Maureen nodded and moved to the credenza, bringing back the writing implements. Byron wrote the alphabet down the long side of a sheet of paper, A to Z.
“Usually with these sorts of musical ciphers, A is always A,” Byron said.
“And B is B and so on?” Mira asked.
Byron paused, tapping the pencil to his cheek. “Possibly, but whoever wrote this used the BACH motif. In which case, B is B flat, C is C and B natural is H.”
“I don’t follow,” Mira said.
“In some German compositions, the seventh diatonic scale note is denoted as H. So in C major: B flat, A, C, B natural spells BACH.” Byron played the alternating notes on the piano. “Butthen, of course, we have the rest of the alphabet to account for.”
Mira frowned at his explanation. It was rather technical, and she wasn’t certain she understood it. But Byron fell silent and she didn’t want to interrupt him as he consulted the score and wrote in possible notes next to each letter. Every so often he would move to the piano and play something out before coming back to the paper.
“This is exactly what my father did,” Maureen said.
“That bodes well for us,” Byron mumbled before returning to the piano again.
After a little while he had a complete cipher. He pulled out a fresh sheet of paper and flipped to the beginning of the score.
“Now to test it.”
He wrote out each letter as it corresponded to the music notes in his neat, consistent hand. After a line or so he sat back, frowning.
“It’s not making any words. Though...” he flipped forward a page in the score. “Perhaps the cipher doesn’t start until after the BACH motif.”
He went at it again, beginning after that point in the music, but a few letters in he stopped again. “No, that’s not right either. I suppose it’s possible that B natural isn’t H after all.”
“None of it makes sense to me,” Mira said, leaning over. “Wouldn’t it make more sense if the alphabet was in order instead of skipping around?”
“Well that would be an entirely different cipher.” He ran a hand through his hair and let out a breath. “One I’ve never heard of. But there’s no harm in trying it.”
He continued in this manner for nearly an hour, with Mira or Maureen offering occasional suggestions, but every attempt yielded a stream of nonsensical letters. Nothing they tried worked.
“Maybe we were wrong about it being a cipher,” Maureensaid. “It could just be that my great-uncle is a terrible composer.”
Byron shook his head. “There’s more to this, I’m certain. Might I borrow it to work on at home?”
“As long as you promise to bring it back,” Maureen said.
“You have my word.” Byron tucked the score into the folder along with the letter. “Best go check on my brother and your guardian, eh?”
“Oh, I do hope they are getting on well,” Mira said.
They descended the stairs with Maureen leading the way to the billiard room, but as they approached there wasn’t a sound. No voices or laughter or billiards crashing into one another. A sense of dread settled over Mira as they turned the corner into the room.
At first, they noticed nothing amiss, aside from the unoccupied room. Byron moved before Mira had realized what was wrong.
“Castel!”
His brother was slumped in a high-backed leather armchair, a brandy glass on the floor beside him, a dark stain spreading out from it on the rug. Byron rushed to his side, holding his head up to check for a pulse. Mira stood frozen in the doorway, Maureen beside her.
“I-is he . . . ?” Mira stuttered.
“He’s alive and breathing well.” He picked up the glass and smelled it, making a face. “An Old fashioned, I think. Which means anything bitter would have been masked.” He took his brother’s hand and slapped the back of it, hard, a few times.
Castel groaned, shifting in his chair.
Mira slumped against the door. “Will he be all right?”
