by Amanda Quick
She managed a demure smile but she was watching Slater with eyes that were wide with an expression that bordered on horror.
“Mrs. Kern?” Pyne prompted. “What do you think of my Venus?”
“She is obviously the star attraction in your fascinating collection, sir,” Ursula said. “And now, if you don’t mind, Mr. Roxton is correct. We do have another appointment.”
“I would not dream of delaying you,” Pyne said. “Run along, both of you. And I thank you, again, Roxton, for coming here to view my collection this morning. Your positive opinion, combined with Torrence’s, will ensure that these antiquities will attract any number of visitors. Indeed, I expect your visit and your comments will be in the morning papers. Next thing I know, the Pyne Collection will be famous around the world.”
“I have no doubt of that,” Slater said.
Evidently concluding that there was no longer any point trying to evade Torrence and his wife, he took the frontal assault approach to the problem. Instead of trying to escape via the rear door, he tightened his grip on Ursula’s elbow and guided her back toward the main entrance of the gallery.
The path took them directly past Torrence and the terrified Lady Torrence. Ursula gave the woman what she hoped was a polite, reassuring smile but that only seemed to further alarm Lady Torrence. She clutched her husband’s arm.
Torrence watched Slater the way a man might watch a tiger, as if he was waiting for the beast to spring.
Slater took the initiative, nodding curtly but never slowing his pace.
Torrence’s jaw tightened and his eyes clenched at the corners. He acknowledged the greeting with an equally brusque inclination of his head. Ursula felt Slater hesitate almost imperceptibly. She got the impression that he was contemplating the possibility of turning back to confront Torrence. Determinedly, she kept going, forcing him to keep up with her.
“Damn,” Slater said. But he said it so that only she could hear.
Ursula did not halt until they were safely outside on the street.
“That was a trifle awkward,” she said after a moment of acute silence. “I think Lady Torrence was actually afraid that you and her husband would come to blows right there in the middle of the museum.”
“Why would I engage in a fight with Torrence?”
“Well, according to some sources, there is a possibility that your former partner and supposed friend deliberately triggered the trap that nearly killed you in those temple caves. Following the disaster, Torrence sailed home to London with the fabulous treasure the two of you discovered—a treasure which has since disappeared, I might add. Some would say that sort of thing is sufficient to engender a deep dislike and distrust between two men.”
Slater glanced at her, amused. Sunlight glinted on the lenses of his spectacles. “What sources are you citing, Mrs. Kern?”
“Just the usual. The gutter press.”
“I thought so. I’m afraid they are somewhat misinformed.”
She smiled. “I’m shocked. The press? Misinformed?”
“Not all of the facts are wrong. But one thing is clear—Torrence hates me for having survived Fever Island,” Slater exhaled heavily. “I have no idea why, but there is no escaping that conclusion.”
“Oh, no,” Ursula said quickly. “That wasn’t hate that I detected in him or in his wife, either.”
“What, then?”
“Fear.”
“That makes no sense.”
“It does if he thinks you blame him for what happened on Fever Island. I realize it is none of my business but would you care to tell me exactly what did occur?”
“Considering that the story of our encounter with Lord and Lady Torrence will no doubt be the chief topic of conversation at breakfast all over London tomorrow morning, you have a right to some answers.”
FOURTEEN
Mrs. Kern, what a pleasure it is to welcome you again.” Webster’s scar crinkled the side of his face when he beamed at Ursula. “Mrs. Webster will be delighted, as well. I shall inform her immediately.”
“Thank you, Webster,” Ursula said, touched by the warm greeting.
Slater looked hard at Webster. “It’s not as if Mrs. Kern has just returned from a voyage around the world. She was here only a couple days ago, if you will recall.”
“Yes, of course, sir,” Webster said. “It’s just that the staff had been afraid that she would not be returning soon. This is a delightful surprise.”
Hurried footsteps sounded in the hall. Mrs. Webster came onstage.
“Mrs. Kern, you’re back,” she exclaimed as though she was the heroine in a play who had just discovered that a long-lost relation was alive after all. “How wonderful to see you again.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Webster,” Ursula said. She smiled. “I’m afraid I won’t be staying long—”
She stopped abruptly because Slater’s powerful hand closed around her elbow. He hauled her off in the direction of the library.
“Mrs. Kern and I have work to do,” he announced over his shoulder. “Kindly see that we are not disturbed.”
Mrs. Webster gave him a steely look. “You’ll be wanting a tea tray.”
Slater groaned. “Fine. Bring us a tea tray, make sure there is coffee on it, and then see to it that we have some privacy.”
Mrs. Webster relaxed into an approving smile. “Of course, sir. I’ll just be a moment.”
Slater drew Ursula down the hall and into the library. He closed the door and turned around.
“The Websters have missed you,” he said.
“They are a very nice couple.” Ursula tucked the veil up onto the brim of her rakish little hat. “And somewhat unusual.”
