Wicked (14 page)

“Even I…what?” she demanded, feeling a surge of raw anger.

“It’s his title. You’re enraptured by that title.”

“Alex, you’re my friend,” she said softly. “I suggest you get out before your words to me indicate that you are something other.”

“Oh, Camille!” he said miserably. “I’m so sorry.”

“Apology accepted.”

He came into the room then, obviously still distressed. “What if I were rich?” he asked her.

“Pardon?”

“If I were…well, if I were a man of greater means. Would you care about me then?”

“Alex! I do care about you.”

“That’s not what I mean, Camille, and you know it.”

She shook her head. “Alex, I repeat, you’re my friend and I care about you. But at this stage of my life, I am concerned with my work. You know that it was difficult for me to actually obtain my position here. I am dedicated to doing the best work that I can and keeping this job!”

“Then why are you living with the man?”

“I am not living with the man!” she said with indignant horror.

“Why stay there? Get Tristan away. Surely, unless he were seriously injured, he could be moved by now.”

“I don’t know what you’re implying, Alex, but I am taking great offense at your words.”

“I care about you far too much to see…well, to see this happening to you.”

“Just what is happening to me, Alex?” she demanded.

“There will be a terrible scandal,” he told her.

“Oh, and why?”

“You’re a commoner, Camille. That is not meant as offense, but simple fact. And you are staying with the Earl of Carlyle. He is going to escort you to a gala. Surely, you know, tongues will wag.”

“Then they will just have to do so,” she said sharply. She stood then, furious. “Alex, I am going to have to ask you to leave. The world has called Lord Stirling a monster. I can tell you that he is not. He has asked me to attend a museum function with him. I will do so. And I am not afraid of being with the man. Indeed, you and Hunter have behaved with far less decorum and courtesy. So let the tongues wag. I will defend the man. He has been hurt, scarred, wounded. That is all. I do not find him repulsive, nor do I find him a monster in any way. Once again, if you would have our friendship continue, I suggest you leave without further words to drive us apart.”

“Camille!”

“Alex, go!”

He turned, obviously still distressed. She heard him muttering as he left. “Titles…and riches!”

With a sigh, she went back to her work.

I cannot describe in words the joy felt upon our discovery! Nor, I suppose, can I begin to explain the absolute fascination dear George and I have found delving into the past and the present of this exquisite, yet suffering, country. The ancients left such treasures, while the people now suffer in such poverty. It is my dearest hope that in finding the riches of the past, we may give back to those who now so desperately need our help. If we are to be a great empire, then we must take care that we do not rob these people of their heritage. We must see that they are given all that they need to enter into the quickly coming twentieth century. That said, let me try to put down everything about that glorious first day and all the wonders of excavation since!

It was early when Abdul found the first steps. Eagerly, we dug, myself included! And there, slowly, we at last found the sealed doorway! There was, of course, a warning upon it. One of the poor diggers was in horror, certain that we had unearthed something unholy. I felt such sorrow for the poor man that I discreetly paid him his day’s wage and sent him on his way. Lord Wimbly was a bit put out that I paid the fellow, saying that they were nothing but superstitious fools and shouldn’t be rewarded for such behavior. Hunter, of course, shrugged and said that I must do what I must. He is ever such a flirt and intrigued only with what he shall do next! I
think Alex, too, was upset, but the poor dear has been out so often, truly ill a few times. I tried to cheer him as I understand that he is often frustrated, not being able to finance many a project that he would find rewarding himself.

Other workers were brought in to break the seal. And then, behold! The tomb came to light. We were amazed, for though we had not found the grand tomb of a pharaoh, we had discovered the next best thing—the resting place of a great vizier, prophet or holy man. And, as we delicately moved into the entry, we realized that we had made a tremendous find. Sir John shared our ecstasy, and it was difficult to keep Aubrey from plowing like an elephant into the tomb, he was so anxious and eager.

We knew that every find would need to be carefully removed. And there would be so many decisions to make. Finds must go into the museum at Cairo, for truly, in my heart, I see that these treasures belong to the Egyptian people. And finds must go to our own great center of culture and learning, for I fervently believe that it is from the past that we discover the future. If there is anything I can do to repay God above who has blessed me with such a life, it is to give the gift of learning and education to our people…to
all
people.

