by Joan Smith
Prance could no longer remain seated. He leapt up, crying, “Roman relics! A tiled floor featuring the likeness of a woman was not in any fort. There was some magnificent building there—some formal hall or temple, possibly the villa of a governor. Oh this is marvelously exciting!” The others were interested but did not share his excitement.
“You’ll want to tell that Society you’re trying to get into,” Coffen said.
“I am already a fellow of the Society, Coffen. It is the presidency I am interested in.”
“P’raps this might help you,” Coffen said.
Corinne, knowing Reggie’s love of drama, said, “You could announce it at the party, Reg.”
Prance, already on his feet, began pacing to and fro, rubbing his hands to aid concentration, said, “I must know more before I make the announcement. I must get into that cellar and have a look at what is there myself. I might be able to figure out who the woman’s head represents. If it is one of the goddesses, it could be a shrine or temple. I must see how elaborate the work is.”
“You don’t want to wait too long to make your announcement or the fellows digging might beat you to it,” Black cautioned.
“They are not antiquarians,” Prance said with a sniff. “No member of the Society would behave in that hole-in-the-wall way, carrying off bits and pieces. An archaeologist is interested in documenting the relics in situ. Where they are found is important. What did the fellows look like, the two who were there?”
“Neither of them was Thomson, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Coffen said. “Too young, and not fat enough. Neither had a beard either. We didn’t get much of a look at them—just from behind as they darted off, you see. They were spry lads. Of course they wore old clothes and ramshackle hats. We should have followed them, but we were too curious to see what was down there.”
“Very likely they’re just hired labour,” Black said, as he was feeling he really ought to have followed them. “No reason to think they’d go directly to report to whoever hired them. But we know some of them statues ended up in Burnes’s flat, and someone took them before Mr. Pattle and myself got there. Burnes must have been mixed up in it all right.”
“Perhaps he’s the one who realized the significance of the find,” Luten suggested. “He doesn’t seem to have been the one financing the business, however. It’s possible – just a conjecture – that he knew somehow there were Roman relics there, and got financial help to investigate. Actually it is more likely the digging had already begun, he went to examine the cellars, and realized that the remains were important, and wanted to notify the authorities. The British Museum is eager to get hold of such finds. Or if he was a scoundrel, he managed to find out who was doing the digging and tried to cut himself in on the profits. The one handling the digging wanted to keep them for himself and got rid of Burnes.
“If that is the case, the fellow in charge of it all must plan to sell what was found. There are collectors who pay a high price for such things. Was Burnes known in the Society, Prance? What I am wondering is if he might have realized the importance of the find.”
“He was not a member. The membership is elected. Many call, but few are chosen, if I may paraphrase the Bible. I can and shall make a few discreet enquiries to see if he applied for membership.”
“What we must do is get down to Ironmonger Lane and have a look at these Roman remains,” Luten said, then he turned to his wife. “Why do you not have a little nap before dinner, my dear? We’ll let you know what we find.”
She disliked to argue in front of her friends and agreed. “Yes, I am not feeling quite the thing,” she said. She would have Coffen take her tomorrow to see what was in the hole. A floor was not going to get up and walk away.
Luten looked at her in concern. “Shall I call the doctor?”
“Oh no! I am just a little fagged.”
“I can stay—”
“No, do go along, Luten. I shall have a nap and send for Croft if I don’t feel well.”
“Well, if you’re sure,” Luten said, and without further ado called for his carriage and they left for Ironmonger Lane. Corinne went to the window to see them leave, then sent for fresh tea and picked up her novel, with no more notion of calling the doctor than of having a nap.
Chapter Nine
Luten directed his driver to wait outside Prance’s atelier and the four gentlemen hurried into the building, lit lamps and headed down to the bowels of the cellar. Holding their lamps aloft, they immediately went to the hole in the floor and gazed down at the mosaic. Prance emitted a gasp at what his eyes beheld. The loose earth had been swept away to reveal the pattern. Some of the tiles in the mosaic floor had been damaged, perhaps due to careless digging or perhaps due to earth movement over the centuries. The spaces between the tiles were packed with earth.
But in the flickering light of the lamps a human head was perfectly visible. A pair of dark eyes seemed to be staring straight up at him. The head appeared to have been cut off at the neck, where the excavation stopped. But was it a woman’s head, or a man’s? The somewhat elaborate coiffure suggested a female. To the left of the head at about ear level was a bird, possibly an owl.
“An owl is Athena’s symbol,” Prance said in a hushed voice, looking to Luten for his opinion.
“Owls to Athens. Athena is a Greek goddess,” Luten pointed out.
“Of course. I am too overcome to think straight,” Prance admitted, “but I daresay Minerva, her Roman counterpart, had the same symbol, though one does not read of bringing owls to Rome. Well, perhaps it is some other bird. It could have been resting on her raised hand—impossible to tell from this fragment. This could be the floor of a temple in honour of some Roman goddess.”
Luten gazed at it a moment, then said, “They’d hardly depict a goddess on the floor, to be walked on. It could even be a man’s head, though the coiffure looks feminine.”
