“That’s what everyone says.”
“Can I see it?”
“I shall bring it to you,” he promised, surprising himself. “Perhaps you might recognize it.”
He doubted it, but it was worth trying. Anything was.
“And that is all?”
“That is all,” he said. “Except that the satchel… it was my father’s.”
“Oh,” she said, her mouth rounding and her brows lifting, “so whoever had it knows what happened to him.”
He nodded grimly. “I believe so.”
“Why send it to you? Why not just come tell you what happened?”
He let out a long exhalation as they rounded the corner. “That is part of what I am trying to determine.”
He looked over at her with a sideways glance. “What do you think, then?” he asked, trying to keep his words nonchalant. “Do you think I should pursue it?”
She stopped altogether, causing a man walking behind them to curse at them when he had to swerve around them.
“How could you not?” she exclaimed, her features more animated than he had ever seen them. “Why, if it was my father, I would stop at nothing to determine what happened to him.”
A sense of relief flooded through him. Relief that he was not mad for doing so, that someone believed in him — and that that someone was Madeline.
She looked over his shoulder suddenly. “We are at the museum.”
“We are.”
“What are we doing here?”
“Well,” he said with a shrug, “I heard you say that you wanted to see the Greek masters. This may not be Greece but it is their work.”
“The Elgin Marbles,” she breathed.
“Have you ever seen them?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“A woman with your talent should have the opportunity to view work from the masters… although I cannot see how you would have anything to learn.”
“What do you mean?”
“Only that your work is extraordinary.”
“Oh,” she said, her cheeks flooding with pink in a most becoming way. “I don’t know about that.”
“It’s true,” he said. “I—” Why he was admitting this, he had no idea. “I was watching you work. I could hardly believe how you made that lion come to life. You must be most sought after as a sculptor.”
She laughed, lowly and wryly. “Hardly. No one wants work completed by a woman. Don’t you know true artists are all men?”
“They wouldn’t think that if they knew what you could do.”
She shrugged. “It seems to be preferable to most that I keep the books and assist my father. Anything else is unforgiveable.”
“Then make them see what they are missing by believing so,” he said as he led her up the wide walkway and through the Doric columns.
She was silent once they entered, her curious gaze taking in all that surrounded them, and Drake wondered anew at what went on behind those wide blue eyes. She was an enigma, this woman. He was aware that most would assume the slightest adversity would break her, but she continued to prove how wrong it would be to presume such a thing. Most women would never have survived what she went through, yet here she was, not only standing, but rising. With the face of an angel, she was using her fiery sword to bring down any demon who flew into her path.
If he could help her in any way, he could. He would.
But first, today was for her — a bit of enjoyment in a world typically so void of it.
Following the directions from one of the staff members, they turned the corner into a large room, filled with works of art from Athens. But it was not the ancient Grecian sculptures that filled his gaze and stole his breath — no, it was the face of the woman beside him who captivated him. Her eyes were open wide as she took in all before her, her mouth a round O.
“Oh, Drake,” she said, hugging his arm into her side. He was aware she likely didn’t even realize what she was doing, but he enjoyed it all the same. “They are magnificent.”
He looked at the sculptures through her eyes, watching her stare at them with such awe, and suddenly he wished he was one of those marble busts, headless or not.
She walked over to one — this one with head intact, although it was lacking both its hands and feet. The sculpted — both in plaster and in physique — form of the man nearly made him jealous, so reverently did she regard it.
She removed her glove, reaching out a hand and lightly running her fingertips over the muscled bicep. Now he really did wish he could switch places with the ancient Greek.
“The Parthenon Sculptures,” she said quietly, and he wondered if she was talking to him or reviewing them for herself. “It’s hard to believe they are here, in London.”
“They have been for some time, have they not?”
“Yes,” she said with a nod. “They were at Burlington House until a few years ago.”
“Why have you not yet seen them?” he asked.
She tilted her head, still not looking directly at him. “I’m not sure. I suppose I was just too busy. I always thought I would go see them the next week or the next month, and then it just got to the point where there was always something else to do.”
Drake rocked back and forth on his heels, his hands clasped behind him. “I can understand that.”
“Have you ever seen them before?” she asked, finally looking at him, and he shook his head.
“No,” he said. “I never had any wish to see them before. It seemed a… frivolous activity for me. But you — you appreciate such things.”
“Do you know their history?” she asked, and he wondered at the fact she never wanted to speak about herself.
“I am aware they are from Greece,” he said, “and that Lord Elgin brought them to England.”
“He did,” she said, retracting her hand, re-covering it with her glove, and he mourned that loss of glimpse of skin. “They are from the Athenian Acropolis and were sculpted sometime around 440 BC. Much of the temple was destroyed during a war between Venice and the Ottomans.”
“And now nothing remains.”