And though we have explored and dusted and cleaned and catalogued and packed, we have just begun to see the treasures. I am exhausted, but so excited. Poor George! Even here, he troubles himself with mysteries from back home. While I grow so terribly involved here, he is talking about Carlyle and how anxious he is to get back and discover if his theory regarding our lovely castle is correct!

B
RIAN SET DOWN
his mother’s journal. He had read it time and again, desperately seeking between the lines to discover if she’d had serious difficulty with any of the erstwhile
scholars
who had been with them on the last expedition. But in her journal, as in her speech, Lady Abigail was ever kind.

He picked up the autopsy notes he had received that afternoon, and tried not to think about the state of his parents’ bodies by the time they had reached England. Just where, exactly, had the asps been when his parents had come upon them?

He closed his eyes. A drawer? Had his mother reached in and been bitten immediately? She had been bitten on her lower arms, twice. Had her cries alerted his father? He would have run to her immediately, taken her desperately into his arms.

She must have fallen. That would explain the fracture at the back of her head. So she had cried out, fallen, then his father had come.

But how then had his father been bitten on the arms, too? If the snakes had been in a drawer, and his mother had fallen, and his father had gone to her assistance, the snakes should have…either remained in the drawer or been on the ground, in which case his father would have been bitten about the legs or ankles.

He studied the autopsy notes again. There had been a cut on his father’s throat. A shaving mishap? And then there had been the curious bruise on his mother’s shoulder.

He set the notes down and rubbed his face, glad, in his private chambers, to be free from the mask, idly tracing the scar that ran down his cheek.

He had been certain from the start that his parents had been murdered. He had always assumed that the murder had been perpetuated by someone seeing to it that the asps
were in a place where they would instinctively strike before being seen. But now he began to wonder if the murderer hadn’t actually been there in the room. Had his parents seen the face of their killer and known just exactly what they were facing?

He shuddered, torn apart once again to think of what had been done. Anger seared into him, and with the anger came the repeated question that tortured his mind.
Why?

The answer was somewhere. And by God, he was going to find it.

“O
H, MY, HOW DELIGHTFUL!
” the woman cried, admitting Camille into the cottage. “Shelby dear, you are coming in, of course?”

Camille turned to her great hulk of an escort, a little surprised that anyone could call such a giant “Shelby dear!”

“Ah, Merry, of course, if you don’t be minding. I’d never leave without a spot of your fine tea and one of those scones I can smell on the air!” He cleared his throat. “Merry, this is Miss Camille Montgomery, a scholar at the museum. Camille, may I present Merry and the other lasses, Edith and Violet.”

Again, she had to smile at the choice of words. The “lasses” were all well into their sixties, Camille thought. Yet, maybe Shelby was right to label them as such, for the women were all lovely, with beautiful, pert, young smiles.

And she herself was hardly considered a scholar. She didn’t have the credentials that made one so.

Violet was very tall and thin, whereas Merry was short and a bit squat with an ample bosom. Edith was somewhere between the two.

“Camille…what a lovely name. I dare say someone loved opera!” Edith said.

“Come, come, perhaps her mother just liked the name,”
Merry said, pleasantly grinning away. “Edith was a teacher for years, my dear, and we still listen to opera day after day on the wonderful machine there. A bit scratchy, but…oh!” She turned to her sisters. “She’s so lovely, isn’t she?” Then back to Camille. “This will be such a pleasure!”

Camille flushed. “Thank you.”

“Merry, dear, you fix the tea,” Edith said. “Violet and I will do the measuring! Come along, dear.”

Violet caught her arm and she was drawn through the little cottage to a room in the rear with a sewing machine, a dressmaker’s dummy, shelves full of material bolts, spools of thread and all kinds of paraphernalia. The women were charming, carrying on a conversation with one another, asking her questions, not really waiting for answers. Before she knew it, and before she could feel the least awkward, she was standing in nothing but a shift, with a tape measure going about her here and there. Somewhere along the line, she managed to get in a question.

