“Emily? Are you all right?”
I nodded. “Fine, Andrew. Just a bit distracted. What did you say?”
“Want to go riding with me?”
“Not at the moment, thank you.” My eyes rested on a small piece of paper, not unlike the one I had found earlier in Philip’s guide to the British Museum, that was pushed into the back of the desk drawer. I waited until Andrew left to remove and open it. The handwriting was identical to that on the first note. Its message was brief: “Grave danger.”
26 JUNE 1887
BERKELEY SQUARE, LONDON
Fournier has had his revenge; purchased a spectacular Roman copy of a Praxiteles discus thrower before I even knew it was on the market. Am devastated. He kindly invited me to view it next time I am in Paris, an opportunity that will come sooner than expected, as I plan to stop there on my way to Santorini in August.
Saw Kallista at Ascot last week; she had little to say to me but at the same time gave no suggestion that my attentions are unwelcome. Her beguiling innocence must explain her actions.
14
I COMPARED THE HANDWRITING ON THE NOTE WITH EVERY document I could find in Philip’s desk, carefully analyzing each invoice, receipt, and letter. Nothing matched. Furthermore, my husband’s papers could not have been more mundane and gave no indication of what he might have been doing to receive such unsettling correspondence. I locked the note in a desk drawer, next to the other note and the gentleman’s glove.
After a quick luncheon, I changed into an afternoon dress and prepared to leave the house.
“Davis? Where is my bust of Apollo?” I asked, adjusting my hat, which, although black, was still rather smart, in the hall mirror before heading to the front door.
“I’m very sorry, madam. The new parlormaid knocked over its pedestal while she was dusting this morning and broke the nose off the statue. I did save the pieces in case you wish to have it fixed,” Davis replied as he opened the door for me.
“Thank you, Davis. Don’t be too harsh with her; I’m sure it can be repaired adequately,” I said, walking out of the house. I had crossed the tree-filled park in the center of Berkeley Square and was heading to Bruton Street when Colin Hargreaves approached me.
“Mr. Hargreaves, where have you been hiding?” I asked.
“I’ve been meaning to call on you for some time, but business did not allow me the pleasure until this afternoon.”
“Well, as you see, I am not at home. In fact, I am on my way to the British Museum.”
“Surely you do not plan to walk the entire distance? Your carriage would be much quicker.”
“It’s a fine day for a walk. I always feel I must take advantage of a sunny day.”
“There is something most particular about which I would like to speak with you. May I join you?”
“I don’t see why not.” I took the arm he offered, and we continued up Conduit Street. As always, his touch made my skin tingle and brought a smile to my face.
“Do you have any record of the antiquities Ashton purchased in the final months of his life?”
“I imagine so; he kept meticulous records. Why?” I thought back to the receipts I had seen that morning. None had been for antiquities.
“No reason in particular. Did he show you the things he bought?”
“No. I had no idea that he owned such things. You know they were not on display in the town house.”
“Of course. He had a splendid gallery in Ashton Hall. You haven’t seen it?”
“I’ve never been to the estate.”
“That’s rather odd, don’t you think?”
“I never really thought about it.” I looked at him, wondering where this line of questioning would lead. “We returned to London after our wedding trip, and Philip left almost immediately for Africa.”
“Did he ever suggest that you go while he was in Africa?”
“No, quite the contrary. He told me that the house was something of a shambles and suggested that I stay in London.”
“Surely you could have directed the servants to prepare the house.”
“I cannot imagine why you are so concerned about this, Colin.” We began walking again. “I passed the fall with Ivy on her parents’ estate. Why would I have wanted to sequester myself in Derbyshire, away from all my friends?”
“Do you remember Ashton shopping for antiquities while you were on your wedding trip?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Did he ever leave you to conduct business during your travels?”
“Yes, he did. Is that so uncommon?”
“No, but it would be of great assistance to me if you could remember what he was doing.”
