by Linda Ford
She pursed her lips, and he recognized the signs of her displeasure. “Couldn’t someone take over your duties there for the time being?”
“Perhaps I should have a look at the collection first. With the help of some assistants, it’s possible we could manage to catalog the items more quickly.”
She shook her head. “Oh, no. I couldn’t bear to have the house invaded by strangers.”
“It wouldn’t be anything like that. Museum workers tend to be very quiet, and perhaps with only one assistant, I could manage, at least enough to have the collection moved.”
“No, no. I couldn’t have it. My nerves wouldn’t bear it.” She clutched her gnarled hand to her mouth and turned away.
“All right, no one need come,” he assured her, not wanting to have to deal with a swoon. He wondered if Miss Norton would be coming back soon. She seemed to have a gentle yet effective way of dealing with his aunt.
Before he could rise, his aunt spoke again. “I knew you would understand. Would you like to look at the collection now or come back tomorrow?”
She seemed fully recovered. Reid flipped open his watch. “I have time now to begin to look at things, get a feel for the scope of the work. You said everything has been brought here?”
“Yes. You can go right into your uncle’s study and the library. I’ll ring for the maid to escort you.”
Reid stood, preferring to come to no decisions until he’d seen the state of the collection. Time enough then to think what this job of cataloging would entail. Time enough to think what remaining so long in England would mean...
* * *
The moment Reid entered the study, memories of his uncle surrounded him. The scent of his brand of pipe tobacco lingered in the air. It seemed nothing had been changed from when his uncle had last sat here. The glass-enclosed bookshelves were crammed with leather-bound volumes and portfolios. The gilt-edged desk blotter still had ink stains on its green surface. Reid stepped farther into the room and examined the desk’s surface. Even his uncle’s pipe rested against the edge of an ashtray—a glazed piece of pottery from Crete.
He turned to the black-clad maid. “Thank you. I’ll just look around.”
She gave a brief curtsy. “Very well, sir. Just ring if you need anything.”
The door shut behind her and stillness descended once again. Reid remembered his hours sitting on the straight-backed chair facing the large walnut desk, his uncle in the swivel chair in front of it. Uncle George would light his pipe and take a few puffs, the chair squeaking as he leaned back with those first satisfied puffs. Then with a conspiratorial grin, he’d show Reid an item or two and tell him the astonishing tale of how he’d come to acquire it. Then he’d finger the side of his nose and say with mock severity, “And not a word to your Aunt Millie about it!”
Reid would promise with all the solemnity of a boy entrusted with a secret by so great a man as Uncle George.
His uncle’s life had seemed one adventure after the other, and Reid had longed to grow up quickly to follow in his footsteps.
Reid smiled to himself as he picked up a brass envelope opener—a medieval knife from the early Ottoman Empire—and fingered its sharp edge. He’d had a few adventures of his own since then. It would have been nice to sit here once again and swap stories with his uncle—but sadly he’d never have the chance now.
He took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders, remembering what he’d come for. Behind him, against one wall, were stacks of boxes. He peered at the topmost one: Egypt: Saqqâra Pyramids, September 1839. He took out his pocketknife and carefully cut the string holding the box shut.
Everything inside was tissue wrapped. Reid took out a few items—vases, a female statuette, a broken piece of blue porcelain tile. The box was crammed full.
He set the things on the desktop and entered the next room. The library was also as he remembered it, but stacked in its wide center were piles of boxes. He whistled as he looked around.
This could mean months of work. He wasn’t sure how many notes his uncle had taken, but he’d have to uncover them if he hoped to place and date the relics stored in the boxes.
He walked slowly around the room, reading labels where they were available, opening some of the boxes and looking at the samples inside. When he reached a smaller box, with the word Notes scrawled across it in black ink, he slit it open quickly. Inside he found leather-bound notebooks.
He leafed through one. His uncle’s travel journals. He deciphered the neat ink scrawl. Some pages were stained, many were yellowed with age, while others were still clean and very legible. Many had to do with his uncle’s official functions, but others detailed his archaeological endeavors. “Eureka...” he breathed, his excitement mounting.
After skimming a few pages describing a harrowing climb into a tomb, Reid closed the worn notebook. For all his adventurous side, his uncle had been a meticulous recorder. A life’s work summed up within the pages of a dozen or so notebooks. Uncle George had been a pioneer in a new branch of science. The few pages Reid had read reminded him a lot of his own work, but it also brought to the fore how primitive his uncle’s foray into this new field had been.
He let his gaze roam around the room. Regardless of the enormity of the task, it had to be done. The record of the past needed to be cataloged and analyzed. The treasures needed to be brought to the light of day and shared with scholars.
With a sigh he eased himself down on the floor and positioned himself cross-legged on the soft Persian carpet. Opening the journal to the first page, he began to read.
August 12, 1840. Toured the inner chambers of pyramid. Intensely hot. Came to chamber of sarcophagi. Massive tombs. Crawled down narrow chamber, about two hundred feet lower... Air became thicker and staler the farther we went. Hoped no noxious gases lingering there. Wouldn’t have wanted to join the mummies resting there, only to be found by a future explorer a century or so from now.
