Bram waved the book in the air. “Care to expound on that?”
Uncle Pendleton shoveled in one more large bite before pushing away his bowl and leaning across the table. His voice lowered to a whisper. “It’s not meant to make sense.”
“Then why waste the ink on such gibberish?”
“Have I taught you nothing at all?” Uncle puffed out his cheeks with a great blast of air. “Surely you remember the origin of the bad blood between me and Grimwinkle?”
“Yes, yes. He claimed the credit on a dig for which you should have gotten commendation, earning him the head department chair instead of you. But I fail to see what that has to do with your journal.”
“He never would have gotten that commendation had he not stolen my notes and written the article that made him look like a genius.”
Bram blinked. This was news. “Why have you never told me that?”
“I just did.” Uncle humphed.
“Why did you not press charges against him?”
“Wouldn’t have done any good. It was his word against mine, and he had powerful backers in the department at the time. At any rate, it taught me a good lesson.” He thumped his hand on the journal. “Never put all your eggs in one basket, and for those that you do, be sure a few of them are cracked. The information on the final pages is for the express purpose of throwing off anyone who might try to use these notes for nefarious reasons.”
Aha. Now there was a ray of light in this dimly lit little pub. “So you’re saying the rest of the notes are in another notebook, yes?”
“I am.”
“Thank heaven. Then let’s be on our way.” He grabbed the book while scooting off the bench. “I’ll pick up the rest of your notes when we stop at your house.”
“Splendid idea except...”
He wheeled around to face his uncle. “Except what?”
Uncle’s chin tucked sheepishly. “I can’t seem to remember where I put them.”
5
Eva gloried in the route from Royston to Cambridge. All along the way trees disrobed like blushing brides, shedding their reds and oranges into colourful swirls on each side of the road. The sweet scent of cherry tobacco puffing out of Sinclair’s pipe had made for a pleasant accompaniment as well. A good start for what she hoped would be a profitable outing.
Cambridge itself was a charming town despite the crowds. Carriage wheels clattered along the cobblestones, pedestrians darting about like water striders skimming a pond. And such clamor! Hawkers barked about their candied apples and hot sausages, competing loudly with the ring of bicycle bells and street musicians. Such lively activity was exhilarating.
Shortly after Sinclair turned the pony cart onto a quieter lane, the hallowed halls of Trinity College came into view. Eventually he pulled on the reins. “Easy now, Dusty.”
As the faithful old horse slowed to a stop in front of the entrance, the steward hopped down and rounded the carriage. “Here we are, miss.” He held up his hand, helping her from her perch. “My offer yet stands. I’ll gladly wait while you conduct your business.”
She brushed wrinkles from her traveling coat. “I don’t want you to miss out on one minute of your brother’s company. I’ll meet you at the Golden Lion as planned. I’m sure you’ll have plenty to discuss until I return. Besides, in this glorious weather, I relish a stroll. I may even stop at Heffer’s bookshop on the way. You know I don’t mind getting lost in there for an hour.”
His lips twisted into a wry grin. “Knowing you, it will be two or three, miss.IfI can get you out the door even after that.”
“I’m not promising anything.” She returned his smile as she tucked away some strands blown from the refuge of her bonnet.
“Very well, miss.” Sinclair tipped his hat. “Until then.”
Gathering her hem, Eva climbed the college’s front steps, then paused as the gateway opened to a vast quadrangle. Gothic-style buildings lined the courtyard. Cloistered walkways hemmed the edges. Students dashed to their classes or clustered in groups on the lawn, their academic gowns billowing about in the autumn breeze. Where to go?
“May I help you, miss?” A man with the college insignia embroidered on his collar approached.
“Yes, please. I’m looking for the history department. Could you direct me?”
“Of course, miss.” The porter angled his head, indicating for her to step out of the flow of foot traffic. “This stretch of lawn is the Great Court. You’ll be wanting Nevile’s Court, just through that gateway on the west side. See it?”
She followed the length of his blue sleeve, spying a smaller yet as ornate entryway. “I do.”
