by Lynda Hurst
Having been ushered through an unmarked doorway after a myriad of twisting hallways, Jackson was surprised to find themselves within a room not unlike a small warehouse. Rows of shelves filled either side of the room while a series of worktables and a simple desk occupied the room’s center. Glancing about, most of the shelves contained artifacts probably meant for further study while there were only a few pieces dotting a few of the tabletops in the middle of the room.
Immediately sighting the pieces on display there, Margaret gasped in realization that those same pieces bore relevance to her favorite subject: Artemis. Littered across the worktable were stone statuettes, vases, and a few bronzes among stacks of notes, brushes, and other various tools. If Jackson had thought Margaret’s excitement earlier was at a peak, he had sense to revise his stance as he could virtually feel the waves of eager expectancy vibrating from her body just inches away.
Mensforth smiled at Margaret’s little gasp and said, “I knew you’d feel that way once your eye caught them. These are the museum’s latest acquisitions, bought from a private seller only recently. With that in mind, the museum has yet to process and catalog them, so I would advise not to handle them. However, you may look all you like.”
In acknowledgment of his words, Margaret managed to give him a small nod while keeping her gaze transfixed on the item closest to her. Producing a small notebook and pencil, she began to jot down notes of her observations.
Jackson was following closely behind Margaret when she stopped at the lovely bronze figure before her. Watching Margaret, he noted how fiercely intent her study of the figure was as she marveled at the delicacy of Artemis’ figure done in bronze. He felt it almost sacrilegious to utter even the smallest sound or breathe too heavy a breath unless he somehow broke the magical thrall the figure held for her.
Margaret was too busy to notice Jackson at the moment as she admired the smooth, clean lines of the statuette. Thank goodness that her father thought to include drawing and sketching as part of her girlhood education as now those skills were put to good use. Roughly sketching the statuette, she quickly wrote down a few notes to accompany her own drawing.
It was obvious to Margaret that this statuette of Artemis exquisitely detailed a story of a noble lady readying herself for a bath. Not a trace of the huntress that was Artemis was portrayed in the body of the statuette itself, but it was obvious it was the goddess of the hunt and the moon since a quiver full of arrows was still strapped to her back, her bow lying at her feet.
From the other side of the work table, Mensforth reverently said, “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? That statuette and all the other pieces there before you had been acquired through a private seller who needed some blunt to pay off some rather large debts. As you can see, they are all in remarkable condition for all that they’ve been piling up dust in someone else’s study.”
Margaret remarked, “But I can see that the portion near Artemis’ feet is roughly hewn off. I assume this is part of a larger piece of bronze work?”
Mensforth granted, “Yes. That piece had once been part of a scene that included the goddess’ handmaidens assisting her with her bathing ritual. Fortunately, that piece had been part of our collection for years before it was realized that it fit like a glove to this beauty before you.”
In agreement, Margaret nodded and pressed a question, “Could this scene possibly have a third piece hiding behind the wainscoting? It could be that Actaeon spying on the goddess at her bath may have been the inspiration behind this piece.”
“Hm, that is a possibility. However, if that were the case, there would have been another larger piece to portray Actaeon or Orion as the silent watcher. And given the nature of the statue’s single break point, there really is no reason to believe that there may be a third piece at all.”
Finished with her observations of the statuette, Margaret had moved on to the next piece, an earthenware vase with the images of Artemis and Orion hunting their prey companionably. After drawing a suitable sketch of the vase, she made a few mental connections of the piece before her with what she already had stored in her mental files. In her notebook, she jotted down the words: Artemis and Orion, back to back. Charged bows pointed towards their individual prey. Precursor to the story indicated in the Artemis clue?
While Margaret and Mensforth exchanged ideas and queries, Jackson made a few observations himself; however, they had nothing to do with the pieces of history in front of him, and everything to do with the woman beside him.
Before today, he hadn’t realized how extensive Margaret’s knowledge was regarding that of Ancient Greek history or that of current developments in antiquities. It was another point in Margaret’s favor that caused him to look upon her with admiration. Instead of the petty bully he had once thought her, he was now pleased to see she was a woman with depths that extended far beyond the trivial and insignificant.
She and Mensforth were happily involved in a discussion involving other known pieces of Artemis, and suddenly Jackson could see her digging her way through Greek soil, seeking historical treasures yet to be uncovered. As a female, however, he knew she would not be taken seriously in the eyes of important antiquaries, but Mensforth seemed to have taken her under his wing, and it was quite possible that if given the chance, Margaret would not hesitate to join the blasted man on such a dig.
Jackson was forced to pull himself from his train of thought when his ears caught what Margaret was asking the man. She asked, “Was it common for masons to do such stonework hidden within churches and monasteries?” Knowing she was asking for the sake of the Artemis clue, Jackson kept silent, but his attention was now arrested, awaiting to hear Mensforth’s reply.