“I never asked him. Why all these questions? Had Philip discovered some new archaeological secret? Some long-forgotten Greek vase?”
“No, I’m not suggesting any such thing. I’m wondering if he left any unfinished business that should be completed.”
“It’s awfully late to be considering that, isn’t it? Lord Palmer has asked me to look for papers on one of Philip’s projects. He plans to edit and publish the material. I imagine that any of Philip’s nonacademic business has long since been taken care of by his solicitor.”
“What sort of papers are they?”
“They’re the draft of a monograph. Why are you so interested?”
“I’ve already said more than I ought.” He paused at Tottenham Court Road. “Shall we turn here or continue in Oxford Street?”
“I thought I would go up Bloomsbury Street,” I replied. We walked in silence until we reached Great Russell Street, where Colin deposited me at the entrance to the museum.
“Please excuse my questions if they seemed strange. I only want to help.” I watched him rush back to the street and hail a cab. I shook my head, curious to know what on earth had prompted him to become so belatedly concerned with my husband’s business affairs. Could Colin have written the notes?
Looking at my watch, I realized that I was late for my rendezvous with Lord Palmer, who had promised to give me his own tour of the Greco-Roman collection. Once inside, I found him quickly; I was a bit let down to see that Arthur Palmer, Arabella Dunleigh, and her mother accompanied him, certain that Arthur would have little to contribute to any discussion of classical artifacts.
“Andrew will be disappointed to have missed this party,” Arabella said, smiling at me. She wore what had to be her finest afternoon dress, blue and green stripes of gauze and moiré over yellow taffeta, with fine lace cuffs. I don’t know that I had ever seen her look so well turned out.
“My brother prefers to spend the afternoon at his club, my dear,” Arthur said with a tone of familiarity that surprised me. I would not have guessed that his relationship with Arabella would progress so quickly.
“Then he must not have realized that Lady Ashton planned to join us,” Arabella replied. Clearly Arthur’s attentions had put her in a generous mood.
“I didn’t tell him because I knew that she hoped for a serious discussion today,” Lord Palmer said. “Andrew’s presence would have detracted from that, I’m afraid.”
“Your son’s talents lie elsewhere, Lord Palmer,” Mrs. Dunleigh said, smiling broadly.
“Yes, I suppose they do,” Lord Palmer answered. “Come now, let’s begin our tour.” I wanted Lord Palmer to show me some simple inscriptions suitable for me to attempt to translate as I studied with my tutor, since I liked very much the idea of working on a text whose original form I could see in the museum. Alas, the rest of our party forced us to move through the exhibits with more speed than I would have wished.
“I’m afraid that I shouldn’t have brought the others,” Lord Palmer said to me quietly. “I had hoped that the young people would amuse each other and that Mrs. Dunleigh would be too busy playing chaperone to detract from our plans.”
“That’s all right, Lord Palmer. It’s been a wonderful afternoon.” I stopped in front of a blue-and-white cameo-glass vase. “This is lovely. Is it Roman?”
&
nbsp; “Yes, early first century A.D., I believe. It is one of the more famous pieces in the museum. It must have been nearly fifty years ago now that some…ah, intoxicated bloke leaned on the case and smashed the vase. As you see, the museum staff have done a capital job of repairing the thing, although, if I remember correctly, they weren’t able to make all the pieces fit.”
“That reminds me, Lord Palmer, that my lovely bust of Apollo has lost its nose after a too-zealous dusting by a maid. I wonder if Mr. Murray could suggest a restorer for me?”
“I know several qualified chaps who could help you out. I’ll send their names to you. I hope your butler reprimanded the maid.”
“Well, it is only a copy, but I’m sure that Davis was as severe as necessary with her.”
I turned around at the sound of a shriek from Arabella, who had just spotted the vase.
“I like this!” she cried.
“It is nothing more than a standard Wedgwood, my dear,” Mrs. Dunleigh said.
