by Candace Camp
He nodded, and as she turned to walk away, he said quietly, “Perhaps you should lock your door tonight. Just to be safe.”
“Now I think you’re trying to scare me,” Kyria told him.
But later, upstairs in her bedroom, after her maid had left, Kyria found herself turning the key in the lock.
* * *
Kyria did not sleep well that night. Her thoughts kept returning to the man who had died—the awful pallor of his face, the pitiful way his hand had lain on the table, the palm turned up. Who was he? Did Theo send him here with that package? And why? She had no answers, only more questions.
She thought, too, of the box. She was tempted to rise and go down to her father’s collections room to look at it again, but she found herself reluctant, after what had happened tonight, to go wandering about the dark halls.
The box was elegant in its simplicity, and the diamond was stunning. Because of her father’s hobby, she was accustomed to pieces of astonishing rarity and beauty, but it still amazed her to think of the depth of artistry in the carving and the skill it had taken to hide the latch of the box—for surely it must open somehow. And to think that a gem of such magnificence had been mined so long ago…
She remembered how it had looked, how smooth the ivory had felt beneath her hands…the weight of it…the cold, dark depths of the diamond. And thinking this way, she could not help but remember, too, the way Rafe had held the box, his hands dark against the creamy ivory, his fingers gentle as they glided over the carving.
Warmth blossomed deep in her abdomen and the flesh of her arms prickled, as she thought of those same hands sliding up her arms. No one had ever kissed her as he had; she knew that she would not have allowed it. She could scarcely believe that she had allowed him. She told herself that it was because she was upset by the death of the stranger, that she was more vulnerable than usual. But she knew that such reasoning was merely excuse-making. The fact was that Rafe’s kiss had stirred something in her that was more powerful than anything she had ever felt. It was exciting and frightening and it left her feeling unsure of herself—a feeling that also was quite new to her.
It irritated her that she had felt such a rush of passion—she was far too honest and pragmatic to term it anything else—for a man who was so obviously a charmer and a flirt. She was not the sort to fall for a man’s honeyed words, and she hated to think that she could be easily swayed by a handsome countenance.
But even as she thought this, she knew that she could not dismiss Rafe McIntyre so easily. She had sensed that there was far more to him than the practiced flirt. There had been, for instance, his quick, cool handling of the attack on the stranger, his easy assumption of command. Smeggars had told her of how deftly he had bandaged the stranger’s wound before the doctor arrived. However light his words, however easy his smile, there was, too, a hint of darkness that lurked behind his eyes, a certain watchfulness that never went entirely away.
It occurred to her that she knew nothing of his life, what events had shaped him, beyond the fact that he had been Stephen St. Leger’s partner, and she found herself wanting to know. Perhaps now that the bustle of the wedding was over, she could take him for a ride around the estate. She could show him her favorite spots and they could talk…
Kyria sat up with a grunt of displeasure and busied herself for a moment with punching her pillow into a more pleasing shape. It annoyed her that she was letting her thoughts stray this way. One would think she was a silly schoolgirl!
And so it went throughout much of the night, her mind jumping from one thought to another as she tossed and turned in her bed. She did not fall asleep until almost dawn, and then she was dragged from her slumber a few hours later by the sound of people in the hall.
Kyria yawned and threw her arm across her eyes, wishing that she could simply turn over and go back to sleep. But she knew that many of their guests would be leaving this morning, and she must do everything she could to get their departures out of the way so that she and her family could sit down to discuss the strange events of the night before.
So she rose and rang for her maid to help her dress, then spent the rest of the morning overseeing the myriad tasks that had to be accomplished to get a large number of people off in their carriages or driven to the train station in the village.
