Wicked (7 page)

“Really?”

She had angered him.

“Tell me, Miss Montgomery, should murderers go free?”

“Of course not! But if I understand correctly, your parents were killed by snakes! Egyptian cobras. Again, I am sorry, but there is no man to blame for that!”

He didn’t answer then, choosing to look out the window instead. She realized then that, far more than the mask itself, he had managed to build an emotional wall around himself. He didn’t intend to speak with her anymore, she knew. And despite herself, she couldn’t force the point.

She, too, gazed out the window until they came into the bustle and jog of London and then to the museum itself. He didn’t allow her to refuse his help when stepping out of the carriage, and neither did he release her elbow as they headed for the building. Before the door, however, he suddenly came to a halt, turning her to face him.

“Believe me, Miss Montgomery, there is a murderer who brought about the death of my parents. I believe that the killer is someone we both know, perhaps even someone you see nearly every day.”

A chill enwrapped her heart. She didn’t believe his words, but she believed the fever in his eyes.

“Come along,” he said then, walking once again. Almost casually he added, “Whatever I say or do, you will go along with, Miss Montgomery.”

“Lord Stirling, perhaps I can’t—”

“But you will!” he said firmly, and she fell silent, for they had reached the great doors to her place of employment.

L
ORD
S
TIRLING
knew his way.

Employees and visitors alike seemed to know him or of him, for many greeted him—all trying not to stare at the mask—with respect and a bit of awe. Perhaps it was his size, his height and the breadth of his shoulders, the casual and handsome way he wore his clothing. Or the way he carried himself. Or the mere fact of who he was.

“I work in a back room on the—”

“Second floor, of course,” he murmured.

They came to the section, and he immediately headed her toward the door that led to the rooms that were not open to the public. She pulled free then, nervously hurrying before him. Inside the first office, they came first upon Sir John Matthews, who was seated behind the entry desk, papers piled in disarray before him.

“There you are, at last! My dear Miss Montgomery! You know my opinion of those who cannot manage to arrive in a timely manner. I—” He broke off, seeing the Earl of Carlyle coming behind her. “Lord Stirling!” he exclaimed, astonished.

“John, my good fellow. How are you doing?”

“I…I…quite well!” Sir John said, still appearing somewhat in shock. “Brian, I’m stunned, pleased, delighted! Does your appearance here mean that you’ll be…”

Brian Stirling laughed pleasantly. “Contributing to the Egyptology department again?” he queried.

Sir John flushed a rose hue, bright against his white whiskers and hair. “Dear me, that’s not what I meant at all, really. You’re family…you…well, all were so learned in the field. To have your enthusiasm involved here again would be quite fantastic!”

Camille could see Lord Stirling’s lips curl and pleasantly so. She wondered if he might have felt a modicum of affection for Sir John at some time in his life.

“That’s kind of you, John. Actually, I was considering attending your fund-raiser this weekend.”

“Good God!” Sir John exclaimed. “Really?”

He looked from Camille to Lord Stirling, then back again, completely baffled. He shook his head, as if trying to clear it, as if their appearance together should perhaps make sense, but certainly didn’t in any way.

Stirling stared at Camille. “You will be attending—correct, Miss Montgomery?”

“Oh, no!” she said quickly. She felt a flush rise to her own cheeks. “I’m not a senior member of the staff,” she murmured.

“Miss Montgomery has not been with us long,” Sir John murmured.

“Ah, but of course you will attend, Miss Montgomery, as my escort back into a world where I might feel quite lost were you not with me.”

He wasn’t making a request. And simply because of his tone, she longed to refuse. But she was being bribed or blackmailed, whichever word fit the situation better.

Sir John stood staring at her, eyes narrowed, still at a loss as to how she had come to be in the company of such a man as the earl.

“Camille, if the Earl of Carlyle would be more comfortable attending in your company, you will be here.”

Stirling walked across the few steps that brought him before Camille, reaching for her hands, taking them into his own. “John!” he said, looking at Camille even as he addressed the man. “Please! You mustn’t make it sound as if you’re threatening the lass!”

Those sharp blue eyes of his focused on her with some humor. There was no need at all for Sir John to threaten her. She already knew that she was being threatened. Yet, along with whatever other skills he had acquired through the years, he was an excellent actor, for it appeared that he was being pleasant, as courteous and correct as his breeding should merit.

She tried to pull her hands away casually, but his grip was firm. She forced a smile. “How very kind of you, Lord Stirling. I’m afraid I should be a rather humble choice for such an evening.”

