Secret of the White Rose (10 page)

“What is it?” I asked the judge.

The judge coughed to clear his throat. “It sounds like overreaching to me. Just because Hugo’s hand ended up on top of a Bible doesn’t mean the killer
intended
it.”

Alistair, more diplomatically this time, said, “I know you’ve got doubts, Angus. But I need you to trust me on this one: nothing we discover in a crime scene like Judge Jackson’s is unintentional.” He turned to me again. “Yes, the judge’s left hand was positioned on the Bible as though taking an oath. And that
is
the meaning I believe the killer intended.”

“So you believe the killer is gesturing to a failing in office … some abrogation of judicial duty?” I asked.

Angus interrupted with a sharp reply. “No one can accuse Hugo of being derelict in his duty—in fact, to the contrary. He was one of the most esteemed members sitting on the bench in this city.”

“No one is saying otherwise,” Alistair said. “Remember, what we are discussing is the killer’s own flawed perspective. Not your usual standard of a reasonable person.”

The judge grumbled some more but seemed mollified. “Don’t forget: even if we believe Hugo’s killer was making a point about the judge’s oath of office, there is another important symbol we’ve not yet discussed.” He leaned forward and looked us both full in the eye. “I mean, of course, the
rosa alba
. The white rose. You said one was left on the judge’s desk, next to his corpse.”

I confirmed it.

“Assuming it was left by Hugo’s killer, then it is of the utmost importance. To clarify, however—is there any chance that Hugo could have picked it up himself, as a gift for his wife?” The judge looked first to Alistair, then me.

I could only respond with what seemed to be common sense. “In that case, wouldn’t he have given it to her right away, the moment he arrived home? It seems unlikely he would have delayed.”

I didn’t mention it yet, but I was also thinking about the symbol of the rose that appeared in the musical score.

“Angus,” Alistair said, chiding him gently, “you of all people know the meaning the white rose has accrued over the years.”

Angus blanched, and for a moment I thought he would be ill. “Another refill, please,” he said, holding up his glass.

Alistair poured more sherry, almost emptying the glass decanter, while Angus’s jaw worked back and forth—as though he was trying to say something but couldn’t manage it. Then he took a large swallow of his drink, gathered his courage, and began to explain.

“The rose itself is a flower that symbolists have imbued with multiple meanings over the ages. But of all roses, the white rose is invested with the most complicated of meanings. The easy meanings are the ones you will know: purity and innocence.”

“Like a bride,” Alistair said.

Angus nodded. “Exactly. It can also be a symbol of remembrance or honor. White roses are often displayed at funerals.”

“So it
could
be a sign of death, like at a funeral. Nothing more.” I looked from Alistair to Angus, watching their reaction. Both appeared unsatisfied.

“Certainly it
could
,” Alistair said. “But given that the killer planned the murder so well, the fact that he included it at the crime scene—”

“Means it signifies something more.” I finished his sentence for him.

He nodded.

Angus let forth a deep sigh. “One of my favorite stories surrounding the white rose comes from Greek mythology. Aphrodite gave a white rose to her son, Eros, who in turn gave it to Harpocrates, the god of silence, as the price of hiding her indiscretions.”

“So another reading that points to a misdeed,” I said.

Angus agreed with a vigorous nod. “Exactly.”

The symbols were beginning to make some sense to me now, especially when I thought of the Bible as representing the judge’s oath.

“Just to make sure we’re not missing anything, is it possible that the rose signifies a different kind of religion? Like the Rosicrucians, perhaps,” Alistair said.

“What are Rosicrucians—some kind of secret society?” I asked.

Angus chortled. “My sister is a practitioner. Or was. She got caught up in their promises of secret knowledge. They believe their followers can unlock the secrets of everything from reincarnation to astral projection!” He laughed again. “Next, she drifted into an even more bizarre movement—Spiritualism—and now she spends her days trying to communicate with our dead mum. Nothing but malarkey, I say.” He coughed loudly. “And no, I don’t think
this
rose is connected with the Rosicrucians. Their rose symbol is always entwined with the cross.”

We sat in silence for some moments, just thinking.

I turned to Alistair. “You mentioned something earlier about the white rose in the War of the Roses—that it was given to anyone who betrayed his oath as an omen of death.”

“Yes. I meant the
sub rosa:
death to him who under the rose’s secrecy betrays his oath,” he replied.

Angus gave us both a stern look. “It’s just another line of thought about a betrayed oath. But this symbolic meaning is given to us by literary writers, not historians. That means it’s the stuff of legend, not necessarily truth.”

“Does it matter
how
the meaning of the symbol is established?” I asked.

“I suppose not.” Angus leaned back, his gut practically bursting out of his shirt. “You recall that the War of the Roses was a civil war fought over the British throne, pitting descendants of Edward III, or the House of York, against descendants of Henry IV, or the House of Lancaster. Much later, Renaissance writers like Shakespeare depicted noblemen as choosing sides by plucking a white or red rose from the garden. White represented the House of York and red the House of Lancaster.”

Alistair beamed. “‘This brawl today … shall send, between the Red Rose and the White, a thousand souls to death and deadly night.’ You may recognize it from Shakespeare’s
Henry VI
.”

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to follow their argument. It was hard not to feel completely out of my element—for my brief stint on scholarship at Columbia had given me little of the knowledge these men took for granted. I’d wanted an education, thinking it would guarantee me a life different from the one I’d known growing up. But when family obligations intervened, I had to abandon those plans.

“It wasn’t just a matter of choosing sides,” Angus added. “Those who betrayed their loyalty to their chosen house, be it York or Lancaster, were considered traitors and put to death. But according to legend, they always received fair warning first: the delivery of a single, white rose.”