By two in the afternoon, all the guests who would be departing that day were gone, leaving an unfortunately good-size number who would remain for at least a day or two longer. Kyria reflected gloomily that this number contained many of their most troublesome guests, most of whom were in one way or another relatives and considered it their privilege to spend long periods of time at the family seat. But at least she did not have to rack her brain for ways to entertain them; her mother had told her, “For pity’s sake, Kyria, don’t provide them with too much fun, or we shall have the whole lot with us through Christmas.” In any case, old Lord Penhurst needed no entertainment, only a comfortable chair in which to nap most of the day, and Lady Rochester required much the same thing, along with a younger relative or two at whom to snipe during the times she was awake.
Therefore, Kyria was able to slip away with a clear conscience to her father’s collections room, where her family had decided to gather in midafternoon. She found she was the last to arrive—a not-entirely-unusual circumstance, as Reed was quick to point out with a smile.
They were grouped around the long central table, which was cluttered, as usual, with various objects that her father was in the process of arranging. Except for Theo and Olivia, all Kyria’s siblings were there, along with Thisbe’s husband, Desmond, her mother and father and their great-uncle Bellard. A small man with rather rounded, hunched shoulders from years of poring over books, Uncle Bellard was a retiring sort who had stayed largely to his rooms over the past few days, avoiding the guests, especially his sister Hermione, the quarrelsome Lady Rochester. However, Kyria was not surprised that the prospect of seeing an ancient box had lured him from his private rooms. He was not the antiquarian that her father was, but his bright, inquisitive mind and love of history doubtless made him interested. Nor was he the kind of man who could easily resist a mystery in any form.
She was also not surprised that Con and Alex were there. Most families would have deemed children who were not quite eleven as too young to participate in any sort of important discussion. It was one of the many Moreland “oddities” to treat children as equal members of the family, who, though young and in need of guidance, were intelligent creatures with thoughts and opinions of value.
However, when she saw Rafe McIntyre sitting at the table among her family, she felt a curious blend of surprise and excitement. Her pulse grew faster, and she found herself wishing that she had checked her image in the mirror before she entered the room. She was reminded all over again of her sleepless night and the irritation she had felt both toward him and at her own behavior. Annoyed, she blurted, “What are you doing here?”
“Manners, Kyria,” her mother admonished.
“Sorry, Mother,” Kyria said, looking with displeasure at Rafe. “But Mr. McIntyre is not a member of the family.”
“No, but he is the one who found the body,” Reed reminded her. “Or rather, found the man who would shortly become the body. He has just finished telling everyone exactly what happened last night.”
Kyria could hardly dispute the logic of Reed’s words, so she merely sat down in the empty chair beside her sister, relieved that at least she did not have to sit next to Rafe. She glanced across the table, and Rafe winked at her. She could not keep a smile from touching her lips—and that in itself was annoying.
“Now, then,” Reed went on, “I assume, Kyria, that you already know the details of our visitor’s death and the discovery of the box, since you were there. So unless anyone has any further questions for Mr. McIntyre, I would like to move on to what I’ve found out about our mysterious visitor.”
“You know something?” Kyria asked, surprised.
�
�Not much,” Reed admitted. “I talked to the constable last night and this morning, but he was able to find out nothing more than that a dark-complexioned man reportedly got off the train in the village yesterday afternoon and asked directions to Broughton Park. Presumably he walked here. However, Mr. McIntyre and I went through the man’s pockets last night, and we came up with a few things.”
Reed opened an envelope and shook out some items onto the table. “We found a ticket stub for the train trip from London, as well as a receipt for a room at an inn in London and a ticket on a ship from Istanbul arriving three days ago in Southampton. Both the name on the ticket and the receipt match the name written on the calling cards in this card case.”
“You mean you know who he is?” Desmond asked, leaning forward with interest and adjusting his wire-rimmed spectacles.
“I am assuming that the name on the card and the ticket is in all likelihood that of the man who was carrying them, although, of course, I cannot be certain,” Reed said carefully.
“Oh, Reed, you sound just like a solicitor,” Kyria said impatiently. “Just tell us who he was.”
“The card says ‘Leonides Kousoulous,’” Reed said.
“He was Greek, then?” Thisbe asked.