“Yes, I believe you’re right,” Prance said. “A goddess might be depicted on a wall, but surely not on the floor. Yet that owl—is it an owl? It could be a dove, symbolizing the goddess of peace.”
Coffen had already examined the head and was arranging the ladder for descent. “Who wants to go first?” he asked.
“The less tramping about, the better,” Prance said. “We can see well enough from here.”
Black pointed below. “Even from here I can see there’s two spaces down one side where tiles are missing,” he said.
Luten and Prance looked to the spots approximately eight inches by eight inches where tiles were very obviously missing, just on the edge of the excavation. “Something has been removed,” Luten said. “Probably columns. If the ruins were treated with the same disrespect as our ruined abbeys, they were taken away and put to use in some other building. This must have been a building of some size and importance to have columns. What do you think, Prance? Some sort of temple?”
“There isn’t enough here to tell us,” Prance replied, “but there is more than enough to tell me this is a major find that must be excavated properly. I shall set a crew to enlarging this hole. The original Roman building obviously did not stop at the walls of this house. It continued next door where the men were digging, and very likely the house on the other side as well. We must have a look there to see.”
“That would explain why Burnes wanted your place,” Luten said. “With Burnes dead, the government should be able to step in and arrange a proper excavation. It would be a costly business for one man. The whole country is mad for the relics of ancient history since Elgin brought the Parthenon marbles to town.”
“My Society was interested long before that,” Prance pointed out. “Our charter, you know, was granted by George the second.”
“Very true,” Luten agreed. “Well, we have seen what we came to see. Let us go home and discuss it in comfort.”
“Right after we take a look next door,” Coffen said. He saw that Luten was eager to get back to check up on Corinne, which didn’t mean he and Black
wouldn’t have a go later. “P’raps we’d best go on home and do that later,” he said. “Corrie looked a little peaky.”
It was hard for Prance to tear himself away. He delayed them for another quarter of an hour, debating what sort of bird they were looking at, and whether any Roman goddess was identified by a dove, or at one point an eagle.
But at last Luten’s worry got the better of him. He said he was leaving, and offered to have Prance’s carriage sent around for him. Prance had no desire or intention of remaining in a dark cellar alone. Who was to say the diggers wouldn’t return? They went to Luten’s house to discuss the matter.
As Evans opened the door, Luten said, “How is Lady Luten? Has Croft been called?”
“No, sir. Her ladyship is fine. You will find her in the rose salon.”
When he rushed in and found her by the grate, relaxed and smiling, he felt the tension ease and even managed a smile. After Corinne had been brought up to date and they had all been served wine, Luten said, “I believe the proper way to proceed is for me to bring the matter up in the House, and you to inform your Society, Prance. They are the fellows to see the excavation is done in the proper manner. Elgin will want a hand in it, and the British Museum will want a man in on it as well.”
“What about the fellows that have been digging?’ Coffen asked.
“Guards will have to be put in place to deter further depredations,” Luten said. “We’ll look into whether they have any right at all to be there. They might just be ordinary robbers who got word there was something of value there.”
“How long will it take to get the guards there?” Black asked Luten.
“I’ll get to work on it right away. I’d like to say the place will be guarded by tomorrow morning, but it will take longer than that to get the machine moving. The diggers are being fairly careful. They can’t do much damage in one day. By tomorrow evening for certain, if I have to set my own footmen to do the job.”
“That don’t leave us much time to follow the fellows digging and see where they go,” Black said. “Shall you and me do that, Mr. Pattle?”
“I’m game,” was Coffen’s answer. Coffen was disappointed to see the case take this official direction. There was still the murder of Burnes to look into, however. And Thomson and Blackbeard to keep an eye on and find out if he was Ruffin, and Denny’s Tavern to visit.
The busted statues seemed to be more important than he thought, too. Since Burnes had a lease on the house on both sides of Prance’s studio, it was next door to positive the same team did both sets of digging. The busted statues came from one cellar or t’other. Yes, there was plenty to keep him busy.
“Will you make the announcement at your party tomorrow night, Reg?” Corinne asked him.
“I wonder if that is the proper time to do it,” he replied. Every fibre of his being wanted to make that grand gesture—to stun the selection committee with his announcement. Wouldn’t Besner be green with envy! After considerable vacillation, he had decided to send Besner an invitation, even if he wasn’t on the selection committee. It would show his own generous spirit, it would please Binwell, who had apparently been a friend of Besner’s uncle a few decades ago. And it would show Besner just how high he, Sir Reginald Prance, stood in society.
But, like Caesar’s wife, he must be seen to be doing the proper thing. “I believe the thing to do is tell the president first and let him decide. I don’t want to appear as if I’m using the discovery to stake a claim to the presidency. The whole society must be informed of this magnificent discovery, not just the selection committee.”
“I agree,” Luten said. “You should call on Binwell very soon, today for choice. He can get a letter out to the membership. It might be a good idea to let him and a few of the top archaeologists take a look at the cellar right away. The press can go to them for facts, and avoid wild speculation. We won’t want hordes of feet tramping about, but just a few specialists who might be able to tell us what is there.”
