Wicked

by Shannon Drake

  He walked some distance from her. Yes, he had asked his questions. And she had replied with such anger and passion that he had not doubted her words. He had dragged her in on this. Evidence seemed to show that he could trust her. As yet, though, he could not put his faith in her, and neither did he want to feel the growing attraction for her that was beginning to tease his senses mercilessly.

  He set his coffee cup down, locking his jaw, hardening his resolve. “Shelby will be there to pick you up at four this afternoon.”

  “I cannot possibly leave at four!”

  “Yes, you can. Sir John will give you permission. The sisters are quite talented, Camille, but they must have a few days if they are to create a ball gown.”

  She looked as if she was struggling to maintain her temper. “Lord Stirling, this whole thing is quite ridiculous. You’re on a hunt—whether justified or not, I do not know! But this charade will end, and I must keep my employment!”

  “Trust me. I have written a letter that Shelby will deliver to Sir John. You will be given the time.”

  “Lord Stirling—”

  He turned to leave the hall, having a great deal of business to attend to that day. She was disturbing in many ways, like a rose—with thorns.

  “Good morning, Camille. I will see you this evening, in my quarters, for dinner as usual. And I will appreciate a report on the events at the museum.”

  She rose, irritated, calling after him. “Events at the museum! I will put on an apron and work over ages of dust! There. I have given you the events of the museum that concern me.”

  He stopped, turned. “Oh, Miss Montgomery. You are ever so much more observant and clever than that!”

  He didn’t allow her to reply, but headed quickly for the exit.

  THAT MORNING, CAMILLE found it difficult to concentrate.

  As she stared at her work, the symbols continued to meld before her eyes. She hadn’t managed an exact translation of the continuation of the text, but it seemed that the warning involved something about the curse falling upon not only those who invaded and defiled the tomb, but upon their offspring, as well. However, that didn’t seem so startling, since the “Beast” of Carlyle Castle was already reputed to be cursed.

  Anxious that she needed a break, she emerged from her little workroom and looked to Sir John’s desk, determined to ask him if she might step out for a cup of tea, anything to settle her nerves. But Sir John wasn’t there.

  Restlessly she wandered the office, then sat at his desk. His top drawer was ajar, and when she went to close it, she discovered that it was stuck. Wrangling with it, she managed to draw it wide-open. When she would have closed it properly, she stopped, her eyes caught by the newspaper clipping that had been left on top of the assorted pens, pencils and paperwork utensils.

  It was the front page of the Times from a little over a year ago. And the headline was definitely provocative.

  Curse From The Grave Takes The Lives Of London’s Finest

  There was a photograph below the line. Though poor and grainy due to the newsprint, Camille recognized the woman in the picture as being Lady Abigail Stirling. The fellow at her side, the late Lord Stirling, was quite tall and imposing with a handsome, well-chiseled face. They were standing at the site of a dig. Both smiled radiantly. The lord’s arm was around the shoulders of his lady. She was dressed simply in a light blouse and long skirt, while he was in a tweed jacket. There were others around them, Egyptian workers and fellow Europeans.

  Camille floundered in Sir John’s top drawer, seeking his magnifying glass. She continued to study the picture. Seated on a slab of Egyptian marble was Mrs. Prior. At her side, mopping his brow, was Lord Wimbly. Two men were close to the entry of the tomb, involved in carrying out artifacts that were carefully wrapped for transportation. They were Hunter and Alex. In the doorway of the tomb itself stood Sir John. And she had to stare to see that it was Aubrey Sizemore directing the Egyptian workers in the background as they transported a coffin up a hill.

  Below the picture and caption, another line read,

  Exultation to tragedy; noble lord and lady fall prey to Egyptian cobras. Even the Queen mourns, as revenge from the grave seems to reach out with skeletal fingers and bring about a terrible demise.

  Someone was coming! Camille wanted to read the entire article, but she couldn’t risk being caught delving into Sir John’s desk. She quickly returned the article and shut the drawer, then set the magnifying glass back in its place. She leaped to her feet.