“It would certainly fit with his coloring,” Reed admitted, and looked toward Rafe questioningly.
“It could have been Greek he spoke,” Rafe agreed. “I studied ancient Greek in school, but I understand that the modern language is somewhat different, and I have never heard a native speak it, certainly.”
Reed opened the gold card case and took out one of the calling cards, which he handed to his father. “It also says something underneath the name, as well as what looks like an address. I am afraid my Greek is a little rusty, too, but I thought you would be able to read it.”
The duke nodded as he perused the card. “Yes. It identifies him as a dealer in antiquities. But the address is in Constantinople.”
“Yes, and the departure point of the ship he took to England is Istanbul,” Reed reminded them. “Among the English-pound notes in his pockets were several coins which I believe to be Turkish.”
“Hmm. Interesting,” Broughton said, nodding thoughtfully. “Well, no surprise, I suppose, that an antiquities dealer was in possession of such a thing. Uncle Bellard believes, as I do, that it is of Byzantine origin.”
“Oh, yes.” Uncle Bellard bobbed his head happily, looking more than ever like a bird. He patted the two heavy tomes sitting on the table in front of him. “That rounded top is typical, as are the biblical engravings. I’m not an expert, but I do happen to have a few books about the later empire. I looked through them this morning after Broughton showed me the box, and I found a drawing or two.”
He opened the two books to the appropriate pages and began to pass them around the table. “They’re both from the period A.D. 500 to A.D. 1000, and you can see that they are very similar to this box. One of them is ivory, with carnelian and turquoise set in, and the other is cloisonné.”
Everyone examined the drawings closely as they came around the table. Thisbe looked up after examining the page. “Yes, but what does our box look like? We haven’t seen it, or at least I haven’t.”
“Oh, yes, quite right. Terribly sorry.” Broughton rose to his feet and crossed to one of the glass-faced cases against the wall. He unlocked the case and took out the ivory box. He brought it back and set it on the table, and everyone leaned closer to get a better look.
“It’s beautiful,” the duchess said, rather awed. “What are those carvings on it? And that stone! It’s magnificent.”
“It’s a black diamond, Mother,” Kyria explained, as entranced as the others with the box, even though she had seen it before. “Or at least, I’m almost sure it is. Isn’t it beautiful?”
“The carvings are biblical scenes,” Uncle Bellard put in. “One, I am fairly certain, is the story of the loaves and fishes, and another is of the betrayal in the garden of Gethsemane. I’m not entirely sure about the two smaller ones on the ends.”
“What’s inside it?” Alex asked, ever the curious one.
“We don’t know,” Kyria replied. “We haven’t been able to open it.”
“What?”
“I have looked it over and over,” Broughton said. “I can’t find a seam, a hinge, a latch. Nothing! I am sure it must open, but there’s obviously some secret to it.”
“Wizard!” Con exclaimed, thoroughly interested now, and came around the table to stand between his great-uncle and father and lean so close to the box that he was practically lying on the table. There was nothing Con loved as much as a puzzle.
“The Byzantines were excellent craftsmen,” his father went on. “It was probably a clever bit of extra safety for whatever was inside the box.”
“No doubt the relic was very important to them,” Uncle Bellard added, nodding.
“Relic?” Kyria asked. “What relic? What are you talking about?”
“Uncle Bellard and I agree that it is probably a reliquary,” Broughton explained. At the blank looks of most of those around the table, he explained, “That is something, usually some sort of box, which contained a sacred relic—a splinter of the ‘true cross,’ say, or a saint’s finger bone or something.”
“A finger bone!” Kyria exclaimed, and everyone looked askance at the box.
“Do you think there’s a finger still in it?” Alex asked, obviously pleased at the thought, and came around to join his twin and peer at the reliquary.
“I doubt very seriously that there is anything in it,” Reed said flatly. “The thing is hundreds of years old, after all. And it wasn’t necessarily a finger, anyway. A relic could be any number of things, although obviously, it couldn’t have been very large.” He looked at the box, which was no longer than six inches and a little more than half that wide and deep.
