“I would like to stay, if you’re sure you want me.”
My fingers picked at the knot on my wrist. “Can you forgive me for my lies, Phillip? I never meant to hurt you, and I knew it would if I carried out the plan.”
He chuckled. “I know you better than you think, Gennie. I suspected you, but I know you’re heart isn’t in it. Besides, I still owe you for helping Grant.”
“You don’t owe me anything.”
“Then we’ll say it’s because I’m your friend.”
I ducked my head and mumbled my thanks.
Colonel Worthington grinned, and the constant wariness that I always saw in his gaze seemed to lessen. “Now that all is settled, I have the one thing guaranteed to cure anything.” He pushed up from the chair, grabbed the crutch, and moved to the sideboard. Something had been pushed to the back corner and covered with a checkered linen towel.
Grinning at us, he whipped the cover off, revealing a round cake glistening with thick, fluffy, white frosting. My mouth watered. The last time I’d had a sweet was my birthday. Terry had swiped a ginger cake for me. Another tear tracked down my face. I didn’t think anyone noticed.
Colonel Worthington raised an eyebrow. “The cake is courtesy of Miss Violet Parker, who has a crush on Phillip.”
Phillip turned a startling shade of pink and avoided my eyes.
Colonel Worthington winked. “Think you can manage to eat this one-handed?”
I managed a smile. “Most definitely.”
****
No one mentioned anything except the chocolate perfection we devoured until the dishes had been cleared and everyone sat in front of the fire, sated. My body felt as though I had been washed and sent through a wringer. All I wanted was my bed and warmth. Despite my best attempts to “put on a brave face” I still hurt, inside and out. Cold had trickled into my bones and settled there. I wasn’t sure it would ever leave.
“I think you’d best be off to bed, Gennie. You look done in.” Phillip’s voice was kind.
I nodded and stood, careful to keep my hand from bumping into anything. “Thank you both. I’ll see you in the morning.”
They nodded and I slipped out the door, leaning briefly against the cool, wooden slats. Their voices rumbled behind the closed portal, but they were too low to make out the words. I was too tired to care what they were talking about.
It took longer than I anticipated to undress, and I had to stop after bumping my hand one too many times while unhooking the dress. Tangled in my own clothing, I collapsed on the bed, a few stray tears leaking out my puffy, sore eyes. With a last effort, I kicked off my dress and shoes and crawled under the covers. I clutched a pillow to my chest, stretching the wounded arm above my head.
Terry’s note pressed into my thigh, still folded in the pocket of the petticoats I hadn’t removed. It seemed to gain weight the more I thought about it, until I was certain the leaf of paper had really been a folded slip of lead.
“…you should know that my feelings for you go beyond a friend and the confines of this paper.”
The words echoed in my head, as if he’d whispered them in my ear rather than printing them on paper with a bloodied hand. I squeezed my eyes shut and struggled to breathe, pressing my fist to my mouth. I didn’t want to think. I shouldn’t have had any tears left, but they stung my eyes and burned in my nose, dampening my temples anyway.
I cried until all that was left was emptiness and dry sobs that tore at my throat. And then I slept.
Chapter Thirteen
Everyone kept their distance for the next few days. I appreciated the time to get myself collected. I worked with Adele, who merely hugged me, handed me a handkerchief and said nothing else. Even the museum pieces kept their whispered comments and questions to a minimum, offering me sympathy and willing shoulders, or whatever they had.
Colonel Worthington stopped me at breakfast the third day. “Are you ready for a challenge?”
I drained my cup and tried to remember what it would feel like to be excited again. A small flicker of the emotion moved in my chest. “What kind of a challenge?”
He smiled, and I thought I might have seen relief breeze through his eyes. I struggled to keep my cheeks from turning red with shame. I knew I’d been moping, but I hadn’t thought it that bad.
“I’ve got a box of items that came in. I’d like to see what they say to you.”
