From her reaction, Charters guessed his face must have shown the sudden wave of dread that passed through him.
“Why do you want to know?”
“I have attended some of his lectures. He’s fascinating.”
“Keep away from him.”
“What? Why?”
“He’s a very dangerous man. Probably the most dangerous I have ever had the misfortune to meet.”
“Are we talking about the same man? Tall. Very long, dark hair. Often wears a stovepipe hat?”
“There could only be one Emeryk Quintillus. Lizzie, please, for your own sake, stop attending his lectures.”
Lizzie’s mouth set in a firm line, exactly as her mother’s used to do. “I’m sorry, Uncle, but Dr. Quintillus’s lectures are by far the most interesting. I’m learning so much from him.”
“There are other equally learned academics. You’re welcome to attend my lectures if you wish.”
“Thank you, Uncle, but I would hate any of the other students to think I was receiving preferential treatment.”
“Not at all, Lizzie. I would make the same offer to any of your new friends. Promise me you’ll stay away from that man. No good will come of it.”
Lizzie hesitated for one moment, then her jaw set. In one swift movement, she leaped to her feet. “Uncle, I don’t wish to defy you, or for us to fall out about this, but I’m afraid I cannot do as you ask. I shall continue to attend Dr. Quintillus’s lectures, which I find enjoyable and informative and—”
“Good God, girl! You’re attracted to the man!
Her deepening blush confirmed his worst fears.
“And what of it? He’s highly educated, extremely well read, and has firsthand experience of archaeological digs in Egypt—”
“Apart from everything I’ve already said about the man, he’s old enough to be your father. Maybe even your grandfather.”
Lizzie’s incredulous stare was followed by a hoot of laughter. “Grandfather? Brother, maybe.”
“My dear child—”
“I am not a child. And now you’re beginning to sound like my mother.”
“My dear…Lizzie, I have no idea exactly how old Quintillus is, but I do know he has been supplying artifacts to a museum in Berlin since the 1870s. So, unless he started doing so in his teens, he must be at least sixty, and I don’t need to be the mathematician your father is to work out that he could easily be old enough to be your grandfather. You’re twenty years old. What are you thinking of?”
Lizzie blinked a few times. His revelation seemed to have caught her off guard. She recovered herself. “Nevertheless, I shall not stop attending his lectures. I am learning more from him than anyone else. It’s not as if I’m doing anything immoral.”
She meant it. She started making for the door. Charters made one last desperate plea. “Lizzie, I must tell you that I have every reason to conclude that Quintillus means me harm.”
“You’ll stop at nothing, will you?”
“He knows I don’t trust him and could be obstructive to whatever nefarious plans he might have. He would prefer me out of the way.”
“Oh, now I’ve heard everything.” She put her slim, gloved hand on the doorknob. “Good-bye, Uncle. I won’t trouble you again while I’m here.”
“No, Lizzie, don’t leave like this…”
But she already had.
Chapter 7
Lizzie Charters strode purposefully across the quadrangle, ignoring the tears that threatened to spill over onto her cheeks. How could Uncle Andrew say such things? The man he was raging about certainly wasn’t the Dr. Quintillus she knew. She glanced at her fob watch. Ten minutes before two. She had arranged to meet with Dr. Quintillus at two thirty in the library at Hereford College. He had said he had a matter of importance to discuss with her.
Lizzie quickened her step. She had plenty of time but she wanted to arrive early, tidy herself up, and make sure her hair hadn’t escaped from its hastily arranged bun.
She entered the library at ten past two. Looking around its vast emptiness, she was glad there was no one else around. She would have the doctor all to herself. A delicious thrill shot up her body and lodged in her throat. Sixty years old indeed! She doubted he could be more than forty. Anyway, they had a purely professional relationship. She dreamed of more, but the chance to work with such a great man was enough. At least for now. She smiled to herself and sat at a large table.