Appearing to be taken aback, Mensforth did not reply right away. Margaret knew it was not his area of expertise, but she thought it was worth a try to at least ask. However, she was genuinely surprised with his answer.
“Are you referring to what we know today as Freemasons? If you are, I only know what little has been documented about them. It is speculated that they have been in existence through the ages as a secret society, passing on their knowledge to those within their assemblage.”
Margaret returned, “I guess I am. Would their art have been found hidden under the noses of the Church within their own buildings?”
Speculatively, Mensforth answered, “Well, it’s entirely possible. However, with their secrecy, we can never know for sure as there are no known records found of their handiwork within such places. But consider this: our architecture today is very much awash with this Greek Revival movement. I find it plausible that monasteries would have employed laypeople to construct their buildings. So, it’s likely that medieval masons could have been used to decorate their halls with limestone reliefs or statues done in the Greco-Roman style.”
Both Margaret and Jackson absorbed the scholar’s words and gave each other a look that spoke much of their fascination with the topic. “That’s quite the speculation, Abraham,” Margaret conceded. “Your idea gives me much to think about.”
“May I ask why the answer was important to you?” Mensforth asked curiously.
Reluctant to reveal too much, Margaret simply said, “My sister-in-law grew up inside a home that was once a monastery. It was discovered that there may have been evidence of medieval Freemasons having left their mark within its walls. I was curious when I noticed some of their work depicted Greco-Roman deities fashioned after Christ and his disciples.” Jackson knew that last bit was a lie, but Mensforth didn’t need to know that.
Mensforth seemed to mull over her answer, watching her silently. If Jackson wasn’t mistaken, he could have sworn the man had admiration shining in his eyes, possibly at the mention of Margaret’s own antiquity discovery.
Finally, Mensforth said, “One day you will have to allow me to visit this place in, Donnesbury, was it? But before you leave today, I have one last thing to show you. If you’ll follow me this way.”
Margaret eagerly followed, Jacks
on at her heels. Mensforth brought them to a nearby shelf, full of broken bits of sculptures and vases. However, a large wooden box with a windowed lid sat removed on the one end.
“Look inside,” urged Mensforth when the pair didn’t move. Margaret moved to peer atop the box and gasped yet again. Once again, her notebook and pencil came out, and she furiously began sketching, not saying a word about what she found there.
Jackson peered over her shoulder to see what it was she was drawing. Since it wasn’t complete, he moved to her other side to examine the box’s contents and was greatly astonished to see what lay within.
Nestled in velvet, lay a limestone relief that once may have been part of a larger mural. The piece itself looked to be less than two feet across and almost equal in height, and would have been unremarkable except for its subject matter. There, carved into the stone, were images of Artemis and Orion, bows drawn on each other, their arrows pointed at each other’s hearts. The Artemis clue. Carefully, Mensforth lifted the piece from its velvet bed for the two to get a better look, and Margaret found it odd that the relief, though made of limestone, had a backing made of a more porous material, like clay.
Once Margaret had finished with her notebook, she looked up at Mensforth and asked calmly, “When did the museum acquire this piece?”
“Just the other day,” Mensforth replied. “Otherwise, I would have made mention of this and the other pieces you’ve seen today in my last letter. My urging you to meet me here had everything to do with them. It was my hope that they would please you.”
“I couldn’t be anything but pleased, Abraham. Everything you’ve shown me today has given me much to contemplate for my own research so you can expect me to send you a draft of my manuscript sometime soon.”
Manuscript? Jackson was once again surprised with the degree to which Margaret devoted to her studies. He was also glad he had decided to escort her today since he had not anticipated the level of familiarity both Margaret and Mensforth obviously shared. What would have happened if he hadn’t come along? He didn’t care to think about the alternative.
The curator came along then and asked for a moment with Mensforth. Margaret and Jackson both took that as their cue to leave and moved towards the door, with Mensforth personally seeing them out.
Before Margaret could turn the hall corner, Mensforth called out, “Lady Margaret, I look forward to seeing you at the ball tomorrow night. My cousin and I will be there in attendance. Will you save me a spot on your dance card?”
Nodding with a serene smile, she replied, “Of course. Good day to you.”
“Good day. And to you, Lord Ellesemere.”
Jackson, who was frowning at their exchange, tipped his hat at the man and swiftly turned to lead Margaret back to her maid. He really had no business concerning himself with who Margaret saved her dances for, but it irritated him to no end that the man flaunted the question of a saved dance in a manner that made it hard for Margaret to refuse.
Margaret glimpsed Jackson’s frowning countenance and wondered silently at the reason for it. It couldn’t be that he was jealous; he already had Lady Celia to consider as his future wife. She knew she would never be perfect enough for him to even be considered.
