Kate Noble (21 page)

“I have found a purpose for your new ships,” Max had said.

“What the devil…?” Will yawned. “Fontaine, what on earth…?”

Max had quickly explained to Will the plan. Will may have been half asleep, but Max knew he was a shrewd enough businessman to be able to consider the opportunity presented to him.

“I don’t know. Iron ore is not the easiest cargo; it’s very heavy. That’s why it’s usually processed first, then shipped. Plus, my father was considering refitting the ships and using them to start a route to China. And while I’m not overjoyed about the prospect, Chinese goods are all the rage.”

Max paced around Will’s foyer, while Will sat slumped on the stairs in his dressing gown, nearly asleep.

“Forget China—it takes two years to return, over treacherous seas and indulging in some fairly shady trading practices. This is a product with an established market. Your new ships have strong holds, you said so yourself. There and back to the Barivian coast takes three weeks! And, while on one way you take iron ore to England, on the way back you take English goods to a new, untapped market,” Max schemed. “How can you possibly say no?”

Will yawned. “Is this about helping the shipping line or impressing your soon-to-be father-in-law?”

Max’s eyes hardened. “You’d be a fool of a businessman to pass up such a ripe prospect.” His voice was clipped. “And you know it. And if Sir Geoffrey is impressed by the deal, ’tis nothing more than an added advantage.”

Will was quiet for a few minutes more. Then, standing, he said, “Let’s go talk to Father.”

Talking to the senior Mr. Holt took two days, seeing as he was in Bristol, but the old man was easily won over, not only by the idea of a new exclusive line of trade but by his son finding a good use for the new ships.

“Maybe I can retire early!” his father had said, much to his son’s shocked and pleased ears. In fact, Mr. Holt was so eager for the deal, he and Mrs. Holt accompanied Max and Will back to town to meet with Sir Geoffrey and Count Roffstaam.

“
I
am pleased vith this solution, Sir Geoffrey,” The Count said as the papers were presented to him several days later in the library of Number Seven, “but I am afraid I cannot sign the papers yet.”

The whole room looked up. Mr. Holt, Sir Geoffrey, the Duke of Wellington, and Lord Fontaine stared.

“I told my government I should not make my decision until I have spent a few veeks in zis country. Now, be assured, my mind is decided, but I must fulfill my promise to my government. If zey hear I did not, zey would look most unfavorably upon zis contract.”

“Count Roffstaam,” Mr. Gunnings, the undersecretary to Wellington who had drawn up the papers, began to sputter, “I assure you, ze…er,
the
contract is perfectly suitable, and no one in your country will think less of you for accepting such an excellent deal so quickly.”

“It’s not that,” Sir Geoffrey spoke. “The Count knows the contract is sound and that it’s a beneficial arrangement.”

The Count nodded.

“What he’s asking for, from the country that is going to be doing an immense amount of business with his, is some trust.”

The Count inclined his head.

“We shall give it,” Sir Geoffrey said, offering his hand. The count shook it readily. Mr. Gunnings sputtered, but the Duke raised his hand to his undersecretary, smiling, and stood.

The Count shook the Duke’s hand, the undersecretary’s, Max’s, and Mr. Holt’s in turn. The two countries were, as of now, if not married in trade, at least betrothed.

The Count was pleased. The Holts were pleased. The Duke of Wellington was so pleased, he promised the Minister of Foreign Trade position to Sir Geoffrey as soon as the papers were signed.

Max was chatting in German with the Count, when Sir Geoffrey sidled up to them.

“Count Roffstaam, may I borrow your companion for a few minutes?”

Max excused himself and followed Sir Geoffrey out of the library through the empty ballroom and to the terrace.

Sir Geoffrey leaned his hands against the stone railing and breathed deeply.

“Too stuffy in there, needed some fresh air,” he said. “Too many men congratulating each other on a job well done.”

Max leaned against the railing backward, facing the house. He crossed his arms over his chest, and waited.

“It occurs to me,” Sir Geoffrey finally said, “that you are the one deserving most of the congratulations.”

“I don’t think so,” Max replied, quietly pleased. “It was obvious, you would have thought of it, too.”

“Yes—but it would have taken longer,” Sir Geoffrey said. “Stomach your praise like a man and simply say thank you.”

“Thank you,” Max replied, letting quiet descend again. Sir Geoffrey reached into his breast pocket and brought out a cigar.

“What about fresh air?” Max asked, as Sir Geoffrey cut off the end and lit it.

“Overrated,” he mumbled and took a deep puff. Once the smoke cleared, he eyed Max. “I misjudged you.” Max looked up at Sir Geoffrey, who kept his gaze on the small garden. “I thought you were someone with no ambition beyond what you were born to. I apologize.”

