"Why is that?"
"I spend much of my fortune funding archaeological digs. Museums cannot afford the patronage I give. I see nothing wrong with reaping the benefits of my investment." He pulled the ring from his finger and held it in front of me. "Which do you prefer? Looking at it or feeling it on your hand?"
"It is magnificent," I murmured, gently touching its decorated bezel. The scene depicted was one of a group of Greek soldiers pulling the Trojan horse. "But shouldn't scholars have access to pieces like this?"
"I'm happy to allow them to visit my private collection."
"I think that having them in museums ensures that we shall have another generation of scholars. People are inspired by seeing them. I know I am. How is one to develop a significant interest in an ancient civilization without viewing artifacts?"
"That's what books are for. And I do not say that museums should have nothing-just that I should have my pick of the lot. They'd have nothing without my kind, after all."
"Of course you should have something, but perhaps the most significant finds should belong to the museum."
"Your enthusiasm is invigorating, my child."
"Please do not think me impertinent."
"Not at all. Tell me, did Lord Ashton ever locate that bust of Apollo?"
"I'm not sure that I'm familiar with it."
"Fantastic thing, to judge from his description. Said it was attributed to Praxiteles, one of the finest masters of Greek sculpture. You know of Praxiteles?"
"It is impossible to have even a moderate interest in Greek art without becoming immediately familiar with him."
"It would be quite a coup to have anything by such a master in any collection. Lord Ashton was searching for that Apollo everywhere when I last saw him in Paris. Must have been well over a year ago now. Well, if he found it, you've got quite an excellent piece; and if you ever want to sell it, please let me know immediately."
Mr. Palmer leaned toward me. "Tell me you're not interested in those crusty old pots, too."
"I think they're lovely."
"You are too sweet," he murmured. "You simply must come to the theater with me."
6 MAY 1887
BERKELEY SQUARE, LONDON
Regret to say that today marked only the second visit to my desk in the Reading Room. Impossible to accomplish anything during the Season, even after adopting a firm policy of accepting only every fifth invitation. Did read the Duke of Buckinghamshire Sheffield's "Essay on Poetry," so all is not lost: "Read Homer once, and you can read no more; / For all books else appear so mean, so poor, / Verse will seem prose; but still persist to read, / And Homer will be all the books you need." Brilliant thought.
Saw Lady Emily Bromley on Rotten Row this morning. She is a fine horsewoman-anyone who rides so well must enjoy the hunt.
8
"You're more fond of him than i would have expected!" Ivy exclaimed.
"He's loads of fun, Ivy. It's refreshing," I said, refilling our teacups.
"I admit that I liked his idea of going to the theater, but he was terribly blunt about Philip, didn't you think?"
"He meant no harm. He's the first person I've met in years who simply wants to see me enjoy myself. Imagine that!"
"We all want that, Emily. You know that I agree with you completely when it comes to society and its rules, but I'm afraid that Mr. Palmer flouts them rather too much."
"He's high-spirited and says what he thinks. I see nothing wrong with that."
"You don't extend the same courtesy to Mr. Hargreaves when he speaks his mind."
"That is unfair, Ivy. The situations are completely different. Mr. Palmer is trying to expand my horizons, not constrict them."
"Robert says he's a decent man."
"He is amusing and doesn't expect me to play the part of grieving widow."
"I can understand that he has a certain appeal."
"How generous you are," I said, smiling. "He's taking me for a drive in the Bois de Boulogne this afternoon."
"Perhaps I should join you as a chaperone," Ivy teased.
"Widows don't need chaperones, my dear. What a pity it's Meg's afternoon off. She'd be pleased to see me with the son of an English peer.
"She's frightfully biased against the French." A sharp knock on the door announced Margaret Seward's arrival; she entered, her arms filled with books.
"I'm sorry I'm so late," she said, depositing the books on a table. "You will forgive me when you see what I've brought."
"It's lovely to see you, Miss Seward," Ivy said.
