struggled to read the names of the books on the lowest
shelf. With her head down, she wandered, off-balanced,
along the row.
She bumped into a low case. Grasping a bronze statue
atop it, she kept the statue from falling. She froze as her
gaze was caught by a golden glitter on the shelf below it.
“Thoth.” She knelt and stared at the small image of
the ibis-headed god. Jaddeh had spoken often of the old
gods, and her favorite had been the one who judged the
dead’s worthiness to enter the realm of the gods.
The small statue had one upraised hand, balancing a
scepter and an ankh. Did these artifacts belong to Dr.
Hastings? Dr. Garnett had mentioned his father ’s
fascination with things of the East. She had not guessed
that meant Egypt, for most English families, if she judged
by what she had seen in their homes, were intrigued with
items from the Orient or India.
Slipping her finger under her high collar, she drew
out her pendant, a gift from Jaddeh the day she was born.
She pressed her hand against the small rectangle hanging
from a pounded gold chain. The green-eyed head of a bird
sat on a man’s body. It was a flattened twin of the statue.
“Are you still here, Miss Kincaid?”
Darcy leaped to her feet, stuffing the necklace beneath
her dress. If someone were to see it . . .
“Yes, Dr. Garnett.”
Dr. Garnett crossed the room and set a book on top of
the glass case. “You’ve been gone nearly half an hour.”
“I couldn’t find the book you wanted.”
“So why didn’t you come back?”
“I wanted to be sure I had not missed it the first time I
went through the library.”
Amazement widened his eyes. “You went through the
library twice?”
“I didn’t want to come back and tell you I was unable
to find it.”
“Are you always this persistent?” He grimaced. “By
Jove, I shall have to be careful what I ask of you. I don’t
want you to be gone for a whole day when you have so
much work to do on your typewriter.”
“If you would make your desires clearer, I’d be happy
to satisfy them.” As soon as the words left her mouth, Darcy
wished she could take them back.
“Do you always speak in such enticing double
entendres, Miss Kincaid?”
Heat slapped her cheeks. “Forgive me if I suggested
something I didn’t mean. I try to think only of work while
I’m working, sir.”
Picking up the book, he handed it to her. “Please return
this to my office and continue your work at your typewriter.
I’m taking a respite to enjoy a glass of Mrs. Pollock’s
excellent lemonade. Shall I have her bring you some?”
She hesitated. “If you wish me to complete all the work
you set out for me today—”
“I have no doubts you’ll devour that stack in no time
and spit it back out through your typewriter. You are
amazing.” His gaze held hers again.
She could not look away, even if she had wanted to.
Who was this man? Man, or was he one of the gods
incarnate? Foolish was the mortal who did not offer
welcome to a god who came to walk among those whose
lives were weighed upon the scale of Thoth before they
could enter the eternal life of the underworld.
The words she had written lilted through her head as
Dr. Garnett walked out of the library, once again unaware
of the odd connection that unnerved her. She glanced at
the statue of Thoth. She was letting her yearning to go
home to Egypt get mixed up with her reaction to Dr.
Garnett. She could not guess why. Touching the pendant
beneath her blouse, she told herself she must separate her
longings for the past with her hopes for the present.
She did not want to think what might happen if she
failed to do that.
Four
Darcy tried not to hesitate as she reached the doorway
to the dining room. She breathed a sigh of relief to see it
was empty. Eating with her employer and his father tonight
was sure to be a mistake. She remained too unsettled by
what had happened in the library earlier.
And what happened? her mind taunted her. She kept
telling herself that nothing important had taken place. From
the moment of her arrival, she had been uncomfortable in
Rosewood Hall. That had not changed. She had let her
own nervousness persuade her that she had met Simon
Garnett before, even though she could not have. That had
not changed. Dr. Garnett’s breathtaking aura of masculinity
had unnerved her in the library. That also was no change,
for he had disconcerted her from the very first word he
spoke.
She brushed her hands against the satin brocade of
her best gown. Its shade was nearly identical to the pink
glass above the windows. As she entered the grand room,
she wondered if even her finest dress was elegant enough.
The dining room was longer than the railway car she had
ridden in from London and more than three times as wide.
Crystal dripped from the twin gas chandeliers hanging far
beneath the ceiling’s peak nearly thirty feet above the
Axminster carpet. On the long table, which she guessed
was rosewood, a quartet of candelabra each held five
candles. Their light reflected off the bone china, crystal,
and silver bedecking three place settings at the near end
of the table.
