"Yes," I answered, remembering our conversation in Paris concerning Mr. Attewater.
"I hope you do not mind my speaking freely in front of your friends?"
"Don't be ridiculous, Mr. Hargreaves. Say what you came to say," I snapped.
"I had hoped that, upon reflection, you would heed the advice I gave you in Paris. I see that is not the case. Suffice it to say, Emily, that some very undesirable parties have noticed your acquaintance with Mr. Attewater. You appear to be seeking some sort of information from him, and I cannot say strongly enough that you should abandon doing so immediately."
"Really, Mr. Hargreaves?" I asked, not looking at him as I spoke. "Why is that?"
"I am not at liberty to speak further on the subject. Believe me when I say I would never want any harm to come to you and would not issue such a warning lightly."
"Good heavens, Mr. Hargreaves!" Ivy exclaimed. "A warning? I cannot imagine what you mean. Emily's interest in the British Museum could not be more innocent. She hired Mr. Attewater to make a statue for her. Where is the harm in that?"
"In theory there should be none," Colin said. "Please, Emily"-he looked into my eyes-"promise me that you will make no further inquiries."
"I will promise no such thing." I rose from my chair. "You have given me no reason to."
"I ask that you trust me as a friend," he replied, his eyes never leaving mine. "It's more important than you can possibly imagine, Emily. Please."
"I shall take the matter under advisement, Mr. Hargreaves. If there is nothing further, my friends and I were in the midst of a rather important discussion."
"I apologize for the interruption." He stopped partway out of the room and came back to me, reaching for my hand. "Emily, if I could tell you more, I would. You must trust me." He kissed my hand and departed.
"What an interesting man," Ivy said.
"More interesting than either of you know." I told them about the glove. "I see no reason at all to trust him."
"When I think of Andrew telling you to stay away from Colin, I get chills down my spine." Ivy shuddered as she spoke. "Do you think Andrew knows anything of this?"
"He may have surmised that something funny was going on. Andrew is very perceptive when it comes to anything that could be remotely related to gossip. Despite his faults, he is very straightforward. Had he any idea of the specifics of this situation, I have no doubt that he would have told me."
"Do you think Colin is
behind the forgeries?" Ivy asked.
"I don't know, but I have every intention of finding out," I said.
3 OCTOBER 1887
GRAND HÔTEL D'ANGLETERRE, ATHENS
Vardakas's collection frankly stunned me. Hardly know what to think and have no intention of writing about it.
Letter from K arrived today. Unfortunately bland, as they usually are, but can expect little else until she knows me better. Agreed to ride on the fox hunt with me-sure to be a capital day. Did not reprimand me for going ahead with plans for safari-said she had no objection to me spending April away, so long as I return to London before the wedding. I will have a most understanding wife.
My Achilles-Alexander project is progressing nicely, although have not written as much as I would have liked. Too distracted, I suppose. This will change once back on Santorini.
21
"Look at this," I said, handing a note to Ivy the next morning at breakfast. "Arthur Palmer has proposed to Arabella."
"Your mother must be pleased." Ivy smiled.
"Exceedingly." I pushed the rest of the mail away from me and turned my focus to Colin. "I am wondering at Colin's motive for befriending me after Philip's death. I suppose he wanted to keep an eye on me. He sent the man with the scar to follow me. That would explain why he made no attempt to pursue him that day in Paris."
"Do you think he had something to do with the break-in at the Meurice? Didn't he send you a note that very afternoon telling you he was leaving Paris?" Ivy asked.
"Yes, he did," I answered. "Trying to establish an alibi, I imagine. Why do you suppose he would have broken into my room?"
"Nothing was taken," Ivy began, "but I cannot imagine what he would have been looking for."
"I have found nothing in Philip's papers that could be related to any of this. Yet I must be close to discovering something if Colin feels the need to warn me. Perhaps it is time to talk to Mr. Attewater again."
Davis entered the room and presented me with a calling card. "The gentleman would like to see you immediately, Lady Ashton."
"Good heavens, Davis, you look very serious this morning."