My dragoman almost left me. He didn’t like invading a tomb... Can’t be helped, I told him. Had to pretend an indifference I was far from feeling...
Reid wasn’t aware how much time had passed when the sound of a throat clearing behind him brought him back to the present.
He looked up to see Miss Norton in the doorway, holding a tray. He stood, then immediately bent to rub the top of his legs, which had become stiff. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”
She smiled. “Please don’t get up. I didn’t want to disturb you, but when Lady Haversham told me you had been here since this morning, I thought you might like some refreshment about now.”
The words made him realize he was both thirsty and hungry. He walked toward her to relieve her of the tray, appreciating her thoughtfulness.
He set the tray on a desk and flipped open his watch. It was just past noon. “I didn’t realize I’d sat there so long, although my body certainly does,” he added with a grimace as he rubbed the kinks out of his neck.
She poured a cup of tea, adding a sugar cube and placing a slice of lemon on the saucer. The simple task captured his attention. Perhaps it was the slim shape of her hands, or her graceful motions, or simply the fact that she’d remembered how he took his tea. She handed him the cup.
“Thank you.”
“I brought a plate of sandwiches, in case you were hungry. Or if you’d rather, your aunt dines at one.”
“Actually, I’d prefer just the sandwiches. That way I can work for another hour or so before leaving. I need to get back to the museum to continue with the other collection. If you could make my excuses to Aunt Millicent.”
“Certainly. I’m sure she’ll understand.”
She offered him the plate of sandwiches and he took one. “Just seeing them makes me realize I’m famished.”
She smiled, and he noted again how expressive her face was. His artist mother had dragged him through every museum in
whichever country they’d been living in. Now he valued the lessons. It gave him an appreciation for the human form.
Miss Norton reminded him of paintings from the Italian Renaissance, he decided, with her pale skin and tawny hair. She had a rather thin but mobile face, her caramel-brown eyes large and her mouth generous. Botticelli. Botticelli’s Birth of Venus with its mixture of sadness and kindliness in the shapely eyes.
He hadn’t realized he’d been staring until she moved away from the desk and gazed at the opened boxes on the floor. “My, I never realized there were so many things in storage.”
“Nor did I.” He leaned against the desk and took a bite from a sandwich quarter.
She peered into an open box but didn’t take anything out, which also pleased him. Most people would grab anything unusual with no regard to its fragility. He had noticed the same thing at the museum. Although she’d asked a lot of questions about the mummy masks, she hadn’t touched anything.
She paused at the open journal on the floor.
“Notes?”
He nodded. “Travel journals, but they contain quite some detail on the artifacts. My uncle did some extensive exploration in the years he was in Egypt.”
Her eyes widened with interest. “When was he there?”
He calculated. “From the midthirties to the midforties.”
“We were in Palestine from 1868 to 1874.”
“I didn’t go over until 1880,” he told her. “Ten years ago.”
She nodded, her expression pensive. “I remember our boat stopping in Alexandria. It seemed such a busy place filled with so many turbaned people. I was only a young girl, so it’s a jumbled memory.”
“I spent a few years as a boy in Cairo in the...let’s see...early sixties. When I went back out this time around, I was much older, a full-grown man of thirty.” He looked down at the remains of the sandwich in his hand. “Set on leaving England and never looking back.” He looked up, embarrassed at the words that had slipped out, probably as a result of having gone back in time since he’d entered his uncle’s study.
She didn’t seem perturbed by his reply. Instead her gaze appeared to radiate empathy, as if she knew exactly how one sometimes cannot bear memories of a place.
He set down his sandwich and brushed the crumbs from his fingers. “Egypt was just the challenge I needed at the time. I sought action and adventure.”
“Did you find it?”
He squeezed the lemon into his tea. “I found my fair share.”
She took a few more steps around the boxes. “Your uncle seems to have been a man of adventure, as well.”
“Yes, his journals make for some interesting reading. I wish I had the time to delve into them more fully.” He set his cup down, frustrated once again as he thought of the task ahead of him. “My aunt wants me to catalog all these artifacts.”
She turned her attention back to him. “My goodness. Can you do it all yourself?”
“Hardly. But she insists no strangers are to come to the house.”
“I understand,” she said. “Her nerves.”
“Tell me, just how badly off is she?”
She folded her hands in front of her. “She is under regular medical care.”
“Is she—” how could he phrase it politely? “—as serious as, well, you saw her the other day?”
“It’s hard to say. I’ve been here scarcely a year.” She pressed her lips together as if debating whether to say more. “She dismissed her previous companion, I’m told,” she went on more slowly, “and the one before that.” She gave him a small smile. “So far, I seem to have suited her, but I’m new yet.”
He remembered how particular his aunt could be. It was unfair to ask Miss Norton to make any judgments about his aunt. She was only an employee, after all, her position at the mercy of Aunt Millicent’s whims. “I apologize for my questions. I realize you probably don’t think it your place to form any opinions.”
