But he pulled back, stood, and waved to her chair with a sheepish grin. “Sorry. Almost. You might need to magnify it more—I daresay if I fiddled with any of the thingamabobs, I might find myself without fingers.”

“Smart man.” Bram looked far too amused.

Libby huffed and took her seat. She immediately saw what had grabbed his attention, on the side where the water damage began. It could well just be where the ink had washed over it. Or perhaps something more. She adjusted her lens to a higher magnification. And gasped.

“What!” Sheridan sounded frantic, but this time she’d fight him for the eyepiece if she must.

“Another word.” She nudged the mirror just a bit, smiling when the extra light shone through. “Yes. It looks like c-a—”

“Cave again?” Beth this time.

Oliver sighed. “Let her finish.” His hand settled on her shoulder, which was no doubt infuriating Bram. But it also told her that he knew she was on to something, and he trusted her to decipher whatever it was.

“Not cave. It looks like—an f. But then . . . t? That doesn’t seem right.”

“F or s, do you think?” Oliver’s fingers tightened on her shoulder. “Historically, an s in the middle of a word looks more like our f now.”

And when he made the suggestion, it didn’t irritate her at all, just made victory swell in her chest. “Oh, quite right! I’d forgotten that. Definitely an s then, making this . . . castle.”

For a moment, silence descended as she straightened and looked at those gathered round. Then an utter cacophony erupted as everyone started talking at once. Libby stood again, her gaze seeking Oliver’s. “How many castles are there, exactly, in the Scillies?”

“Three.” He looked much like Beth had when he tapped a thoughtful finger to his lips. “Star Castle here on St. Mary’s. Then King Charles’s castle and Cromwell’s castle on Tresco.”

That was a lot of crumbling stone to look through. “How do we know which one Mucknell had a connection with?”

“We don’t.” Yet he smiled. “But I know who would.”

She smiled. “To Tresco then, to visit Tas-gwyn Gibson.”

The evening was one of the finest they’d yet enjoyed that summer, the sun lingering long, the breeze warm and gentle, the temperature perfect. Oliver hated to spend such an evening inside, but he’d been a bit surprised when the entire company took him up on his offer to enjoy their pudding in the garden.

There they all were though, laughing and arguing over the letters Beth had somehow produced, though he hadn’t even noticed her slipping away to reclaim them, with his flowers as a backdrop. Evidence, undoubtedly, that her secret hiding place was somewhere nearby.