The Cryptographer by Alice Wallis-Eton

Author:Alice Wallis-Eton
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2015-08-10T21:00:00+00:00

15

Aster

FOR THE FIRST time that Aster could remember, it was the dawn light through the curtains that woke her instead of noxious Dougal breath, which made a sharp pang slice through her chest. She never guessed she would miss his hideous morning routine. The book was tucked on the pillow next to her head, the chain holding the brass button tangled through her fingers, and her skin felt tight from dried tears.

She stretched, and decided self-pity was something best left to the midnight hours. During the day she had far too much to do to indulge in tears over lost opportunities and impossible daydreams of Iain. For surely that was all the ache in her heart was: the space left after the removal of the delusion that she could have had something with him.

Aster poured water from the pitcher into the ewer and washed her face, then scrubbed the rest of her skin. Once satisfied, she pulled on her dress and slipped out the door.

"Cup of tea, love?" Betsy called out as she stepped into the main room, wiping her hands on a towel.

"That would be lovely, thank you." She didn't think her stomach would cooperate with breakfast just yet. "I'll just nip out for the paper; I will be back shortly."

"I'll have it waiting at your table." Betsy threw the towel over her shoulder and headed out to the kitchen.

Out on the street, noise and activity assaulted Aster's senses. She'd never realised people could be so loud until you crammed carts, horses, dogs, children, and hundreds of people into a narrow road. The tall buildings leaned inwards, and seemed to push the chaos back down to street level, rather than letting it escape up into the sky. She glanced around until she spied an urchin with the daily under his arm. She passed him a coin, and he held out a newspaper with a big gappy grin, his two front teeth missing. She hastened back to the tavern and found a pot of tea waiting for her. She spread out the paper and then took a moment to pour a cup. Perhaps that would settle her stomach.

The first few pages were the usual articles about the latest sally by Napoleon and badly behaving members of the ton. She understood keeping the public abreast of the war, but she wasn't quite sure why drunken lords were newsworthy. They should be ashamed that they tumbled into fountains or were discovered asleep under rose bushes. Flicking over the pages, she scoured the advertisements, searching for the coded message to tell her it was a ruse, a game to test her preparedness. She read and re-read every advertisement until her tea went cold.

Nothing. She sighed and pushed the cup away. Now what to do? Perhaps, like making the book reveal its secret, she needed to go back to the beginning? Instead of scanning the news items, she read every one, just in case.

It was the tiny article on page six that made her bite back a sob.

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