A Masquerade in the Moonlight - By Kasey Michaels Page 0,80
fire. “I don’t want tea. Don’t you understand? I’m attempting to tell you of a discovery that will rock this island to its foundation.”
“Really? Goodness, how exciting. Then we most certainly shall not have tea. Some warm scones, perhaps? No? All right, Perry—only speak slowly as you tell me your news, so that I might absorb some scant particles of what you are to say.” She longed to box his ears, but refrained. At least Sir Ralph appreciated that she might possess a mind.
Sir Peregrine laid the thin manuscript on his lap, spreading it flat with reverent fingers. “It was exceedingly difficult, you understand, but I knew from the first that I had stumbled onto something of the most preeminent importance.” He leaned toward her, his voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. “It is written in code, you know. Latin code, and deuced difficult to decipher until I found the key.”
“Written by whom, Perry?” Marguerite whispered back, once more blessing her grandfather for having insisted she learn Latin, and Maxwell for his many and varied talents. “Why? And to what purpose?”
Sir Peregrine looked to the single entrance to the morning room, as if half expecting someone to be secreted behind the door, eavesdropping. He flicked out his tongue, wetting his lips, then said, “His name was Balbus. Even his name served as a clue, for it means ‘indistinct speaker.’ But that’s not important. He and his family resided here—in London—until the Roman legions withdrew to protect Italy. He was forced to leave hurriedly, so that his fortune and household goods had to be left behind. He hid everything—buried it, actually—and left this coded manuscript detailing where he had buried it.”
Marguerite looked down at the yellowed parchment. “But, surely, Perry, no mere parchment could have survived this long. It has to be, like my Machiavelli, a forgery—a fake.”
He shook his head, waving his hands in front of his face as if to ward off her glaring stupidity. “Balbus may have gone, but he never gave up hope of returning to claim his treasure. His words were copied by his son, and his son’s son, and his son’s son’s sons, one of whom eventually found his way back to England several dozen years after William the Conqueror invaded our shores. Here he and his sons, and his sons’ sons, and his sons’ sons’ sons must have waited through the long centuries, hoping, until somehow the parchment was lost.” He pressed his hands to his bony chest. “How they must have suffered, so close to their treasure and unable to retrieve it. Until now.”
And then he smiled, all traces of sympathy for the long dead Balbus and his frustrated family fleeing as his eyes lit with pleasure. “You will never guess where the fool man buried his treasure, Marguerite. You will never guess, if I allowed you to try for the next hundred years, why Balbus’s descendants were unable to claim that treasure.”
“I imagine you’re correct, Perry. Please, you mustn’t keep me on tenterhooks. You must tell me at once, or I vow I shall perish of anticipation!”
Sir Peregrine rubbed his hands together as his eyes took on the fevered glaze of the true adventurer. “If my calculations are correct—and I have no reason to doubt them, for mathematics have always been my strongest suit—Balbus buried his most prized possessions not more than a dozen feet outside what is now the south wall of the Chapel of St. Peter ad Vincula!”
“But the chapel is inside the walls of the Tower of London, which were built by William the Conqueror! I know I remember that from my lessons.” Marguerite’s voice rose, displaying a mixture of delight and anguish. “Oh, how terrible! No wonder the man’s family couldn’t retrieve their booty. But neither will you, Perry. You will never be able to obtain royal permission to sink so much as a single spade within the grounds of the Tower.”
“But I already have, dear child. I have just come from Stinky, who has convinced the Prince of Wales to allow the excavation.” He frowned momentarily, adding, “I shall be forced to share the credit with the prince, but that is of no real moment. Only think of it, Marguerite! Think of what has been discovered to date, here in London and elsewhere. Ancient coins, statuary, mosaics! I have invited all the chairmen of the greatest societies to witness the digging that will commence two days from now—I needed time to have a public announcement forwarded to