Betina Krahn (16 page)

“We don’t think it is ridiculous at all, Professor,” Lady Sophia responded, warming the suddenly chilled atmosphere with a smile and an air of maternal indulgence. “Of course, we couldn’t expect you to know about it or to appreciate such a discovery, yet. It has been kept rather close.” She gestured to those seated down the table. “Known only to us in the Atlantean Society.”

“The … Atlantean … Society?”

“Th’ Atlanteen Society o’ Pev’nsey Bay. That’d be
us
,” Anabelle pointed out.

“In our research,” Lady Sophia went on, “Martin and I discovered that dolphins figure prominently in the tablets, vessels, and carvings of Atlantis. You may recall seeing some of them in the library this morning. We have a goodly number in our collection. Dolphins were obviously revered by the people of Atlantis. That is why, when Celeste became interested in dolphins and they seemed to show such an affinity for her, her grandfather and I encouraged her to study them.”

He looked from Lady Sophia to Celeste, frowning, obviously trying to fit this piece into the puzzle of what was happening here.

The Reverend Altarbright cleared his throat. “A number of us local folk have followed Sir Martin’s and Lady Sophia’s work from the outset … as well as Celeste’s. We have become convinced that what the world desperately needs is the wisdom and harmony of Atlantean culture.”

“They were an exceedingly enlightened people,” Miss Penelope added. “They had an exemplary system of communication—regular mail delivery.”

“Their clothing was free-flowing and graceful, while completely practical.” The dapper little haberdasher, Darwin Tucker, poked his finger beneath his collar and gave it a tug. “Unlike today’s miserable garments.”

“Top-notch sailors,” the brigadier said gruffly. “Excellent navy.”

“Hot an’ cold water piped into each an’ every house!” Ned the blacksmith put in with unabashed admiration.

“And they give proper due to th’ sea an’ to their fishermen,” Bernard Bass declared. “Thought right highly of ’em.”

Hiram Bass’s head bobbed agreement. “Built ’em temples an’ such.”

Titus listened to each member who spoke then turned to
Lady Sophia. “So, you have discovered all of this … from
dolphins?”

“Oh, dear, no.” Lady Sophia chuckled. “Not from dolphins. From sound archaeological evidence. From the artifacts and the work that Martin and I have done.”

“Then you don’t claim to actually talk to the dolphins …”

“Heavens, no. Much too complex a task for us mere mortals,” Reverend Altarbright answered for them, garnering nods of consensus.

“The beasties talk. We jus’ listen,” Anabelle clarified.

The professor scowled. “You
listen
… to the dolphins …”

“Maria will be heartbroken if we allow her turtle soup to get cold without even tasting it,” Celeste broke in loudly. She raised her spoon, smiled emphatically, and plunged it into her bowl.

With Celeste’s determined navigation, they managed to negotiate the soup course, oysters, and a salad before Titus Thorne was able to steer the conversation back to the topical shoals of “Atlantis.”

“You mentioned listening to dolphins,” he said as he was being served a generous portion of walnut-crusted sea bass. “What do they say?”

The reverend smiled, ignoring Celeste’s covert entreaty to caution. “Well, since none of us can rightly decipher the dolphins’ tongue, each of us has his or her own ideas about what messages they bring.” He leaned back in his chair and took hold of his lapels. “I personally believe that dolphins bring us prophetic warnings about our wasteful, prodigal ways.”

“Naw.” Hiram Bass lowered his knife and fork, but kept them standing in readiness on each side of his plate. “That ain’t it. It’s the sea, ye see. We say”—he motioned with his knife to his brother, who nodded agreement since his mouth was full of buttered roll—“they come to show us how to use
the sea to meet folks’s needs … to keep ’em from goin’ hungry … give ’em honest work.”

“All very ‘useful’ to be sure,” Miss Penelope said with a delicate wave of her fork. “But it is clear to
some of us
that the dolphins carry with them the history and culture of that ancient people. Sir Martin’s and Lady Sophia’s treasures tell of temples built by the water’s edge and how the great kings of Atlantis talked to the priests and the priests
talked to the dolphins.”