"You must call me Margaret, as I have no intention of calling you Mrs. Brandon."
"I'd be delighted," Ivy said, and joined me at the table to examine the newly arrived books.
"Greek grammar, history, and philosophy," Margaret announced, holding up individual volumes. "My own notes on lectures I've attended and, should your interests take you even further, an introductory Latin grammar. Greek is magnificent, of course, but you should not overlook Latin."
"This is wonderful, Margaret. Thank you," I said.
"I'm sure you have much of this in your library at home, but I have a terrible habit of making notes in my books and thought you might appreciate the marginalia."
"This makes me wish I hadn't agreed to go out with Mr. Palmer. I'd much rather stay here and read."
"Then stay," Margaret said, slouching into a comfortable chair. "I'd be happy to tell him you're unavailable."
"No, I couldn't," I sighed.
"Is this Andrew Palmer?" Margaret asked. I nodded; she wrinkled her nose and turned to Ivy. "Do you like him?"
"He's from a very good family."
"He doesn't seem particularly interesting."
"Mr. Palmer is the rare sort of man who does not expect a lady to be completely at the mercy of society. I like him very much."
"I will bow to your superior judgment, Emily," Margaret said, grinning. "I suppose there are many stupider men."
"I must be off," Ivy said, glancing at her watch. "If we are to leave Paris tomorrow morning, I must oversee my packing. I'm so sorry not to have the chance to visit with you, Margaret, but I know that you and Emily want to discuss Homer, and that is a subject on which I would have very little to say."
"You should read him, Ivy," Margaret said.
"He's marvelous," I added.
"I shall leave him to the two of you with little regret."
"She is a sweet, simple thing, isn't she?" Margaret observed after Ivy's departure.
"The dearest person I've ever met."
"Well-on to the task at hand. I think you should start by reading this series of lectures given by Matthew Arnold, the first professor at Oxford to lecture in English instead of Latin." She handed a monograph to me as she spoke. "He discusses the merits and shortcomings of various translations of Homer. How long are you going to be in Paris?"
"I have no fixed plan."
"I'm leaving for London at the end of the week to attend a series of lectures at University College. You should consider coming with me."
"I do not want to return to London yet."
"As you wish. If only I knew someone in Paris who could begin to teach you Greek."
"There is no urgency. For the moment I am content with Homer in translation, despite its deficiencies. The poetry captivates me absolutely."
"Understandable."
"I am so grateful for your guidance. We have a little time before Mr. Palmer will call for me, and I fully intend to keep you occupied for every moment I can."
"'The beauteous warrior now arrays for fight, / In gilded arms magnificently bright,'" Margaret quoted. "Let us begin."
Because our time was so limited, she suggested that we read aloud from Pope's translation of the Iliad. Although of the two of us she alone possessed any academic knowledge of Homer's great work, I surprised us both by being able to read it with a remarkably dramatic flair. Margaret was delighted and urged me to stand on a chair, book in hand. I quickly warmed to my subject
and found myself speaking in as noble a voice as I could muster:
Declare, O Muse! in what ill-fated hour
Sprung the fierce strife, from what offended power?
Latona's son a dire contagion spread,
And heap'd the camp with mountains of the dead;
The King of Men his rev'rend priest defied,
And for the King's offence, the people died.
So engrossed was I in the poem that I did not notice Mr. Palmer enter the room until he was directly in front of me. The look of amazement on his face made me start to laugh; I lost my balance and tripped off the chair but managed not to fall completely, no small accomplishment in a corset.
"We will have to continue this tomorrow, Emily," Margaret said, laughing.
"I shall have read Mr. Arnold's lectures by then," I replied.
As she departed, Mr. Palmer turned to me. "Dare I ask what was going on here?"
"Best not to." I smiled, taking the arm he offered me.
We went downstairs and set off in his hired carriage. The late-afternoon light is lovely in Paris; I was contemplating its soft tone against the old stone of the city's buildings when my companion interrupted my thoughts.
