Acharged moment passed. Despite his clenched fists, Mr. Balfour controlled whatever reply he wished to give.
Much later,Onora slipped out of bed, gathering the voiles aside.
One mesh had been left open.
Quietly, she slid it closed.
CHAPTER 11
Onora did not pass the night well.
It felt as though she’d counted every hour. Her aunt, meanwhile, had managed a deep slumber, though a restless one, mumbling rather loudly and flailing her legs, twice catching Onora on the shin.
Onora’s thoughts were far too crowded, and pondering how the cobra came to be in Clodagh’s room was but one of her anxieties. That someone should have done so on purpose seemed unlikely, for what reason could there be?
We’re in the desert. Snakes live here and,every now and then, they find their way into places they shouldn’t be.
In her father’s time, there had been an incident with a snake entering one of the tents and giving everyone a fright. Fortunately, the creature had had the good sense to slither out again.
It was also fortunate that Mr. Balfour had been nearby, and he’d certainly been brave. There was something about him—beyond his vitality and handsomeness—that she found attractive. She could imagine him going out of his way to ensure her comfort, taking consideration of her happiness on an equal footing with his own, wanting her to feel secured and cared for.
With Seton, she couldn’t shake off the sense that he attended to her only as far as was convenient.
As to that dreadful parlor trick after dinner, Seton had been quite unpleasant, pressing her to speak. Her poor aunt must have experienced something similar upon looking into the mirror, though she seemedto have no recollection.
Clodagh stirred as Onora eased out of the bed, but was easily convinced to stay where she was and rest. Onora then returned to her own room. Having accomplished a sponge wash and secured her hair, she donned a simple costume and her stoutest boots.
Seton wanted to take her into the temple and Onora was determined to face down her fears. Her gaze strayed to the trunk in which her paints and easel were stored. Ought she to take it with her—the scarab—hidden in her pocket? There might be a chance to replace it; some moment when Seton wasn’t looking.
She pushed that idea away.
Besides the unlikelihood of such an opportunity presenting itself, she couldn’t just replace the thing on the sarcophagus. It would be far too suspicious.
Eleven scarabs and then suddenly twelve, most conveniently after I visit the place! He’d be sure to work out that I’d had it in my possession all this time.
That I’m a thief!
No! The scarab would stay where it was.
The heat was already blistering.
Leaving behind the gardens, the scorch of the desert hit her, radiating from the sand beneath their feet and outward from the limestone cliffs. Seton, with her arm through his, was walking at a fair clip, obviously eager to reach the subterranean shade of the temple.
His manner was solicitous, though he barely asked after Clodagh, or made mention of the incident with the snake. Onora let it go. She could see how being woken in the middle of the night to such a commotion would have riled Seton. He was hot-headed, and she didn’t expect him to change.
Despite Seton giving the workers’ tents a wide berth, Onora found herself looking over, hoping for some glimpse of Mr. Balfour.
The nightbefore, everything had happened so quickly. A note of some sort might be in order, to express their thanks, although she sensed Seton wouldn’t approve. She might ask Clodagh to write it on behalf of them both. Seton could hardly object to that…
As they reached the ramp leading down through the monumental gateway, Seton paused. “You must tell me if you feel faint or overcome, my dear. I’m not so bullheaded as to be unaware that you must have some reservation in returning to the scene of…”
My father’s death.
Onora swallowed down the taste of bile.
Seton took her gloved hand. “I hope you shall not find the memories too painful.” He stooped, intruding into the space beneath her parasol.
“I shall manage.” She made herself say it, though her every instinct shouted to wrench away her hand, to turn on her heel and run—away from the dig and from Seton, to run to her aunt and beg that they pack and leave, to board the boat and head back to Cairo, backto Alexandria and across the water, putting a whole sea between them and this place that both repelled and fascinated her.
