He blinked, unsure what to do with such candor from a woman. Though she clearly regretted what she said, was such a criticism true? Had he let all the feminine attention over the years get to him so he no longer recognized himself? Or was she being catty for the sake of retribution? Either way, such forthrightness was refreshing, if not a little stinging.
“Please pardon me, Mr. Price.” She pressed her hands against her belly as if she were ill. “My tongue has been known to run away from me, and this time it has completely broken its leash.”
A little girl caught with her hand in the biscuit tin couldn’t look more contrite, which banished any remaining prickle from such rash words. “I would rather hear your unguarded thoughts, Miss Dalton, for as a wise woman once said, if a working relationship is not based on truth, then it isn’t a relationship at all.” He winked.
Relief flashed in a smile. “You are very gracious, sir.”
They both looked up as his butler entered the room. “Sorry I’m late in answering your call, sir, but your shipment has arrived. I directed the lead driver where to go.”
Edmund rose, rubbing his hands together. “And so it begins. Oh, Barnaby, will you have Miss Dalton’s trunk brought up to her room?”
“Already taken care of, sir.”
He might’ve known. The faithful retainer could set right an overturned applecart before one red fruit hit the ground.
“Very good.” Edmund turned to Miss Dalton. “Would you like to see what you’re up against?”
She hopped to her feet. “By all means.”
He led her out the front door to view a line of wagons snaking around the side of the house. An impressive sight, if not a little daunting. Perhaps he ought to have rented a warehouse instead of expecting so many goods to fit inside Price House.
Miss Dalton craned her neck. “How many are there?”
“Ten drays in all. I wasn’t jesting when I said it would take up to a month to sort through this lot.”
“It could take much longer than that.”
“Yet you will finish it in four weeks’ time.”
She peered up at him, a little scrunch to her nose that sent her freckles bobbing. “Why such a restraint?”
“Price House is not a museum. I wish to sell the lot as soon as possible. The money is needed elsewhere.” Indeed, the woman could have no idea how much his old friend in India was counting on the proceeds from this sale. If he didn’t get the funds to Sanjay before the new tariff was enacted at the end of September, the man’s business would fail—and with it, the means to provide for his large family ... and being destitute in India was a death sentence.
“But surely, Mr. Price, you do not need—”
An unearthly howl of pain violated the July morning. Shouts followed. So did more howls. Edmund set off at a run, calling over his shoulder, “Wait there, Miss Dalton.”
He tore along the row of wagons, closing in on a huddle of men near the lead dray. By the time he reached the scene, several burly fellows were hefting an enormous crate off the leg of a man on the ground. His cries stilled as his eyes rolled back and his body went slack.
Lighter footsteps raced up behind him, a feminine “What’s happened?” competing with the shout of a foreman to get a stretcher.
Edmund shot out his arm, holding back Miss Dalton. No woman—nor man, for that matter—ought to witness a leg broken to such a grotesque angle. Would that he could have done something to prevent such a tragedy, and yet this was beyond his control.
“I tol’ ye this load were cursed! The whole lot of it.” A sour-faced workman snatched his fallen hat from the ground and jammed it on his head as he stomped away. “I’ll not have another thing to do with this unholy business, and if yer smart, none o’ you men will either.”
5
Miracles did still happen. Despite her frequent loose-lipped blunders around Mr. Price the past few days, Ami hadn’t been dismissed yet, so there was that. And then there was this stunning alabaster vase. A marvel that stole her breath as she ran her gloved finger over the translucent curve of it. It was a valuable piece. A New Kingdom beauty, nearly four millennia having passed since its creation. Who had it belonged to? What sort of oil had been stored inside? Which crypt had it been stolen from? For indeed it was stolen. No self-respecting mummy would have authorized its removal.
She rubbed at a speck near the base, heart swelling with a deep love for this precious link to the forgotten past. A persistent internal whisper tugged at her ambition, urging her toward the sands of Egypt, where she might one day unearth a relic of her own. But was her true purpose to preserve finds such as this vase or to unravel the secrets of the untouched by exposing them?
Or was it something entirely else?
And what if—as Polly had said—her worth wasn’t solely tied to what she achieved? Now, there was something to ponder.
“Will you take some tea, Miss Dalton?”
Ami startled, pulled from her thoughts by a now-familiarnasal tone. In strode Barnaby, his steps echoing in the banquet-hall-turned-makeshift-valuation-room.
