“Let’s see.” Polly ran her finger down several columns on the big ledger atop her desk, then glanced up. “Doesn’t appear that happened.”
“Well, bosh.” Ami bit her lip. “That means I shall have to brave the abyss.”
“Good thing you’re not afraid of adventure, though I suggest you forgo any further opportunities provided by Mr. Dandrae. Your father won’t be very happy about it, and you know it. He never has been.”
“Then perhaps he ought to have finally taken me along on that dig of his to keep an eye on me. It’s not like I haven’t begged him to allow me to accompany him ever since I was a little girl.” She sighed as bitter memories arose. Since her mother died when she was but seven years old, she’d longed to travel whenever her father pulled out his beat-up old trunk instead of being shuffled off to her grandmother’s house. Not that it had been all bad, though. Grandmother had laid a strong foundation for Ami’s current faith with all her Bible stories and insistence on attending services each Sunday. If she closed her eyes right now and inhaled, she might just catch a whiff of Grandmother’s lilac perfume wafting across time. But even nineteen years later, she still wished Father would have relented to her request to allow her to go on a dig.
Well. Just wait until she was a recognized Egyptologist and managed to arrange her own dig. Perhaps he’d be the one asking her if he could go along!
Polly narrowed her eyes. “So you’re walking headlong into danger out of spite, is that it?”
Ami snorted. “Now who’s being the goose? It’s not dangerous—usually—to purchase items from willing sellers. And if I don’trescue those stolen relics from careless criminals for the museum, who will? It is far better to see such artifacts purchased for all the public to enjoy than allowing them to get stuffed away in some private collection that benefits no one ... though in a perfect world I’d rather them returned to the Egyptian people. But this isn’t a perfect world now, is it?” She blew out a heavy sigh. “At any rate, I’m building quite a good reputation with Mr. Clampstone. Not only does he value my services, he’s considering hiring me as an Egyptologist for the department. Well, part-time, that is. And not necessarily with an official title, mind. Not yet, anyway.”
“That’s wonderful, my friend. But truly, you needn’t put yourself in risky situations to prove something that’s already true.” She aimed her finger at her. “Egyptologist or not, you are valuable. As God’s creatures, we all are.”
“God may think so—at least I hope He does—but men deem otherwise.”
“Well, I suppose there’s no accounting for those of lesser intelligence. I’m of a mind to scrap the whole lot of them after Charlie left me for that strumpet at the Eagle and Child. His loss, though.” Polly wiggled her eyebrows before shoving the last piece of Turkish delight into her mouth.
“You are out of control, Pol. Until next time.” Ami grinned all the way to the door.
Her mirth faded as she made her way up to ground level. Weaving past clusters of male students who paid her not the slightest bit of attention, she jammed her hat tighter on her head lest it blow away in the breeze. The truth was Polly had been wrong. Searching Father’s office would be more of a nightmare than an adventure, for he was ever the disorganized pack rat. The notes she sought could be shoved in a box of chipped china that ought to be donated. Or for all she knew, the journal might be buried beneath a dish of sparrow feathers. For a man who appreciated fine Egyptian artifacts, one would think he could at least collect senet pieces or kohl pots.
Sighing, she trotted up the stairs to the humanities building,each step making her more cross. It could take her hours to find that journal. She ought to simply toss out all the worthless items and ... wait a minute. What a brilliant idea. After she successfully priced the shabti doll—which she would, even if it killed her—she could thoroughly clean her father’s office. Give him a real surprise when he returned to England, which wouldn’t be for at least—
Crack.
The world tipped. She toppled sideways.
Ami flailed for the railing.
And missed.
Pulling his hat low on his brow, Edmund glanced right and left before stepping out of the carriage. In ten long strides, he made it inside the sanctuary of Oxford University’s courtyard, where nothing but suits milled about. The tightness in his shoulders melted. Apparently he hadn’t needed to borrow his steward’s shabby hat and coat as a disguise. There wasn’t a woman in sight.
Even so, he increased his pace toward the humanities building. There was no time to spare in securing the country’s foremost Egyptologist for his shipment, which would arrive in two days. Hopefully the professor would not only be in his office but also able to devote the next month to Edmund’s employ. He’d certainly make it worth the man’s effort, far more than the fellow would pocket from teaching.
A gust of wind blew, nearly stealing his steward’s old hat. He slapped his hand against the derby as he ducked around a marble column. The colonnade led to a staircase, where a shocking swirl of colour ascended. Edmund slowed his pace, giving the eccentric woman plenty of time for a lead. If she was this outlandish in her choice of garments, he could only imagine the trills and shrills that would squawk out of her were she to spy Oxford’s most eligible bachelor.
Halfway up, though, her left heel gave, the black nub of it bouncing down the granite toward him.
Edmund took the stairs two at a time as she flailed. With a wide-armed lunge, he caught her before she cracked her head.
So much for avoiding women.
“My, my.” Her words came out on a soft puff of air. Which was odd. Most women would’ve screamed at such an ordeal.
He guided her to the railing and was about to release her when she twisted in his arms, facing him head on. Eyes blinked at his, the colour of which was so mesmerizing it was impossible to look away. Were they blue? No, green. Hmm, not quite right either. Brown, then. But no. He leaned closer, staring hard. Great heavens. A master painter couldn’t capture such a changeable hue. Depending on which way the light caught her face, one might say they were any of those shades.
“Thank you.” She tipped her head, clearly dismissing him.
But when she did so, a shaft of sunshine landed on her cheek, where deep purple darkened the flesh beneath a layer of cosmetics. Either the woman was perpetually clumsy, or someone had struck her full-handed—and the thought of that clenched tight in his gut. “Are you all right?”
“I am fine.” She smiled, surprisingly straight teeth flashing brightly.
“Of course you are,” he murmured. She was a fascinating creature. Like a great portrait, the longer he studied her, the more details he saw, from the spray of freckles across the bridge of her nose to the darker dot of a mole at the edge of her jaw.
“You can let me go now.”