“Thank you, sir,” Max said.

“What you managed to bring about in there,” Sir Geoffrey motioned to the library, “well, it shows considerable intelligence. Diplomacy, even.”

Max took this in. It was an immense compliment, coming from a man such as Sir Geoffrey. Another “thank you,” was all he could strangle out, though.

“See, you’re better at accepting praise already,” Sir Geoffrey said, smiling.

“You sound like your daughter,” Max said before he could stop himself.

“Gail?” Sir Geoffrey offered. “Yes, I do. But I’m surprised she spoke freely with you, she doesn’t do that too often anymore. Gail gets all of her, let’s call it
verbal ability
, from me. Evangeline takes after her mother: all sweetness.” Sir Geoffrey looked away for a moment, a distinct shine in his eyes. He cleared his throat. “That’s something I wanted to talk with you about.” He paused, took another puff of the cigar, and plowed through. “You know Barivia is a conservative country. They don’t even have the waltz there.”

Max was silent, knowing Sir Geoffrey would eventually get to where he was going.

“I’ve decided,” Sir Geoffrey said on a sigh, “that men in politics should never have daughters. When they are young, they bring the heart joy, but when they’re older, they bring only heartburn.”

Sir Geoffrey gave Max a knowing look.

“Sir.” Max cleared his throat. “I need you to know that I have no intention of causing any, er, taint to your daughter’s name. I never have.”

“We will all be spending a great amount of time with the Count and Countess, and we need to be presented as honorable. As keeping our promises.”

Max’s eyes narrowed. “I do not appreciate your continual questioning of my honor. Now, I’ve said I’m going to marry your daughter as agreed. That’s the end of it.”

Max stared stonily at Sir Geoffrey, who met his gaze, and for several considering seconds, they sized each other up.

“Good!” Sir Geoffrey said jovially, breaking the silence as he slapped Max’s back. “Let’s go back inside and join the melee.”

As they walked through the empty ballroom, Sir Geoffrey put a hand on Max’s shoulder. “One last thing—I realize you are friends with young Mr. Holt, but how do you know so much of their business practices? How did you know they would have ships available so quickly?”

Max smiled wryly. “I’m an investor.”

Sir Geoffrey viewed his soon-to-be son-in-law. “So, you’ll not be hurt by the deal that was brokered today.” He waggled his cigar in the direction of the library.

“That’s not why I did it,” Max replied, eye to eye with Sir Geoffrey.

“No, you didn’t,” Sir Geoffrey stated as fact. “I did underestimate you, didn’t I?”

“
I
have a surprise for you,” Max said upon entering the drawing room a few days later. Gail’s head emerged from her book, and her eyes followed Max as he seated himself with athletic grace. Evangeline smiled politely and offered the gentlemen tea. Gail reluctantly marked her page and joined her sister on the settee.

“Surprise?” Evangeline replied. “What is it?”

He took a delicate sandwich from the tea tray and popped it into his mouth. He gave the curious stares he received a mischievous smirk as he chewed.

“I thought we might enjoy an outing today,” Max eventually drawled. “After all,” he continued, “it’s been so long since I’ve had you to myself—I feel as if I haven’t seen you in a week.” This comment he directed at Evangeline, giving her an indulgent smile. Gail managed to refrain from rolling her eyes.

“Where are we going?” Evangeline inquired.

“I don’t know…” he mused, twiddling his thumbs. “Maybe I shouldn’t tell.”

Evangeline looked to Mr. Holt, but he replied to her silent question in the negative. “Don’t look to me for help—he hasn’t informed me of any of this.”

Impatiently, Gail bounced to the edge of her seat. And Gail was not the bouncy sort. “Dispense with this nonsense and tell us where we’re going!” she exclaimed.

“What makes you think you’re invited?” Max shot back, but all he received in reply was an impressively arched brow.

Max cleared his throat. “Well, yes, you are invited.” He then added beneath his breath, “But I don’t know why you automatically think so, Brat.”

“I heard that.”

“No you didn’t,” Max insisted coolly, and moved on. “No, I don’t think I’ll tell you where we are going. I should like to make it a true surprise.”

As Gail’s brows drew together in a scowl, Evangeline tactfully intervened.

“A true surprise! This is a wonderful idea, Lord Fontaine. Gail and I have been cooped up in this house far too long. We could do with something resembling fun.” She looked pointedly at her sister.

And though she was loath to admit it (out loud, at least), Gail knew this to be the truth. The house had been overrun for days. The Duke, the Count, and half of Parliament had been to call on Number Seven since the agreement had been reached. One couldn’t sling a cat in Berkeley Square without hitting a politico, or one of the dozens of ambitious undersecretaries looking to impress Sir Geoffrey with sugarcoated congratulations. Word of his promised promotion had traveled fast. Romilla reveled in the attention of course, but Gail and Evangeline found it a bit trying. The Count liked to visit as well, and had a tendency to pop in at the most unusual times, such as half past seven, in the morning and evening. He always enjoyed engaging Gail in conversation, and although she liked him very much, she had the inkling that she was so often in his company because she was the only member of the household who was fluent in German.

