She pointed to subtle details in the background. “Those are not simply decorative elements. That is the Isle of Avalon in the distance, and if I am not mistaken, those symbols along the water’s edge are ancient Celtic writing. Your Matteo was not just painting a pretty lady. He was enciphering the entire Arthurian cycle into a single image.”
Both men stared at her with newfound respect. Signor di Bianchi’s mouth had fallen slightly open.
“Most remarkable,” he breathed. “I confess, Miss Bigsby, while I can recognize the artistic techniques, the symbolic positioning, the use of background elements to convey meaning … I lack the specific knowledge to interpret what they represent.My expertise lies in Renaissance art methods and family history, but Arthurian legend …” He shook his head admiringly. “And I fear Lord Sebastian knows even less than I do about such matters.”
“Guilty as charged,” Lord Sebastian admitted with a rueful smile. “I can appreciate the artistry, but the deeper meaning is quite beyond me.”
“Uncle Reggie’s interests outside of his work lie in Arthurian lore,” Henri said confidently, pleased by their reaction. “It is a hobby for him, but more than that, I have connections throughout London’s political and scholarly circles. If your mystery involves old manuscripts, rare books, or historical research, I likely know someone who can assist you.” She paused. “Please,” she finally said, her voice growing more earnest. “I find myself with time on my hands for the first time in years, and I confess I am quite intrigued by what you are doing. Allow me to prove myself useful.”
Signor di Bianchi studied her face intently, then glanced at Lord Sebastian, who gave an almost imperceptible nod.
“Very well,” he said slowly. “But, Miss Bigsby, if I am to share this with you, I must have your solemn oath that you will speak of this to no one. Not your uncle, not your mother, not even your twin sister, without my express permission. What I am about to tell you could put my family’s legacy at risk if knowledge of it falls into the wrong hands. At least … it might. We have tried to be discreet.”
Henri felt a thrill of excitement mixed with trepidation. Here was exactly the sort of challenge she had been hoping for. An opportunity to prove that she could indeed be trusted with important secrets. Mama’s offhand remark about her inability to keep confidences had stung more than she cared to admit, but now she had a chance to demonstrate that she was capable of discretion when it truly mattered.
“You have my word, Signor di Bianchi,” she replied. “I swear on my honor that I will keep your confidence.”
“Then I will trust you,” Signor di Bianchi said, his tone warming. “Your perspective would indeed be valuable.” He paused, seeming to choose his words. “You see, I have reason to believe my ancestor left clues hidden in his artwork. Clues that could lead to other lost paintings of great importance to my family’s legacy.”
Henri moved closer, genuinely intrigued now. “And you think this painting contains such a clue?”
“I am certain of it.” He resumed his careful work with the handkerchief, and Henri could see that letters were becoming visible beneath the tempera. “Matteo wrote to his sister about this painting specifically, claiming it held secrets that would … how did he put it … guide the worthy to greater treasures.”
As more tempera flaked away, distinct letters emerged in the lower corner of the canvas. Henri squinted at them, her mind immediately cataloging the shapes.
“TWESROHYEERTLPEEVITEHST,” she read aloud, then frowned. “That cannot be right. It’s gibberish.”
“Perhaps it is coded,” Lord Sebastian suggested. “Or in another language?”
Henri studied the letters, unconsciously chewing her lower lip as she did when puzzling over Uncle Reggie’s more complex correspondence. The men watched her as she muttered the letters under her breath, rearranging them mentally.
“Wait,” she said suddenly, lighting up as she thought of a fresh angle to explore. “What if it is an anagram? Uncle Reggie is quite devoted to puzzles of that sort. He is always working out riddles from old manuscripts.” Her voice grew more excited. “Let me see … TWESROHYEERTLPEEVITEHST … rearranged could be … THE TOWER … No, that leaves too many letters … THE TOWER … RHYSE … no …”
She fell silent, lips moving soundlessly as she worked through combinations. Then clarity hit.
“THE TWELVE SORTS!” she exclaimed, then shook her head. “No, that is not quite right either.” She tried again. “THE TOWER … TWELVE … TOWERS … TWELVE …”
“What are you thinking?” Signor di Bianchi asked, clearly fascinated by her process.
“Uncle Reggie has made quite a study of Arthurian legend,” Henri explained, still working through the letters. “He is particularly interested in the various accounts of the Round Table and … oh!” Her eyes went wide. “THE TWELVE PEERS! No, wait …” She counted on her fingers. “THE TWELVE WORTHY … THE TWELVE … oh, bother. What’s the exact phrasing Uncle Reggie uses?”
She closed her eyes to access her memory. “He is always quoting from that treasured Caxton edition he owns … something about Arthur’s knights being the twelve most worthy … the twelve worthiest … THE TWELVE WORTHIEST PEERS!”
Signor di Bianchi and Lord Sebastian stared at her in amazement as she opened her eyes triumphantly.
“THE TWELVE WORTHIEST PEERS,” she repeated, counting out the letters on her fingers. “That’s exactly the right number of letters!”
“Incredible,” the Italian breathed. “But what could it mean?”
“It is from Malory,” Henri explained, her excitement growing. “The Twelve Worthiest Peers are mentioned inLe Morte d’Arthuras the greatest knights of the Round Table. Uncle Reggie has a beautiful Caxton early edition. He has made extensive notes and claims Caxton’s version, despite being printed rather than handwritten, preserves certain details that later editions omit.”
She hesitated as she noticed both men were staring at her with an intensity that made her suddenly self-conscious.
“What is it?” she asked.
“The Twelve Worthiest Peers,” Signor di Bianchi murmured, moving around to examine the back of the painting. “Sebastian, help me turn this over.”
Together, they lifted the painting and rotated it so Henri could see the wooden backing. The panel construction was clearly visible. Twelve individual wooden segments fitted together in a geometric pattern.
