“I know you’ve got your hands full with houseguests and whatnot.” She tipped her head discreetly toward Gil and Kane. “But I think you should know about something. When I camein this morning, I noticed a dusting of wood shavings on the floor near one of the unopened crates. Upon further examination, it appears as if the lid had been pried off, then reattached. Granted, that might’ve happened before shipping, but with the extra shavings on the ground, it is suspect.”
“Is something missing from the crate?”
“I cannot say for certain as I hadn’t had the chance yet to account for the contents inside it.”
He scrubbed his jaw. Earlier this morning Jameson had told him of a breach in security. One of the hired guns had shot at a fellow last evening. Could that somehow be related to this? “May I see the crate?”
“Of course.” She led him to one of the large boxes.
Sure enough, pry marks marred the wood on top. Had someone broken in and stolen a relic? His gaze drifted to the window and back. A possibility, but why would a thief go to the trouble of opening a crate when he could’ve picked up one of the antiquities ripe for the taking on the display table?
“I’ll inform my steward of your concerns and have him increase the rounds of a night watch on the property.”
“Perfect.” She smiled. “Though again, I am not sure anything was taken. I do know with certainty, however, that something must be done about the moving statue. I’m afraid the thing will get knocked over and damaged if this continues.”
He sighed. So help him if Barnaby thought this a lark. He’d have to give the man notice—which he was loath to do. For all his butler’s eccentricities, it was Barnaby, Jameson, and Mrs. Buckner who held this great house together. “I’ll have another word with my butler.”
“I already did. Barnaby vows neither he nor the staff have had anything to do with it. He told me in light of recent events that he’s sworn off any hijinks for the time being and not even Mr. Crawford has been pranking him of late.”
“Well, clearly someone has been up to mischief. That thing”—he hitched his thumb over his shoulder—“isn’t moving on its own.”
“Exactly.”
“Ah, you have suspicions.” A slow smile traveled his lips. Leave it to this little pixie to unearth a real-life Egyptian mystery. “Who and how?”
“Obviously Mr. Fletcher is keen on playing up the curse aspect of this shipment. He thinks if word of it spreads, Mr. Harrison will be inclined to purchase the lot. Perhaps you might ask him.”
“Gil?” His brows shot to the ceiling. “There’s no way he could move that statue alone.”
“Neither is there any way he should have known about the movement of it. I don’t believe for a minute Barnaby breathed a word to him. He can’t stand the fellow. Still, I’ve been thinking on the matter. The Egyptians were skilled in using all sorts of engineering techniques. It may be possible for someone to employ a combination of wooden levers and fulcrums strategically placed to create a rotational force. It’s only being moved in small increments at a time. It wouldn’t take that long to do.”
Plausible ... but not probable. He shook his head. “Even with such equipment, I highly doubt one man could do so unaided.”
“Which is why Mr. Fletcher may have someone in this household helping him, though I don’t believe it is Barnaby. He vows he keeps his tomfooleries to the understaff. He’d never try to dupe you or me.”
It was endearing, this loyalty of hers—a trait Louisa hadn’t owned. He rubbed the back of his neck, masking a wince from the memory of that duplicitous woman. “I shall question Mr. Fletcher about the matter, but don’t get your hopes up. You’ve seen his physical state, not to mention how much he drinks. Plus, I doubt he’d risk damaging any of the items from which he hopes to gain a pretty penny.”
Unbidden, he glanced over his shoulder to where the two men yet stood talking in front of the griffin. Gil grinned wide with one hand on the golden figurine. “I’m telling you this monstrous little thing is cursed.”
Edmund frowned. Though he didn’t believe in such darkfolly, at the moment, he could find no other explanation for all the odd happenings.
Some women loved the scent of jasmine or lilacs. Others preferred freshly baked bread or the peppery fragrance of the forest after a rain. An amused smile raised Ami’s lips as she ran her brush over the snout of a mummified crocodile. While she didn’t mind those aromas, she much preferred the tang of a good dammar resin mixed with a dash of turpentine ... the scent of her father.
At the thought of him, she paused in her preservation work, brush hovered in the air. It was strange he’d not yet answered her telegram. Surely he’d received it. Luxor was only a few miles from the Valley of the Kings, where he was working, a modern city with the means to answer her query. His delay had given her time to continue examining the griffin, but still to no avail.
She ran her brush along the crocodile’s back. What sort of tale belonged to this relic? For a long moment, she wondered about the hands before hers that had touched this item, the people behind the artifact, their tales of love and sorrow, prompting her to question if life held more than the preservation of the past. Her once unyielding career goals now shared space in her thoughts with the warmth of the unexpected companionship she’d found here with Mr. Price.
“Come, Miss Dalton. I find I am in need of—eew! What is that atrocious stink?” Violet flounced in with a lacy handkerchief to her nose, and when her gaze landed on the four-foot mummy on the table, her eyes widened. “By all that is holy, Miss Dalton, what isthat?”
Ami smirked. Good thing the woman hadn’t come in when she’d dusted off the glass case containing a preserved cobra in all its sharp-fanged glory. No doubt she would have swooned. “It’s exactly as it appears, Miss Woolsey. A crocodile.”
“How dreadful.” With her free hand, Violet fanned herself,noticeably keeping her distance. “Why wrap up such a horrid creature?”
“It’s a religious object, leastwise for an ancient Egyptian.” She set down her brush. Though the woman likely wouldn’t care, Ami couldn’t stop herself from giving further explanation—a trait she’d picked up from her father. He’d always been better at educating than showing affection. “Crocodiles were seen as a connection between the earthly and divine realms. One of their gods—Sobek—was believed to inhabit the waters of the Nile, and these reptiles were manifestations of his divine presence, which is why they took such care of it.”
Violet gave a most unladylike snort, her handkerchief rippling from the force of it. “That is the most absurd thing I have ever heard. Let us speak of more pleasant topics as we take a turn about the garden.”
Ami blinked, hardly believing her ears. Why would this uppity lady stoop to gracing her with her company? Intriguing to find out, yet even more distasteful to think of the woman’s nattering on about her favorite topic—herself.