"You'll excuse my forthrightness, Lady Ashton, but I am struck by your beauty."
"Thank you," I murmured.
"I am pleased that you agreed to accompany me today, even though I suspect you did so primarily to soften the blow of turning down my invitation to the theater."
"Imagine no such thing, Mr. Palmer. I accept and decline invitations as I choose, neither to soothe ruffled feathers nor out of a sense of obligation."
"Excellent. That must be the luxury of being a widow."
"I would hardly consider it a luxury. Had I better sense, I would have adopted the policy while I still lived in my mother's house."
"I see I have found a kindred spirit of rebellion in you."
"I am not a rebel."
"Believe what you want; I will hold my own opinions." We arrived at the Bois and joined the parade of carriages traveling through the park next to footpaths filled with fashionable ladies and gentlemen. Many acquaintances passed us; we waved to all and paused to speak to a few of them.
"There's Lady Elliott. Please don't stop for her," I begged. "She's a great friend of my mother's who has recently arrived in Paris. I haven't responded to her note and would prefer not to see her."
"Are you a poor correspondent?"
"I should say not. Generally I am quite good at replying to letters."
"You mentioned that you and Ashton exchanged letters when he was in Africa."
"Well, as much as was possible. I heard from him more frequently before he actually reached the Dark Continent. I imagine mail service is somewhat lacking in the bush."
"Yes, it is."
"He sent me letters almost daily on the journey from London to Cairo. After that I did not hear from him again."
"Those letters must have brought you great comfort."
"I suppose they did. I've often thought of reading them again. Maybe I shall when I return to London."
"You did not bring them to Paris?"
"No, why would I?"
"No reason. I just thought you might like to have them with you." He was quiet for a while and then laughed.
I looked at him quizzically. "What?"
"I am laughing at myself for being jealous of your dead husband. It pleases me to know that you don't read his letters and journal nightly to console yourself."
"It never occurred to me to consider reading his journal. Really, Mr. Palmer, this is a strange conversation. I'd rather not speak of Philip."
"Of course, Lady Ashton. My apologies. Shall we hunt down Lady Elliott and invite her to join us?"
"Ivy's right-you are a beast."
"Brandon should keep better control of her; I cannot have my reputation so tarnished."
"I think you are tarnishing it yourself," I said.
"And now you laugh at me."
"No, not at you. But it is delightful to laugh again, even with someone who has such bizarre manners."
"I do hope you can overlook my eccentricities. I know I speak too frankly and meddle where I shouldn't. I have no tolerance for superficialities and like to find the honest truth about those I befriend. I should, perhaps, be more delicate when it comes to a subject like you and Ashton. You are too lovely to suffer any discomfort."
"I shall reserve the right to be direct and inappropriate when questioning you at some future time. In the meantime, however, do you see Emma Callum over there?" I had spotted her walking not far from our carriage.
"Isn't she recently engaged?"
"Yes. She's in Paris to select her trousseau."
"Well, I hope she exhibits better taste in choosing it than she did that dress."
"You are terrible, Mr. Palmer."
"Please call me Andrew. I don't like to be reminded of my station in life."
"Very well, Andrew. You may continue to call me Lady Ashton, as I very much enjoy being reminded of mine." He looked shocked. "Surely you know I am joking."
"I do like you very much, Emily."
We drove on, speaking freely to each other and laughing often. The afternoon passed quickly and happily, although the air turned chilly as the sun sank low in the sky. When at last I returned to the Meurice, I was quite cold. I paused at the desk to ask the maître d'hôtel to have someone sent up to tend to my fire, knowing that Meg would not return from her afternoon out for some time. He handed me several letters from England and a note from Colin, which I opened and read as I walked to my rooms. He was leaving Paris and wrote to say good-bye. I forced the paper back into its envelope and fumbled with my key, suddenly realizing that my door was already unlocked. Unlocked and partially open.