"Yes, madam." Davis nodded. "If you please, madam, Mr. Palmer was most insistent that he speak with you concerning an urgent matter."
"Well!" I raised an eyebrow and laughed as I looked at the gentleman's card. "I expected to see the bride before the bridegroom."
"He must be quite pleased with himself," Ivy said.
"I have put him in the drawing room, Lady Ashton," Davis said.
"Very well, Davis, we shall be there directly."
The butler led us up the stairs and opened the heavy drawing-room door. Instead of closing it behind us, he followed us into the room. Arthur looked decidedly ill and rushed toward me.
"Lady Ashton, forgive my intrusion. I have asked your butler to remain, as what I have to tell you is of a most shocking nature."
"We have already heard of your engagement, Mr. Palmer, and wish you great happiness," I said with a smile. "Surely you did not think we would be surprised that you and Arabella will be married?"
"No, Lady Ashton, of course not. I am here concerning something altogether different." He wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.
"I hope your family are all well?" I asked, suddenly worried that Andrew had taken my refusal more badly than I had thought.
"We are all fine. Please, Lady Ashton, Mrs. Brandon, be seated." His voice sounded so strained that I did not object to being ordered about in my own house.
"What is it, Mr. Palmer?" Ivy asked. "It's not Arabella, is it?"
"No, she is in excellent health, Mrs. Brandon. Thank you for your kind inquiry."
"Clearly you are not well, Mr. Palmer. Davis, fetch a glass of brandy," I said, wondering what could have upset the man so. Davis immediately filled a glass but, rather than give it to Arthur, stood behind me holding it.
"Perhaps you could enlighten us as to the nature of your call, Mr. Palmer?" Ivy asked.
Arthur took a deep breath and began to speak. "I hardly know what to say, Lady Ashton. This news is so...so...unexpected that I am at a loss where to begin. Perhaps it would be best if you read the letter yourself." He thrust at me a tattered, filthy envelope addressed to himself. I recognized the handwriting.
"This is from Philip?" I asked, wondering why Arthur felt the need to share his private correspondence. He nodded. I pulled the letter out and read it.
Palmer-
I do not have time for a formal letter but am in desperate need of speaking to you privately as soon as is possible. Tell no one of this note, especially Hargreaves. You do not need to respond; I shall take the necessary steps to arrange a meeting once you are in Africa.
P. Ashton
I read the letter through twice before looking up at Arthur, pacing in front of me.
"It is very kind of you to bring this to me. Seeing anything from Philip is a great comfort to me." I touched the words on the wrinkled paper gently as I spoke. "Forgive me, Mr. Palmer. The content of this letter does not seem particularly remarkable. Perhaps I am missing something?" I asked.
"Yes, you are, Lady Ashton." Arthur nodded at Davis, who moved to my side. "I received this letter in the morning mail today. It has only just arrived from Africa."
"It must have been misdirected, I suppose." I watched the faces of those around me. "Yet I don't understand," I said slowly, trying to comprehend what this meant.
"I think your husband may still be alive, Lady Ashton," he sa
id softly. "The letter isn't dated, but it was postmarked in Cairo a little more than a week ago."
Davis held out the glass of brandy. "I knew you wouldn't faint, madam, but I thought that a stiff drink might be in order," my butler said. I took the glass from him and drained it in a single gulp. Davis refilled the glass but I refused it, wanting my senses perfectly clear.
"How can this be?" I asked. "Weren't you there when he died, Mr. Palmer?"
"Actually, I was not." He paused and cleared his throat. "I'm rather ashamed to admit it, Lady Ashton, but we left him after he got sick. We all believed the fever to be highly contagious and did not want to be exposed. Hargreaves was the only one who stayed."
"Colin?" I looked at Ivy, my eyes wide. "He alone was with Philip?"
"Yes, Lady Ashton. I can give you no explanation of what happened. You would have to ask Hargreaves."
"You told me, Mr. Palmer, that Philip and Colin argued the night before my husband fell ill. Yet you left them alone?"
