“Goodness.” She smiled while peeling off her cotton gloves. “Is it that time already?”
“Afraid so. Where shall I...?” He glanced at a sideboard she’d recently covered with a canvas tool roll, her various instruments peeking out from the pockets.
Good thing it was Barnaby serving the tea today instead of the housekeeper, Mrs. Buckner. She would have fussed about such an inconvenience. Nevertheless, Ami sprang into action, rolling her pouch into a bundle. “There you are.”
He set down the tray, and as he poured the hot brew, she couldn’t help but tease. “I heard from the maid that Mr. Crawford had his revenge on you this morning.”
“He did indeed, the rotter.” Barnaby’s sharp cheekbones stood out as his lips curved upward. “Used the ol’ salt-in-the-sugar-dish trick. I can still taste that first swig of coffee.” His mouth puckered as he handed her a saucer with a rose-sprigged teacup balanced atop.
“Ah, so you are even, then.” She eyed him over the rim as she took a sip.
“For now.”
She blew on the hot Assam, hoping to cool it a bit. “I’ve never worked in such a grand house as this, so forgive my ignorance in asking you, Barnaby, but why do you play pranks on your underlings? I haven’t heard of such a thing. Unless my preconceptions of upper staff are completely off-kilter.”
“I suppose it is a rarity.” He shrugged. “Most houses wouldn’t allow such loose decorum. But that is exactly why I work here. You see, Miss Dalton, Mr. Price is rarely in residence, but when he is, he is an exacting employer who brooks no slack. That being said, he also understands that it takes faithful yet pliable people to work in a home where duties tend to be feast or famine. Thus, as long as the work hums along and everyone is happy, he’s willing to allow good-natured jollity amongst the staff. For my part, I find it builds a sort of camaraderie, a senseof unity, if you will, in seeing that no matter the station or occupation, we are all brothers-in-arms.”
A compelling premise. One she’d not thought of. She drank her tea, mulling on the enigma of Mr. Price and his home, the playful tomfoolery that established rapport amongst servants and—oh my. A rogue thought popped into her head. “Does Mr. Price partake of such antics as well?”
“Not at all, nor would I allow any of my staff to engage in such japery with him. The boundary between employer and employee ought never be crossed. I am strict on that rule.” Barnaby covered the sugar bowl, then straightened. “Oh, I nearly forgot. Mr. Price insists you dine with him this evening, that he’ll not take no as an answer as he has the past three nights.”
Now, that was interesting. Where did she fall on the employee/employer line? Mr. Price had hired her, and yet he’d also asked her to dine with him every night since she’d started. If she did so, wouldn’t that cross the boundary Barnaby spoke of?
She sipped her tea, conflicted by the thought. It would be nice to have a real meal instead of another bread-and-cheese plate left up in her room, eaten between yawns as the clock neared midnight. And Mr. Price had invited her. It wasn’t as if she were trying to root her way into his good graces. Then again, that might not be a bad idea. Perhaps she could plant a seed for him to donate or sell the lot to an Egyptian museum instead of selling it to a private buyer who would hide it away in some mansion. This could be a fantastic opportunity to return to the Egyptian people what was rightfully theirs.
“Well then, Barnaby.” She lifted her chin. “I suppose I ought not dally over a teacup if I’m to start on a new crate before changing out of my work apron.” She drained her cup and set it down. “Thank you for the refreshment.”
“Quite welcome, Miss Dalton.” He gave her a sharp nod as he collected the tray, then pivoted with military perfection and strolled from the big room.
Passing by the alabaster vases and a large terra-cotta urn she’d already unpacked and valued, Ami reached for the crowbar. Herfirst crate felt like a victory, and she couldn’t wait to see what the next container might hold. But as she approached it, her gaze landed on the damaged corner stained with ... Was that blood? The tea in her stomach churned. This was the monster that had crushed the workman’s leg so cruelly when it toppled from the wagon bed. The poor man had undergone an amputation to save his life. While she worked to pry off the lid, she lifted a prayer for the fellow. Only God knew if he had a wife and children to provide for, and if he did, they would surely need God’s help.
A grunt and a heave later, she levered off the wooden cover, setting it—and the crowbar—on the floor. Backtracking to the table, she snatched up her gloves and snugged them on. She reached into the crate with care, fingers gently searching through the curly excelsior shavings for the next priceless piece to examine. When her touch met a cloth-wrapped bundle, she worked her hands beneath the shape and gently lifted it out with a grunt. My, but the thing was heavy! Cradling the package like a babe in arms, she carried it to the massive table and eased it down, then began the arduous process of untying the twine and removing the wraps, praying as she did so.
God, help me excel in my work here. Give me the intelligence to show Mr. Price he hasn’t made a mistake in hiring me.
It wasn’t a huge item. Two feet in length, half that as wide. A small statue, perhaps, or a figurine of some sort. Layer by layer she unwound the gauzy material, pulse racing faster as a golden glow appeared. Whatever it was would no doubt be spectacular.
But as she pulled off the last of the binding and studied the effigy from tip to base, her heart stuttered to a standstill. Could it be? Carefully, she stood the pure gold image on the table, then retreated a step, unable to look away from the legendary Golden Griffin of Amentuk—for surely it was. She’d studied the detailed sketches of this relic many times in her father’s journal.
In a day of miracles, this was not one of them, leastwise notas far as legend was concerned. Despite her faith in a God who was good, a shiver snaked down her spine.
This artifact was said to be cursed.
Edmund snapped his pocket watch shut, a smirk lifting his lips. Most women would have been a quarter hour early instead of late for the chance to dine with him. Yet here he sat alone at a fully set table, waiting for Miss Dalton. She was truly singular, this woman, one he’d spent the past three days trying to figure out, and the only conclusion he’d come to was it would take a long time to decipher that quick mind. A lifetime, perhaps, yet a fine puzzle to keep a man occupied ...ifone were of the matrimonial inclination, that is. Which he certainly was not.
He tucked away his watch and leaned back in his chair. He’d known returning to Oxford wouldn’t be easy. The lifestyle here was much more tightly wound than in India, and—bah! Who was he to complain? God forgive him! At least he was of sound mind and body to carry out his responsibilities, unlike the poor chap whose leg had been crushed. Oh, the fellow’s life had been saved, and he’d learn to walk again, but Edmund felt inordinately responsible for the man’s future. He’d have Gil set up a trust fund posthaste.
Footsteps rushed into the room, pulling him from his thoughts.
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Price. I lost track of time while cleaning a one-of-a-kind relic I wish to discuss with you.” She dropped into the chair at his right hand, her plain blue gown rolled up at the sleeves, revealing porcelain-skinned forearms. Loose bits of hair tumbled down her neck. Clearly she’d put no effort into dressing for the evening. It was a wonder she’d taken off her work apron.
“You’ll never believe it.” She gripped the table edge as she leaned toward him, completely ignoring the bowl in front of her. “Though...” She bit her lip. “Come to think of it, youprobably have no idea how rare the piece is. In fact, judging by what I’ve thus far unpacked, your whole collection is unique.”
“I admire your exuberance, Miss Dalton, but your soup is cold enough as is.”
“What?” Her nose scrunched, the faint spray of freckles all but disappearing.
Such a single-minded creature. He pointed at the consommé.