My brow furrowed. “But wouldn’t you need scholars to research them?”
He waved a hand and shoved his crutch under one arm. “Of course. They’ve already turned in their preliminary reports on the matter. But I want to know what you see. Let’s say I’m checking up on them.”
The prospect was appealing. Testing out a bunch of Oxford scholars’ accuracy? The idea that such lofty minds might be taken down a peg by someone like me put a bit more spring in my step.
Colonel Worthington led the way into the bowels of the museum, stopping at a heavy oak door. When he pushed it open, I felt like one of Moses’ followers when he parted the Red Sea. The wonder at the boxes of treasures had to have been like seeing the ocean floor without water.
Statues slumbered under white sheets used to keep off the dust. Boxes and crates in various stages of unpacking spilled artifacts and wood shavings. Thick strips of cotton wadding cradled vases and bits older than anything I’d ever seen before.
The colonel led me to a well-lit corner where a large crate had been partially unloaded onto a table. A single stool sat behind it with a thick pad of paper and several brass-tipped fountain pens. I was immensely grateful that the burned hand was not my writing hand.
The objects were from every age and country. Small, gold bands, a canopic jar from an arid country, an age-pocked bronze sword, and a slender alabaster figurine of a woman graced the table. More lay wrapped in cotton nestled in the wood chips. Already I could hear some of their voices.
“Take your time with them,” the Colonel said.
I barely heard him. I’d already moved to the stool and climbed up, perching there, my good hand hovering over each item. I wanted to start small and work my way to the more interesting objects. Sorry. I apologized to them. The ones with the most to say.
The alabaster statue ignored me and pretended indifference. The sword wanted to know if I’d been injured in a battle. I didn’t fancy addressing that question just yet.
“Genevieve.” The curator’s voice rippled with laughter.
I looked up with a grin. “Sorry.”
He shook his head. “Don’t forget to come up for air once in a while. Dinner at six.”
I nodded and he hobbled off, chuckling, as I picked up the two gold bands, rings from an Anglo-Saxon grave. I slid the loops over my index finger and stroked the beaten metal with my thumb, feeling each strike of the goldsmith’s hammer beneath my fingertips. They weren’t that different than anything else. Hadn’t been worn enough, loved enough, by their owners. All the same, I was fascinated by the vague glimpses of the life they’d been witness to. I set them down, patting them one last time and then picked up a fountain pen and a sheet of paper and wrote what they had said.
When I’d filled two pages, I sat back and rubbed my face with my hand. I wasn’t used to writing so much. Paper and pen weren’t easy to come by, and of all the thieves, I think only Terry and I could actually read and write. Justin could make out words, but it wasn’t his strong suit.
A strange creaking noise had me squinting into the disorganized jumble of crates and artifacts. Thomason appeared, carrying a tray. Without actually looking at me, he set the tray down then cradled the teapot in his metal hands. I sat in dumb shock. I didn’t understand why he was staring at the porcelain so intently.
Then a low popping sound echoed inside the belly of the teapot, and a thin wisp of steam curled from the spout. With a tiny nod, Thomason set the pot back onto the tray, pivoted, and left the way he’d come.
I had the strange feeling I’d just received the automaton equivalent of an a
pology.
The tray held the pot, cream and sugar, a cup, and a plate of biscuits. Shrugging, I poured the tea, scooped in some sugar, and drizzled in a little milk.
That thing was hideous.
The alabaster statue had forgotten she was pouting. I snorted and sipped at the hot liquid. He’s definitely different.
The sneer echoed through her voice. Different?
While I didn’t particularly want to leap to Thomason’s defense, I decided I didn’t like the statue. A little too vain. I stretched my legs out.
Shut your mouth, harpy.
The canopic jar surprised both of us. His voice was deep and reverberated in my head. He may not have been in human company, well, live human company, long, but his importance had given him power.
The metal man protects something. His appearance does its job well. He has more purpose than you ever did.
