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 the 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.”
Having experienced two sides of the man. “What do you know of Logan?”
Leaning back on the sofa, Phil rested her head on a cushion whose height only reached my shoulders. “I only know what everyone else knows. His bloodline meant he should have been the Laird. A twist of fate stripped him of his position. Now he works at Deoch. I know Tavish resents him fur replacing him, yet Beathan comments on how hard a worker he is, stirs up loyalist trouble every now and again.”
“It’s a dangerous time to have loyalist tendencies other than to Her Majesty.” I made the statement firm. I did not want Phil to have any illusions where my ultimate loyalty lay. “The Crown will not suffer any advances by the Stuarts. They have given up their right to the monarchy, nor those who support him.”
The silence between us stretched. The only sound our breathing and the crackling from the fire. Not offended by my fierce loyalty, Phil studied my profile. I looked for words to offset the harshness of my first statement, yet I found I could not say them. The Crown always found traitors and after witnessing traitors’ deaths. I would warn any over engaging in foolish activities.
“Captain, yer loyalty tae yer country must be applauded. None seeing ye would ever doubt it.” Phil took a deep breath. “You fought fur yer country in the New World, however, I would hope ye would hae a wee understanding fur the loyalty us Scots feel towards our own people.”
I could understand yet. “Our countries have long been united under one monarch, yet you struggle with what you believe is servitude under the English throne. When it was a Scot who came from Edinburgh to take up the post left by a childless English monarch. It is the Scots who must look to join with us.”
The frown on Phil’s face deepened and I braced for a blistering retort when Freya stepped into the room. I have never been so happy to see her, smiling at the cosy picture we made. “I hae a nice brace of lamb fur luncheon. Would ye care tae join the captain?”
Phil glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. “I am afraid, Freya, I must hae lost track of the time. We were so engrossed in our work.” She looked at me and I knew the real reason behind her departure. “I must be back up at the castle for luncheon, otherwise Faither will worry over my absence.” She stood and straightened the tartan over her shoulder.
“Thank you, Phil, for all your help today. I would never have remembered where I saw the logarithm before and your help with the cipher could provide some very important clues.” I tried to make my speech as heartfelt as possible. I knew I offended her with not understanding her loyalty to her country.
“Of course, Captain, perhaps we could work together on another problem. Scotland and England working together as equals. A novel scheme indeed.” She turned and nodded to Freya. “A good day tae ye. I can see myself out.”
I listened with Freya in the drawing room as Phil fetched her cape, and shut the door behind her. Out the window I watched as she fitted her gloves onto her small hands. Tugging them tight before wrapping the fur-lined cape further around her slender frame and walking out of the small front yard and into the road.
Freya watched the other woman go, a curious expression on her face, before looking back at me. “It is a shame she can nae stay fur luncheon, such a nice piece of roast. It would be nice tae hae a woman around the house. Might encourage ye tae use the dining table rather than the drawing room.”
Interpreting the look on Freya’s face as one I saw many times before on those of the matchmaking mamas of London society. I could not suppress a shudder. I felt caged in the small drawing room, thankful of Phil’s speedy departure. “Miss Philomena’s company is enviable, however she has much to occupy her time up at the castle. She is a hard-working young lady.”
“And very much alone most of the time.” Freya mused walking towards the drawing room door. “She is a bit long in the tooth, yet I can nae help but think she would make any man a splendid wife.”
Gritting my teeth I sat back in my favourite chair and leaned over to fetch the writing case with my good arm. “I thought you had luncheon to prepare.” I ground out and began to decipher the next sentence in the coded diary.
Chapter 12
I set Mr Turner’s diaries aside with a small thump of frustration. After two weeks of searching through his private thoughts for answers to his involvement with the McKinneys’ deaths, or even the madness tempting him to take his own life, nothing. My elation over the discovery of the cipher was short lived. For the most part, Mr Turner scribbled down mundane personal thoughts on happenings in the village. He wrote the lead for the McKinneys’ buyers was a dead end. They all turned out to be legitimate purveyors. With this small piece of information, I set out to find more information regarding Logan in the diary and the findings only created more questions.
At Deoch today for the weekly run off check: all seems well. I found Logan out of sorts, even more so than his usual countenance, for he is a taciturn fellow if ever I met one. He spoke to several of the workers in disapproving tones of the McKinneys’ decision to use another farmer for the grain; one from down south, apparently this is tantamount to high treason in the village. Logan noticed my presence and dismissed the workers back to their stations and I asked him why he should be so concerned with the McKinneys’ grain, surely the matter could be none of his business, their still being so much smaller than Deoch’s? He informed me all happenings in Markinch would always remain his business more so than any others, and none more so than my own, as the gauger. I sniffed at his comments, and walked away, not wanting to engage him in another argument over Scottish and English relations, besides I hated the term gauger and do find great offence in it. Yet after thinking upon Logan’s words I made up my mind to investigate the McKinneys further; it is my job as the excise man to follow up on any potential illegal happenings.