“Not quite,” Lord Palmer corrected. “It is the piece that inspired innumerable Wedgwood copies, but they were done in jasperware rather than glass. There was a prize offered to anyone who could duplicate it in glass. The chaps who won were so successful that we are now barraged with cameos in all forms.”
“I should love to have something so beautiful for my own,” Arabella said.
“You could, my dear, for the right price,” Arthur said, his uneven teeth marring his smile.
“Oh, I should never want a copy. I’ll follow Lord Ashton’s example and stick to originals.”
“All originals have a price, Arabella, even those in museums.” He laughed, and I looked at him, wondering what he could possibly mean by such a statement. Before I could inquire, he took Arabella’s arm and whispered something that made her laugh loudly. Mrs. Dunleigh then asked Lord Palmer if we could see the Rosetta Stone, adding that it was the only thing she considered really worthwhile in the museum. I closed my eyes and sighed, realizing that the sooner our excursion ended, the better.
THE NEXT FEW WEEKS found me in Andrew’s company more than ever. He took me to the theater, to dinner, and we walked together in the park frequently. At soirées he brazenly monopolized me, something to which I rarely objected. His sarcastic commentary on the scenes before us was always more entertaining than the polite, nonsensical conversation to which I was accustomed. He possessed a seemingly incompatible way of disregarding some rules of society at the same time as he rigorously upheld others. Nonetheless, he grew more charming with closer acquaintance, and I determined that the rules he chose to uphold were the ones he thought would protect me. A foolish effort, of course, but I appreciated it regardless.
My mother did not entirely approve of my spending so much time with Andrew. She liked his family, of course, but felt that I could do better. In her mind, given my own title and fortune, I should be able to attract the most eligible men in the empire. Andrew was heir to a large estate, but one that included very little cash. The property he stood to inherit would make it easy for him to secure generous lines of credit, and I assumed that this was how he, like many gentlemen, supported his flamboyant lifestyle. This, of course, did not impress my mother. The fact that Andrew and I did not observe the social niceties troubled her greatly, and she admonished me to change my behavior lest I ruin my chances of remarriage. Contrary to her intentions, her concerns served only to encourage me.
My becoming more familiar with Andrew did little to fade the specter of Philip’s memory; if anything, it intensified it. After spending an evening with Andrew, I would go home to my empty bed keenly missing my husband. How unfair that I had never laughed with Philip, that I had never teased him, that I had never flirted with him. I thought of our wedding trip and how, when I retired before him, I would lie awake anxiously wondering if he would rouse me when he came to bed, always hoping just a bit that he would. Although he did not inspire any passion in me, I did enjoy our physical encounters; if nothing else, they certainly satisfied my curiosity.
The memory of Philip did not trouble Andrew; as far as he was concerned, the dead are dead and it should be left at that. He did speak about Philip periodically and told me many stories about their friendship. As always, I devoured any new information about Philip, and everything Andrew told me confirmed my belief that my husband had been an extraordinary man.
Margaret, though supportive of anything I did in an attempt to reject society, was not overly fond of Andrew. She said he distracted me from my work, an observation that, while not wholly untrue, I considered unfair. I met with Mr. Moore, my tutor, three mornings a week, and he had been both surprised and pleased by my quick progress toward learning ancient Greek. The only point of contention between us was that I wanted to translate Homer; Mr. Moore insisted that I start with the Xenophon, which was written in the standard Attic dialect spoken in Athens. Margaret and I attended numerous lectures, at both the British Museum and University College, and we hoped to descend upon Cambridge in the near future. What, precisely, we would do there, I was not entirely certain, but I had no doubt that Margaret would come up with something marvelous. If Andrew were less than enthusiastic about our plans, he never suggested that I should abandon them.
Though she would not admit it to me, Ivy clearly harbored the hope that I might marry Andrew. My dear friend longed to see me share the happiness the married state had brought her. Nonetheless, although I thoroughly enjoyed the time I spent with him, I still had no intention of marrying; I did not want to relinquish control of my life to anyone.
