by Robyn DeHart
“They are the best employers,” she said.
“Are you happy here?”
“Oh, yes. Most happy. They are so kind.” The words tumbled out of her mouth in a rapid rhythm. “I have a nice room and good meals. They pay well, too. And no one yells, save that day when his lordship found her missing,” she said with a whisper.
“You remember that day?” Colin asked.
“Yes, sir, very well. It was a sad day. We don’t like to see his lordship upset. He hasn’t been the same since. He’s so sad and quiet. Not his usual cheery self.”
“Did everyone here know of the importance of that piece?”
She nodded. “When anyone is hired, Miss Amelia explains everything about the household and how to care for the pieces in the collection. Then her father ...” She swallowed. “I’m not sure if he does this for everyone, but he took me aside my first week. Showed me all his collection, told me things about them.” She shook her head. “I never knew anything about Egypt or other faraway places. He’s got so many beautiful things from all those places.”
Colin made some notes. “So you like the antiquity collection?”
“Very much.” She frowned. “May I be honest?”
“Please.”
“I’ve been in lots of the nice houses, the lords’ and ladies’ houses are full. Trinkets and statues and things. But Lord Watersfield knows about his.
He has them for a reason. They’re not things simply to take up space or show people he’s got money. He cares about them. He’s different. Those others, they simply collect things to have more things than their neighbors.”
It was an astute observation for one so young. But more than likely Penny kept her mouth shut and her eyes open. No wonder the Yard always went to the servants first when questioning began. They knew everything.
“You’re probably right,” he said. “Now, what can you tell me about the day the statue went missing?”
“It began as a regular day. I was helping Mrs. Bennet in the kitchen, since I had finished my chores early. We were getting his lordship’s tea ready. I went ahead and brought it to him, since Mrs. Bennet had other things to attend to.” She looked off in the room for a while before continuing. “The statue had to have been gone already, but I didn’t notice. I set his tea down and had barely made it back to the kitchen when he started to yell.”
“You said you had finished your chores already that morning. Had you cleaned this room?”
“No, sir. I never clean this room on Tuesdays.
We have a schedule, and his lordship prefers to have privacy on Tuesdays.”
“Why do you think that is?”
She shrugged. “I don’t think there is any particular reason other than his lordship is peculiar.”
Now, that surprised him. She’d seemed completely loyal up until that moment. “That’s quite bold of you to say,” he said.
She smoothed her skirts and nodded. “I thought so too, at first, but he says it all the time. He’ll devise a new rule for the house and then say, ‘ ‘Tis only because I’m peculiar.’” The last phrase she said in a voice that clearly mimicked Lord Watersfield’s. “You learn to agree with him. He prefers it that way.”
“I see.” Colin made a few more notes, then continued. “So you did not clean this room that morning, and you don’t recall either seeing or not seeing the statue when you brought in the tea?”
“No. But to enter this room from the kitchen, you don’t walk near the area where she sat. So I wasn’t actually looking there.”
“Was the statue here the day before when you cleaned?”
“Yes, I dusted her off, as I always do, and set her back on the table.”
“And then?”
“Then I left the room for the rest of my chores.”
“Did you return to this room in between then and bringing in the tea?”
She thought for a moment before answering. “No, sir, I did not.”
“And nothing seemed amiss that previous morning when you were cleaning?”
“No.”
“Thank you, Penny, you’ve been very helpful. I trust that you will seek me out should you remember anything or hear anything that might be helpful.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You may go. And please send in Miss Amelia when you leave.”
“Thank you.” She curtsied again, then left the room.
He didn’t have to wait long for Amelia to appear.
“Well?” she said as she walked into the room. “How did it go? Are you satisfied now that my servants are innocent?”
“Mostly.”
“Mostly? What does that mean?”
“I’m mostly satisfied, but I’m not going to rule anyone out at this point. But for the time being, I am done interrogating your staff.”
“That is a relief. I gave them all the day off for their trouble. So if you’d like any tea, I’ll have to make it for you myself.”
He chuckled. “No, I don’t need any tea at the moment.”
She sat back down. “I am most relieved that is over with,” she said.
“You mentioned that,” he said. He ignored his desire to reach out and touch her hand. That kiss they’d shared in his office, the one he’d sworn would be enough to wipe his desire for her out of his mind, had only further whetted his appetite for her. Even now he wanted to lean her into that chair and kiss her senseless.
He stood abruptly. “I should be going. Will you be ready to visit the London Museum tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“Very well, then. I shall come around for you at half past two. I can see myself out.”
Colin relaxed into the phaeton seat. The more time spent in Amelia’s presence, the more he wanted her. It was getting quite out of hand. He would go home and get all his notes on the case in order. Spend the evening poring over them in hopes that something would fall into place. And in the process he’d forget about his growing desire to toss Amelia’s skirts up.
* * *
Amelia said goodnight to the servants and started for her father’s room. She’d called a meeting with the household to see how their interviews with Colin had transpired. All agreed that he was civil and not harsh with his questioning.
