Professor Grimwinkle frowned as he vigorously brushed dust from his sleeves. “That is a bit presumptuous.”
Eva toyed with the stick she’d been holding. Clearly there was disagreement about the validity of the dig. Had she made the right choice to allow them here instead of planting the seed? “I hope it turns out to be profitable for us all.”
“Oh, my dear.” Bram’s uncle laughed at the blue sky, genuine delight rumbling out of him. “Unearthing the Holy Grail will be more lucrative than you can possibly imagine.” He squeezedher arm lightly. “Just think of not only the historical significance but the religious as well.”
Professor Grimwinkle snorted.
Eva angled her head. “You cannot be serious. Why would such a renowned artifact be found in the middle of a common English field?”
“It’s got to be somewhere, doesn’t it?” Bram’s uncle winked.
Ahh. So that’s where Bram’s impish sense of humor originated. A gust of wind blew in, and she clapped her hand to her bonnet as she turned to the steward. “Well, Sinclair, I should think such a discovery would end the absurd legend of this plot of land being cursed, don’t you?”
“I have to admit, miss”—he picked up a rock and pitched it onto a nearby pile—“we’ve met with no bad luck thus far.”
“Because there is no such thing as luck. God alone is sovereign.” She lifted her chin.
Yet if that was true, then why didn’t God simply bring her a fish with a coin in its mouth to pay the taxes? He’d done so for Peter. Then again, Peter was a saint—and she bore the responsibility of two deaths on her hands. Was it any wonder God had abandoned her to her own means?
“Well said, Miss Inman.” Professor Pendleton pulled off his spectacles and tucked them into the top pocket of his waistcoat. “Now that I’ve had a good look around, I think I can speak for the rest of the men when I say we’d like to get started straightaway. There are several hours’ worth of daylight remaining and setting up always takes longer than one expects. However, after rummaging in the wagon bed, it appears I’ve forgotten my field bag. Must’ve left it in your front hall. Would you mind if your steward here runs me back to the house in the pony trap? Unless you’d like to accompany me, that is. With my girth”—he patted his ample belly—“I don’t think all three of us will fit on the seat, and I’d hate to take the wagon with the excavation tools.”
“Sinclair is a better horseman than I. He’ll get you thereand back faster than I could, so I suggest you hang on to your hat, Professor.”
“Ho ho! Thanks for the warning.” He snugged his bowler tighter as he strode away, his silvery hair eaten up by the brown felt.
Another gust of wind flew in, taking Professor Grimwinkle’s hat for a ride. Grumbling, he dashed after it while Eva poked at the dirt with her stick. Was there truly more treasure here? All she found were tufts of overturned turf, rocks, and a rather malnourished earthworm writhing from her inadvertent jab. Holy Grail indeed. A smile lifted her lips. Bram’s uncle was quite the jester.
“I didn’t know you had an interest in archaeology.” Bram’s deep voice reached her a moment before the tips of his worn boots appeared in her line of vision. “We could use such a lovely addition to our team.”
Lovely? Hah. Her nose was too long, her mouth too wide, and no true beauty sported such atrocious red hair. Dropping her stick, she rose and dusted her hands. “Sorry to disappoint, but digging for buried treasure is not my calling.”
Professor Grimwinkle returned, his hat jammed so tightly on his head that it puckered his brow. He fixed his dark gaze on Bram. “Archaeology is certainly not for everyone. Some men just don’t know when to quit.”
Bram’s jaw hardened, yet he said nothing. Why such tension? Did Professor Grimwinkle share her doubts about Bram’s abilities?
She attempted a laugh. “Well, I am sure I would never begin to understand all the facets of excavating for antiquities, but it appears Professor Webb has his students under control.”
Indeed, the young men were already unloading tools from the big wagon.
“Mmm. One can only hope. Now, if you will pardon me, I should like one of those students to drive me back to the manor.I have some business to take care of in town.” Without so much as a good-day, Professor Grimwinkle stalked off.
Rude man!
Eva’s gaze shot to Bram to gauge his response to such an affront.
A vein stood out on his neck, then vanished as he turned to her. “So what is it, then?”
“What is what?” She scrunched her nose, thoroughly confused.
“Your calling. You said digging for buried treasure isn’t it, so what is?”
What a question. She’d been sure of an answer once, a lifetime ago it seemed. She’d never felt more fulfilled than when volunteering with the Royston Relief Society. Helping those in need. Creating beauty from ashes when disaster struck those less fortunate. Now if she wasn’t careful, she and her sister wouldbethe less fortunate. “I am a landowner, Mr. Webb, and that is no small career.”
“True, but I have no doubt you’ll make a success of it. And call me Bram. We are friends from childhood, are we not?” He winked just like his uncle. “Come. Would you like to see what we’ve already found?”
She licked her lips to keep from smirking. “You’ve hardly been here half an hour.”
“Is that all?” He pulled out a silver pocket watch and arched a brow at the time. “You’re right. I suppose I am just that good, milady.” He folded into a regal bow, sweeping one arm high up behind him, just as he’d done that time he’d tried to convince her and her friends he was a magician, only the rabbit he’d pulled from a hat hadn’t been his. When Mrs. Muggins found out he’d borrowed one of her hares, she’d whacked him with a broom.
