“What is it?” Violet asked.
“It’s odd, that’s all. That one word appeared to be Italian, but others aren’t. There are letters here that are foreign to me, and here”—she looked up—“look at this line, here.”
Both Ford and Violet scooted closer, their chair legs rasping on the carpet. “Yes?” Ford prompted.
“This line is written backwards. Even the letters are backwards, like in a mirror. And then this line here”—she drew a graceful finger along some text—“has no strange letters at all.” In her enthusiasm, her voice had lost its deliberate seductive quality. “The writing is a bit faded and more than a bit smeared, but all readable, you see?”
Violet shook her head. “I cannot read it.”
“You cannot comprehend it,” Rose corrected. “But you recognize the letters, don’t you?”
“It may be a code,” Ford realized suddenly.
“Different languages and patterns. You may be right.” Rose looked up at him, her dark eyes excited. Her face looked younger. “Violet said this could be an important book. Was the book you’re looking for written in code?”
“I never considered it before, but it could have been.” The book had been rumored to be difficult to read. If he were recording priceless secrets, he’d be tempted to do so in code.
And he knew someone who was very good at cracking codes.
“If it’s a code,” Violet asked her sister, “do you think you could puzzle it out?”
Rose shook her head regretfully. “I’m afraid not. There are too few words I recognize.”
“And none in the title?” Violet pushed.
“None.” Rose turned to Ford. “I’m sorry.”
She looked sincere and capable, and although she didn’t hold the same appeal as her older sister, he liked her much more than he’d thought. “That’s quite all right,” he told her, offering a smile. “You’ve actually helped a lot—”
“Where is Jewel?” Rowan interrupted, running into the room.
“At home,” Ford said. “With her new friend Harry.”
“I’m her new friend.” Jewel would positively preen if she saw Rowan’s pout. “Is she in your laboratory?”
“She’d better not be.”
“You said we could go into the laboratory today. You promised.”
“Rowan—” Violet started.
“He’s right,” Ford cut in.
He had promised. And at Lakefield, it would be easier to get Violet alone.
Just to talk to her, of course. To apologize for however he’d managed to offend her yesterday.
Rising, he closed the small leather book. “I did promise,” he reminded her. “And a Chase promise is not given lightly. You’ll come along, won’t you?”
Her hesitation wasn’t encouraging.
“Lord Lakefield…” Rose’s voice was back to its practiced purr. “What is your laboratory like?”
“Messy,” he said shortly. She was plainly angling for an invitation, but he wasn’t at all tempted to offer one. Then he noticed Violet was scowling at her sister.
That was much more encouraging.
He graced Rose with another of his famous smiles, adding, “Perhaps sometime I’ll show you.”
“I’ll come along,” Violet blurted.
Very encouraging, indeed.
TWENTY-FOUR
“IT’S UP HERE, Violet.”
“I’m coming.” Violet followed her brother up the dark, square staircase and then up some more, the old wood creaking all the way to the attic.
They walked through a corridor lined with books—not the handsome leather-bound volumes that filled the Ashcrofts’ impressive library, but books that were clearly well read, jumbled haphazardly on plain shelves. Science books, she assumed.
From what she had seen, which granted was only part of the ground floor and now this attic, it seemed Lakefield didn’t boast a proper library. If she were mistress here, she would remedy that.
But of course that was never to be. Just being in this place reminded her of how much money Ford needed to fix it. He was going to have to marry for money, and she would never let that happen to her.
At the end of the corridor, Rowan stepped into a room. As Jewel scampered past him, he waved an expansive arm in a very grown-up way. “Look.”
The single word was uttered in an awed tone. Entering the laboratory, Violet could see why.
Ford’s workroom was housed in a gigantic open space. Beneath a steeply pitched ceiling of raw beams that exposed the stone-tiled roof above, a profusion of paraphernalia lived in charming confusion. Under the single shuttered window, a jumble of gears and other parts sat among an army of watches and clocks. Their ill-timed ticks filled the air, sounding like hundreds of scampering mice.
“Incredible,” she said. There was no other word to describe it.
Ford opened a drawer and took out a shallow pan. “It’s nothing compared to my laboratory at Cainewood. Or Charles’s laboratory—the man has at least six of everything.”
She didn’t doubt it. King Charles was known to take his scientific pursuits very seriously and indeed had chartered the Royal Society. She’d heard he attended the regular meetings.
Just then, the clocks began chiming, as badly timed as their ticks, and she burst out laughing at the absurdity of it all. How anyone could accomplish anything in this chaos was beyond her comprehension.
“Look at this,” Rowan said, pulling a heavy red book off a shelf. He shoved aside a mortar and pestle to set the book on a table, then opened it with great ceremony. Flipping several pages, he stopped on one and unfolded a large diagram.
She blinked. “What is that?”
“A spider,” he said gleefully. “Like the one we scared you with.”
Jewel snickered and moved close.
Violet slanted her brother a dubious glance. “That doesn’t look like any spider I’ve ever seen.”
“It’s as seen under a microscope.” He pointed to an instrument across the room, a handsome specimen of chased brass. “The book is called Micrographia.” Pronouncing the word carefully, he turned to a random page, and the children leaned over the sketches.
They all stared at the patterns of tiny squares and holes. Jewel scratched her head. “What is it?”
“‘Cork and other such frothy bodies,’” Violet read. “Fascinating, isn’t it?” Even more fascinating than the pictures was her brother’s animated face. He treated lessons as a chore; she’d never seen him show interest in anything academic.
“Look at this,” he said, unfolding another large