  Her heart was thundering and she didn’t know why. What she had done wasn’t so terrible. She had righted a drawer. She had seen an article and started to read it. Certainly she had seen it when it came out, but that was a year ago, before she had become part of the museum. She read the paper constantly. The news would have faded behind that which had occurred more recently.

  Sir John entered, seeming preoccupied at first, but then frowning when he noticed her standing there.

  “Is there something wrong, Camille?” he asked. The silent question behind that, of course, was, why aren’t you working?

  “I’m sorry, Sir John. I have been doing well, but I’m feeling a bit tired. I was hoping to slip out for a cup of tea. I won’t take any lunch at all later. You’ve been so kind to agree with Lord Stirling that I must leave early to meet with the dressmaker.”

  To her surprise, Sir John waved a hand in the air, returning to his somewhat distracted state. “If you were not to come in at all during the week, my dear, it would be quite all right. You’ve done us great service in a day’s time. Go, enjoy some tea. Your work will wait.”

  “Thank you. I do not mean, however, to neglect my responsibility in any way!”

  “Even I need a cup of tea upon occasion. Or a whiskey! Something to clear the head.” As if thinking in that direction and seeking another cure, he shook his own. “Tea, yes. And take what time you need.”

  With that blessing, Camille eschewed her apron and picked up the little blue reticule that matched so well with the sedate but beautiful gown Mrs. Prior had afforded her. Then she fled the offices.

  Heading out through the exhibits, she found herself pausing. The cobra was lying relaxed and dormant. There were no children about to tease it. She walked close to the glass, wondering if they really were wise to keep the creature on display. Glass could break after all.

  She frowned. It was Aubrey’s responsibility to care for the cobra. He knew something about the creatures from his time on expeditions. An unease filled her. She had seen Aubrey in the picture of the last expedition the Stirlings had sponsored. Just as she had seen the others.

  She turned to leave, then stopped, an uneasy feeling trickling down her spine.

  She turned, glanced around, then gave herself a shake. Had she really been afraid that the snake had leaped from its terrarium to come slithering after her? No…She hadn’t been afraid that the snake had been following her. But she had felt someone…watching. Yet there was no one around. At least, no one she could see.

  Still not able to shake the odd sensation that she was being followed, Camille hurried on out of the building and headed for the tea garden directly across the street.

  GREGORY ALTHORP WAS SEATED on a stool, deeply focused on the object beneath his microscope.

  Brian had to clear his throat to get his attention.

  Gregory looked up. “Brian!” he said with surprise. “Uh, sorry, Lord Stirling.”

  “Brian suffices just fine, thank you,” Brian said, walking forward and shaking hands with the man. They had served together in the Queen’s Service. To Brian, that put the two of them on a first-name basis.

  Gregory was so tall and thin, calling him lanky was a kindness. He had taken his medical expertise onto the fields of war, but then shrapnel in his calf had sent him home. He didn’t need to be in the teaching college, yet there he was, as usual, because the field of medicine fascinated him endlessly. He had once told Brian that if he worked every minute of his life, there w
ould not be enough time to begin to explore all the areas that called to him, all the areas that needed to be explored.

  A skeleton hung on a frame nearby. As Gregory’s passion was discovering the true source of death, he usually worked in one of the dissecting labs. A body lay covered on a table, awaiting the cold scalpels of teachers or students.

  Though the soul of the departed was surely long gone, Brian couldn’t help but feel an inkling of sympathy for the corpse. There had been, in the past, hideous ado over the procurement of bodies for medical schools. There had been terrible incidents of ghastly murders since many a man and woman had been worth more dead than alive. The trial of Burke and Hare, the “body snatchers,” in Edinburgh had brought attention to the dangers of making corpses so valuable.

