He had it open to a page with beetles.
“This one is close enough, I think.” He lay his finger on the beetle that looked like a scarab.
“It’s not gold,” she pointed out. “Nor do I have a colored pencil that could realistically make it appear so.”
“That’s fine. We’ll just sketch out a beetle and take it with us.”
“But I know what a beetle looks like,” she protested.
“They come in all shapes and sizes.” He pushed the book toward her. At the same time, he slid his paper out from under it. “We’re not looking for a wasp beetle or a ladybird. Only this type, perhaps. See, the flower chafer comes in gold, but only very rarely.”
Then he flipped the paper over so she could see there was no writing on either side, flipping it again, tapping his pencil from his pocket on the paper, drawing her attention to the blankness of its entirety.
Then, he began to draw, making sure he was on the truly clean side of the paper, drawing in the spot he’d already determined mimicked the image he’d drawn on the other side. In a few moments, he’d sketched a crude beetle with little antennae and an exaggerated shape to its body.
“The beetle we’re looking for looks like—”
“A skull,” she interrupted.
Goodness, she caught on quickly.
“Yes,” he said, as if only just noticing. “I suppose, except for the appendages, it does.”
“MaybeIshould have drawn it.” Then Eleanor chuckled. “I mean no disrespect to your sketching abilities.”
“None taken.”
Now came the tricky part. Just then, as planned, one of the maids brought in a tray of piping hot coffee, with the pot set on a metal trivet.
“I recalled you like coffee sometimes.” And without waiting for a reply, he lifted the pot, poured them each a cup, and instead of replacing the pot on the trivet, he set it elsewhere on the silver tray. Then he picked up the paper, pretending to study it, and in a moment, set it down on the iron trivet.
Hopefully, it would be hot enough to activate the lemon juice with which he’d written his secret message on the back side of the seemingly blank paper.
“Let’s see if there is another book on the shelf with bugs. I didn’t look all that thoroughly. Perhaps if we know the habitat, it will be easier to find. For instance, does it live on flowers or deep in the forest on rotten wood? Or do we need to dig in the dirt or perhaps go to a cave?”
“Indeed,” she said. “That would be good to know.”
For a few minutes, they looked for natural history books, found one or two, discounted their usefulness, and then finally gave up.
“We should drink the coffee before it grows cold,” he said, waiting for her to pick up her cup.
Leaning over the table, she gasped, and Grayson felt a surge of triumph as she reached out slowly and took hold of the paper. He could even see it was shaking slightly in her grasp, which meant her hand was trembling.
“What on earth?” she asked.
“What?” He had taken hold of his coffee cup and feigned ignorance.
“Do you not see what I see?” she demanded.
“Are you going to make fun of my beetle drawing again?”
“No, Grayson, look.” And Eleanor stuck the vellum under his nose.
“By God, you were right, my beetle does look exactly like a skull, more so than I would have thought.”
“I don’t think that is your beetle,” she said, her voice breathy with wonder. “And look, there are other markings on the paper.”
“Good God!” he exclaimed. “What is all that?”