She’d known he would be kind, but she owed it to them to inquire. She certainly didn’t want them falsely believing she secretly accused any of them of the crime.
She knocked on her father’s door. “Papa, are you awake?” she asked quietly, not wanting to wake him if he had already retired for the evening.
The door opened, and her father stood there looking tired and older than he had the day before.
“Papa, are you still not sleeping well?”
He shrugged. “Perhaps I do not need sleep,” he said.
“Might I come in?”
He moved to allow her entrance, and she was caught by the state of his chambers. It was common for him to have his work strewn about. But it was not common for it to be in this much disarray.
“We must get you out of this room tomorrow. If only for a little while. I want you to sit in the garden.” She smoothed his thin white hair. “You need the sunshine.”
He gave her a weak smile. “So much like your mother, dear girl. She was so lovely. Have I told you that?”
She did favor her mother, she knew that, but Amelia had never been as pretty as her mother. Amelia led her father to a chair and helped him sit. “Not today, Papa, and I always love to hear about her.”
She allowed him to talk, gently, quietly, about her mother and the memories he had of her. He had moments like these. Times when he got lost in the way his life had been. Times when the sadness of her death overtook him and he retreated to a place of memories that brought him joy. But this time there seemed to be no peace to be found.
The loss of his favorite antiquity had dropped him deeper into his pain and even the memories of her mother’s love could not pull him out.
She had to find Nefertiti. It was the only way to
bring her father back.
Chapter Eight
“No man lives or has ever lived who has brought the same amount of study and of natural talent to the detection of crime which I have done.” ~A Study in Scarlet
Colin looked up from his notes for what seemed to be the hundredth time. He could not concentrate. Something was preventing him from keeping his thoughts on task. Not something, but rather someone.
And a particular activity he’d enjoy with that someone. He had questions in his mind about that particular activity, though; questions that until answered would prevent him from getting work done. So he put his notes aside and stood.
He knew it was here somewhere. He’d run across it once when he was moving his father’s books into his office, but he hadn’t allowed himself even so much as a peek. Colin knew that releasing the primal side of him could only lead to destruction.
It was why he hadn’t pursued a relationship with a woman in many years. Hadn’t so much as paid for a lady’s companionship to ease his needs. Instead he simply poured that energy into his work and fought to keep his urges under control.
Amelia had awakened those urges with her passionate kiss, and he’d had to taste her one more time. Much to his surprise, the kiss had lived up to expectations. It was as he’d remembered. Sweet, fiery, hot, and wet. His loins burned and all he wanted to do was bury himself deep within her.
He ran his hand against the back of his neck and peered at the shelf before him.
Where was it? He read over two full shelves, and it was nowhere. Then he remembered where he’d put it years ago when he’d moved into these rooms. Top right shelf on the very end so as to not draw too much attention. Why he had even kept the tiny volume, he did not know. It certainly was not because he thought he’d ever need it.
He climbed onto the ladder and reached over and pulled down the small red book. He waited until he was seated before opening the cover and taking in the first image he saw.
Well, he could certainly never do such a thing to Amelia. It seemed wrong to bend a woman into such an awkward position. Since he wouldn’t be putting Amelia into any position, awkward or not, there was no reason to even look at this book.
But that didn’t persuade him to set the book aside, so instead he turned the page. Again. And again.
In one image, the man had the woman bent over a table while he entered her from behind. He casually held a feather in one hand—presumably to spank her bottom—and the woman’s face was contorted in pleasure.
Image after image he pored over until he thought he would burst. He slammed the book closed and tossed it into the other chair. Why torture himself with things he could never have?
He was certain that Amelia was a virgin, and he couldn’t possibly justify seducing a virgin. And he couldn’t offer any more than a simple seduction, so this was a futile situation.
He should cease his thoughts about kissing her. Cease his fantasies of what a nice round bottom she would have and how he’d like to swat it gently merely to see the surprise in her eyes. Or how he’d like to take his tongue and trace it over every curve of her body, exploring her nooks and crannies.
This line of thought was making his trousers most uncomfortable, and since he was not a man to pay for that sort of release, he was at a crossroads. Relieve it himself. Pay for a companion. Or be an utter cad and seduce the object of his desire.
What was a gentleman to do? None of those options sounded civilized just now. He supposed he could ignore it and it would go away. Eventually. He shifted in his seat.
He needed to channel this energy into something worthwhile. Something that wouldn’t hurt anyone or do permanent damage.
He glanced over at the book and longed to reach for it. He groaned out loud. Channeling his energy elsewhere while fantasizing about Amelia’s warm mouth on him might prove the most difficult thing he’d ever done.
* * *
They sat in Monsieur Pitre’s outer office and Colin tapped his umbrella on the floor. In a perfect cadence. Amelia noted that he seemed rather distant today, as if afraid to even speak to her. Perhaps today wasn’t the perfect opportunity to propose they become lovers. She might need to wait a day or two more.