She halted with an arch little smile and a glance at the reverend. “Did I say priests? I meant
priestesses
. The sacred daughters of Atlantis. Dolphins only talk to young, virtuous women, you see. That’s why they talk to Celeste.” She smiled with pride at Celeste. “She is our Most Revered and Sacred Virgin.”

Celeste flamed. There it was. The revelation she had dreaded. Now she was not only an audacious, eccentric female who claimed to research dolphins by swimming with them, she was also the center of a daft archaeological cult populated by sexagenarians who believed she was their anointed “virgin” … chosen by the fates to prize the secrets of the ancients out of talkative sea creatures. She could see that his professorship was having as much trouble swallowing that as he was swallowing the huge bite of sea bass in his mouth.

“Really, Miss Penelope, you know that I cannot ‘talk’ to my dolphins or understand what they say any better than anyone else,” she said firmly. “As Mrs. Feather said, they talk … to each other … and all I can do is listen. It would be a great enough achievement if I could merely convince the scientific world that dolphins are capable of systematic communication—language—amongst themselves.”

“I would be interested to hear some of this dolphin language,” the professor said, his lips quirking up on one side. “Of course, to do that I would have to
see
some dolphins, first—”

“You’ll see them, Professor,” she responded sharply. “Perhaps as soon as tomorrow.”

Blessedly, that put an end to all talk of dolphins and Atlantis. But the silence that followed was filled with tension. Lady Sophia exchanged looks with her guests; they exchanged wary or opinionated glances among themselves. Celeste cast her grandmother a look of worry and warning; her grandmother shot back a look of unshakable serenity. Celeste sent Titus Thorne a glare. He returned her a look that was some part evaluation, some part denunciation, then turned his probing eye on her grandmother.

She watched him evaluating Nana, no doubt analyzing her quest for the secrets of Atlantis through his mercilessly objective standards, and remembered how proud he was of having exposed that fraudulent Viking ship. Was he sitting there, even now, planning how to destroy her grandmother’s work the minute he finished with her?

Righteous indignation rose in her. How dare he sit at their table, eating their food in company with their friends, and make veiled threats toward her grandmother’s precious work? Her blood began to heat. She picked up her fork and stabbed the spiced, wine-poached pear in the dish before her, wishing with all her heart it was a piece of Titus Thorne.

Conversation slowly began again, in subdued tones. Local talk, remarks on recent weather and the quality of the local fishing. She looked up at her grandmother’s twinkling eyes and grew steadily more furious at the prospect of seeing the joy in them dimmed by some callous, pigheaded self-appointed guardian of science. When she could stand it no more, she shoved abruptly to her feet and steadied herself against the table.

“A lovely dinner,” she announced, aware she was bringing it to a premature end. “I’m sure the professor is tired, after such an exhausting day. But before he retires, I think a turn about the flower garden might do him some good. We
have a lovely moonlight collection. Will you join me, Professor?”

He looked up in surprise, then down at the half-eaten pear in his dish, and relinquished his fork. Her invitation had all the warmth of a naval conscription notice, but, as she had intended, he could not refuse.

Bidding the others a good evening, she led him out through the hall and front doors, then down the gravel path to the garden. A warm golden disk of a moon hung above them in a deep blue sky and the mingled scents of grasses in bloom and garden flowers in abundance swirled around them on a light breeze, in the background, the ever-present sound of sea meeting shore provided a soft, pulselike beat of anticipation.

She squared her shoulders and set a brisk pace, concentrating on what she had brought him out here to say. But soon she realized he had fallen behind and turned to find him halted by a patch of oxeye daisies that glowed a luminous blue-white in the moonlight. Taking a deep breath, she strode back to him.

“We aren’t here to examine the flora, Professor.”

“I would imagine not.” He looked up with eyebrows raised. “Still, it is a most unusual sort of pigmentation. I never would have guessed daisies could glow like that at night. But then”—he straightened and produced a knowing smile that sent a spurt of heat up her spine—“I suppose nothing is impossible in the domain of a
most revered and sacred virgin.”

Taunting was probably inevitable, she told herself, Titus Thorne being the vile combination of insufferable male and science snob that he was.

“Nor are we here to discuss the society’s peculiar notions of me.”

“A pity. I was all set to inquire as to whether ‘Virgin’ was a genuine requirement of your exalted role or merely a part of the title.”

