Her father shook his head. “Greed is the downfall of many a good man, Mr. Fletcher. Besides, that piece is valuable for its historical and social relevance, not for any supposed supernatural power.”
Edmund set down his jam knife. “So you don’t actually believe the griffin has caused any trouble?”
“What I believe or don’t believe about it doesn’t change the griffin’s worth.”
Mr. Fletcher lifted a finger. “But what others believe about it may.”
La! The idea of tying power into an inanimate object for thesake of profit curdled the milk in her belly. Just like her father, she pushed her own plate away. “The truth is, Mr. Fletcher, that good and bad things occur every minute of every day, yet God is sovereign over all. Nothing happens that is not by His design. You cannot increase or decrease the price of a relic by attaching make-believe occurrences to it.”
“The lady is correct.” Edmund smiled at her, then leveled a steely gaze at Mr. Fletcher. “And yet the fact remains that no matter what, I am not selling the griffin.”
Bosh. Could she and Mr. Khafra convince him to sell it? Would Mr. Khafra even be interested in the rest of the lot if the griffin wasn’t included?
Edmund’s gaze drifted to her father as he drained his cup. “Will you be going back to your dig now that you’ve confirmed the authenticity of the griffin?”
Her father shook his head. “By the time I got there, I’d have to turn right around and come back to Oxford. I thought, if you don’t mind, that Amisi and I could work together to finish valuing your cargo. I’d dearly love to see what’s in the rest of those crates.”
Ami glanced sideways at Edmund, curious as to how he’d answer.
He hesitated a moment, crisply folding his serviette, then setting it beside his empty plate. “I suppose with two of you on the job, the valuation will go much faster.”
Mr. Fletcher clapped his hands, the report of it sharp against the breakfast room’s walls. “Capital! The sooner we can sell, the better.”
“And the sooner you’ll be gone,” Edmund said under his breath.
She’d have missed it had he not been sitting so close. Interesting. Clearly he wasn’t happy with his partner. He really ought to let the man go despite his repeated assurances that Mr. Fletcher was a good businessman.
Her father shoved back his chair. “Well then, let’s have at it. Come along, Amisi.”
She rose, giving Edmund’s shoulder a light squeeze as she did so. “Try not to overdo it today. You’re still recovering, after all.”
“I shall take your words to heart.” He winked.
Which never failed to zing a thrill straight to her belly. She scurried away lest Edmund see the pink that was surely flushing her cheeks.
By the time she caught up with her father, he was already halfway across the front receiving hall. “I am curious about something, Father.”
“That’s my girl!” He smiled. “Curiosity is the compass that leads to unexplored worlds.”
“Yes, well, I haven’t found any uncharted territories quite yet, but I did discover one of your journals is missing in the college archives. I was looking for the collection dated 1866 to 1869. Did you know it was gone?”
“Of course I did.”
“Then where is it? Polly has no record of it being checked out.”
He pulled a folded wad of paper from his coat pocket. “Here it is, well, part of it, anyway. And if Polly wishes items to be recorded, then she ought not take such long lunch breaks.”
Ami crinkled her nose. “Why are you carrying part of your journal around?”
He tucked the papers back into his pocket as they swung into the workroom corridor. “Great-Grandmother Dalton’s recipe is written on the back of one of the pages. I knew I’d never remember it while in Egypt, so I took it along with me. It’s very helpful.”
Hmm. Segmenting information instead of giving a full lecture was a favorite evasion tactic of his—and one of hers.
“What is the recipe for?” She studied him as they walked, spying for a nonchalant touch to his earlobe.
“A special herbal concoction, that’s all.” His hand raised.
And there it was. A jiggle to his ear—a sure sign he was hiding something.