"We all thought them to be the best of friends, Lady Ashton. Friends argue on occasion. Given what we know now, I admit that perhaps we were foolish to act as we did."
"What are you suggesting, Mr. Palmer?" Ivy asked rather severely.
"I hardly know," he said. "All I can say is that the rest of us traveled to Cairo, where we waited for Hargreaves and Ashton. As we are all painfully aware, only Hargreaves joined us. He told us Ashton was dead and that the body was being shipped to England. Forgive me for speaking so bluntly."
"There is nothing to forgive, Mr. Palmer," I said, my mind reeling. "But if Philip is alive, why hasn't he returned to London?"
"He was very ill the last time I saw him. Even a man in his excellent physical condition would be greatly weakened by the fever he contracted. It's possible that he was not able to travel."
"I find it difficult to believe that Mr. Hargreaves would abandon his friend," Ivy said.
"As do I," Mr. Palmer agreed. "Clearly we are not in possession of all the facts."
"Is it possible that he left because he, too, was afraid of catching the disease?" Ivy asked. "He may have left Philip in the hands of the natives, who told Mr. Hargreaves that Lord Ashton had died."
"It is possible, Mrs. Brandon," Arthur said, his voice revealing that he did not think it likely.
"This is very troubling," I said.
"I do not know what to make of it either," he replied. "But I felt that it was important you see the letter immediately. I will, of course, share with you any further correspondence I receive."
"Thank you, Mr. Palmer," I murmured.
"You may keep the letter," he said. "I hope it shall bring you some measure of comfort."
We sat dumbfounded as Davis led him from the room. At last Ivy spoke.
"What do you make of this? Do you think it is true?"
"I certainly want it to be, but I do not know," I said slowly. "I am overjoyed at the thought that Philip may be alive."
"Of course you are," Ivy replied. "Do you want to send for Margaret?"
"No," I said, pausing. "I'm afraid she would think me silly to consider such a thing. I'll tell her eventually, but not yet."
"Shall I ring for tea?"
"Please do. This news makes me wonder about Colin."
"What are you thinking?"
"Would Colin, afraid that Philip was going to expose his role in the forgeries, have left his friend to die in an African village?"
"I cannot believe that!" Ivy cried.
"It would have been simple for Colin to convince the others that they should leave. He could have waited a day or two and then gone to Cairo himself, assuming that Philip would die eventually from the fever. Why should he risk his own health waiting to see it?"
"What a terrible thought," Ivy said. "But, Emily, why would he have left? He would have gained nothing by leaving his friend's side."
"Unless he had done something that he thought would ensure Philip's death," I said. "Perhaps the notes I found were meant to warn Philip that Colin planned to do him some harm."
"You don't think that Colin murdered Philip?" Ivy said, clearly stunned by the thought.
"I suppose not, but I think he may have made certain that nothing kept nature from running its course. He could have prevented Philip from taking quinine or something that might have helped him and then left, assured of what the outcome would be yet unwilling to watch the painful end. But Philip didn't die, and now he has recovered enough to reach out to his true friends."
"It seems somewhat plausible," Ivy admitted. "But not entirely. If Philip did not die, whose body was sent home to be buried? And why would the native guides have gone along with the scheme?"
"Perhaps Philip knew what Colin had done and, as he began to recover, realized that his life would be in danger as long as Colin thought he was alive. He enlisted the help of the faithful natives-he was the one in the group who could speak their language the most fluently-who pledged their assistance to him."
"But what of the body you buried?" Ivy asked, clearly captivated by my story.
"Maybe it was the body of a member of the local tribe who had recently departed life," I said. "Maybe there never was a body in the coffin at all. Colin was the one who arranged for it to be shipped from Cairo, and it was he who brought it to London. We could have buried a pile of rocks for all we know."
"Or a carcass from the hunt!" Ivy exclaimed.
"Excellent suggestion," I said. "Still, it seems unlikely, doesn't it?"
"I'm afraid so, my dear," she said, watching a maid come in with the tea tray. I filled our cups, carried mine to Philip's desk, and sat in his chair. Planting my elbows firmly on the desk, my chin in my hands, I sighed.