Indeed, Gail could use a bit of air.

She looked up and met her sister’s hopeful gaze.

“When shall we leave?” she sighed.

THE
carriage pulled up in front of the sixteenth century mansion in Bloomsbury, and the girls stuck their heads out immediately, eager to see where they had been carried. At first glance, it seemed your average building of wealth, the house was divided into wings, and the courtyard bloomed with early spring flowers. However, no one could miss the massive Palladian structure that was being built not a hundred feet away, crowding out the light—if there was indeed any light on this overcast English day.

“The British Museum?” Gail gaped. “You brought us to the British Museum?”

For indeed, it was the British Museum—of sorts. The ancient artifacts, natural history items, and royal libraries that made up the museum had long been housed in the sixteenth century mansion, called Montague House. However, as more artifacts were discovered, and more of those artifacts donated, the need for more space became apparent. When George IV donated his father’s extensive library collection, the need became immediate. So, whereas the natural history items were moved to a house in Kensington, the ancient artifacts and library remained in Bloomsbury, and Parliament had commissioned this humongous columned building to eventually house the treasures. An ambitious project that when completed would be larger than Buckingham Palace. Although only a few wings were finished, the most precious and interesting exhibits had already been moved into the new building. Oh, what worldly treasures were housed there!

“You haven’t been yet, have you?” Max asked, after giving that lengthy lecture.

“No,” replied Evangeline tentatively, “not yet, but—”

“Excellent! I thought it might be particularly interesting,” Max said, walking ahead.

Will moved next to Evangeline. “Not to mention gets us out of the house,” he stage-whispered into her ear, eliciting an appreciative giggle.

Because the main exhibits were in the new building, Max led them there first. Gail’s face shone with intellectual anticipation, and Evangeline’s seemed more subdued, but not displeased. Indeed, Max thought, he should not be surprised if Evangeline could weather a plague epidemic with cool serenity. It was a comfort to know she was so steady of character, not given to ungoverned passions. Mild, he decided. Evangeline was mild.

He frowned. Why did that seem like a negative?

Max’s grimace was quick lived, for as soon as they entered the mammoth building, his senses, as always, were assaulted by the past. It was as if he stepped from modern London into ancient Greece. The whole hall was filled with relics—the walls lined with bas-reliefs collected by travelers over the past hundred years. The niches that lined the main foyer were filled with statuary from the Townley collection of classical sculpture. He knew this, because he had memorized the guidebook. He pulled the tattered, dog-eared volume out of his coat pocket and made to consult it, but not before sneaking a peak at the faces of his companions. Evangeline was looking about with placid interest, Will’s eyebrows raised, no doubt by the impressiveness of the structure, and Gail—her jaw had literally dropped. Her eyes moved left and right and circled with amazing speed, trying to take everything in.

“Well done, Fontaine,” Will spoke. “Truly an excellent idea.”

Evangeline murmured in agreement, but Gail still couldn’t speak—something that Max found incredibly amusing. But before he could comment on it, a porter in livery and powdered wig greeted the party.

“Good morning,” Max said, the large halls causing his hushed voice to carry with impressive imperiousness. He fished in his pocket for a card. “I made an appointment last week, for a guided tour.”

“Guided tour?” A deep voice boomed out from a shadowed hallway. “Miss Gail Alton could give any guide on staff a lesson on what you see here!”

The party turned toward the voice.

“Mr. Ellis!” exclaimed Evangeline, as both she and Gail rushed forward to greet the older, somberly dressed gentleman, who held out his arms to the girls.

“I was wondering when you would come and give me a visit! Miss Gail, I’m especially surprised at you! You’ve been in London for how long—over a month now? And not once have you been here to lecture me. Is there no time in your busy lives for one sad and lonely old man?” He took a hand of each girl and kissed them, greeting them as if they were favorite nieces, then turned to address the porter. “The Alton family has a standing invitation. There is no need to confirm the appointment.” The porter bowed, handing Max’s card to Mr. Ellis before stepping away.

“And whom do you have with you?” Mr. Ellis asked, looking at the card. “Lord Fontaine, I presume?” Max nodded and gave a quick bow. “Henry Ellis, principal librarian of the British Museum, at your service.”