“I may form opinions, but as to voicing them...” She shrugged and turned away from him to study something in one of the boxes.
“All right, fair enough.”
She straightened. “I had better leave you to your lunch—and work.”
“Thank you for the refreshment. It was just what I needed.”
“I’m glad I could be of help.” She paused a moment. “I—I wanted to thank you for...taking care of my cab fare the other day. It was most generous of you.”
He waved away her thanks, having already forgotten about it. “It was the least I could do for keeping you so long over tea.” He had no idea how much paid companions earned, but he imagined it wasn’t much. He could hardly conceive of a life at the beck and call of another. He was used to the independence of working far away from civilization and its strictures. Occasional loneliness was the main drawback, and he’d learned to deal with that.
Miss Norton nodded, her cheeks bright pink, making her look more strikingly than ever like her famous portrait counterpart. What was such an obviously bright, not unattractive, young woman doing in such a position?
He looked away, having steeled himself over the years not to notice any woman’s charms. There’d only been one woman in his life.
“I thank you, all the same, for your thoughtfulness. It was most kind of you.”
Uncomfortable with her gratitude, Reid cleared his throat and picked up his teacup once again.
“Well, let me or any of the servants know if you need anything while you’re here.”
He frowned at the way she lumped herself with the servants. She was too intelligent and refined. Probably, as most paid companions, a gentlewoman down on her luck, reduced to the semiservant position. He remembered that she said her father was a curate. She was probably helping to support her elderly parents.
She had reached the door when he had a thought. Just before she disappeared through the doorway, he said, “You wouldn’t be interested in helping me catalog some of this stuff, would you?”
As soon as he uttered the words, he already regretted them. He usually considered things carefully before making a decision.
What did this young woman know about ancient artifacts? He didn’t need someone who would require careful supervision. It would be difficult enough sifting through his uncle’s notes, trying to match them to the heap of antiquities.
As Reid watched the surprise in her eyes turn to excitement, something tugged at him. A sense of compassion stirred within him as he thought how narrow her life within these walls must be.
She had lived in the Middle East and had some knowledge of the ancient world. More importantly, she knew how to follow instructions and how to be silent, two qualities he valued highly in any assistant.
“Do you think I could be of help?”
He nodded slowly. It just might be the perfect solution. His aunt couldn’t object to her as a stranger, and she was right here, available any time he chose to come by.
“I told Aunt Millicent I’d need help. I don’t think she realized the scope of it. Since she balked at any suggestion of an outsider, I don’t think she’d have a problem with someone in her employ lending a hand a couple of hours a few days a week.”
“I’d certainly be willing to do anything to help.” Her gaze roamed over the boxes around her. Then she drew her two eyebrows together. “I don’t know if she will allow me to assist you, however.”
“If you’d rather not, just say the word. It’s no problem.”
“Oh, no, it’s not that at all. I think it would be fascinating work. It’s just...well, perhaps you’d better broach the subject with your aunt.”
He nodded. “If you’re concerned about Aunt Millicent objecting, don’t. I’ll handle that aspect of it.” If his aunt could force him to remain in Britain for a few months, she’d have to agree to some of his conditions, as well.
“I...�
� She hesitated, and he wondered again if she was having second thoughts about undertaking the work. “I—what I mean is...don’t be discouraged if your aunt says no.” She pressed her fine lips together and looked down, as if hesitant to say more.
He breathed a sigh of relief that that was her only qualm. “I’ve known her since I was a boy and learned how to get my way. Being a favorite nephew does have its advantages upon occasion.”
A smile tugged at her lips, and he was heartened. She really had a most sympathetic face. There was something radiant in it when she smiled.
He rubbed his hands together, his eagerness to begin the task starting to grow. “Very well, then. I’ll let you know when you’re to start.”
Her eyes lighted up and he felt a tingle of warmth steal into his heart, as if he’d given a child something delightful on her birthday. It occurred to him there wasn’t much brightness in her life. If he could give her a little bit, then maybe his time in England would not be altogether wasted.
Chapter Four
Maddie’s gaze went from the small limestone fragment on her left to the battered notebook on the table in front of her. She compared the description:
Profile of king? Young prince? Standing on left. Sun God Ra with bird’s head on right. Offering of bull, chickens. Seated monkey. Found at KV 2.
If this artifact matched the description in Sir Haversham’s notebook, then it meant that everything in the box may have been found at the same location.
Maddie blew away the strands of hair tickling her forehead, sensing the excitement in her begin to grow. She scanned the fragments of pottery laid out on the long table before her. The last fortnight had involved painstaking work, first, unpacking a portion of the boxes and trunks and piling the remainder against one wall of the library. Then began the detective phase of deciphering the spidery handwriting in the stack of notebooks and various loose sheets of paper and matching descriptions to contents of boxes.
She glanced at Mr. Gallagher bent over a black stele covered in hieroglyphics. Her hunch that his attention to detail made for a good Egyptologist had been confirmed for her over the time they’d been working together. He had been uncompromising in his process of carefully unpacking each box and laying out the contents in a separate area, labeling what could be readily identified.