“My mother offered to hire my staff two months ago because I had absolutely no idea how to go about the process, nor did I want to be bothered with learning how to do it properly.”
“Of course you didn’t,” Ursula said. “I’m quite certain that hiring the household staff is not something that a gentleman is taught. That is the work of the lady of the house.”
His expression became unusually grim, even for him, she thought. He walked behind his desk chair and gripped the back with both hands.
“There are times when living in this household with a staff composed of failed actors and other assorted theater people is like living in the middle of a melodrama,” he said. “The actors are especially unreliable. They quit on the spot if they get a hint of a bit part in a play. Then, when the play folds after two nights, they’re back, asking for their posts. But it is not as if I’ve got much choice in the matter. I can hardly toss them onto the street.”
“Why not?” Ursula asked calmly.
The question clearly stopped him for a moment.
“Well, among other things, it would be very difficult to find more traditional, more professional replacements,” he said finally. He exhaled slowly. “Very few well-trained people in service would tolerate what the press and the gossips are pleased to call my eccentricities.”
“Mmm. Perhaps. But I don’t think that is the only reason why you do not let the Websters and the others go.”
“No?” His brows rose. “I can’t think of a better reason.”
“You don’t dismiss your servants because you have some sympathy for them. If they end up here on your doorstep it is because your mother has sent them to apply for a post. If you don’t take them in and give them work until the next role comes along, some of them—particularly the women—will end up on the street. And some will not survive at all.”
“I’m a charity house for unemployed theater people?” He winced. “Is that what you’re saying?”
“That seems to be the case. As charities go, it seems a fine one. It is certainly one of the reasons I agreed to take the position with you back at the start of this arrangement.”
He pinned her
with a look.
“And then you quit,” he said very softly.
“Yes, well, it was not my intention. And I did hope to return.”
“Did you?”
“May I ask what sort of . . . eccentricities you possess that you feel would likely put off potential applicants for posts here in this house?”
He released the chair, widening his hands. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a cook who will serve vegetarian fare at every meal?”
Ursula blinked, caught entirely off guard. She tried to stifle a giggle but failed.
“Good heavens,” she said in mock horror. “You’re one of those? A vegetarian?”
He seemed disgruntled by her teasing, as though not quite certain what to make of it. He took off his glasses, whipped out a pristine white handkerchief and began to polish the lenses.
“Is that really so strange?” he demanded. “There is no need to look at me as though I had grown a second head or turned green.”
She smiled. “Sorry. Your answer was not quite what I was expecting, that’s all.”
He paused in the act of polishing the spectacles. His startling eyes locked with hers. Once again she wondered why he bothered with eyeglasses.
“What sort of eccentricity were you expecting me to admit to?” he asked.
She waved a hand in an airy manner, aware that she was starting to enjoy herself.
“There have been some rather bizarre speculations in the press,” she said. “I was inclined to dismiss them, of course, but when you mentioned that potential staff might be put off by your eccentricities, I did wonder precisely what you meant. Rest assured that vegetarianism was not the first thing that came to mind.”
He started to put on his spectacles. Then, very deliberately, he set them on the desk. For the first time there was a glint of amusement in his eyes.
“Why don’t you take a seat, Mrs. Kern, and tell me exactly what sort of eccentricities popped into your mind?” he said.
She had known that it would be a mistake to tease him about the vegetarianism. She did not know what had come over her. For whatever reason, making the small, lighthearted comment had been irresistible. But she should have heeded her intuition that had warned her that any conversation of a personal nature was a high-risk venture with this man.
She sat down on a chair and tweaked the folds of her skirts, aware that she was a bit flushed. “I think perhaps we should change the subject.”
“This may come as a shock to you, but I also read the press,” Slater said. “I believe there is some concern in certain quarters that I have a secret chamber here in my house and that I have forbidden the servants to enter it.”
“Oh, dear. You know about that nonsense, do you? I assure you I put no credence in the story.”
“Evidently there are some who are convinced that I lure unsuspecting females into my secret chamber and practice the odd exotic ritual upon their persons.”
“The definition of an exotic ritual is in the eye of the beholder, isn’t it?”
“Do you think so?” Slater asked.
“As far as I’m concerned, the necessity of wearing fashionable gowns that feel like a suit of armor and weigh approximately the same, with skirts so heavy and voluminous that they make the simple act of walking a difficult endeavor, is an exotic ritual. Yet ladies here in London do it every day.” Ursula paused for emphasis. “Including me.”
She felt quite daring, she realized. Perhaps even a bit reckless. Something about being alone with Slater had that effect on her.
Slater looked startled by her response for about two seconds and then he laughed his short, rusty laugh.
“It is good to know that you take such a worldly view of exotic rituals,” he said.
She opened her mouth, determined to use the opening to urge him back to safer ground but an ominous knock stopped her. Webster opened the door as though it was the entryway of a crypt, allowing Mrs. Webster to sweep in with the tray of tea things. She set the tray on the one table near Ursula’s chair and stood back.