Yet she was grateful she had his company while they observed the museum’s newest pieces involving different depictions of Artemis. With that last piece Mensforth showed them, she was elated to find that it was what she’d been looking for! Jackson must have recognized the piece for its significance to their search for the Artemis clue.
She was sure the Artemis clue referred to the mural as a whole, hidden for centuries within that library wall. It’s just as probable that the raiding of the monastery had caused some damage to the mural and produced the separated portion with Artemis and Orion.
But how did that piece point to the treasure? Blast those monks for their cryptic messages! Just when she thought she had a mystery solved, another presented itself in its place.
Since she and her family were in town for the duration of the season, she had time to come up with a plan to see that piece again. It would take some work to convince Abraham and the curator to allow her to come again to view just the Artemis clue piece without divulging the truth of what she was about.
The condition Faith stipulated for her to have free rein with the exploration of the Revelstoke legacy was that she keep the Revelstoke name out of it as much as possible. Faith had a hard enough time in the past when her family was made fodder for public gossip, and she promised Faith she wouldn’t make any mention of the Revelstoke legacy to outsiders. So, she kept to her promise as closely as she could so as not to cause her sister-in-law any more hurt.
After parting ways with Jackson, Margaret had much to mull over in the carriage home. Between the reason for Jackson’s frowns and the discoveries made today, she needed time to sort out her feelings and thoughts. Most of all, she needed Faith’s ear to be her sounding board for everything she felt and saw today. Having a sister-in-law in the same household wasn’t the same as having her own mother to whom she could pour out her heart, but it was just as good. And she couldn’t wait to get home and tell Faith and Devlin that she was indeed right about the mural in the first place.
11
The Next Morning—Ellesmere’s Townhouse
The day dawned bright as Jackson was roused by the morning rays streaming through his bedchamber window. He had fallen asleep only four hours ago, sleep having been an elusive creature despite his bodily weariness. His mind, however, had issues it still needed him to delve through, and he had spent most of the night hours picking apart everything that plagued him.
When he had arrived home after spending the afternoon with Margaret at the museum, their longtime family butler, Chaucer, was awaiting him in the front hall with an important message.
“Your father requests that you be present at breakfast tomorrow for seven,” Chaucer said.
Knowing his father was in the habit of keeping early hours these days, he had nodded, “Of course, thank you, Chaucer. I’ll be sure to be on time.” He also knew how much his father hated tardiness, and with his failing health, Jackson hadn’t wanted to cause him unnecessary stress at being even a second late to his summons.
“Did he give a reason?” Jackson had asked, not so much interested in the reason itself, but more interested in how important it was for him to be there.
Chaucer had replied, “No, my lord, he did not. But he did stress that it was important that his family be present.”
Much later, his father hadn’t taken his dinner with the rest of the family in the dining room, and his mother hadn’t been present either as she was most likely accompanying him for their meal in the earl’s own chamber. With his sister Mary for company at the evening meal, it had been a silent affair; the both of them somber, having been given the summons for the next morning. They had both felt the weight of their father’s illness hanging over them, and their usual cheer and banter had been markedly absent.
Jackson had observed that Mary hadn’t moved even one bite from her plate to her mouth, and as he had watched, she distractedly pushed her food round and round the plate. As for him, he had found he couldn’t possibly eat when he speculated the reason for their father’s summons had everything to do with the worsening of his condition.
The myriad of doctors they had consulted had no answers for their father’s condition, but there was no denying that Lord Anthony, the Earl of Ellesemere, had drastically changed in appearance since the onset of this illness. Before he had fallen sick, Jackson was of the same sturdy height and build as his father, but now, his father’s strong, muscular body had wasted away to merely skin and bones.
With their father so ill, Jackson’s presence in London doubled as a proxy for his father in the House of Lords. In fact, for the past year, Jackson had been assuming his father’s duties about their estate and businesses as Lord Anthony’s random bouts with acute pain were frequently dampened by laudanum. When his fath
er was not doused with laudanum and ornery enough to not want to be confined to his bed, a wheeled chair was customized for his father’s use to shuttle him from room to room.
Despite his own lack of appetite that evening, it had been Mary’s own lack of appetite that had concerned him, and he had urged her, “Please, Mary, eat just a little more. The cook would hate to see her food returned untouched.”
Sighing, she had dropped her knife and fork with a clatter and had pushed her plate away. “I couldn’t possibly, Jackson. You didn’t see Father earlier,” she said, her voice wavering a little. “He had a good day today. He was smiling and laughing with Mother, teasing the both of us. Almost making me believe he had never been ill.”
With tears brimming her lower lashes, she had faced her brother. “Then Father’s demeanor changed, and he abruptly grabbed his lower legs as though he had been shot through both of them. He was obviously in much pain, but he managed to say to Mother and me, ”Not to worry, loves. I just need a bit of rest.” Then he was carted off by Mother to his chamber but not before telling me we needed to be present at breakfast tomorrow for a major announcement.”