She shrugged. “Lord Elgin claimed that Greece was destroying it all anyway, melting the stone down for lime. Who can know for sure? Anyway, this is said to be half of the originals. Parts of the frieze, the metopes, and figures from the pediments, among sculptures taken from elsewhere on the Acropolis.”
“These are made of marble?”
“They are,” she nodded. “Sometimes I wonder… our Castleton stone, it’s beautiful, fine stone, and yet it is not as true in its form as these. Will our stone last two thousand years? Who is to know for sure? Will my sculptures remain in a museum someday, for others to gaze upon, wondering what I was thinking, why I created what I did? Likely not.”
Her smile was sad, and he reached out a hand, lightly bringing it to her waist.
“I’m sorry. I did not bring you here to upset you.”
“Oh, you didn’t,” she said, turning to him, the sides of her lips curving back up. “I am happy you brought me here. Seeing these… they have inspired me. My fingers are itching to return to my own creations, and not just those a client has commissioned to impress onlookers. It’s also encouraged me to try my new formula, one that would allow me to truly sculpt.”
“Would you like to look around first?”
“I would,” she said, and she began to circle the room, which made him feel as though he was back in ancient Greece, with all of the gods and goddesses looking down upon him, watching his every move. Would he receive their approval, he wondered, or their ire?
He followed Madeline with his eyes, noting her study of each frieze and sculpture, how drawn in she was to them. He was never one to consider what men or women were capable of — it didn’t much matter to him.
But watching her, noting her intelligence, listening to her ideas, hearing her speak, seeing the way she truly studied everything that came into her attention, he knew he would never doubt the capability
of a woman again.
He stood as still as one of the statues until she returned to him, her reticule held tight in her hands and a dreamy smile on her face.
“I’m ready to go,” she said, and he nodded and offered his arm.
“Thank you for bringing me here,” she said as they exited the museum, although not before she pointed out the skeleton of the strange creature that Miss Ellis had discovered in Lyme Regis. Drake, however, was not one for the mythical, magical, or even historical creature. He had history enough to uncover without being concerned with giant beasts that would only haunt his nightmares.
“It was my pleasure,” he said, turning to look at her, capturing her eyes in his, this time not allowing her to tear them away. “I enjoyed seeing you happy today.”
She laughed lightly, self-consciously.
“I don’t often take time to do anything for fun. Unless Alice forces me to.”
“Well, today, I am the one doing so.”
They talked about everything and nothing as they returned to Castleton Stone, and Drake couldn’t remember the last time he had taken a moment to simply enjoy himself without purpose or expectation.
“Thank you, Drake,” she said, and their steps seemed to slow as they approached the busy factory. “What comes next?”
“Next?” he said, his head jerking up in surprise. He couldn’t deny that he had considered whether there actually was any place for her in his life, but—
“After interviewing Powers, what is your idea? What do we follow up on? And with the mystery surrounding your parents, we must—”
“Not to worry, Madeline,” he said, cutting her off. There was no chance he was going to place Madeline in any sort of danger that might come with being involved in any of his investigations. “I will take care of it.”
“But—”
“I promise,” he said, “and I promise that I will come to you for any help I might need — with either case.”
“Please do,” she said softly, before silence reigned. There was so much he wanted to say, and yet he didn’t know how — for putting it out there into the world seemed impossible, and he never wanted to make a promise he couldn’t keep.
“Madeline,” he said as they arrived at her factory, “there is something else.”
“Oh?” She looked up at him expectantly.
“I cannot always be here to watch out for you, in part because it would not be entirely proper for me to do so.”
“Of course not,” she said softly, not meeting his gaze.
“So in the meantime, I am going to send one of my colleagues to do so.”
“A colleague?”
“Yes,” he said with a nod. “Miss Georgina Jenkins. She can pose as one of your friends, and it will not seem strange if she accompanies you anywhere you wish to go.”
“A woman?” Madeline asked, raising her eyebrows.
“She is…” Drake looked around to ensure that no one was within earshot. “She is one of Bow Street’s best-kept secrets. She is a detective, but most believe her to be not much more than a secretary. When necessary, however, she can be deadly with a weapon and is one of the most intelligent people I have ever met. You can rely on her for anything you might need.”
Madeline nodded, although she still wouldn’t meet his eye and her body had become rigid enough that he wondered just what he had said that would cause such a reaction.
“I can understand your reluctance, but I just want to keep you safe.”
“Of course,” she said, although her smile was forced. “I understand.”
Unsure of what else to say, he gave her a nod. “Until the next time, Miss Castleton. Sculpt something for me, will you?”
“Perhaps,” she said with a small twist of her lips, and then she was gone, inside the building.
And he wondered at the ache in his chest that followed after her.
Chapter 16
Madeline stood with some trepidation when the knock sounded on her office door. So here she was. The woman who would apparently watch over her, as a nursemaid might a child.
She hadn’t been sure who to tell Clark to look out for, but it hadn’t taken long for her to arrive.
