They drank tea and nibbled at small sandwiches in a long silence before Lydia announced, “I have an idea.”
“Oh, no,” Sophie groaned and placed her delicate cup back on the thin saucer covered with painted violets.
“But you haven’t heard my idea yet.”
“Whenever you have an idea, things never end well for either one of us.” Sophie sighed and took another long draught of tea.
“But you’re the one who’s always looking for inspiration for your poems. What could be better than a visit to the British Museum? It’s not far from here by carriage.We could be in and out in less than an hour and see…” She stretched out the moment before adding, “the Rosetta Stone.”
Sophie’s stomach dropped. She could not be sure, but she suspected Lydia was up to some sort of mischief. For the last few minutes her friend had been so excited and animated, the wispy blonde curls trailing from her upswept coif had escaped. She’d craned her neck at each side hallway in the museum, peering from side to side, as if looking for something. Never a good sign.
The gentleman they’d encountered near the entrance to the museum had given Captain Bellingham precise directions to the Rosetta Stone, and that was where they were headed. “In and out,” Lydia had said. Inspiration for Sophie’s poems. Pah.
She couldn’t be sure, but she feared her friend was determined to see where the infamous Elgin Marbles were being displayed. Lydia had talked of nothing else in private after she’d overheard her grandmother’s shocked tones while discussing the exhibit with Lord Howick.
Sophie’s unconventional life with her father had prepared her for exactly what the marbles would represent. In fact, her father had sketched some of the scenes from the marbles when he’d visited them shortly before his death. Lydia, who had led a sheltered life, had conjectured endlessly about what the stone carvings Lord Elgin had retrieved from the Parthenon might display. Sophie had kept her own counsel, merely nodding at whatever outlandish imagining Lydia uttered.
“Lydia,” Sophie ventured, “what are you looking for?”
“Nothing.” Lydia’s answer ended on a nervous high note.
“Then please stop bouncing about.” Sophie sneaked a backward, surreptitious look at Captain Bellingham who seemed to ignore Lydia’s erratic behavior. He walked slowly, in muted conversation with his mother.
Sophie leaned toward Lydia and, in a lowered voice sheltered behind her gloved hand, warned, “I know you’re looking for the marbles, but you have to stop. They’re not in the museum. They’re stored in an outbuilding.” She paused to let that bit of news sink into her friend’s obstinate skull. “Young ladies arenotallowed to see them.”
Lydia stopped so suddenly, Captain Bellingham and his mother had to side-step to avoid her.
“You mean we’ve been walking through all these musty exhibits for no good reason?” Lydia planted her hands on her hips and wouldn’t budge from the center of the aisle, forcing a crowd of late-day museum-goers to funnel around them.
Honore gave Lydia a knowing smile and wrapped an arm around the young woman’s shoulders. “I believe the Rosetta Stone is directly ahead. If we don’t linger, we can leave the museum within a short time and not be late for tea with your grandmother.”
Sophie hurried ahead, eager to see the mysterious stone. She pulled a stubby pencil and scrap of paper from a pocket inside her skirts and moistened the point with her tongue.
She pressed her way through the crowd aligned around the large gray stone so that she could get close enough to sketch some of the hieroglyphs in the low light. She noticed a young man nearby shouldering through museum-goers. His threadbare coat and well-worn cravat skewed about his neck along with a crudely trimmed beard gave her a moment’s pause, but she ignored him to get the sketch just right before she rejoined her friends.
“Woman—come home now,” the mysterious young man muttered behind her in a sharp tone and grasped Sophie’s wrist in a tight grip, jerking her along behind him toward the museum exit. “Please, no,” Sophie cried and pulled hard back against him. Several exhibit goers gave her odd looks before turning away, but no one came to her assistance.
He towed her against the tide of the crowd streaming toward the exhibits. They were packed so closely, she had to struggle to move her free hand toward the pin holding her now skewed hat in place. Just as her fingers closed over the cool glass orb at the end of the pin, the odious man let go of her other hand so abruptly, she nearly fell.
Captain Bellingham now had such a firm grip on her would-be captor’s neck, the man gasped and his eyes bulged like a fish flopping out of water. While her rescuer duck-walked the other man to the exit, Mrs. Bellingham and Lydia closed around her, each grasping one of her arms, and rushed her out of the museum.
Once outside, Sophie trembled so, her hatpin fell to the ground, and she didn’t argue when Lydia insisted she sit on one of the stone benches in the museum garden.
Peripherally, she saw Captain Bellingham hand off the brute who’d tried to drag her away. But not easily. It looked as though the captain’s companions were actually trying to restrain him in the process of wrestling the wretch into a waiting hack.
His strapping ship’s surgeon, Dr. MacCloud, pried the captain’s hands from the mysterious kidnapper’s neck so he could give the man a rough shove into a carriage before climbing in behind him. Two other well-muscled young men she’d not met followed the surgeon into the carriage. She wondered at how Dr. MacCloud and the others had happened to be nearby, but she suspected their presence was an indication of how thoroughly Captain Bellingham had prepared for her safety.
Arnaud shook his head hard and took several deep breaths while waiting for his vision to clear after Cullen pried his hand from the neck of the idiot who had dared snatch Miss Brancelli from the damned museum.
“Don’t kill him, man,” his surgeon had shouted through the red haze clouding Arnaud’s vision. “We’ll make him tell what he knows. Then you can kill him, and I’ll sharpen the sword you run him through with.” After that, Cullen had shoved the miscreant through the carriage door, with Captain Neville and Lieutenant Bourne jumping aboard from where they’d been patrolling from their following carriage in case Arnaud and Cullen needed help.
Arnaud could not remember a fury this overwhelming since Algiers where he’d fought back-to-back with these very fellow shipmates, the decks slick with the blood of their downed comrades. Nor could he remember the sequence of events from the time he eyed Sophie being dragged away from the other side of the damned Egyptian rock they’d come to see. He’d moved and acted instinctively. She could not be taken. The possibility of failure had not entered his head.
Arnaud would see the young women and his mother back to Howick House before having a serious talk with Lord Howick about security around and within the mansion.
After he slammed shut the carriage door behind his men, he turned and strode back to the young women waiting with Honore.
“Miss Brancelli, what were you thinking?” he thundered at her and then immediately regretted his words. His mother gave him a withering glance and Miss Howick’s mouth dropped open. Miss Brancelli stuck out her chin in an attempt at a brave rebuke, but her quivering lips betrayed her.