She forbade herself to blush and planted her fists at her waist.

“You’re here to ‘discredit’ me, to prove me a fraud and my work a pack of nonsense. I know that and I am prepared to accept it and deal with it. But I will
not
accept your interference with or condemnation of my grandmother’s ideas.” She advanced two paces and punched a finger into his immaculate shirtfront.

“I don’t care if you think her ideas on Atlantis are as dense as plum duff—she’s perfectly entitled to them. If she wants to organize her friends into a ‘society’ and to believe I may someday talk to dolphins, that is
her
business and no one else’s. Her theories may not be pristine science, but they keep her busy and vital and alive, and that’s just the way I want her. Alive. She very nearly grieved herself to death when my grandfather died. It was only the prospect of carrying on his work that kept her on this side of the Shade. And I intend to see that she goes on patching up artifacts and spinning grand theories until she cocks up her toes and gets carried out in a box!”

Halted by the need to draw breath, she realized she was practically stabbing him with her finger. She stared in dismay at that intrepid digit and shoved her hands behind her back.

“If there is any charity or humanity in you, you will ignore everything you saw in the library and heard tonight. You’ll pretend her work doesn’t exist.”

“But it does exist,” he declared quietly.

“Only for Nana and the members of the society.” She began to feel the heat radiating from him and backed a step. “No one else knows of it.”

“Except me.” He took a step forward. “There are the artifacts, materials that appear to have come from archaeological digs.”

“Of course there are. My grandfather opened several productive dig sites in the islands, and some of the artifacts are quite remarkable. But my grandmother is convinced they could come only from Atlantis—”

“And
you
are not.” His eyes seemed to shimmer in the moonlight.

“I … am not.” There it was, spoken aloud for the very first time. Her admission of doubt made her feel every bit as guilty as she had always feared it would. “I am not convinced they are Atlantean. But it doesn’t really matter what I think, as long as it keeps her busy and gives her something to live for.”

“So, the truth of her work doesn’t matter?”

“Not to me.”

Her pronouncement hovered, unchallenged, on the air for a long, uncomfortable moment, then she looked up and searched his moonlit features, hoping to find some glimmer of understanding in him. She saw nothing to encourage her in his guarded expression, but she saw nothing to discourage her, either. She would have to take a chance, lower her defenses to speak from her heart, and hope that the man who had warmed her and kissed her so tenderly that afternoon was still present inside the tightly buttoned and rigidly rational academician standing before her.

She looked away, wishing she could escape those eyes. “The truth wears many faces, Professor. Who is to say that what she believes about my grandfather’s work—her work—is
not
true? Don’t you see? Right now, she has something to care about and believe in. Something to live for.” She lowered her head and swallowed, as if the words stuck in her throat. “I don’t want her to be hurt.”

Titus stared at the top of her head for a moment … opened his mouth … then closed it without speaking. She honestly thought he would pounce on her cherubic, silver-haired grandmother like some crazed scientific zealot and attempt to destroy both the old lady and her life’s work in the name of Truth. But then, he told himself with appalling insight, why shouldn’t she? That was precisely what he’d vowed to do to her and her work, at the first opportunity.

“Miss Ashton,” he said tightly, “if I were half the vengeful, unscrupulous cur you believe me to be, I would never
have come here in the first place. I’d simply have watched the good gentlemen of science disassemble you in that lecture hall and then joined them for a celebratory round of port after.”

He edged closer, watching her eyes widen. He thought of the sparkle in the old lady’s eyes as she showed him her precious artifacts, of the hope he read in them that had prevented him from airing his skepticism about her conclusions. Praying he wasn’t being influenced unduly by the moonlight, the sweet, pollen-laden air, and the proximity of Celeste’s much-too-memorable curves, he made a decision.

“I’m here to learn the truth about you, Celeste Ashton. Nothing else.”

He couldn’t resist brushing a wisp of hair back from her cheek.

Relief melted her features into a smile that was part confusion, part pleasure. His blood began to warm. His pulse began to quicken. Suddenly all of his penetrating reason, sophisticated logic, and finely honed powers of deduction melted helplessly into a single obsessive thought. That title the old birds had bestowed upon her. Was she truly a “Most Revered and Sacred—”