“Edith, you were a teacher?”

“Oh, yes, dear. And I did love teaching!”

“But now…you are all dressmakers?”

“Oh, no!” Violet told her. “Well, we do have a love of it, as you see. But we’re sisters, of course—all widows, I’m afraid.”

“How nice that you have one another,” Camille murmured.

“Delightful!” Violet said.

“Oh, we’ve much more, as well,” Edith told her. “Merry has a wonderful son, with Her Majesty’s troops in India.”

“And he has three sons!” Violet supplied.

“I see. Is that how you know Lord Stirling?” Camille asked.

Edith laughed charmingly. “Oh, no, dear. We’ve had this cottage now for…twenty years, is it, Violet?”

“Indeed.”

Camille must have looked a little baffled because Violet continued. “My dear, we’re on property belonging to the Earl of Carlyle. Of course, we moved here when George and his dear lady were still living…we made all of Lady Stirling’s clothing. Now we only make shirts for Brian. How I miss his dear mother! Not that he isn’t the most generous of men to us. A great sense of responsibility, he has. Now, please turn for me, dear.”

Camille did so, and was startled to see a child standing in the doorway, a beautiful little girl of four or five. She had glorious dark ringlets, huge eyes and dimples. She didn’t seem at all shy as she stared at Camille.

“Um…hello,” Camille said.

Violet swung around. “Ally! Child, what on earth are you doing out of bed?”

Ally gave Camille a secretive smile. “Thirsty!” she said sweetly. “And hungry, Auntie Vi!”

“Ah, she smells the scones, she does!” Edith said, chiding with no real thought of discipline. “Oh, where are my manners? Ally, you must meet Miss Montgomery. Miss Montgomery, Ally.”

They offered no last name.

“Hello, miss!” Ally said, bobbing a curtsy.

“Hello, a pleasure to meet you, Miss Ally,” Camille told her.

She looked at Violet. “One of Merry’s grandchildren?” she asked.

“Oh, no! The grandchildren all live with their mothers,” Violet said.

“Ally is our dear little ward,” Edith told her, folding the measuring tape. “Well, there, that’s done and set. Oh, dear! You must see the fabric.” She drew a bolt from one of the shelves. “Well, it’s for the overskirt, you see. I do hope you’ll be pleased. We’re so excited about this gown!”

She admired the fabric. It looked like spun gold, and yet…there was an underlying hint of green to it.

Ally came in, tentatively touching the fabric. She smiled her beautiful little dimpled, impish smile at Camille.

“Like your eyes.”

“Exactly!” Violet said. “Well, it is what Lord Stirling told us, isn’t it, Edith?”

“Oh, yes, and it does match.”

“Here, dear, let’s get your clothing back on you, and then, tea!”

“Oh, yes! Tea!” Ally said with a clap of her hands.

Violet had the borrowed blue work dress quickly over Camille’s head. Edith was there to help with the lacing and petticoats in seconds flat. Between them, they were incredibly deft and efficient.

And yet, while the dress went over her, Camille couldn’t help but wonder, whose child was it? And why did she live here with her “aunties”? Was the lovely little girl Brian Stirling’s…child? His illegitimate child?

“Come, come, tea!” Violet said, turning down the lamp. Edith was leading the way out.

Ally came to Camille and slipped her little hand into hers. “Miss, tea. Oh, do come, please! The scones are so very, very good!”

As the child had promised, they were. It was a lovely setting, having tea at the kitchen table in the little cottage. It was warm, and the aroma of the fresh-baked scones enwrapped them. Shelby, the great hulk, was obviously a favorite with the aunties, and with Ally, as well. She squealed with delight as he hiked her onto his back and gave her a horsy ride around the room. Camille found herself forgetting all else for a time as she enjoyed the child’s laughter, the comfort of the tea and the delicious scones.

At last, it was time to leave. “You’ll have to come again tomorrow, dear, for a fitting,” Violet told her.

“Well, everything should be perfect. We do know what we’re doing!” Edith said, then grinned. “But we want it to be perfect, so you really should have a fitting.”

“This is needed in such a rush, dear,” Merry murmured, shaking her head.