Treasure of Egypt

by Barbara Ivie Green

  “I love you too,” she smiled up at him before he bent to kiss her.

  The End

  Sneak peek

  Treasure of the Emerald Isle

  Chapter 1

  London, England 1863

  “Oh, there ye are, luv,” Gurtie cheerfully opened the back door for Constance as she made her way up to the stoop. The packages she carried threatened to topple at any moment. The plump cook took the basket from the top of the heap, uncovering the young woman’s face. “I was thinkin’ I’d have to go out and find ye for a moment.”

  Constance blew at a lock of hair that had fallen from her tight bun, “At least that’s over with,” she sighed as she entered the kitchen.

  “You look all done in, dearie,” Gurtie fussed as she lightened the load further. “Why didn’t you wait for Iain to help with those?”

  “I didn’t want the eggs prematurely scrambled,” Constance gave her a meaningful glance as she set the rest of the packages on the table.

  “Well now,” Gurtie chuckled, “Seein' as how he’s not blown the laundry up in over a month I consider us lucky indeed.”

  “You have a point,” Constance nodded as she inhaled the aroma of fresh baked bread, her stomach rumbled in appreciation, “Oh that smells good.”

  “Did you not eat breakfast again?” Gurtie looked up at her as she went about emptying a basket of vegetables, when Constance didn’t reply she tisked, “Shame on ye, yer too thin as it 'tis.”

  Constance glanced down at the worn servant’s dress that did nothing to enhance her figure… But that had been the point in wearing it in the first place. The last thing she wanted was to attract attention while acting as her own maid.

  “Where’s the brisket an' the fish?” Gurtie asked looking through the goods.

  “Augh,” Constance groaned yet again.

  “That fish monger didn’t try to manhandle ye again did he? Because if he did…”

  Constance smiled as the older woman picked up a particularly large stalk of celery and wielded it like a club. “No,” she plopped down in a chair. “Our money didn’t stretch as far as I’d hoped, but there are plenty of turnips.”

  “'Tis a shame it 'tis, but why you still insist on doin' the shoppin' is beyond me? Especially when Betsy--”

  “I’ll not be swindled again, that’s why,” Constance replied. “Our coin is scarce enough as it is.”

  “Speaking of which, why don’t you ask our kind benefactor for a wee bit more next month?”

  “And have to explain that my ‘tee-totaling’, near-sighted, elderly maid has a weakness for dice,” Constance arched a delicate brow. “Even if I were to tell him that she was taken by a charlatan, I don’t think Lord Langston would be so understanding, do you? He might even increase his efforts to watch over us.”

  “Speaking of which,” Gurtie gave her a knowing look. “You’d better get out of those rags. He’s already had the agency send another butler around.” She shook her head with a sigh, “As if we didn’t have enough to contend with.”

  “Oh no,” Constance groaned, “I thought we’d have more time?”

  “They filled the post right quick they did.” Gurtie nodded, “But don’t ye worry none, I’ve it all worked out.” She looked back over her shoulder, “That reminds me… don’t drink from the teapot in the salon.”

  “You didn’t? Poor Mr. Crabbits’ probably still recovering from your treatment of him.”

  “Now I did him a favor, I did,” Gurtie’s pin curls bobbed as she spoke. “Even now he’s restin' in the country on a fine pension, instead of toilin' away as someone else’s butler… and in fine health I might add.”

  Constance couldn’t help the smile that lifted the corners of her lips over Gurtie’s reasoning. “I suppose there’s no help for it,” she yawned. “We certainly can’t afford someone spying on us.”

  “He’ll be sleepin' like a wee babe is all,” Gurtie assured as she turned to look at the exhausted young lady. “Which is what you should be doin' rather than traipsin' around all hours of the night.”

  “You know why I have to,” Constance replied tiredly.

  Gurtie shook her head with a sigh. “I’ll just send up a new pot for ye then. A nice spot of tea will do ye good.” Gurtie winked, “I’ll just put a wee nip in it to put the pink back in yer cheeks.”

  “Maybe just a little,” Constance picked up one of the freshly baked rolls and smelled it appreciatively. “I’ve got to go out again tonight.”