“Well, it would make sense that the stranger came from Istanbul,” Thisbe commented, “given that the box is Byzantine in origin. But what I wonder is, why did he bring it here? Why did he ask for Kyria?”
Reed shrugged. “No one knows. That is all Mr. McIntyre understood of what he said. My assumption is that it is something from Theo.”
“It seems awfully peculiar,” Desmond said.
“Theo’s gifts are often peculiar,” Reed pointed out. “However, the last we heard from him, I thought he was in Australia or someplace like that.”
“One never knows with him,” Thisbe said. As Theo’s twin, she was the closest to her brother, even though Theo’s adventuring had kept them apart for the past several years. “He goes wherever his whim takes him. And if he was in Australia, where we sent him the letter about Olivia’s wedding, he could have decided to come home, in which case, he would probably have taken a ship that would come through the Suez Canal, wouldn’t he?”
“Yes, you’re right. And he would have been right there, close to Turkey.”
“But if he was coming for Olivia’s wedding, where is he?” the duchess asked pragmatically.
“Yes, and why wouldn’t he have brought the thing with him?” Kyria added.
Reed answered with a shrug. “I have no idea. Perhaps he was struck by another of his whims and decided to stay in Istanbul and just send this box on.”
“You think it’s a wedding present?” Kyria asked doubtfully. “It seems a little odd.”
“Why didn’t he send a note explaining it?” the duchess added. “Theo, at least, scribbles a note, usually.”
“That’s true,” Kyria said.
Rafe McIntyre spoke up. “I don’t know your son, ma’am. But maybe he told this fellow who brought the box whatever it was he wanted to say to you. We just don’t know what it is.”
The duchess nodded. “Yes, that makes sense, I suppose. Theo was never as comfortable with a pen and paper as the rest of my children.”
Reed let out a snort. “You mean he’d rather face a charging elephant than write a letter.”
“Still, I agree with Kyr
ia,” Thisbe commented. “An ancient reliquary seems an unlikely wedding gift. Especially for Olivia. It’s more something Papa would like.”
“Not really my period,” the duke pointed out. “Besides, the chap said, ‘Kyria.’”
“Perhaps he was saying, ‘Kyrie,’” Desmond suggested quietly, and everyone turned to look at him. “It is Greek for lord, isn’t it? Kyrie eleison? Perhaps he was trying to say Lord Broughton?”
“But I’m not called that,” the duke said.
“Yes, but a Greek isn’t going to necessarily know the intricacies of British titles,” Thisbe put in. She turned toward Rafe. “Could he have been saying, ‘Kyrie’?”
Rafe shrugged. “I suppose it’s possible. Once he said only the first syllable, and the first time…I don’t know. I’m not sure what the ending of the word was. It sounded like Kyria, but of course the two words are very similar.”
“But why would Theo send that to Papa?” Kyria asked. “Theo would know that that wasn’t the era that Papa studies.”
Reed nodded. “It makes more sense that he sent it to Kyria because of the diamond. We all know that she loves gems. Although I have to say it seems extravagant, even for Theo.”
All around the table, heads nodded in agreement. They were all silent for a moment, looking at the reliquary. Then the duke said, “You know, Kyria, that chap I mentioned last night—Jennings? Actually, he lives not that far from here. Only a few hours’ ride. It wouldn’t be too difficult to take this over and show it to him, get his opinion. I am sure he could tell us a lot more about this reliquary than Uncle Bellard and I can. He has studied the Byzantine Empire for years and years. I could write him, telling him why you want to see him.”
Kyria sat up straighter, smiling. “That would be wonderful. I would like that. Perhaps he would even know something about how it should open.”
“I have to go to London tomorrow,” Reed put in. “I’m sorry, Kyria, but it’s important business. I won’t be back for at least a few weeks, but I could escort you then.”