The woman who stood within the doorway, however, was not at all what Madeline had expected.
“Hello,” she greeted her enthusiastically, holding out her hand like any man would. “I’m Georgie.”
Madeline stood and stared for a moment, and the woman just kept talking.
“Were you expecting a man? Most people are when they hear a detective named George is coming. But, here I am. I thought we could have a little meeting today, and then determine what you might need from me.”
“Yes,” Madeline finally managed. “Do come in.”
Georgie stood a good head taller than Madeline, and while she wore a simple navy dress with a spencer overtop, somehow Madeline had the sense that she would be just as comfortable in a pair of breeches and linen shirt. She walked like a man, without the elegant grace of a lady, and Madeline wondered about who she was and where she was from.
But she pushed the thoughts from her mind; that was of no consequence to her and not at all why she was here.
“Please, have a seat,” she said, waving her hand over to the table and chairs in the corner of the room, next to the bookshelves that held the many sculptures her father had collected over the years, causing her to miss him anew. He had always trusted her and supported her in whatever she did, believing in her like no other father believed in his daughter — at least from those she knew.
“Thank you,” the detective said, looking completely out of place in such a setting.
“So, Miss Jenkins, is it?” Madeline asked, remembering how Drake had referred to her.
“Correct,” Miss Jenkins said with a nod of her head. “But please, call me Georgie. Everyone does. Or Jenkins, if you prefer.”
Madeline started, unable to imagine calling a woman — besides a servant, perhaps — by her last name alone.
“All right, then, Georgie,” she said with a hesitant smile. “You may call me Madeline, then.”
“I had already planned to, since we are to be such close friends and all,” Georgie said with a wink that caused Madeline to laugh, if only in sheer surprise.
“Drake feels you are in danger,” Georgie said, turning serious now. “Do you believe that to be true?”
Madeline sighed. “I do not think I am personally, no. I do, however, believe the business is.”
Georgie studied her. “Please don’t be insulted by this but… do you have any ability to look after yourself?”
“I—” Madeline paused, unsure of what to say. She had tried, and failed miserably. If Alice hadn’t rescued her… she released her pride and accepted the offer. “I suppose I could use some help. At least until this is all sorted.”
And, if Drake had other priorities — not that she blamed him — perhaps this Georgie could help her.
She had been wrong about one thing – Drake wasn’t motivated by money, but by revenge. She understood that now.
“Will you also be helping Drake in determining just who is trying to discredit my business?”
My business. There. She had said it. Not her father’s business, but hers — which it would be someday. She was determined that it be so.
“I will do what I can,” Georgie said, her brown eyes studying Madeline in such a way that it seemed she learned everything about her with just one look. “Drake, however, is insistent that he remain involved. That he look after everything and ensure you are well…” she paused, “I think I understand why now.”
Madeline had no idea what Georgie meant by that, but she smiled shyly anyway. “Thank you,” she said, fidgeting with her hands, unsure of what to do now.
Georgie was so self-assured, so confident, and Madeline was aware that this was not a woman who would ever need protection from another. This was how she longed to be — a woman who was able to take care of herself, who didn’t need resc
uing by a friend, a father, a cousin, or a detective — male or female.
It was time that she take care of herself — to live the life she wanted. To take enjoyment when she could, such as sneaking away to the British Museum just because she wanted to.
There was one thing she wanted. One thing she could only take for herself.
“Actually, Georgie,” she said, biting her lip as her heart began to beat faster at what she was going to attempt. “There is something that I could use some help with. I wouldn’t mind some accompaniment — although it will be in the middle of the night. Is that all right?”
Georgie grinned wickedly. “Actually surreptitious night visits are just my specialty,” she said.
Drake was doing all he could to push away the feeling of wanting — of wanting to be the one with Madeline, of wanting to solve her problems, of wishing that he could be in two different places at once.
But, for now, he would have to rely on Georgie to do for him what he couldn’t.
For another report had come in, one of a big shipment that had recently been unloaded at the docks. A shipment that had not at all been legal, smuggled in from France, bypassing all of the taxes that should have been paid to the British government.
And he was supposed to deal with it.
When the Magistrate had told him of it with strict orders that he get to the bottom of it, and get to the bottom of it now, he most certainly hadn’t shared the fact that it had all happened just under his nose, as he had been spending a great deal of time as of late at those very docks.
He just hadn’t been paying attention to much besides Madeline. This only proved what happened when his focus wavered. He ran a hand through his hair as he made his way to the docks, purposefully choosing an alternate route so that he didn’t have to pass Castleton Stone. Marshall was accompanying him today, for apparently this case, which involved money ‘stolen’ from the British government, was much more important than any murder or kidnapping or personal vendetta.
“What do you make of this?” Marshall huffed while attempting to keep up with Drake’s long strides.
Risking the Detective (The Bluestocking Scandals Book 6) Page 12