“Much like our military have not heard Damaris’s name before, even thoughshewas the one who invented the cipher that helped to win the war. Your ancestor was just as unscrupulous a liar as you are.”
Northrup paled, his nostrils flaring. “How dare you suggest—”
“She’s not ‘suggesting’ anything,” Tommy snapped. “Your general justprovedyou haven’t the least notion how to read a cipher you allegedly created.”
All eyes swung back to Captain Northrup.
“That doesn’t prove anything about my ancestor,” Northrup said quickly. “Sir Reginald was well respected and known throughout his parish.”
“Indeed.” Damaris reached into the basket and pulled out the old letters and yellowed diary Graham had unearthed. “Known as a particularly heartless landlord and bully, whose only use for his cousin was to siphon her inheritance and steal her credit as an artist.”
“See here,” said Northrup. “Who cares if he had outside help? Even the great Renaissance masters had apprentices.”
“You just said Sir Reginald penned every stroke himself,” Sybil called out. “Which is it?”
Northrup waved his hand impatiently. “I said it because it’s true. If there were any evidence to the contrary, it would have been found long before now. Sir Reginald deserves to be honored as the namesake of the grand Northrup Salon at the Royal Military Academy.”
“There absolutely ought to be a grand Northrup Salon,” Damaris agreed. “But not for him. For the splendid female artist MissAgnesNorthrup. She and her partner were the ones who created the chivalric tales.”
“As I said,” Northrup ground out. “If you had proof—”
Philippa gestured to an empty table. “If we might use that surface for a demonstration?”
The young footman Philippa and Tommy had passed in the corridor rushed forward to brush the spotless table with a handkerchief.
Damaris placed her uncle’s illuminated manuscript on its side, spine facing the onlookers. “Volume one.”
Philippa carried the heavy basket over to the table and removed its contents one by one. “Volume two, volume three, and volume four.”
“How on earth did you amass a complete collection?” Brigadier-General Boswick narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “We purchased all privately held copies, barring the handful owned by conspicuous organizations who—”
“Never mind,” Philippa said quickly. “How is irrelevant. What is important is that all sets are signed by the artists.”
“They are?” Northrup paled. “I mean, that’s wonderful. Point out my ancestor’s signature and we will put paid to this pageantry at once.”
Philippa turned the pile of perfectly aligned manuscripts so that their edges faced the audience.
“Adorable,” Northrup said with a roll of his eyes. “So clever, the way the little flourishes are only complete when nestled against their partner. But it hardly proves—”
“They’re letters,” Damaris said. “Fancy ones, so pretty that it’s easy to miss the truth. The lines without leaves and petals are the lines of the letter. Do you see this A?”
“There are multiple,” Lady Eunice called out. “I can see two A’s.”
Damaris pointed each one out for the crowd.
“I can see them, too!” several guests called out.
“I think I see aK,” said another lady.
Philippa nodded. “The five-by-three grid has no spaces, but the message it spells out is simple enough. Even Captain Northrup must see it.”
Brigadier-General Boswick cleared his throat. “It says, ‘Agnes & Katherine.’”
The crowd gasped.
Sweat beaded upon Northrup’s brow. “You painted this on yourself. Youaddedit, to try and humiliate me!”
Philippa shook her head. “These four come from different sets, and they match perfectly.Allthe Northrup volumes are likely signed in this manner. With the unique signature of the original artists, Agnes Northrup and Katherine Claybourne.”
