And opened it to a complete stranger.
The man on the stoop stared at him with eyes so intense, Edmund got the distinct feeling the sum of his character was being categorized and filed away to be used against him at some point in the future. The stranger was a gaunt-faced fellow, more lines carved into his cheeks and brow than those on a carriage-route map. He held a battered valise in one hand, a faded hat in the other—or it might be a dead hedgehog, so limp did the worn thing hang in his grasp. A shock of grey hair stood out on all ends of the man’s head, as if the wiry bush wished to make a run from his scalp. Overall, the fellow would make a fantastic Dickens character.
Edmund angled his head. “Can I help you?”
“I should hope so.” The man sniffed. “Are you Mr. Price?”
“I am.” He nodded.
“Then it’s the other way around.” The man lifted his chin to an imperial tilt. “Iam the one who can helpyou.”
Leaning her head back against the sofa cushion, Ami closed her eyes, a smile on her lips. When Edmund looked at her, well ... even now it stole her breath. No man had ever taken such notice of her before, looked past her haphazard appearance to the true woman inside.
Footsteps drew closer, and she sat up, taking care to tuck her hair into place. Whoever had come to call surely didn’t need to witness her sprawled on the sofa like a loitering vagrant. Edmund strode in first, followed by her father.
Her—what?
She bolted to her feet. “Father?”
“Last time I checked I still was.” He set down his suitcase, balancing his favorite hat atop it.
Ami dashed over and grabbed his hands. Rising to her toes, she planted a light kiss on his cheek. As always, he stood as stiffly as the statue of Anubis. Oh, he loved her, as a father must, though even now she yearned for more overt expressions of his affection. Over the years she’d learned to accept his lack, cherishing even more the rare times he graced her with a thumb to her cheek when she’d delighted him with a scholarly discovery.
She pulled away, taking his familiar scent of resin and turpentine along with her. “I expected a telegram, not you in person. Your dig’s not over for three more weeks.”
“Just like your mother.” He clicked his tongue. “Always expecting me to keep a reliable schedule.”
She frowned. “While I am happy to see you, you should know there has been influenza in the house. Several staff members are still abed.”
“Pish!” He cut his hand through the air. “Just as I told your host over there”—he nodded toward Edmund—“I’ve recently come from a raging outbreak of malaria, and that didn’t stop me. Can’t imagine a silly little bout of coughing would slow me a whit.”
Edmund chuckled as he strolled to the drink cart. “You are as strong-willed as your daughter, sir. And yet I admit I am every bit as curious as she as to why you are here.”
“Great finds aren’t all buried beneath pyramids. I hear there is a particularly valuable relic beneath your roof, Mr. Price.”
She laid her fingers on his sleeve. “But, Father, I don’t know that for certain. I hate to think of you cutting short your expedition for nothing.”
“I didn’t train those instincts of yours to be wrong, Amisi.” He swept his hand toward the door. “Take me to the griffin in question.”
She looked to Edmund. “I, em, I don’t actually know where you’ve locked up the piece.”
He set down the decanter, her father’s request putting an end to his drink duty. “Follow me.”
He led them across the vast receiving hall. Behind him, herfather frowned at her, his gait a bit off. “This is highly irregular, Amisi.” The words were low, for her ears alone. “As the resident scholar, you should have control of the artifacts at all times.”
The disappointment in his voice stung like a hornet. “I know, Father, but there’s been extenuating circumstances.”
“It had better be good.”
“I wouldn’t call it that.”
He eyed her as they swung into the corridor opposite that of the workroom. “Then what would you call it?”
Exactly. What ought she call the ill-fated occurrences that’d been happening ever since she’d set foot in Price House? Her father might believe in curses, but she surely didn’t. Even so, there was no solid explanation, so she pressed her lips flat.
And thankfully right at that moment, Edmund pushed open the door to his steward’s office. “In here.” He quickly lit the gas lamps as they entered.
She and her father took up a position at the corner of the big work desk while Edmund rounded it and fiddled with the brass lock on a black safe nearly the height of him. Moments later, he hefted out the golden griffin and set it atop the desk. Ami cringed that this precious piece must be locked away with gunpowder and birdshot, yet it was for the best to keep it safe.