She wondered why candles burned all the way along
the table. Her grandmother would not have wasted such
splendor on an evening when only family and retainers
would be witness to it.
“Does Simon already have you trained to be early to
avoid his wrath?” A chuckle followed the question.
She turned, her dress’ short train rustling against the
carpet’s nap. When she saw Dr. Hastings was wearing
unblemished evening wear, she was glad she had asked
Mrs. Pollock what she should select from among her few
gowns for this dinner.
“Punctuality is already ingrained within me.” She
smiled to soften her reply. “I’m afraid I have never
understood the prestige in being fashionably late.”
He chuckled. “Not only punctual, but pragmatic. A
rare combination in a woman, if I may say so.”
Darcy was tempted to say that she wished he had not,
but she recalled his son’s words. Dr. Hastings liked to flirt,
and it would be harmless to indulge him.
Tugging on her left glove gently, so not to rip the fragile
lace, she replied, “I have found that most women fail to fit
the cliché of helpless and brainless.”
“Ah, another observer of humanity.” Before she could
reply, he added, “Something you used to enjoy, Simon,
before you buried yourself in your musty studies.”
Again she turned, telling herself to show no expression
other than anticipation of a cordial meal. Her preparations
were for n
aught, because she could not halt herself from
staring at the handsome man standing in front of her. Like
his father, Dr. Garnett was dressed in a pristine black coat
over perfectly ironed trousers. His white shirt caught the
bright glare of the candles that reflected as well on his
polished shoes. But, unlike his father, there was no teasing
expression in his green eyes. They were intense as he
appraised her candidly.
More than once during that unending moment when
time seemed to have forgotten its way forward, she thought
he might speak. She was not sure what she expected him
to say, but the very thought of him voicing the powerful
emotions she could see him restraining unsettled her.
“Really, Simon,” chided Dr. Hastings as if his son were
no older than a toddler, “one would think that you never
had seen a lovely young woman. Do greet Miss Kincaid,
so we may sit down for the meal that is already tempting
me with its aromas.”
“Good evening.” Dr. Garnett’s words shattered the
connection between them. He drew out a handkerchief
from beneath his coat. “If I may . . .”
“May what?” she asked.
“Take care of this.” He dabbed the fine lawn against
her right cheek.
When she pulled back in astonishment at his brazen
action, his smile became chillier than ever, although she
would not have guessed that possible. She wanted to ask
him why he had done that, but she was aware of his father
watching with obvious amusement.
Dr. Garnett held out the handkerchief so she could see
the black stain on it. “You have a habit, Miss Kincaid, of
brushing your hair back while you’re working. Apparently
your fingers had ink from your typewriter ribbon on them.”
“Thank you.” She managed to keep her voice from
wobbling with embarrassment. Not only at failing to see
the splotch on her face while she was readying herself for
dinner, but for reacting so outrageously to a simple
kindness.
“Now that you are properly cleaned up for our meal,”
Dr. Hastings said with a broadening smile, “allow me, Miss
Kincaid.”
Darcy put her fingers gingerly on his proffered arm.
This was not the way to treat a secretary. In her previous
situation, when she had first left Kincaid Fells, her
employer had scarcely taken note of her in his banking
office except when he needed something typed. She was a
set of competent hands to him and somewhat of an
embarrassment, because he never lost his disquiet with
having a woman working in his office. More than once,
she had tried to remind him that other young women were
handling such work in other offices, but she had not been
able to change his mind. Only his desperation to have
someone with her skills had persuaded him to hire her,
and he had not been able to hide his relief when she told
him she was leaving for another position. She had expected,
especially after the cold welcome, that the same would be
true here. Even though she had disliked being dismissed
as something other than a human being, it had been far
less complicated than this.
After Dr. Hastings sat her graciously on what would
be his left when he sat at the table’s head, he motioned for
his son to sit across from her. His smile remained wide
while he took the place at the head, another sign that she
would be foolish to underestimate his place as ruler of his
household.
“How is the book’s progress?” Dr. Hastings asked as
a serving maid ladled soup into the bowls set in front of
them, releasing the fragrance of vegetables and spices.
Darcy waited for Dr. Garnett to answer, then realized
Dr. Hastings was looking at her. She stuttered, “I-It is g-
g-going quite well, sir.”
“I should hope so. The clatter of that infernal machine
you brought with you suggests you are very busy.”