“Shall I pour?” she asked with a hopeful air.
“No, thank you,” Slater said. “We can manage.”
Mrs. Webster did not bother to conceal her disappointment. “I’ll be off, then. Ring if you need me.”
“I’ll do that,” Slater said.
He waited until the door closed behind her and then he looked at Ursula. The brief moment of sensual amusement that had charged the interior of the library dissipated. She reached for the pot and filled two cups.
Slater came out from behind the desk and crossed the room to accept the cup and saucer she held out to him. He returned to the desk and stood in front of it.
“I’m aware that, in addition to the rather annoying speculation about exotic rituals carried out in a secret chamber, the press has also suggested that the experience on Fever Island may have affected my mind,” he said. “And, in truth, perhaps it did. It certainly changed me in ways that are difficult to explain.”
“That is hardly surprising,” she said.
She spoke quietly and calmly, trying to let him know that he was free to tell the story in his own way. She was a woman with secrets. She understood that if they were confided, they needed to be confided carefully.
“Torrence and I were friends.” Slater set the cup and saucer on the desk, the coffee untouched. “We had a mutual interest in antiquities. Early on we became intrigued by the legend of Fever Island. At some point the search for the island became an obsession for both of us. It took us two years of research before we finally got the first clue to the actual location of the damned place.”
He broke off, gathering his thoughts. Ursula waited, making no effort to hurry him along.
“The charts that I discovered were buried deep in an old sea captain’s journal and they were vague, to say the least,” he said. “Torrence was half afraid that they were the product of a deranged mind but he agreed to make an attempt to find the island. In the end the captain of the ship we chartered discovered the place more by accident and good luck than because of the charts.”
Slater went to stand at one of the windows. He looked out into the garden.
“From what we could tell, Fever Island was uninhabited,” he said. “Torrence and I found the entrance to an ancient temple and what appeared to be an endless maze of burial chambers and treasure rooms all carved into the base of a volcano. We called the complex the City of Tombs.” Slater paused and then shook his head slightly. “It was quite . . . astonishing.”
Ursula sat very still and watched his hard profile. She knew that it was the temple tombs of Fever Island that he saw now, not the fogbound garden.
“It must have been a wondrous discovery,” she said.
“Unlike anything I had ever seen in my life. It was as if we had stepped into a dream world.”
Slater fell quiet again. She drank some of her coffee and waited.
“We had brought a small crew of men with us to assist in the excavation work,” he said. “The entrance to the tomb complex was a long corridor of stone that led deep into the mountain. At the end of the tunnel was a vast chamber. The walls and floor were painted in dazzling colors. Statues of fantastic beasts were everywhere—large birds and reptiles unlike anything Torrence and I had ever seen. Each was studded with incredible gemstones.”
“I saw the statue of the Jeweled Bird that Lord Torrence exhibited in the British Museum in the months following his return,” Ursula said. “It was extraordinary. There was a great sensation when it was reported stolen.”
“There were so many artifacts crammed into the temple chamber that we could only assume they had been collected over a long period of time—several centuries, perhaps.”
“Do you think they were of Egyptian or Greek origin?”
“Neither,” he said. “I’m quite cert
ain of it, although there were similarities to both of those ancient civilizations. But I am convinced that we discovered the tombs of an unknown culture that was so old, so rich and so powerful that it may have left its influence on the great civilizations that rose after it was gone.”
A sense of wonder came over her. “Good heavens, sir, do you think you and Lord Torrence discovered the royal tombs of Atlantis?”
He shook his head. “Atlantis is a legend.”
She smiled at that. “I would point out that you are reputed to be something of a legend, yourself. Such tales are not woven out of thin air. There is usually a grain of truth in them.”
He shrugged. “It is unlikely we will ever discover the truth about Fever Island, at least not in our lifetime. The island volcano erupted years ago, burying the tomb complex beneath rivers of lava and mountains of ash. All I can tell you is that there were indications that the science and literature of the people was well developed, certainly the equal of ancient Greece or Rome or Egypt.”
“You must have been thrilled when you first walked into those tomb caves.”
Slater glanced at her over his shoulder, one brow slightly elevated. “I was thrilled—right up to the moment when the trap was triggered, sealing me inside the main tomb chamber.”
Ursula’s sense of wonder and excitement congealed. The cup trembled a little in her hand. Hastily she set it down.
“I cannot even begin to imagine what it must have been like,” she said. “You no doubt believed that you had been buried alive.”
“That was my first conclusion,” he admitted. “I knew immediately that there was no hope that Torrence and the others would be able to rescue me.”
“Why not?”
“I realized that they almost surely had to believe that I had been buried beneath countless tons of rock. But even if they had held out some faint hope, they had no practical way to dig through the boulders that clogged the tunnel that led to the main chamber.”
“How did you survive?”
“The trap that closed the exit tunnel was designed to protect the treasure and the sarcophagi in the burial vaults. The only part of the City of Tombs that was destroyed was the passageway that led to the outside world.”