She glanced sideways at him and noticed his jaw was set in a tight line.
“Do you have another appointment?” she asked.
He turned his head to face her. “No. Why?”
“You seem anxious.”
“No, but I do find it rude to be kept waiting. Especially when we have an appointment. Is he always this rude?”
Not being an overly prompt person herself, but not wanting to draw attention to that fact, she considered her words before answering. “I believe Monsieur Pitre views time a bit differently than we do.”
“That is a yes.”
“He’s French,” she added, as if that were supposed to explain everything. “Perhaps he is busy.”
He raised both eyebrows. “And we are not?”
“You’re exactly right. I’m sure he’ll be with us momentarily.” Surely that wasn’t the only thing irritating Colin. He’d been agitated since they met earlier. Long before Monsieur Pitre was late.
Within three minutes, they were escorted into Monsieur Pitre’s private offices. Amelia had been here before, and she was struck by the disarray of the place. In the past, it had been the very definition of tidy. Much as Colin’s office was. But today crates were everywhere, and nearly every surface was covered with an artifact. Were she here on any other purpose, she might enjoy looking about.
“Please pardon the mess. We only yesterday received a new shipment from Cairo. What can I do to help, Miss Watersfield?” Monsieur Pitre asked. The tall thin man eyed Colin from his boots to the top of his head. He sucked in his cheeks and turned to face Amelia. “And please introduce me to your friend.”
“This is Inspector Brindley. He’s working on my father’s case.”
There was a long pause before the curator spoke. “Ah, yes, your father’s missing statue.” He glanced at Colin. “I’ve been telling Mr. Watersfield for years that the chances of that statue being authentic were marginal. I’m afraid whomever has stolen the bust will discover that it is a fraud as soon as he tries to sell the piece.”
“You know we disagree on this matter, Monsieur Pitre, but what is important is that this case be solved for my father’s sake. He loves that statue regardless of its authenticity, and we want to find her.”
The curator nodded. “Whatever pleases Mademoiselle. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Inspector. Please,” he said as he motioned to the chairs across from his desk.
Amelia sat and Colin followed suit. His eyes took in the office around them, and she could tell he was taking notes, mentally. It was as if she’d awakened inside a Sherlock story and she was getting to see, firsthand, how the genius worked.
She fought the urge to smile, as there was no need to let either man know what she was thinking. But she loved this. Loved knowing Colin. Loved working with him. Loved kissing him, but that was a different matter entirely.
“I am assuming you have some questions for me, Inspector,” Monsieur Pitre said.
“Indeed.” Colin flipped open his notebook and penciled a few things down before looking back up at the curator. “So it is your opinion that the piece in question is not authentic?”
“Yes.”
“What leads you to believe such a thing?”
“It is not so much how it is made. It is a well- made artifact, and I do not question that it is Egyptian or that the piece was carved during the rumored time of Nefertiti. What I do question is whether or not it is actually Nefertiti. The queen herself is little more than a legend. I find it difficult to conceive of this statue resembling more than someone’s imagination. Or it could easily have been a simple Egyptian girl.”
“But it could have been Nefertiti,” Colin stated.
The curator pursed his lips. “It is an unlikely possibility.”
Colin made some
additional notes before continuing. “How long have you worked here?” he asked before looking up.
“Three years.”
“And before then, where did you work?”
“I was the assistant curator at a small private museum in Paris.”
“Is that where you are from originally?” Colin asked.
Monsieur Pitre’s eyes narrowed. “Outside of Paris.”
“What brought you to London?”
“I prefer your fair city to my own.” Monsieur Pitre’s lips turned up in a snarl.
Back and forth they went. One questioning, the other answering. And each clearly disliking the other. Amelia thought to step in, but so far Monsieur Pitre seemed to be answering Colin’s questions without too much hesitation. Although it was evident that he was rather annoyed.
“Do you have family, sir? Here in London?”
The curator straightened a stack of papers on his desk. “No. But I have many friends. I’m not quite certain I’m following this line of questions. Am I to believe you think me a suspect in this case?”
“I’m considering several options at the moment,” was all Colin would say.
Amelia watched Monsieur Pitre puff up in his seat much like a long and skinny bird. She placed her hand on Colin’s arm, then sat forward slightly in her seat.
“Monsieur Pitre, Inspector Brindley is questioning everyone who had access to my father’s study. Myself included. Please do not be offended. We merely wanted to see if you would assist us with some information.”
He pursed his lips and took a few short breaths before nodding curtly. “Very well.”
“I am assuming that you have other associates in town, other collectors with whom you are familiar. Collectors similar to my father.”
“Yes.”
“Splendid. Might we have a list of their names?”
He looked truly offended. “Absolutely not. It is not my right to share such information.”
“I see. Well, then perhaps you can at least lead us in the right direction. Are there other Egyptian antiquity collectors in London?”