  They were still valuable, though the government had worked hard to make them more available. Therefore, Gregory would use every inch of the dead man, just as a poor hunter might make use of every bit of a slain animal. Gregory’s determination, however, would be to advance his own passion—an understanding of the human body and how it worked. And what forces brought about death.

  “How are you?” Gregory studied Brian’s eyes. “Surely, the wounds have healed and cannot be quite so fearsome as that mask!”

  Brian shrugged. “Maybe the mask is what I’ve become,” he said lightly.

  Gregory continued his study. “It’s been a while since you visited. I’m sorry I’ve not pursued some of your questions further. I’m afraid that the police have requested my help many times in the past several months. I wish that there was more I could tell you, Brian. Actually, since it seems I’ve been able to give you questions rather than answers, I’m rather sorry I ever called upon you when…when your parents died.”

  Brian shook his head. “You did the right thing.”

  “I sent you on a horrible quest, and it seems that there is no answer. If there had been, you’d not be here now.”

  “Observant, of course,” Brian told him, grinning ruefully. “But I’d like to go over your notes again, if I might.”

  “I’ve created an obsession,” Gregory said sorrowfully.

  “Is justice an obsession?”

  “Is revenge justice?”

  Brian shook his head. “I believe someone so coveted riches and fame that they were willing to kill. It isn’t revenge to see that such a crime never occurs again.”

  “Ah, Brian!” Gregory murmured.

  “It’s true, I’m angry. And perhaps I do seek vengeance, of a kind. But time has passed and my anger is now cold and calculating. And though the scar I bear on my heart is far deeper than any of my flesh, it is truly justice I’m seeking.”

  “After all this time…? We’re talking about asps! How will you ever prove it?”

  “Perhaps I can’t.”

  “Then…”

  “Perhaps, with the proper knowledge, I can force the killer to show his true colors.”

  “I cannot dissuade you?”

  “You did start me on the quest.”

  Gregory sighed. He rose, a slim man in a white coat among Bunsen lamps, test tubes, chemicals, a skeleton and a corpse. “I’ll get my notes.”

  THE REST OF THE DAY passed quickly enough. Camille was happier with her work after having taken her break, and the symbols seemed to fall into place nicely, verifying what she had already suspected. She understood quite well how Brian Stirling had acquired his reputation as “the beast,” since the curse was to be visited upon the heirs of those “who dared defile” into perpetuity. It was natural that anyone in the least superstitious would find themselves embracing a certain fear of the earl. Therefore, he became a beast. Not that his behavior at times didn’t warrant such a reaction!

  Alex stopped by as she worked into the early afternoon, not having much to say but staring at her morosely. “He may be quite mad, you know,” he said from the doorway.

  “Pardon?”

  “The Earl of Carlyle. Camille, I am so afraid for you!”

  She sighed. “I don’t think he’s insane.”

  “Do you call it rational that he should choose such a mask, let his grounds become a jungle and live within those walls of his as if he were a cornered animal?” Alex demanded.

  Behind him, she could see the old fellow Aubrey had been seeking the day before. Stooped and bent, with long gray whiskers and a beard to match, Jim Arboc was busy sweeping the outer office.

  “A man has a right to be eccentric,” Camille told Alex.

  Alex shook his head. “He has everything in the world. A man born with a title can get away with anything. Why, if I were an earl, with that kind of money, with his resources…”

  “Alex, he’s not doing anything terrible. He prefers to live a quiet life within his own walls.”

  “You don’t get a reputation for being a beast without a reason.”

  She arched her brows. “Alex, you’ve seen him in here. He can be entirely courteous.”

  “Ah, Camille. Even you!”

  “Even I…what?” she demanded, feeling a surge of raw anger.

  “It’s his title. You’re enraptured by that title.”

  “Alex, you’re my friend,” she said softly. “I suggest you get out before your words to me indicate that you are something other.”

  “Oh, Camille!” he said miserably. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Apology accepted.”

  He came into the room then, obviously still distressed. “What if I were rich?” he asked her.

