As if it has anything to do with you. Be reasonable, Onora!
“I met him once!” She blurted out, needing to say anything but what was really in her mind. “Flinders Petrie, that is. My father was at school with Lord Amherst, who’s been funding some of Mr. Petrie’s digs.”
“You’ve a passion for all this yourself, then?” Mr. Balfour looked approving.
“How could I not, growing up out here?” It seemed obvious to her. “I’ve studied formally, too: ancient and modern history at Lady Margaret Hall. I was hoping to go up to London, to begin a study of Egyptology at University College.”
He looked thoughtful. “Why didn’t you apply? Women are permitted upon the course.”
“Oh…various reasons.” Onora felt ashamed to say.
“Nothingto do with Seton then?” He was focused upon her, waiting to hear what she had to say.
Something made her want to be honest, even if doing so made her look…what, exactly?
Weak, or purely conventional?
Neither sat well with her.
“My aunts pressed me. The engagement was arranged years ago by my father. It was always said I’d come out here to join Seton, once I was of age.” She hugged herself tighter. “Not that I regret anything. Learning in the field is worth most of all, don’t you think?”
It was a lie.
A whole degree devoted to the study of ancient Egypt! Who wouldn’t want that?
“As for yourself, you’ll get where you need to be through dedication and hard work and, eventually, you’ll have your own dig. There are plenty of licenses to apply for, all over Egypt, and patrons willing to fund, if you prove you’re the right man for the task.” She meant every word. There was something about Mr. Balfour that made onebelieve he could accomplish anything he set his mind to.
Staying here, under Seton, is doing him more harm than good.
“I appreciate the words of support.” He gave a crooked smile. “Meanwhile, you’ll be here, sharing in the glory. Things have been on the hush-hush so far—thanks, I suspect, to a bribe to the Director of Antiquities—but Seton is bound to open up the site at some point. Then they’ll all be here: newspapers, tourists, royalty. All keen to take a gander at those charming paintings on the sanctuary walls. You’ll have your hands full, playing hostess to the great and the good.”
The thought of that made her feel queasy. She supposed he was right, but planning dinner parties and taking endless tea with curious visitors wasn’t the future she was intent upon. She preferred to picture herself taking part in the exciting aspects of the dig as they excavated to the north and west of the temple, looking for further parts of the buried city.
In reality, herability to imagine married life with Seton was becoming more difficult by the day. Lately, it felt as if she’d stepped into a nightmare, with no idea what would next loom up to menace her.
“Haven’t you been tempted to find a bride? I mean, don’t you want to settle down?” She tried to sound nonchalant.
His eyebrows rose. “Someone to ensure my collars are starched and to make sure I eat properly?”
“Something more sentimental, perhaps.” It was her turn to tease. “Happily ever after with a feminine touch. Plus children, naturally. I’m sure your family wish that for you.”
His eyebrows rose even further. “My family?”
“Yes. You have family, don’t you? Back in England?” She hoped very much she hadn’t put her foot in it again. With women, it was easy to tell if they were recently bereft and in mourning but, for someone like Mr. Balfour, who barely followed any sort of code of dress…
“I do. One brother, older. Lectures atCambridge in Natural History. Visited Egypt once; wasn’t keen. Latest research has been on the migration patterns of the British slug.”
“Do slugs migrate?” She was unsure of whether he was being serious.
“Not really, no.” He squinted, as if trying to recall the details. “Seem to pretty much enjoy staying where they are. Dig tunnels, apparently, in cold weather, using their mucus to navigate back after foraging for food.”
“Fascinating!” Before she could say more, he was ploughing on.
“Father and Mother are in London. He works at the British Museum. Commonly found gluing together bits of Mesopotamian pottery. My mother loves to crochet, embroider and knit. She’s most disappointed that I’m perpetually in a hot climate, since she’d like to be sending me off with a stack of scarves and pullovers and so on in finest merino. I’ve twelve pairs of socks—all her handiwork.”
Grinning,he lifted his trouser leg, pointing at the inches of sock pulled up above his boot. “Stripes are her specialty.”
Onora smiled. His family sounded delightful, if eccentric.
