“But, Edmund, surely whatever the museum can manage would hold your friend over until you free up other funds.”
“It’s not that simple.” Though it had seemed so at the time when he’d signed that contract for the Bengal Express railway. It would take at least nine more months before his railroad investment could be accessed—too late to help Sanjay.
Ami popped a fist on her hip, that one simple movement ending the closeness they’d shared. “Those relics are special. They belong—”
“In the Cairo Museum. Yes, I know, for so you’ve told me countless times.” He pressed his fingers to his temple, the latent headache flaring to life.
A storm cloud darkened on her brow. “You make that sound like a bad thing.”
“It’s not, but neither is it a profitable thing.”
“Money isn’t the be-all and end-all!”
Hah! Said like a true working scholar. “It is when that’s what is keeping your family from starvation.”
“I understand that, truly, but...” She bit her lip, grief sagging her shoulders. “It’s just that I cannot stand to think ofthose precious relics hidden away in a private collection, lost to obscurity. They should be accessible to the Egyptian people.”
“I’m sorry, Ami, but my hands are tied in this matter. There are no alternatives.” He didn’t like voicing the words any more than she liked hearing them, yet they had to be said.
Uneasy silence descended, the occasionally pop of the coals jarring.
“Very well, then.” She whirled so violently, the hem of her skirt slapped against his legs. “I shall get to work.”
“Ami, please.” He took a step toward her. “Don’t be cross with me.”
She did not turn back.
“I’m not cross. I’m just ... frustrated.” Flinging out her arms, she strode through the door.
For a long moment he stood there, listening to her steps clomp down the corridor, his chest tightening like a cloth wrung too tightly. Would to God he could please her and Sanjay, but how? Stuck between a rock and a hard place would be a holiday compared to this.
Like a rat with sharp teeth, the idea of those precious antiquities remaining in England gnawed at Ami as she stomped out the door, leaving Edmund to wonder at her childish behaviour. In truth, she barely understood it herself. On one hand, indignation practically choked her to see those relics anywhere except in Cairo. On the other, she couldn’t help but admire Edmund’s dedication to his friend.
Conflicted, she stomped up the stairs instead of heading straight for the workroom. She could use a good lie-down herself after the harrowing past few days, but she’d have to settle for draping her trusty old shawl about her shoulders. There was something comforting about her worn wrap. A shield from the outside world and from inner turmoil. Like an embrace across the years from her grandmother.
Once past her threshold, however, she bypassed the tasseledgreen fabric hanging from a hook and strode straight to her nightstand. Perched atop a small silver salver was an envelope with her name penned on the front in familiar handwriting. Picking it up, she broke the red seal on the back.
I have a buyer for your golden griffin. Price is not a stumbling block.
She blinked. How did Mr. Dandrae know about that? Had that journalist, Mr. Kane, posted something? If so, this could be only the beginning of trouble—dire trouble.
It is the wish of Mr. Tariq Khafra to return the valuable piece to his homeland. Bring the item tomorrow night, Covered Market, outside the butcher stall, eight o’clock.
She sank onto her bed, envelope in hand, mind a mile away. An Egyptian wished to purchase the griffin? And bring it back to Cairo as she wished? Was this some sort of miraculous answer to prayer?
Aimlessly, she tapped the corner of the note against her thigh. She couldn’t possibly take the man’s offer ... could she? The griffin wasn’t hers to sell. But if price was no issue, she could meet with the buyer and negotiate a very pretty penny for it. Or better yet, tell him of the other riches and encourage the man to meet with Mr. Price about purchasing the entire lot. Wouldn’t Edmund be pleased about that? Sanjay would have enough funds to survive, and the antiquities could be relocated to where they belonged.
A small smile curved her lips as she thought more on a plan. Perhaps beauty could be made of these ashes after all.
20
Night air wafted in as Edmund swung open the front door and stood aside so Mr. Harrison could pass. It was a mild evening. The sweet scent of roses a perfume. The moonlight soft and inviting. A perfect time for lovers to stroll hand in hand.
And yet he’d been holed up in his study with Gil and the man who wished to purchase the Egyptian antiquities. Harrison was eager. He’d give him that. The man hadn’t been deterred one little bit by the lingering threat of influenza when he’d come to call earlier, though Edmund had made it clear there were several in the household yet abed. Apparently all the notes Gil had sent him about the cursed folklore behind the griffin had indeed lured him in. A tight grin stretched his lips. He had to hand it to Fletcher. The man knew how to reel in a buyer.
Edmund shook Harrison’s hand. “As I said, once Miss Dalton has a completed list, I shall forward it to you at once.”
“Very good.” He clapped his hat on tightly. “Good night, Mr. Price.”
