“What I believe, Mr. Dalton, is that your collection isn’t of commonplace items that could have been sold to anyone along the ancient trade routes. These are one-of-a-kind pieces thatare an integral part of Egyptian history. They belong in Cairo, not in England.”
They swung into the banquet hall, where the large wooden boxes lined the walls, only three of them with tops pried off thus far. She stopped in front of a two-foot-high statue of a creature with a lion’s body and the head and wings of an eagle leering at him from the end of the long table. “Behold, the famed Golden Griffin of Amentuk.”
He stooped over the relic, studying the familiar form from all angles. The hook-nosed beak, the slanted eyes, the powerful muscles and curved wings lifted to the heavens—he knew these things intimately, for he’d seen this creature time and time again. Clapping his hands together, he rubbed his palms back and forth. “What a find! I shall not sell this piece. It is too fortuitous.”
“How so?”
Straightening, he faced her. “There is a golden griffin in the Price family crest, the very image of this one, and so I shall keep it as my own.”
Her jaw tightened, her nostrils flaring slightly. “You cannot be serious.”
“Don’t worry, Miss Dalton.” He flashed her a grin. “I am relatively certain that Egyptian curses do not work here in England.”
6
Eyes were on her, boring down hard, staring into her soul. Usually, Ami preferred late evening as the best time to work, but not so much tonight, not in this cavern of a room where crates hulked like monsters in the shadows. The hair at the nape of her neck prickled as she swept a glance from corner to corner. Other than the slight flutter of curtains from the open window, nothing seemed amiss, so why the unease?
She smirked at the golden griffin on the table in front of her. “Probably because of you, eh?”
Her little story of the curse of Amentuk had been meant to prod Mr. Price into selling this lot of goods to the Cairo Museum where it belonged, not to frighten herself. What a goose—or so Polly would say.
With a half smile, Ami pondered the small statue. The griffin, a creature of myth, seemed almost sentient, its golden gaze challenging her skepticism. In her faith, she found strength, a conviction that transcended the bounds of mere reason. Still, no matter how strong her beliefs, there were moments like this when her scholarly pursuits seemed to clash with her faith and send a shiver down her spine.
She straightened her shoulders. Bosh! She would choose to trust God instead of pagan stories no matter how many shivers tried to attack her.
She reached for her gloves, and for a moment relived the feel of Mr. Price’s touch sliding along her fingers. Even now her heart raced—andshe still cringed inwardly at her bold move of taking his hand into hers. Not that she was never impetuous, but honestly, what must he think of her? An Egyptologist ought not act so unprofessionally. Besides, he was her employer, and she was no coy young miss in search of a man.
Disgusted with herself, she tugged on her cotton gloves and drew the golden statuette closer. Father always mocked her use of gloves, but to her it was an act of respect. These ancient pieces had been important to people—realpeople, who lived and laughed and loved just as anyone did today. It didn’t seem right to handle such antiquities without extra care.
Picking up a small paintbrush, she dipped the tip into a vial of nitric acid, then gently eased the griffin back and placed a small dot on the bottom. Slowly, she counted to sixty and ... nothing. Perfect! She smiled. Had the liquid turned a brackish green, it would prove the griffin wasn’t gold. So far, so good.
She dabbed away the acid with a clean cloth, then examined the relic for a maker’s mark or inscription that would verify her suspected date of origin. The base was dented, probably from some grave robber on the run, which made the symbol on the bottom corner hard to read. Only half a circle remained with the partial image of a knot at the bottom. Ashenmost likely, a hieroglyphic designating protection or divine power, another indicator this was part of the Amentuk hoard. Aside from that, though, there were no more engravings, making it difficult to irrefutably label this as the authentic golden griffin and not merely a copy.
Yawning, she leaned back in her chair and rubbed her eyes. Other than waiting around for curses to happen—which she doubted would occur—how could she verify this as the oneand only griffin that’d supposedly been lost for centuries? Her father would know, of course, but it seemed a bit of a cheat to ask. Of course, it would take a while to hear back from him, and by then she might have figured something out. His letter would merely confirm it, so at that point it wouldn’t actually be cheating ... would it?
She shoved back her chair and strolled to the side table, when once again gooseflesh lifted on her arms. Someone was watching her! She was sure of it.
Squaring her shoulders, she marched to the open window and whipped back the curtains.
“Who’s there? Show yourself.”
Nothing moved out on the lawn. Nothing even made noise save for a few chirruping crickets and the bark of a dog from afar. Ami sighed as she slammed the window shut and locked the latch. Perhaps it was time to quit for the night, for clearly she was overtired.
But first the note to her father.
She settled back at the large table and penned her request for information about the Golden Griffin of Amentuk. Hopefully Father would send a timely response, but there were no guarantees when he was elbow deep in a dig.
She’d just finished addressing the missive when footsteps padded into the room.
“Oh, Miss Dalton. I hope I’m not interrupting. I expected you to be abed.”
She rose at the butler’s nasal voice and held out her letter. “Actually, Barnaby, I am on my way to retire. Would you see this gets into the post in the morning?”
“I’d be happy to, but speaking of the post—” He held up his index finger, then strode from the room.
What an odd fellow.
By the time she capped her ink and oxide bottles, he returned, a small envelope in his hand. “This came for you not long ago. I would have delivered it straightaway if I’d known you were still awake.”