Prance was deeply annoyed to see Luten taking over, yet it was difficult to find a fault in his suggestions. Tipping Scotty Binwell off would certainly work in his favour regarding the presidency. And as he, Prance, would be one of the men the press went to, that was all right. Indeed as the discoverer and a gentleman of renown in other fields, he would surely be their main interest. It was impressive, too, to have such a heavyweight politician as Luten behind the project, someone who could get things done.
He was eager to get started. “I shall go now and speak to Binwell. He is usually at the Society office till dinner time.”
Luten nodded. “I’ll just nip back to the House and see if I can get things started there.”
“What do you think about inviting a few MPs to Corinne’s party tomorrow evening?” Prance suggested.
“Excellent idea,” Luten agreed. “We should get together this evening and compare notes, Prance. You’ll all be interested,” he said, including Black and Coffen. “Say half past eight?”
“We’ll be here,” Coffen said.
Coffen and Black remained behind when Luten and Prance left. “I want to see that lady’s head, Coffen,” Corinne said at once. She had suffered from nausea and lethargy in the early stages of her pregnancy, but that was passing and she was eager to be more active. She knew Luten meant well by wrapping her in cotton wool, but she didn’t mean to spend the next half year going from bed to sofa, with an occasional drive to some entertainment that meant sitting for a few hours. “You’ll have to take me,” she said, aiming her plea to the two of them.
“Luten will likely take you himself, now that it’s all official,” Coffen said. “Anyhow there’s not much to see. Well, Black, shall we be ankling along?”
Black was torn. Before her marriage he had often escorted her ladyship places she wasn’t supposed to go, but now that Luten had made him an official member of the Berkeley Brigade, he felt allegiance to him as well. And what if she should fall into the hole in her delicate condition? They would never forgive him. He would never forgive himself.
“Let us go, Black,” Coffen said impatiently. He wanted to get a look at that other cellar next door before dark.
“We’ll take you tomorrow, if his lordship don’t,” was Black’s decision.
“Why not go now?” she said.
“There’s no saying Luten won’t be back before we’re through,” Coffen said, and took Black by the elbow to get him away before Corinne talked him into it. Lord, if Corinne should fall into that hole and lose the baby, Luten would have his head on a pike.
Chapter Ten
“There’s a hackney,” Coffen said, as they were crossing the street to his house to send a footman for his carriage. “It’ll be faster to hire it than wait for Fitz.”
“Ironmonger Lane isn’t Piccadilly. We might have a spot of trouble finding a hackney to take us home after,” Black pointed out, but Coffen had already hailed the carriage so they got in.
As few of the houses in Ironmonger Lane were used as family residences there was no one in the street when they arrived at the atelier. They went through the path to the rear of the house on the left to avoid the hedge at the back that separated their destination from Prance’s building.
The back yard held a surprisingly large pile of discarded furnishings and junk. Black cast a quick look over the decaying mattress, broken dishes and splintered furnishings to make sure there was nothing of value before applying Coffen’s knife to the lock of the back door. It proved vulnerable to his prying and within minutes they were inside.
The layout of the house was similar to its neighbours. They entered the scullery, on through the kitchen, where again they found lamps, the remnants of a meal and also an unpleasant odour. No sounds of digging issued from below.
After lighting the lamps they soon discovered the source of the odour. An open jug of milk had turned green from age. The bits of food were entirely stale as well and had been nibbled by mice. The quantity of droppings suggested they had been th
ere for some time.
“We’re on to something, Mr. Pattle,” said Black. “They’ve been here as well.”
“Aye, but not today or yesterday. They’ve been digging at the other house since then.”
They each took up a lamp to descend into the cellar. From halfway down the stairs they could see they had hit the jackpot. Black knew in a trice why the backyard was full of lumber. It had been cleared out to make room to dig up more than half the floor.
Around the edges of the room there were small mountains of dirt from their digging. Again there were the remains of a mosaic floor six feet below them. This time the tiled floor did not have any human figures, but a pretty pattern of entwined branches, leaves and birds. It was the items pushed into the middle of the cavity that were of greater interest.
“I see where the busted statues came from,” was Coffen’s speech.
“They’ve taken their shovels but left their ladder behind. That’s handy,” Black said, striding to where it stood with its feet on the tiles leaning against one side of the hole. He didn’t wait a second to descend, and Coffen was right behind him.
In the centre of the hole the findings of the dig that hadn’t already been removed were gathered together. There were indeed stray arms and legs and one head, indicating broken statues. Presumably the less broken ones had been removed.
But there were other items as well—some of them recognizable, though in a different form than currently in use. “That’s what they call a brazier,” Coffen said, trying to lift a heavy metal, footed, bowl-like vessel. “It’s for cooking. You put coals or wood in it. There ought to be a grate for the top.”
“Then we must be in the kitchen. Funny they’d have such a fancy floor in the kitchen,” said Black, looking at the mosaic.
“I daresay the brazier might have been used as a heater in some other room, like a bedroom to make cocoa or whatever they drank in the old days,” said Coffen, lifting a flat, ornate, oval-shaped piece of metal about the size of his hand, with the handle extending like an arm. “This looks like Mama’s hand mirror, with the glass missing.”