The statue snapped something in a language I didn’t speak and lapsed into another sullen silence. I hid my smile behind the rim of the cup. A translator didn’t need to tell me she’d been very rude.
Don’t judge him too harshly, young woman. Everyone has a part to play. You can’t blame him for fulfilling a role he was created to perform.
What do you see, I asked, that I can’t?
Many things.
Snobbery oozed from every word. Its silence rang with an air of dismissal.
I wrinkled my nose and picked up the sword.
****
When Colonel Worthington came to fetch me later that evening, I didn’t even realize he stood in front of me until my sluggish ears registered his deep peals of laughter. I rose then looked down at myself. I was covered in wood shavings, a trail of wadding clung to my sole, and I clutched the slim, white statue in one hand. I set her down with more force than necessary, ending the argument we had been having by ignoring her shrill protests.
“Having fun?”
The grin that stretched across my lips couldn’t be contained. “It’s been a very productive day.”
He patted my arm as I brushed off my skirts and moved around the desk. I longed to get to the older items I’d been setting aside, but the gurgling around my belly button became very prominent and dinner sounded like a delicious idea.
The canopic jar heaved a long-suffering sigh as I moved out of the room with the curator.
“So, you’ve gotten a lot of information then?”
I shook my head and brushed loose tendrils of hair out of my face. “Sort of. I’ve been saving the older pieces. The ones I did today are certainly interesting, but they aren’t very old, and some of them were special occasion items. Like the rings. They belonged to a Saxon noblewoman married off to a Norman lord. She only wore them a few times. They were a wedding present from the husband.” I chuckled. “She didn’t care much for his womanizing habits and told him so often. They didn’t get along, so she only wore the rings at special times. Audiences, formal events, the odd wedding, and funeral.”
Colonel Worthington stopped and watched me, disbelief widening his eyes. “That’s a boring item?”
I nodded. “Oh yes. The ones that are older, like the statue, have a mind of their own. Especially that bloody statue. She’s full of herself like you wouldn’t believe.”
He started walking again and snorted. “Like someone else I know?”
For a moment, I stopped, resentment rising. When he turned, I saw the humor twisting his features. I patted his arm, trying to keep a straight face. “Now, Colonel. I don’t find you the least bit full of yourself. Full of something, of course.”
Dinner was a lighthearted affair and I was glad for it. Guilt threatened to weigh down my spirits, but I took the happiness for what it was. Depending on how things turned out, who knew how much of it I’d get?
When we finished and cleaned up, I opened the door. “I thought I might go back down to the store room again for a bit.”
“Suit yourself. But don’t stay down there all night. There’s plenty of time.”
I smiled, but it was more stilted than I would have liked. “I won’t.”
I paused, my fingers worrying a loose thread at my cuff.
“What is it, Gennie?”
The colonel sat forward, his hands braced on his lap, watching me closely.
“You said you have contacts.”
He nodded. “I do.”
I blinked a few times, and then looked him in the eye. “Is there any way they might help me find out what happened to Terry?”
The curator motioned to the other wing chair. “Sit down. I thought you already knew. You have his hat, and you seemed so certain he was gone.”
I shook my head. “The hat has many memories attached to it, but the damage had already been done when he put it back on. The time was too brief. All I got was the impression of fists and cold metal and blood. And fear. There was a great deal more of that than I think Terry would have liked me to know. I keep looking for more, but…” I thought back to the hat. I couldn’t bear to touch it more than a few moments. Once it showed me the fear, it moved to happier times. I couldn’t quite bring myself to relive those just yet.
“I’ll see what I can do, but I can’t promise you anything.”
I nodded once. “I appreciate it.”
I moved to the door again, then rushed back, wrapped my arms around his weathered neck, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. I didn’t wait to see what his reaction was. I turned and flew out the door, retracing my steps to the store room.