  “All this runnin' around, I hardly think it would be what your Mum would want, God rest her soul. I don’t think this is what she intended when she asked me to look after ye.” Gurtie frowned as she turned around. “Oh no!” she shooed Constance away from the steaming hot bun she was about to bite into.

  “No?” Constance eyed the freshly baked morsel dubiously.

  “Those are for the new butler,” the cook warned. “I’m thinking he’ll be stayin' close to the loo tomorrow, he will,” she nodded with finality. “Ours are still in the oven.”

  “Just don’t kill the poor man.” Constance set the sweet back on the plate with the others, scooting them far across the table from her.

  “Well, I would never!” Gurtie looked positively innocent in her cap and curls. “I’m just helpin' him on his way to his new post, tis all.” The bell rang as she spoke, she rolled her eyes in response. “Though this one will be a pleasure I tell ye,” Gurtie huffed as she placed the plate on a tray.

  “Why is that? Constance raised her brow curiously, “Is he a threat?”

  “Gorr’s no,” Gurtie snorted. “But our Mr. Higgins is a cheeky one, he is. He’s already rung that bell a dozen times. You’d think he’s the comp'ny rather than the 'elp, ye would.” She lifted the tray as the bell rang again, “A positive nuisance!” she muttered looking over her shoulder, “Don’t be long Connie luv, I’ll send Betsy in to pour,” she winked again.

  Constance shook her head with a sigh. “Poor Mr. Higgins,” she smiled to herself. The butler would no doubt be wearing most of it with Betsy pouring, not to mention seeking a new post before the night was through. That is if he knew what was good for him.

  ~*~

  Samuel stood before the mirror in the salon, the image reflected back was hardly that of the young Lord St. Clair. The only thing that even remotely looked familiar was the blue of his eyes. He moved the bushy white eyebrows up and down as he straightened his withered grey beard. He looked like the ancient old man he was pretending to be. “Perfect if I do say so myself,” he smiled inspecting his false teeth.

  “Good day Madam,” he spoke, changing his voice to that of a gravely one. “Hmm,” he cleared his throat and practiced it again. “Good day, Madam,” with a satisfied nod he turned towards the window. Affecting the posture of a much older gent, he walked slightly bent over, with an obvious limp, which was only partially an act. The injury he had sustained on his last assignment was acting up. Must be the weather, he decided as he looked out at the crisp autumn day.

  With a sigh, he withdrew his pocket watch. Affixing a round lens to his eye, he scrunched his cheek to hold it there. It was always best, he’d found, to remain in character. Quarter past four, he sighed yet again, returning the watch to the pocket in his waistcoat. He’d already been waiting an interminable amount of time. He’d drained the teapot an hour ago and was starting to have a powerful need to relieve himself.

  He went to the bell cord, pulling at it in frustration. Moving towards the chair by the fireplace, he sat down, stifling a big yawn. At least he’d have plenty of rest during the day in order to continue his usual pursuits at night, he grinned, “A piece of cake.”

  “What’s this 'bout cake?” Gurtie asked as she bustled into the room.

  “Excuse me Madam McPhee,” Samuel cleared his throat. “I wasn’t—”

  “Now none of that, I’ve told ye te call me Gurtie, and good news I have too,” she continued on. “Our Miss Constance is back from shoppin' and will be down to see
ye soon. I’ve just brought some of these sweet rolls fresh from the oven for ye till she arrives.” She placed the tray down next to the pot of tea.

  “Ay, Mum,” a young lad walked into the room.

  “Well there you are Iain, come meet the new butler, Mr. Higgins.” The boy that entered couldn’t have been any more than ten or eleven. “This is my son, Iain. He’s the best footman here abouts, he is,” Gurtie beamed proudly. “And the driver as well, and 'e even pulls the weeds in the garden, he does.”

  “Sir,” Iain bowed.

  “Hum, hum,” Samuel cleared his throat, “Iain.”

  “You’re not goin' te get sick like the last butler are ye?”

  “Och now,” Gurtie shooed him out of the room. “Run along like a good lad and take Mr. Higgins trunk up te his room,” she turned back to the new butler with a bright smile on her face. “A bit of an imagination on 'im, but a good boy,” she busied herself by plumping a few cushions. “Go on now, eat up,” she encouraged as she checked the teapot beside him. “I make the best cakes from here to 'olandary, I do.”