“Nonsense. We are living in the age of enlightenment. What better choice for an evening’s companion than a young woman who is not just beautiful, but intelligent and so very well versed on the subject of the evening’s passion.”

“Camille!” Sir John murmured, prodding her.

Stirling’s smile was a bit grim, and definitely amused. She longed to jerk hard on her hands. In fact, she longed to tell him that she’d rather spend the evening in an opium den with hoods and thieves.

“It’s not…the mask, is it?” he queried.

Oh, what a tone! The man was playing upon pathos now! “No,” she said sweetly. “This is the age of enlightenment, My Lord, as you have said. No man, or woman, should ever be judged by appearance.”

“Bravo!” Sir John complimented.

Apparently her tormenter decided that he wasn’t going to wait for her actual agreement. “Then, indeed, yes, John, I will attend the upcoming fund-raiser. And you may be assured that both my interest and my income are returned full score to the pursuit of our educational ideals. Well, you’ve work to do, and I caused Miss Montgomery’s tardiness. And now, I fear, I am taking more time. John, it is, indeed, a pleasure to see you so well—a bit disarrayed as ever in your studies and intents, but looking hale and hearty. Miss Montgomery, Shelby will be here with the carriage to attend to you at…six, is it?”

“It’s usually at least six-thirty,” she murmured, aware that Sir John was now staring at them both, gaping.

Stirling decided to let him out of his curiosity, a feeling so strong it was surely about to tear Sir John into pieces. “This dear young woman’s guardian had quite an accident on the highway last night—imagine, if you will, right at my property. Naturally, he is my guest. And quite naturally, Miss Montgomery came in haste and fear to tend to him. To my great delight, Castle Carlyle is hosting guests once again. So good day, then, to you both.”

“G-good day, Brian!” Sir John stuttered, still staring at Stirling as he turned about, exiting casually, yet with the natural dignity of a man born to position.

He was gone for several moments before Sir John—who stared blankly after him long after he disappeared from sight—turned to Camille, amazed.

“Good God!” he said.

She could offer only a grimace and a shrug.

“This is quite amazing!”

“I’m afraid I wouldn’t know,” she murmured. “I…merely went out to tend to my guardian.”

“An accident?” Sir John said, frowning. “He’s going to be all right?”

Sir John was a decent fellow. He seemed disturbed to realize that events had made him completely forget to ask after the welfare of a fellow human being.

“Yes, yes, thank you. We believe he has suffered some bruises, but nothing serious.”

“These hansom and carriage drivers!” Sir John said with a sniff. “They can be so careless and reckless. Then again, it doesn’t take much to set a fellow up driving!” He seemed quite disgusted that there was no training necessary for drivers, despite the fact that many a rich man, and probably several of his peers, had invested in such cabs, heedless of who might be driving.

She smiled, refraining from informing him that the “accident” had not involved a cab or, indeed, a conveyance of any kind.

He still stared at her troubled. “Quite remarkable,” he said.

“Well,” she murmured, lowering her eyes. “If you’re pleased, then…”

“Pleased!” Sir John exclaimed. “My dear girl, Lord Stirling’s parents were such patrons of this museum, you cannot imagine. And more! They were deeply devoted to the people of Egypt, anxious that, with foreign powers lending aid, the people should not suffer. And the work they did!” He studied her a moment longer, then seemed to make a decision. “Come with me, Camille dear, and I’ll show you a bit of their legacy.”

She was startled. So far, her work had entailed exactly what they chose to hand her—usually the most tedious work—and nothing more. But now Sir John intended to take her into the vaults, the storage facilities of the museum.

She was fascinated to realize that she had her threatening host to thank for this possibility. She hated feeling that
she owed him any thanks whatsoever, but she wasn’t about to miss this opportunity.

“Thank you, Sir John,” she said.

He acquired a set of keys from his desk and brought her out of the offices, down stairs and through hallways, and then down once again. Here, the corridors were dark and the rooms were filled with wooden crates, some items unpacked, some in stages of being opened. They passed by a number of boxes that had come from Turkey and Greece and onward, until they reached a section shrouded in shadow. Some of the crates here were open. Smaller crates had been removed, and there was a row of sarcophagi still nestled in larger coffinlike boxes, cradled by their packing material.

“Here!” Sir John said, sweeping his arms to indicate the array of treasures.

Camille looked around slowly. There were definitely many riches here.

“Only half, of course. Many of the artifacts went to the castle,” Sir John said. A scowl furrowed his brow. “Then there were several boxes that simply went missing.”

“Perhaps they’re at the castle, as well.”