At precisely two thirty, the door opened and the tall man strode in. He removed his hat and sat opposite her. She had to avert her gaze from him momentarily. Those dark eyes of his burned into her, almost as if they could read her mind. Dr. Quintillus rarely smiled, which added another ingredient to his mystique, along with the hypnotic quality of his voice. She could happily float away on it, lulled into a peaceful, caressing slumber. He spoke now, and she had to concentrate hard to hear his words. Not that he spoke indistinctly. It was… Her uncle was right. She had grown more than a little attracted to this charismatic and unusual man.
“Thank you for coming here this afternoon, Miss Charters. I trust you are well?”
He’s just asked me a question. Lizzie’s cheeks burned. “I am very well, thank you, sir. And you?”
He nodded and spread his hands on the table. Lizzie noted the long, slender fingers. The hands of an artist or a musician, rather than someone who dug in the sands of Egypt.
“I have a proposition for you. I wish to carry out an experiment. A truly important experiment of great historical significance. To do this I need an assistant. Will you be my assistant, Miss Charters?”
If he had asked her to marry him, she couldn’t have been more taken aback. Unable to trust herself to speak, she nodded.
“Good. I am to travel to Egypt in June. To a site near Alexandria. I believe that once I am there, I will make a discovery of such significance, it would astound the academic world. If they should ever find out about it.” He leaned forward. “Miss Charters, I do not intend that anyone should know about it. Apart from myself and a select few of my choosing. Will you be one of those?”
Again she nodded, her cheeks burning ever stronger.
Quintillus leaned back. “Excellent. You will need to equip yourself for the desert, where it is burning hot at the height of the day and freezing cold at night. When you are not on the site, accommodation will be in a hotel of quality in Alexandria, where you will enjoy excellent food and wine. The camp is much more basic, so I would suggest you think carefully about the clothes you take with you.”
Lizzie regained her voice. “This dig. Is it at Taposiris Magna?” Dr. Quintillus had told them of the great, ruined temple a few weeks earlier.
“It is.”
“So this discovery… Is it connected to Cleopatra?”
“You are very bright, Miss Charters. And correct. Now that you have guessed, I must ask you to swear you will not divulge this information to anyone. Certain academic staff at this university are aware of my theories and dismiss them. I believe your uncle is one of the skeptics.”
Lizzie flushed. She hoped he didn’t ask her about her contact with the professor. She said nothing. Quintillus’s eyes searched hers. Whether they found what they were looking for or not, she couldn’t tell. He moved on.
“We will be away from the university for most of the summer. It should prove to be an exciting experience for you.”
“Yes indeed, Dr. Quintillus. I am most grateful for this opportunity.”
“I have been impressed by your quick brain and ability to absorb facts with speed and accuracy. You also have an intuitive quality about you which could prove most helpful to me.”
“Thank you.”
“Your admiration for Gertrude Bell’s work in Arabia shows character.”
“She’s a great pioneer for aspiring female archaeologists like me to follow.”
/> “Indeed.” Dr. Quintillus rose from the table. “And now, Miss Charters, I must go. Have a pleasant afternoon.”
He picked up his hat, replaced it on his head, and left her alone, her heart pounding. Only after he’d gone did the realization of what she had agreed to do dawn on her. Not only had she ignored her uncle’s warnings, she had said she would go to Egypt for three months, alone with a man she hardly knew.
Lizzie sat for a few minutes, taking in what had just happened. Something gleamed metallically on the floor right where the doctor had been sitting. She stood, went around to the other side of the table and bent down.
A large beetle lay motionless on the floor—its carapace black with a brilliant green iridescence. As she watched, mesmerized, it gradually disintegrated until nothing but a small pile of gray ash remained.
A sigh wafted the tiny hairs on the back of her neck, and out of the corner of her eye she would swear she saw a movement. Like a cat leaping. She walked up and down the rows of bookcases, the only sound coming from her boots as they tapped along the wooden floor. There was no cat. She must have imagined it.
But she wasn’t imagining the discarded cat’s whisker on the table.