If I hadn’t been so lost in my new, bright moment of hope, I’d have noticed a shadow following me. But instead, rough hands pulled me to the cold, marble floor and something large and blunt rammed into my head. I caught a brief glimpse of a familiar face as I fought off the growing darkness devouring my senses.
Justin.
Chapter Fourteen
Pain radiated from the nape of my neck and I groaned. Rotting meat and the stale smell of fear and sweat teased my nose as I rolled to my side.
“Finally. You’re heavier than I thought.”
Justin’s face filtered through the darkness and I struggled to sit up, an awkward movement with my arms bound tightly behind my back. We were hidden in the shadow of a brick building, but not one I could recognize.
“What’s going on?”
Justin’s face seemed thinner, harsher than I remembered. He’d always been sullen, but I’d expected it. We put a heavy burden on him. But this was different. This wasn’t frustration and weariness. There was an ugly edge to the curl of his lips.
“If you had just done what you were supposed to, this wouldn’t have gotten out of hand.”
I leaned against the damp wall, ignoring the feeling of slime soaking into the fabric of my dress. “I was doing what I was supposed to.”
He cut his eyes to me, then rose and checked around the corner. “No. You were supposed to get caught, like the bumbling idiot you are. You weren’t supposed to get so fond of the old man and his junk.”
I felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room. This person was not the one who had kept me safe over the last six years. Instead, here stood a stranger with cruelty oozing from his lips and blood in his eye.
“You knew how I felt about the museum when you sent me. Don’t pretend you didn’t know.”
He sneered and pushed a dark, blunt finger into my shoulder. “You have no idea what I thought of you. Always in the way. Never holding up your end of the bargain.”
It was like poison being poured into my ears. The words burned until I could feel their fire in my nose and my eyes watered. “But I’m a touch-know. You said I was important.”
He snorted, rising again to look out onto the street at the mouth of the alley. I realized he was waiting for someone. “Your kind are a dime a dozen. You were so young, you would have done whatever I asked for a little praise. Not like Terry. So much more stubborn, but that’s been remedied as well.”
At the mention of his name, my heart stuttered. “What have you
done?”
He didn’t meet my gaze. I didn’t know if it was guilt or something else. “What’s done is done. No use worrying over it.”
Anger replaced the shock and tears that had been swamping me a moment ago. I tugged at the bonds twisted around my wrists, and my lips pulled back in a snarl. “Answer me. What have you done to Terry?”
His eyes lifted to mine, and there was something between shame and disgust in the set of his tight mouth. I wasn’t sure if it was directed at me or inward. I didn’t care. I just wanted him to answer my question.
“I didn’t do anything to him. I just delivered him to Lord Kreios. Same as I’m going to do you. After that, it isn’t my concern.”
“You bloody bastard. We trusted you. All of us. And you’ve done worse than just betraying us. You sold us out. For what? Money? A taste of the high life? Tell me it was something worthwhile.”
The words poured from my lips unchecked, even though the skin around his collar grew darker and anger deepened the lines around his nose and eyes. My voice rose and I knew that anyone passing by the entrance to the alley could hear me.
Justin knew it too. With a muttered curse, he jerked a dirty rag from his pocket and pushed me to the side. I struggled, writhing on the ground, feeling intense satisfaction when one foot connected with solid flesh. He cursed again and then he cuffed me. Pain returned in full force and the world shimmered for a moment as he forced the handkerchief between my teeth and tied a hard knot against the back of my skull.
“Chew on that for a while. I can’t think straight with you mouthing off.” Justin pushed me back toward the ground when I tried to rise again.
He peered over the edge of the coal bins and trash heap we were hidden behind, then sighed. “Finally.”
Justin slid around the corner and out into the alley. I could hear the soft hiss of steam grow closer and lowered voices. He returned, one hand sliding under my arm and yanking me to my feet. A knife flashed in the darkness and his eyes reflected the hardness of the blade.
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