver despite the thick wool of her pelisse as she hurried along the gravel path,her thoughts focused entirely on the opportunity at hand. If the Malory manuscript unlocked Matteo’s code, it could change everything for Signor di Bianchi.
She spotted him through the windows of the baron’s library, bent over a book with his characteristic concentration. Henri picked up a handful of small stones and tossed them gently against the glass, a signal she and her sister had used as children to summon Simon out when discreet communication was necessary. The Italian looked up, startled, then moved to exit the terrace doors and peer down at her from the terrace balustrade.
“Miss Bigsby? What brings you out in such weather?”
“I must speak with you urgently,” Henri called softly, glancing around to ensure they were not observed. “Can you meet me by the walled garden?”
He nodded and disappeared inside. Henri hurried to the shared garden, where the large stone urn that had served as a landmark during their first meeting stood sentinel among the bare rosebushes and the Roman gods casting long shadows in silent observation. Within minutes, Signor di Bianchi emerged through the gateway, wrapped in a heavy greatcoat against the cold.
“You seem excited,” he observed, his dark eyes studying her flushed face with curiosity. “Has something happened?”
“I believe I have found the key to your ancestor’s puzzle,” Henri said without preamble, withdrawing the auction catalog from beneath her pelisse. “Look at this. Lot 128.”
He accepted the catalog and read the description she indicated, his expression growing animated as he absorbed the implications. When he looked up, his eyes held the same intensity she had observed before their failed attempt to decipher the sketch.
“Madonna mia,” he breathed. “This could be exactly what we need. But how can we examine it? The auction is only six days away.”
“Sir Alpheus Danbury is an acquaintance of Uncle Reggie’s,” Henri explained, her words tumbling out in her excitement. “I could call upon him under the pretense of expressing Uncle’s interest in the collection. Friday would be the ideal day. Saturday will be insensitive, but Friday is early enough to avoid the final preparations for the auction.”
The Italian’s brow furrowed with concern. “But would he allow you to examine such a valuable manuscript? And more importantly, would he permit you to test our theory using the sketch?”
Henri felt a flutter of nervousness as she considered the delicacy of her request. “That brings me to a question I must ask of you. I need to take the sketch with me.”
“Che cosa?” His voice sharpened with alarm. “Miss Bigsby, that sketch is irreplaceable. If something were to happen to it …”
“Nothing will happen to it,” Henri assured him, though she understood his reluctance. “But consider the alternative. This may be our only opportunity to see the Hoole manuscript before it vanishes into some private collection. If we wait until after the auction, we may never have another chance.”
“But surely I could accompany you? If we explained the situation to Sir Alpheus …”
Henri shook her head firmly. “Sir Alpheus is extremely particular about his visitors. He is elderly, set in his ways, and has very specific ideas about proper social conduct. An unexpected visit from a stranger would likely result in our being turned away without so much as a glimpse of his library.”
She paused, choosing her next words carefully. “Furthermore, I must be frank with you. Sir Alpheus belongs to a generation that holds certain … traditional views aboutforeigners. Your Italian heritage, however distinguished, might unfortunately work against us in securing his cooperation.”