  “Pardon?”

  “If I were…well, if I were a man of greater means. Would you care about me then?”

  “Alex! I do care about you.”

  “That’s not what I mean, Camille, and you know it.”

  She shook her head. “Alex, I repeat, you’re my friend and I care about you. But at this stage of my life, I am concerned with my work. You know that it was difficult for me to actually obtain my position here. I am dedicated to doing the best work that I can and keeping this job!”

  “Then why are you living with the man?”

  “I am not living with the man!” she said with indignant horror.

  “Why stay there? Get Tristan away. Surely, unless he were seriously injured, he could be moved by now.”

  “I don’t know what you’re implying, Alex, but I am taking great offense at your words.”

  “I care about you far too much to see…well, to see this happening to you.”

  “Just what is happening to me, Alex?” she demanded.

  “There will be a terrible scandal,” he told her.

  “Oh, and why?”

  “You’re a commoner, Camille. That is not meant as offense, but simple fact. And you are staying with the Earl of Carlyle. He is going to escort you to a gala. Surely, you know, tongues will wag.”

  “Then they will just have to do so,” she said sharply. She stood then, furious. “Alex, I am going to have to ask you to leave. The world has called Lord Stirling a monster. I can tell you that he is not. He has asked me to attend a museum function with him. I will do so. And I am not afraid of being with the man. Indeed, you and Hunter have behaved with far less decorum and courtesy. So let the tongues wag. I will defend the man. He has been hurt, scarred, wounded. That is all. I do not find him repulsive, nor do I find him a monster in any way. Once again, if you would have our friendship continue, I suggest you leave without further words to drive us apart.”

  “Camille!”

  “Alex, go!”

  He turned, obviously still distressed. She heard him muttering as he left. “Titles…and riches!”

  With a sigh, she went back to her work.

  I cannot describe in words the joy felt upon our discovery! Nor, I suppose, can I begin to explain the absolute fascination dear George and I have found delving into the past and the present of this exquisite, yet suffering, country. The ancients left such treasures, while the people now suffer in such poverty. It is my dearest hope that in finding the riches of the past, we may give b
ack to those who now so desperately need our help. If we are to be a great empire, then we must take care that we do not rob these people of their heritage. We must see that they are given all that they need to enter into the quickly coming twentieth century. That said, let me try to put down everything about that glorious first day and all the wonders of excavation since!

  It was early when Abdul found the first steps. Eagerly, we dug, myself included! And there, slowly, we at last found the sealed doorway! There was, of course, a warning upon it. One of the poor diggers was in horror, certain that we had unearthed something unholy. I felt such sorrow for the poor man that I discreetly paid him his day’s wage and sent him on his way. Lord Wimbly was a bit put out that I paid the fellow, saying that they were nothing but superstitious fools and shouldn’t be rewarded for such behavior. Hunter, of course, shrugged and said that I must do what I must. He is ever such a flirt and intrigued only with what he shall do next! I think Alex, too, was upset, but the poor dear has been out so often, truly ill a few times. I tried to cheer him as I understand that he is often frustrated, not being able to finance many a project that he would find rewarding himself.

  Other workers were brought in to break the seal. And then, behold! The tomb came to light. We were amazed, for though we had not found the grand tomb of a pharaoh, we had discovered the next best thing—the resting place of a great vizier, prophet or holy man. And, as we delicately moved into the entry, we realized that we had made a tremendous find. Sir John shared our ecstasy, and it was difficult to keep Aubrey from plowing like an elephant into the tomb, he was so anxious and eager.

  We knew that every find would need to be carefully removed. And there would be so many decisions to make. Finds must go into the museum at Cairo, for truly, in my heart, I see that these treasures belong to the Egyptian people. And finds must go to our own great center of culture and learning, for I fervently believe that it is from the past that we discover the future. If there is anything I can do to repay God above who has blessed me with such a life, it is to give the gift of learning and education to our people…to all people.