17 MAY 1887
BERKELEY SQUARE, LONDON
Never thought I could be grateful to a dragon like Lady Bromley for anything but am forever in her debt for seating me next to her daughter at dinner tonight. Lady Emily's sharp wit took me completely by surprise-I expected nothing more than the usual trite commentary on the Season. Not sure I managed to say two words of sense to her all evening. Must call tomorrow.
Have found most extraordinary calyx-krater at Leighton's shop; 5th c., probably from Rhodes, depicting an athletic contest. Fournier was there, too; needless to say, bidding war ensued, but his fortune is no match for mine. Sanctimonious bastard. I won and told Leighton to send it directly to Murray at the Museum, knowing this would incense my rival, who hates to see anything go off the market in such a (relatively) permanent fashion. Am regretting this somewhat, as would have liked to keep the vase with my collection, at least temporarily, but could not help myself.
9
I shall never forget the scene that greeted me when I opened the door to my suite. Everything was in a state of complete disarray: books strewn about the floor, their pages crumpled and torn; the contents of drawers dumped; my drawing supplies scattered about the room. The magnificent portrait Renoir painted of me had been ripped from its frame. Happily, the canvas itself was not damaged, the only bright spot in a hideous mess. As I stood looking at the painting, the man sent to attend to my fire walked through the open door and rushed to my side.
"Please sit down, Lady Ashton. I will get help immediately." Within a few moments, Monsieur Beaulieu, the manager of the hotel, arrived with a bottle of smelling salts that I quickly refused; I do not faint. I did, however, accept the glass of Armagnac he offered, and before long the police had arrived. Never had I been more grateful for the perfect English spoken by the staff of the Meurice. I speak French fluently, but, upset as I was, it was much easier to answer their questions in my native tongue while Monsieur Beaulieu translated.
"What on earth has happened here?" Andrew burst into the room. "I was in the lobby and heard of the commotion. Are you hurt, Emily?"
"No, I'm fine. It was like this when I entered the room."
"Is anything missing?"
"I really haven't had the opportunity to determine that, Andrew."
"How can I assist you?"
"I'm all right. Monsieur Beaulieu has been remarkably helpful."
"I should hope so, after the security of his hotel has been this lacking. How did the thief open the door?"
"It appears that the lock was forced," Monsieur Beaulieu replied. "I assure you, Mr. Palmer, that the lobby has been fully staffed all day. I am as shocked as you that someone could enter the hotel and do such a thing."
"It's not your fault, Monsieur Beaulieu," I said, looking at Andrew. "Andrew, could you please fetch Robert and Ivy for me?"
"Are they still in town?"
"They leave for Italy tomorrow."
"I wish they were going to London. I could arrange for you to travel with them. You should not stay here any longer." He left the room before I could reply, and soon returned with my friends, who agreed that I should make plans to go home. Nothing had been stolen from my rooms, leading the police to suspect that the burglar had been interrupted mid-task.
"What if he had still been here when you returned, Emily? What then? You really must go home," Robert said.
"There's no reason that I should leave."
"What if he comes back?" Ivy asked.
"Your burglar obviously did not get what he came for," Andrew said. "I believe it's likely that he would come back. Were he simply a sneak thief, he would have taken anything of value, and even if interrupted, would not have left empty-handed. Something would be missing. The fact that nothing is gone indicates to me that this man thinks you have something of great value. Perhaps he did not have time to complete his search of your belongings. At any rate, he'll certainly return."
"If you decide to stay, Lady Ashton, I can have your rooms changed to another location in the hotel," Monsieur Beaulieu said.
"You cannot think of staying!" Ivy interjected. "What if he returns when you are in your room? I cannot bear the thought of it."
I was not wholly convinced but will admit freely that I no longer felt entirely comfortable.
"It does seem odd, doesn't it, that a burglar would have taken the time to remove Renoir's painting from the frame and then left it?" I said.
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