Chapter 8
Lizzie struggled with the lock on her trunk. With one final push, the key turned stiffly and snapped into place.
“So you’re all packed then?” Her roommate, a no-nonsense young woman called Marcia Goodman-Stowe, lit a cigarette as Lizzie arranged her hat, which she then skewered with a lethal-looking hatpin.
Seeing her reflection in the wall mirror, Lizzie nodded. “Look, I know you don’t approve, Marcia. Neither does my mother or my uncle, but this is an opportunity of a lifetime. How many other people get a chance to work with an eminent archaeologist on what could prove to be the find of the century?”
“That you’re not allowed to talk about. Don’t you think that’s a little strange, even for Dr. Quintillus?”
“He has his reasons. He doesn’t want the publicity. As soon as the newspapers get wind of an exciting find, they’re all over the dig. It’s happened before. It could jeopardize everything.”
“Who’s financing it? The university?”
“Dr. Quintillus has independent means.”
“He’s financing it all himself, then?” Marcia whistled through her teeth.
“I believe the Lorenz Museum in Berlin is providing some funds, and he has his own wealth.”
“Inherited?”
“I really don’t know, Marcia. It’s none of my business.” Lizzie’s anger rose. The more Marcia, her mother and her uncle tried to dissuade her, the more determined she had become to see this through. She wished they would all accept her decision and let her enjoy the moment.
Marcia stubbed out her cigarette and put her hand on Lizzie’s arm. “Don’t be defensive, Lizzie. If it was anyone other than Quintillus I wouldn’t be so apprehensive.” She let her hand drop away. “But then, anyone other than Quintillus probably wouldn’t have made such an outrageous suggestion.”
Lizzie balled her fist in exasperation. “For heaven’s sake! Anyone would think we were running away to have an illicit affair.”
Marcia looked at her steadily. “Aren’t you?”
“How could you even think that?”
“Because over these past months, I’ve come to know you rather well. I’ve seen the way your eyes shine whenever you talk about him. And you talk about him a lot.”
“All right, he’s an attractive, enigmatic man, I’ll admit that, but he is first and foremost an archaeologist, and I have deep respect for that. I am going along as his assistant. Nothing more or less than that.”
“Let’s hope he thinks the same way.”
“I’m quite certain he does. He has never made one improper suggestion to me.”
“Hmm.” Marcia looked unconvinced. “You’re aware of his obsession with Cleopatra?”
“Yes.”
“Just be careful, that’s all. There’s something odd about that man. Much as I enjoy his lectures, I always feel he’s somewhere else. Not in the room with us.”
Lizzie laughed. “That’s crazy. Of course he’s in the room with us.”
“I’ve been talking to a few of the others and they agree with me. He makes us feel uncomfortable. It seems he makes all of us feel that way except you. I find myself wondering why.”
“Maybe because I’m not prone to flights of fancy as much as you are. Mass hysteria, that’s all it is.”
“I hope you’re right, Lizzie. I truly do. Three months in the desert with that man is not an experience I would be looking forward to, whatever the prize at the end.”
The mantelpiece clock chimed the hour. “Gracious, I’d better get going.” Lizzie planted a peck on Marcia’s cheek, picked up her overnight case, and opened the door. “They’ll come for the trunk within the hour. I’ll send you a postcard from Egypt.”
“Just be careful, Lizzie,” Marcia said to the closing door.
* * * *
Dr. Quintillus helped Lizzie into the carriage and the driver urged the horse forward. Excitement bubbled up inside her as they set off. This promised to be the adventure of a lifetime, and she couldn’t wait to get started. Opposite her, the doctor read a slim volume. She couldn’t see the title.
The carriage slowed as they approached the rail station to catch the Southampton train. The sea journey to Alexandria would take two weeks. Two weeks in the company of Dr. Quintillus. Whatever she might have said to the others, the prospect of being alone with the man she admired above all others sent a delicious tingle of pleasure up Lizzie’s spine.