“So the judge could have been a traitor in the killer’s view: someone who had to be put to death for betraying his oath,” I said.

“I think so. An oath on the Bible implicitly invokes God as our witness, to judge and avenge us if the person taking the oath doesn’t stay true,” Alistair said.

“So the judge was a traitor—but to what cause?” I asked. “Earlier, we talked about his duty to the law. But what if his killer is thinking of a different duty? I’m struck by the fact that we’re talking about a number of closed societies not unlike the anarchists—from the Rosicrucians to members of the House of York.”

Angus gave me a severe look. “I’d not go that far. The anarchists are like no other group. They’ve no positive goals. They want to overthrow church and state—in short, everything good, hardworking men have tried to create.”

“Only because they feel they’ll never be treated fairly as our society currently exists,” I responded. “I can see how someone from their cause might believe the judge had betrayed some higher duty to the working man in general—or to the defendants in his courtroom, particularly.”

“Careful, Ziele,” Alistair said, eyes twinkling, “you’ll make me think you’ve become an anarchist follower.”

“Hardly.” I smiled in return. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t understand—and even sympathize—with the sources of their discontent.” And my smile disappeared when I thought again of this morning’s meeting with the commissioner.

“If images of betrayal—and specifically betraying one’s oath—are repeatedly associated with the white rose,” I continued, “then this fits with how the killer posed the judge’s hand on top of the Bible. But is there anything in this to help us identify the judge’s murderer?”

“We must look to the remaining piece of the puzzle,” Alistair said, his voice sober. “Ziele, I know you noticed it, as well: the white rose symbol that was embedded in the musical score we found among the judge’s papers. Did you bring it?”

I nodded as Judge Porter nearly choked on the scone he was eating. “Alistair, you said nothing about a musical symbol.”

“I’m mentioning it now,” Alistair said, as I passed the copy of the musical score to the judge. “It’s not a musical symbol per se. Rather, the white rose substitutes for the bass clef symbol in the last bar of the page.”

The judge looked at it for some moments, then held it high in the air toward the light. Finally, he put it down on Alistair’s coffee table with a grunt.

When he finally spoke, his voice was rough. “When did Hugo receive this?”

“It was among the letters delivered the same day he was killed,” I answered. “Do you have any idea what it means?”

Alistair shook his head. “Hugo appreciated fine music as much as anyone, but he only dabbled with the piano. I can’t imagine why anyone would send him a musical score.” He took back the copy of the score and crossed the room to the piano. “I wish Isabella were here. She is far more accomplished than I am.”

It would have been easy enough to invite her, for she lived across the hall—in the same apartment that she had occupied since her marriage to Alistair’s son. But Alistair sat down, opened the piano top, and began to hunt for various keys. It was now obvious to me why Alistair had chosen this room for today’s meeting, rather than his library—which, with its sweeping views of Central Park, was normally his favorite. When he finished the score, he swiveled the stool back around to face us.

“Well?” He gave me an expectant look.

I shrugged. “It’s a nice melody but nothing catchy or memorable.”

The judge was deep in thought for some moments. “You’ve played it in its entirety,” he finally said, “and it means nothing to me. Let’s try something else: Where the last bar shows a white rose instead of the bass clef, can you play that section alone?”

“All right.” Alistair obliged, saying the notes out loud as he played. “Low A, E, E, high E, G, E, middle C—”

Angus interrupted him. “Say, is there a rhythm to that?”

A look of annoyance crossed Alistair’s face. “I’m playing it exactly as written. It’s just a mix of quarter notes and half notes.”

“Can you try it again?” the judge asked.

Alistair shrugged and played the notes again, careful to follow their rhythm. It didn’t improve the melody at all.

“The rhythm leads me to believe the melody is unimportant,” the judge said, thinking aloud. “Do you have a blank sheet of paper?” Then, after draining his sherry, he began working out something on the coffee table. Alistair and I watched, mystified, until Angus finally leaned back with a look of smug satisfaction.

“It’s a musical cipher,” he said.

“A what?” I asked.

“A cipher—a code that conceals a secret message,” he explained patiently. “Specifically, the writer of this code”—he tapped at the musical score with his forefinger—“used Porta’s code, where musical notes represent letters of the alphabet.”

Alistair’s eyes lit up. “Giovanni della Porta?”

“Who?” I asked, puzzled.

It was Angus who responded. “Porta was a Renaissance man with many interests, and his code became famous. It was used widely throughout the eighteenth century and later adapted by others. Most musicians knew of it; many amused themselves by using it for secret communications with one another. I suppose it makes sense,” he added, eyes twinkling. “After all, many believe that music is the one, true universal language. Schumann wrote his
Carnaval
Opus Nine based on a cipher, and Brahms and Bach embedded names in their music. But I digress…”

He drew a musical bar on a new blank sheet of paper. “You see, in Porta’s cipher, every note has an alphabetic correlation. So the half-note value of A-below-middle-C corresponds to the alphabet letter
A
. But A-above-middle-C corresponds to the letter
H
. And so it continues till you reach high E … then you descend the staff, this time with quarter notes to show the difference. You finally end with low A again, this time representing
Z
.”

“So let’s work out what this means.” Alistair leaned in, making some notes with his own pen.

Angus nodded. I couldn’t quite decipher the odd expression with which he returned Alistair’s gaze. I felt as though they understood something that had eluded me.

When Alistair finished, he turned the paper around so the judge and I might read it. “Do I have it right?” he asked.

“You do.” The judge confirmed it, then read the full message aloud. “‘Leroy avenged.’”