  “Don’t mind if I do,” Samuel replied as he sank his teeth into a hot bun.

  Bump, bump, bump, thump, sounded from outside the room. “I’m all right,” Iain called from the stair.

  “I’ll just go see about a fresh pot of tea,” Gurtie smiled brightly. “Oh, Betsy’s finished with the laundry she 'as, and will be in te pour.” She winked, “Careful though, she 'as an eye for the gents she does,” she smiled as she left. “What she can see of them that is.”

  Samuel barely heard her parting comment as he chewed. He wasn’t left long to ponder on it however, as the spinster he’d been sent to babysit walked into the room. She was about as dull as the wallpaper in her crisp white cap and high-necked day gown of grey. The spectacles she wore were perched high on her nose and her complexion was most peaked.

  Samuel slowly rose from his chair as she approached, “Good day, Miss Applegate,” bent over as he was, he almost toppled over as he bowed.

  “Good day, Mr. Higgins,” Constance replied in the most somber voice she could affect as she watched him straighten. “I trust you haven’t been waiting long. I was unaware that the agency would be sending anyone around.”

  “Of course,” Samuel’s gravelly voice intoned, “Mrs. McPhee has been most gracious.” He indicated the hot buns as she seated herself on the other chair. “Would you care for one?” he asked picking up the tray.

  “Oh, no thank you,” Constance replied almost too quickly. “I wouldn’t want to spoil my dinner.” She watched as the tray wobbled. The poor man’s hand trembled so badly she reached out to help him set it back down. She waited until he seated himself before continuing. “Your services here, I’m afraid, will be far and few between.

  Samuel nodded as she continued.

  “There is the women’s reading club I go to every Tuesday, and the ladies auxiliary, but that is only once a month.”

  Samuel shook his head, there was a definite buzzing in his ear and he’d had to stifle a yawn on several occasions as she spoke.

  “And then there is Mrs. Crosby’s tea,” Constance looked over at him. “Mr. Higgins, are you listening?”

  “Yes, yes.” Samuel replied as he refocused on her face. He was afraid her monotone voice was putting him to sleep.

  “Actually Mr. Higgins, no one ever comes to call. I’m afraid the only one that comes and goes by that door is myself,” she sighed, “and even I use the servant’s door most the time.”

  Samuel felt sorry for the girl. It wasn’t her fault she’d been born with that complexion or those looks. Maybe if she just did something with her hair? He looked at the white cap she wore. Her brows were red as well, that made two strikes against her already. And if that weren’t enough, it appeared she had a slight harelip. She looked down most the time so it was hard to see her eyes past her spectacles. Poor girl, there was no hope for her and he had an eye for that type of thing.

  His taste ran toward more buxom blonds, his mind drifted away for a moment as her voice droned on. Take the twins for instance, now there was a pair that had been doubly blessed. The ladies he’d recently met in Cairo and had the pleasure of entertaining on the voyage home were fair indeed, he sighed.

  “Mr. Higgins?”

  Her grating voice cut in to his thoughts. “Yes?”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Quite,” Samuel cleared his throat looking at her once more. Green, he noticed with surprise. Her eyes were green with gold specs in them.

  “I was saying that although you receive your pay from Lord Langston, I will not allow any disruptions,” she droned on in a colorless voice. Samuel fought the urge to yawn as she continued. “My household runs as smooth as clockwork.”

  Before he could reply, Gurtie burst into the room. “Here we are then,” she placed a new pot of tea down on the service. “You’d probably like a nice new hot cup.”

  Samuel wanted to groan, if he had any more tea he might float away. He’d never understood why it was so popular anyway. He much preferred a richer cup of coffee with a liberal dose of whiskey.

  “Now where is that Betsy?” Gurtie sighed. “I’ll just go see what’s keepin’ her.”

  “You were saying?” Samuel asked the young lady seated so stiffly across from him.

  “Betsy!” Gurtie yelled from the hall, the volume she used was surely shaking the rafters. “What’s keepin’ ye?”