They spoke little beyond exchanging pleasantries on the train journey to Southampton. Dr. Quintillus read most of the time, while Lizzie preferred to study the view from the window as they passed through sunny green countryside and stopped at places such as Reading and Winchester. They arrived at the busy port and alighted in bright sunshine, a gentle breeze alleviating what could have been a blazing hot day.
Once boarded on the ship that would take them to their destination, Lizzie and Quintillus made their way to their cabins. They weren’t adjoining, but at least they were on the same deck.
“Join me for dinner, Miss Charters. I believe we dine at seven.”
“Thank you, Dr. Quintillus. Is it formal?”
“I believe so.”
In her cabin, Lizzie tossed her case on the bed. The heat made her feel uncomfortably damp, so she opened the porthole and leaned out, trying to catch any breath of air that wafted her way. A knock sounded at her door.
“Your trunk, Miss.” The cabin boy had to be younger than she was. Certainly shorter. She thanked him, gave him a small tip and then began the business of unpacking.
She checked her watch. Four thirty. Time for a much-needed bath and a rest before dinner.
At two minutes before seven, a soft knock on her door announced Quintillus’s arrival. He had dressed elegantly in formal evening attire, his long hair neatly combed. A ghost of a smile flicked the corners of his lips, and Lizzie felt he had just showered her with compliments. She knew she looked her best. The lilac cotton-voile dress, trimmed with lace at the neck and short, puffed sleeves, showed off her slender arms and hands. She had piled up her hair and it gleamed in the evening sunlight. Little diamond earrings twinkled in her ears.
She walked with Dr. Quintillus, proud to be at his side. They dined on vichyssoise and roast sirloin of beef, followed by cranberry tart. The doctor ordered a bottle of Chablis, and the waiter kept their glasses topped up so that, by the end of the meal, Lizzie felt quite lightheaded.
Dr. Quintillus placed his napkin on the table. “When we arrive in Alexandria, the hotel is near the harbor. I trust it will be satisfactory for you. I have stayed there on previous occasions and been comfortable.”
His eyes lingered a little longer t
han necessary. Lizzie wondered if the wine had affected him, too, but he gave no other sign of it.
“For now though, I shall turn in early this evening. I have work to do in my cabin.” He stood and inclined his head a little before leaving her alone.
Lizzie drained her glass before she, too, retired to her cabin. The wine, which had initially stimulated her, now made her sleepy. She bowed to the inevitable, undressed, put on an ankle-length white cotton nightdress, and pulled her sheets back.
The bed welcomed her and she fell asleep within minutes, only to awaken some hours later, before dawn. The ship sailed smoothly on, only a faint sound of the ocean splashing the sides filtered in through the open porthole.
Lizzie heard a slight noise, opened her eyes, and froze. Over by the door, a faint greenish glow pulsed and grew stronger. Lizzie hardly dared breathe. Within the glow, a smoky, indistinct image writhed and twisted. The glow moved, slowly. Came closer to her. Lizzie shrank back in her bed, curled into a fetal position, and prayed. Make it go away. Please make it go away.
The glow inched forward. No more than six feet away.
Lizzie closed her eyes, every muscle trembling, every nerve twitching.
Whispers. Must be coming from the glow. They spoke in ancient tongues. Not Latin. Much older. Lizzie couldn’t tell what they were saying, but it didn’t matter.
Make them go away.
She gritted her teeth.
The voices stopped.
Nothing happened.
She stayed still as seconds ticked by.
Still nothing.
Lizzie opened her eyes. The glow had gone.
The next morning, it seemed like a bad dream. Should she share it with the doctor? No, better not to. Of what possible interest were her nightmares to him?
Directly after breakfast, he again made his excuses and left her alone. This settled into a pattern for the rest of the voyage. They met for meals and nothing else. The rest of the time, she generally remained on deck, in the shade, reading, while he worked in his cabin.
Waking the Ancients Page 10