“I don’t think so,” Sir John murmured. “But, of course, transporting these goods…ah, who knows! Still, Lord and Lady Stirling were always tremendously detailed about their work. Everything written down…” He paused, looking abashed. “I believe the boxes did arrive. But no matter. Their last find was so rich, we’ve not managed to begin to study and catalogue what we’ve got.”

“These were discovered by Lord Stirling’s parents just before they died, I assume,” Camille said.

Sir John nodded. “The small pieces and reliefs you are translating are from the same find,” he explained. “A glorious, glorious find.” He shook his head sadly. “Such a
marvelous couple! Very aware of their responsibility to the Queen, but both devoted to study! It was quite amazing that Lord Stirling found a woman such as he did. Ah, Lady Stirling! I remember her well. No woman could so gracefully and kindly greet a room of friends, old or new. She was a stunning woman, simply beautiful. And yet, she could crawl into the dirt, work with a shovel or a brush, study texts, seek the answers to mysteries…” His voice faded. “Such a loss…”

Sir John’s white hair glimmered in the pale gaslight of the museum depths as he shook his head once again. But then he grimaced sadly. “I had feared that Brian would hole up forever at that castle of his, tangled now with overgrowth, ever dark and forbidding, believing that his parents had been killed. But it appears he may at last be coming to terms with the past and dealing with his grief. And, my dear girl, if you have had anything to do with this magnificent rebirth of interest, you are perhaps the most valuable asset I have brought into the museum.”

“Well, Sir John, thank you. But I hardly think that I’ve had much of an influence upon the man. We’re not at all well acquainted.”

“But he wishes you to attend the gala fund-raiser with him!”

“Yes,” she murmured. She refrained from telling Sir John that it had nothing to do with the fact that he looked forward to her company.

Sir John frowned. “Camille, are you aware that this man is the
Earl of Carlyle?
Frankly, I’m flabbergasted that a man with such a pedigree would deign to ask a commoner anywhere. No insult intended, my child. It’s just that…well, we English do have our society.”

“Hmm. Well, as we’ve all agreed, it is the age of enlightenment, is it not?”

“An
earl,
Miss Montgomery. Even with his face hideously scarred, such a thing is unheard of!”

The man was not intentionally being cruel, but he continued to stare at her, and she felt as if she had grown some strange appendage. She was in no position to explain that she sincerely doubted the Earl of Carlyle had revitalized his interest in the museum, aside from continuing his quest to find the presumed murderer of his parents. And it didn’t matter a whit to him whether she was noble or as common as dirt, as long as she served his purpose.

“Are you afraid of the man? Because of the scarring, or even his reputation?” Sir John demanded.

“No.”

“You are not repulsed.”

“A man’s manner and conviction in life can be far uglier than his face, Sir John.”

“Well-spoken, Camille!” he applauded, beaming. “Come along, then! We’ve work to do. As you are transcribing, I’ll be happy to tell you more about the find they made. Naturally, the tombs of pharaohs are thought to have been the most magnificent. But sadly, most of those were plundered long ago. The very great thing about the Stirlings’ discovery of the tomb of Nefershut is that, though the man was a high priest, he was regarded with awe, was wealthier than Midas, and his tomb had not been disturbed. And so many were buried with the man. The Egyptians did not require that a great man’s wives and concubines be buried with him, yet look at this array of sarcophagi! And then there was the matter of the curse.” He waved a hand impatiently in the air. “Apparently, according to popular belief, no tomb discovered can be without a curse. A love of the mysterious, perhaps. We have opened many tombs with no severe warnings at the entry. But in this particular instance—as in some others—there was a curse just inside
the tomb. ‘Let he who disturbs the New Life of the blessed one be cursed upon this earth.’ And sadly, the Lord and Lady Stirling died.”

“Did anyone else associated with the dig die?” Camille asked.

Sir John slowly arched a brow with something of a troubled countenance. “I…I don’t know. Certainly no one of the renown of the Stirlings.”

Camille started to turn, thinking she had heard a scraping sound just behind her, where the mummies and their sarcophagi lay.

“Camille! Are you listening to me?” Sir John demanded.

She was amazed that she had been so easily distracted. And it was evident that Sir John hadn’t heard any kind of noise. She was afraid that she was beginning to hear things—taking the small-scale drama that had suddenly invaded her life to greater heights. She loved ancient Egyptian history and all the stories that went with it, but thus far, she had never fallen victim to silly romanticism. She didn’t believe that mummies would rise from their tombs to stalk the living.

“I’m sorry. I thought I heard something.”

“Camille. We’re in a museum. Many people are walking over our heads.”