As Mr. Ellis turned away to introduce himself to Will, Max could not conceal his amazement. Of course the Altons would be on familiar terms with the curator of the British Museum. Not just any curator, but Mr. Henry Ellis! This man who had traveled the world twice over, made copious notes on everywhere he went, authored books, and considered running the British Museum a form of retirement, was intimate friends with the family of his intended. Of course.

“You, sir, are a legend in your own time,” Will was saying.

Mr. Ellis laughed, and Gail said, “Just don’t get him started on his ‘stranded on a desert isle’ story. There isn’t enough time in the day.” She said it so adoringly, Mr. Ellis turned very nearly pink.

“Lord Fontaine, have you visited the museum before?” Mr. Ellis said, and Max snapped back to attention.

“Yes, it is most impressive.”

“Good, then you know where everything is. Ah, I see you have the guidebook as well. Excellent. I’m afraid I cannot take you about myself today.”

Gail’s face fell.

“But do stop by the library wing before you take your leave. I’m afraid we still have a dozen volumes of Dr. Johnson’s dictionary to sort through, and it’s been a nightmare!”

And with that, Mr. Ellis disappeared up a massive staircase, mumbling about proper indexing procedures.

“Blimey, Fontaine, I’d wager you didn’t expect to meet Mr. Henry Ellis today,” Will said, slapping his friend on the shoulder.

“No, I didn’t,” Max ruefully admitted. “But then again, I’ve learned never to wager when it involves Gail Alton.” He smiled toward Evangeline and Gail, who were already ten steps ahead, looking at an ancient sculpture of a woman draped in robes, holding an urn.

They joined the ladies by the stone woman and asked, “Shall we see some history?”

So they did. The rest of the morning and the whole of the afternoon were spent traveling through the wings of the museum (those that were finished), traveling through time, and imagining life in a different world. The party quickly split into pairs, and although Max had tried to stay with Evangeline, her short steps were no match for his intellectual appetite, and he found himself gravitating toward Gail, who, it turned out, really could teach the museum guides a thing or two. She whispered about the meaning scarab beetles had in Egypt, and lectured about mummification techniques. Max managed to keep up with her, surprising her with his knowledge of the matriarchal society that made women pharaohs before men. They warred with words, wit, and intellect. It’s a wonder they didn’t kill each other.

On the topic of the Rosetta stone, Max queried of his companion: “Don’t tell me you could read it.”

She sighed. “Sadly I cannot do everything.”

“Surely not!” Max exclaimed, clutching a hand to his chest.

“I shall simply have to content myself with merely being able to do more than you,” she responded dryly, and moved onto the next room, Max snickering close at her heels.

Sometimes they would stand and simply stare at a clay pot or a reliquary, and when they looked up, they would find that they had lost Evangeline and Will, who had already lost interest in one room and moved to the next.

“Where are Lord Elgin’s Marbles?” Will asked, when they finally caught up with each other. “I should like to see them next.”

“They are located in another building,” Max said, “but it’s attached to this one. This way.” And he led them out a side door, under a covered walkway (for indeed, English weather had prevailed in its daily battle with the sun, and it was raining) and into a smaller Palladian building, made to match the large one, but housing only one exhibit.

“Why are they in here?” Evangeline asked.

“Because the room meant to display them hasn’t been finished yet, but they didn’t want to leave them in the Montague House, away from the rest of the Greek antiquities,” Max answered as he led them in.

Inside, they were hardly the only guests. Indeed, the Elgin Marbles, the series of reliefs removed from the Parthenon in Athens, were a very popular exhibit. There were a few members of the Ton present, and Max and Will made bows while the ladies nodded and smiled in acknowledgment. There were also a few middleclass patrons, and some students of art, set up with easels and brushes, trying to capture the beauty of the story that was told on slabs of stone circling the room. Evangeline and Will moved immediately to the wall, to inspect one of the reliefs, but Gail and Max just stood for a moment, taking in the majesty and craftsmanship as a whole.

“They won’t be able to do them justice,” Gail whispered to Max. She nodded toward the artists. One young man’s sketch had captured Evangeline’s attention, and she was eyeing it critically.

Gail continued, “To have the warriors come alive, to really be able to see, they need to see the marbles in their proper place.”

Max rolled his eyes. He knew he couldn’t avoid this. “And have you ever seen them in their proper place?”

“No, of course not,” she replied. “They were removed from the Acropolis before I was even born.”

“Then how do you know they would look better there?” Max took Gail’s arm and led her to a frieze depicting two men on horseback.

“Because they are wrong here!” Gail nearly exploded, causing several to shush her. Mollified, she continued in a whisper.

“We English run over this world as if it were our private property. ‘Oh here’s something interesting and historically important to a different culture, allow me to take it away, for I am British and always right.’ But by flaunting our superiority, we simply reveal our unwillingness to understand everyone else. By refusing to think anyone else could possibly be better, we show our inferiority.”