We lunched together frequently at my house, spending an hour in the library afterward before he left for his club. Ivy felt this to be consummate proof that we were near marriage, despite my protests. I was happy to have someone with whom to dine on a regular basis; being a widow sometimes felt very lonely.
“I don’t understand why you spend so much time in the library,” Andrew said after one of our lunches. “Why don’t we go to the drawing room?”
“I much prefer it here. The wood has such a feeling of warmth, and I find being surrounded by books to be greatly comforting.”
“You are a funny girl,” he drawled, sliding closer to me on the settee.
“I like thinking of Philip in here. Colin tells me that they spent many happy evenings in this room.”
“Spare me Hargreaves’s opinion, if you don’t mind.” He stood up and paced in front of my husband’s desk.
“Why do you dislike him so?”
“I don’t dislike him; I just have never felt I could trust him.”
“Has he done you some grave injustice?” I asked mockingly.
“Not precisely, but he’s the sort of man who is very difficult to read. Do you know him well?”
“No, I suppose not, but he’s always seemed to be very straightforward. Philip thought his integrity beyond reproach.”
“Well, I’ve always valued Ashton’s opinion, but I fear in this case he may have been deceived. Hargreaves spends too much time rushing around on spur-of-the-moment trips to the Continent. If you ask me, he’s either up to no good or has a very demanding mistress in Vienna.”
“You are too terrible!” I cried. “I rather like Colin.”
“And that, my dear, is his biggest flaw.” He sat close to me again. “I feel so alive when I am with you.”
“I know. I can see it in your face.”
“Yet you give me no indication of your own feelings,” he said, frowning slightly.
“I am a very respectable widow still in mourning. Please do not try to ruin my character,” I reprimanded him, laughing.
“You shall be the death of me,” he said, taking my hand.
“Shall I summon help? Or perhaps I should leave you to die so that Arthur inherits. It would be better for Arabella should your brother ever propose,” I said, smiling at him.
“I die a thousand deaths in your presence every day,” he said, moving even closer to me as he brought my hand to his cheek. “Forgive
my impertinence.”
“For what?” I asked.
“This,” he replied, leaning forward and kissing me fiercely on the lips. I tried to pull back but quickly lost interest in doing so and instead let his mouth explore mine. Eventually I pushed him away.
“You are a beast, and I should insist that you leave immediately.”
“But you won’t, will you?”
“No. But I will ask my mother to chaperone every time I see you in the future,” I said flippantly. I did feel rather uncomfortable and hoped he would leave soon. He stayed another half hour before going to his club. As soon as he was gone, I started to cry, wishing desperately it had been Philip’s kisses that I so enjoyed.
1 JULY 1887
BERKELEY SQUARE, LONDON
“Persuasive speech, and more persuasive sighs, / Silence that spoke, and eloquence of eyes.”
I am determined to propose to K before the end of the week and must decide what I shall say, to both her and her father. Hargreaves assures me that any reasonable woman would accept me for my wine cellar alone. While I do not doubt that she will agree to marry me, I would like to have an eloquent speech for the occasion. Regardless of my confidence, I cannot help but feel a great deal of anxiety when contemplating such a significant step.
15
SEVERAL DAYS LATER THE RESTORER RECOMMENDED TO me by Lord Palmer delivered my bust of Apollo, beautifully repaired, along with a note. Apparently, because the artisan who completed the work determined that the piece was beyond a doubt a fourth-century-B.C. original, he felt the need to suggest that I take better care of it.
My heart raced as I reread the note. My mind kept going back to the comment Arthur Palmer had made to Arabella in the Roman gallery that any original, including those in museums, could be obtained for a price. Everyone agreed that Philip’s integrity was of the highest. Why, then, did he have in his possession a piece that clearly belonged in the museum? I flung myself onto the settee.
And Only to Deceive Page 12