"If there is any chance this is true, I ought to confront Colin," I said. "If he did try to harm Philip, his reaction to anything suggesting that my husband is still alive would be most telling."
"But the letter specifically instructs Arthur not to inform Colin," Ivy said.
"Yes, but assuming our speculations are true, Philip most likely wrote that because he did not want Arthur to get mixed up in this forgery business. If Philip is alive, he knows he cannot avoid facing Colin upon returning to England. It makes sense that he would try to protect Arthur. I shall send for Colin immediately," I said, ringing the bell for Davis.
In fact, Colin's reaction to the letter was not at all what I expected. He did not grow pale or worried, nor did he skulk guiltily out of the room. Instead he sat close to me, took both of my hands in his own, and bit his lip before meeting my stare and speaking.
"I wish, more than anything, Emily, that this could be true. Ashton was the best friend I have ever had. Losing him caused me greater pain than any I had felt before. But he is dead, my dear."
"Arthur said you were the only one with him-that you sent the rest of them away. You made them afraid they would get sick if they stayed."
"Yes, that is true."
"Perhaps you were also scared of falling ill," I said, wrenching my hands from his. "And you left him with strangers."
"I would never have done such a thing."
"You must have, because otherwise he could not be alive, writing to Arthur Palmer, desperate to speak to him, and clearly wanting to avoid you. Does that not suggest he feels you betrayed him in some way?"
"No, Emily, I do not think that line of reasoning makes any sense at all."
"Perhaps you could suggest an alternative, Mr. Hargreaves," I said.
"The only alternative that I can offer is the truth." He stood up and walked over to the window. "Ashton had been more tired than usual from the time we left London, something we all attributed, if you will excuse me, to his newly married state." Ivy gasped, and we looked at each other, amazed that he would say such a thing. Colin turned toward us.
"Don't allow us to distract you, Mr. Hargreaves," I said.
"He was not himself those last few days. Irritable, short-tempered, he argued even with me. In hindsight, of course, I realiz
e that he probably had been ill for days. A camp in the African bush, no matter how well appointed, is not a comfortable place when one is sick. At any rate, the evening after Ashton got his elephant, his health began deteriorating quickly. Andrew Palmer brought out some fine champagne to celebrate the success of the day, but Ashton declined a second glass and retired to his tent."
"Very difficult life in these camps, Mr. Hargreaves, with all this sitting around and drinking champagne," Ivy said.
"Palmer liked to have as many of the comforts of home as possible in the bush. It was wonderful for us, but not for his porters." Colin walked across the room and leaned against Philip's desk. "At this point I still did not realize Ashton was ill. A couple of hours later, I decided to go to bed myself, and as I walked toward the tents, I heard my friend calling out in his sleep. I looked in on him and saw immediately that he was consumed by fever."
"I sat with him all night. By the next morning, it was clear that his condition was serious. I spoke to the others. Having no way of knowing how contagious Ashton was, we all agreed that it would be best to minimize everyone's exposure. They were gone before noon. I stayed with Ashton."
"He suffered a great deal of pain, Emily," Colin said, walking toward me and taking my hand. I pulled it away. "He could keep no food or liquid down and was sick repeatedly. He kept asking for you, and eventually I calmed him by reading the letters he had from you."
I cringed to think of anyone, least of all Philip, reading them. Written entirely out of duty, they contained little more than impersonal reports on my daily activities and any news I had of his nieces and nephew. They certainly were not love letters that could have provided him comfort. I hated that Colin had read them, and I glared at him now.
"I do not have the vaguest idea what the letters said. I was exhausted physically and mentally. Ashton's pulse was very weak despite his fever. We both knew he did not have long to live.
"As ill as he was, he kept speaking of you and begging me to promise that you would go to Santorini. But you already know that. Gradually he grew less coherent and spoke as if you were with him, always addressing you as Kallista. By the time the sun had set, he had lost consciousness and never regained it. It was the worst twenty-four hours of my life."
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