“I am sorry if it disturbs you.” She glanced at Dr.
Garnett, knowing she could not promise to move her work
to another section of the house.
The older man rubbed his forehead with two fingers.
“It simply adds to this interminable headache.”
“You have that headache still?” asked Dr. Garnett.
“Have you spoken to the doctor about this?”
“No.”
“Perhaps—”
“Perhaps,” his father said, abruptly acerbic, “you will
remember I am not your child, Simon. I am tending to
these headaches as I see fit.”
Dr. Garnett scowled. “As you see fit has done nothing
to ease the pain you have been suffering.”
“You don’t need to worry. I have no intention of dying
tonight.” Dr. Hastings’ smile returned as he turned again
to Darcy. When she gave him a tentative smile in return,
he chuckled. “See? I am feeling better already. Maybe all
I need is the company of a lovely, intelligent woman to
ease the headache.”
She had no chance to reply to his compliment before
the older man began relating a story about his most recent
journey to London. Unlike his son, Dr. Hastings apparently
had never met a detail he found too mundane to repeat. He
seemed to forget she had come from London because he
spoke as if she had never seen the buildings he described.
Quickly she realized he must not have been to London in
almost a decade because he spoke of buildings that were
no longer standing.
As dessert was served, for Dr. Hastings had talked
without a break through the previous four courses, her gaze
was caught by Dr. Garnett’s. There was no doubting his
thoughts now. He was furious. But at what or whom? At
his father for monopolizing the conversation, or at her for
some misdeed she had not realized she had committed?
Surely he would not be so upset over a small patch of ink
on her cheek, but she was uncertain why he would be angry
at his father for talking with such enthusiasm.
She wanted to look away as she enjoyed the piece of
chocolate cake that had been set in front of her. Even when
she nodded at a footman’s query if she wanted coffee, she
could not evade Dr. Garnett’s fury. It seemed to surround
her, smothering and icy-cold. The footman’s hand trembled
as he poured coffee into her cup, so she guessed he had
taken note of it as well. Only Dr. Hastings seemed immune
as he continued to prattle about a gathering at the club
which he continued to hold a membership in even though
he, as the older man put it, “had not visited it recently.”
Somehow, she managed to eat a single bite of the cake.
It was delicious, as the rest of the meal had been. However,
she did not take a second bite because Dr. Hastings pushed
back his chair as he announced he would enjoy his second
cup of coffee in the library. Then he left.
More slowly, Darcy came to her feet just as Dr. Garnett
was
reaching for his coffee cup. He dropped it so quickly
as he stood that the saucer cracked in half.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Darcy said.
Stepping aside so a maid could gather up the pieces,
he asked, “Why are you apologizing? You didn’t break
the saucer.”
“I should have said something to excuse myself.”
“Yes, you should have.”
She fought not to frown. Having her apology thrown
back into her face showed the depth of his discourtesy,
but she held her tongue before she told him exactly that.
Instead, she said in her most starched tone, “If you have
no further need for me this evening, I shall retire.”
“You may save your flirtatious comments for my
father.”
“Pardon me?”
He came around the table. “I believe I have pardoned
you as much as possible this evening.”
“I don’t understand what you are talking about.” She
shifted to put her chair between them.
“Come now, Miss Kincaid. Don’t mistake me for a
fool.” He stepped around the chair. “I can assure you that
I’m not one.”
“If I did anything to suggest that, it was by mistake.”
She clenched her hands behind her, hating this need to be
subservient to his mercurial moods and misplaced
assumptions.
“Was it?”
This was too much, but again she held her tongue
before she could remind Dr. Garnett of his manners. To be
sent from Rosewood Hall now could mean the destruction
of her hopes to be in Egypt before the end of the year.
Quietly she said, “If you were to tell me what you
found disturbing, I shall be glad to listen and attempt to
prevent it from occurring again.”
He started to speak, then glanced over his shoulder as
several servants entered the room to clear the table. Taking
Darcy by the arm, he herded her out and along the hall as
if she were a naughty child.
When they went around a corner, his fingers bit into
her and she winced. Did he think she was going to scurry
away? She glanced toward the staircase. Her hopes of
spending the evening working on Meskhenet’s story might
now be dashed.
As he opened the door to his office, Dr. Garnett said,
“It will be better if we speak in here.”
“As you wish.”
She knew that was the wrong answer when his scowl
Ferguson, J. A. - Call Back Yesterday.txt Page 6