  Samuel’s eyes widened in shock at the lack of decorum.

  “I’m not deaf,” the maid yelled in response. “I just was wantin’ to freshin’ up seein’ as how I’m meetin’ the new butler’n all.”

  Gurtie returned, “She’ll be right down,” she smiled brightly.

  Samuel was further amazed when Betsy appeared a moment later. The glasses she wore magnified her eyes, giving her an owlish appearance. Her grey hair sprang from under her cap at every angle and when she bobbed a curtsey, he was sure he detected the smell of whiskey and lye soap in the air.

  “Hello there, Mr. Higgins,” she batted her big eyes at him.

  Samuel cleared his throat, “Madam.”

  “Oh, that’s Miss,” she batted her eyes again. “I’m not married.”

  “You don’t say,” Samuel coughed.

  “Would ye care for a nice hot cup then?” she leaned over the service, “One lump or two?”

  “Two,” he replied as she handed him his cup, without the tea. She then proceeded to pour as he chased the stream of liquid from the pot with his cup.

  “You can call me Betsy,” she replied.

  Samuel looked up to see her eyes on him rather than the task at hand. Scorching hot liquid seared across his lap as she continued to pour.

  “Ah-Ah-Ah!” Samuel yelped.

  “Oh, dear!” Betsy put the pot down and grabbed her apron. Leaning over him she dabbed at the spill. Her efforts only succeeded in pressing the scalding cloth against his skin.

  “Augh!” Samuel did his best to stand as he brushed her hands away.

  “Oh my,” Betsy stepped back, wringing her hands in dismay.

  “Mr. Higgins,” Constance stood leaning over the two. “Are you all right?”

  “No, Madam, I am not!” Samuel asserted.

  “Betsy,” Constance replied calmly. “Could you see Mr. Higgins to his room where he can change his trousers?

  Samuel snorted indignantly. He seriously doubted she could see anything!

  “Yes, Ma’am,” Betsy bobbed, “Right this way,” she smiled.

  Samuel had seen wolves with that expression. He followed behind her, his posture bent. The only difference this time was that he wasn’t faking it.

  “Here ye are,” she led him into his room where his trunk laid broken open, the contents scattered across the floor.

  “How nice,” Betsy claimed as she turned large eyes on him. “It seems Iain has brought your things up.”

  “Indeed,” Samuel commented, far too concerned with the burning in h
is nether region than the pile of clothes spilt on the floor.

  “Would you like some help?” the owl blinked up at him.

  “No,” he blurted out as she winked. “No thank you,” he crisply reasserted as he ushered her out the door, turning the key in the lock.

  He had only barely managed to get his pants off when a knock sounded.

  “Mr. Higgins.”

  It was Gurtie. Standing in nothing but his shirt and stockings, Samuel looked around frantically for something to cover himself.

  “I’ve come to tend to ye,” she called.

  “That’s quite all right,” Samuel stole a brief look down. His flesh was scalded and bright pink. He could hear the key turn in the lock from the other side. “Madam, you will kindly stay on that side of the door.” Samuel grabbed the sheet off the bed.

  “There’s nothin’ that you have that I no’ seen before,” Gurtie pushed the door open, carrying a hipbath. “Now, off with that and let me have a look.”

  “I will not!” Samuel blustered, wrapping the sheet around him.

  Betsy reappeared in the doorway with a bucket of ice, “Good thing the iceman came today.”

  Before he knew what was happening Gurtie pushed him backward. The movement caught him so off guard that he fell into the tub. Betsy followed right behind her, pouring freezing cold water across his lap.

  “Ahh-hh!” Samuel leapt out of the tub. As he moved, the wet sheet slipped from his fingers, parting in the front. He quickly turned away from Gurtie’s view right into the owlish eyes of Betsy.

  “Oh my,” Betsy’s eyes grew even larger as Samuel jerked the sheet up.

  “Well, what’s it look like?” Gurtie asked her.

  “It’s all pinkish,” she replied.

  “And?”

  “Well there’s nothing much there,” Betsy replied. “It’s shriveled up to a wee thing. We may have burned it off.”

  “It’s… It’s not been burnt off.” Samuel blistered. “It been frozen.”