“Well, well, you are the scholar! Nicely done, Miss Inman.” Bram drew alongside her, admiration thick in his voice. “Or another explanation could be from when the emperor Trajan banished the fourth pope, Saint Clement. When Clement converted the people there, Trajan ordered his death by tying him to an anchor and drowning him in the sea. It is said the water receded afterward that his body might be buried by angels in a marble mausoleum. Not a very believable tale, but one that inspired the persecuted Church at the time.”
Lottie grinned, no longer interested in the coloured tiles on the table. “Neither can your scholarship be denied, Professor. Though, yes, Eva is brilliant. She’s always got her nose in a book. Surely you remember that from when we were young?”
“I do.” His gaze drifted to Lottie. “I am sorry, but did you saywe? Have we met before?”
“We have.” Lottie fairly bounced on her toes. “My full name is Charlotte Channing, but when we were young, everyone called me Lottie. Eva still does.”
“Ah yes. Forgive me for forgetting.”
“Oh, no need to apologize.” Lottie giggled. “We all change over the years. You certainly have.”
“In a good way, I hope.”
Lottie leaned toward him. “In the best way.”
Eva rolled her eyes. If she didn’t break this up now, there was no telling how much more Lottie would gush about Bram’s attributes. Lightly, she rested her hand on her friend’s arm. “We should let the professor get back to the society members.”
“I suppose so.” Lottie sighed. “But I will see you at the bonfire, Professor, and we can catch up then.”
Eva stiffened.
Bram angled his head. “What bonfire?”
“Oh”—Lottie didn’t miss a beat—“I should have spoken more clearly. The bonfire at the Guy Fawkes festival Eva invited you to.”
Youmean the bonfire I should have invited him to.
Lottie’s gaze bounced between them. “Eva, you did invite the professor, didn’t you?”
The same sunshine that had warmed her in the sitting room now angled through the window like a brash aunt come to point out her shortcomings. “I ... did not. I mean, I did not have the chance yet.”
“I see,” Lottie drawled, and with her next breath, she flashed a bright grin at Bram. “Then allow me to extend the invitation, Professor Webb. I’d be delighted to see you in Royston on the fifth.”
“I think that can be arranged, Miss Channing. Now if you will excuse me, I really should be getting back to business.” He left them with his trademark wink.
Eva deflated. At least she didn’t have to torture herself about how to ask him anymore.
Lottie nudged her with her shoulder. “I thought you were going to ask him.”
“I ... tried. It just never seemed like the right time.”
“Then it is a fortuitous thing I came along today, hmm? So how about you dazzle me with more information about these items? That bauble over there is so pretty in the sunshine.” Lottie ambled toward the pendant.
Eva followed.Fortuitouswasn’t quite the description she’d use. More like slightly irritating, for it had been uncomfortable witnessing Lottie flirt with Bram. Not that Eva had any claim on the man, nor did she intend to have any, but still...
Why the sudden rebellion of the morning tea in her belly?
Though two sides of the field tent flaps were rolled open, it was still a bit stuffy with so many bodies milling about, particularly when one of those bodies had apparently been dipped in rose and ambergris. Bram fought the urge to sneeze as he waited for Mr. Toffit to finish scrutinizing a set of first-century iron chisels he’d recently finished cleaning—which had been no small feat considering several of the excavation implements had been broken the other day. When he’d pulled up to the dig on Tuesday morn, he’d accidentally rolled the wagon wheels over an assortment of scattered tools. The students had no idea how the items had gotten there, and he believed them, but when he’d questioned his uncle, well, the old fellow had dithered a bit before spouting a denial. Either the cursed-acres lore had caused the mishap, or his uncle’s forgetfulness might be turning into a liability.
Across the tent, Eva’s friend Miss Channing flashed him a smile. Honestly, he didn’t remember much about her, but one thing was crystal clear: The woman was interested in him. Was Eva? His gaze drifted to where she stood next to Miss Channing, chatting with his uncle. Sunlight haloed her head, burnishing her hair to an autumn glow and painting her face in honeyed light. She didn’t so much as slip him a side-eye, so taken was she with whatever his uncle said. Bram rubbed his knuckles along his jaw. It was hard to say what she thought of him with her mixed signals, sometimes friendly, other times cool.
“What are all these bottles and jars, Professor Webb?” Mr. Toffit waved his hand over the analysis set at the back of the table. “This looks more like a chemistry laboratory than a dig site.”
“So I have been told.” And warned against by Grimwinkle. The man fussed about the potential harm that could be inflicted upon a relic, but if he’d have taken an hour or two for deepdiscussion with the chair of the science faculty as Bram had done, then Grimwinkle would know what a baseless concern he held.
Bram held up an amber bottle in a ray of sunshine. “I find that by employing chemical analysis, I can achieve a more comprehensive interpretation of the past, connecting artifacts to specific practices or trade routes. In this case, I’ve not identified any linkage between this settlement to the Roman road between London and Cambridge, which means the people who settled here—who were clearly of Roman origin—were either horribly lost or they didn’t wish to be found. I am hoping for the latter, as the settlement we are looking for would have purposely kept a distance from other Romans who might persecute them for their faith.”
Now if he could just find something definitive to mark this as Caelum Academia, for a mere Roman village would do nothing to vindicate his uncle—and every day spent here meant one day not spent finding the colony they so desperately needed to prove existed to Grimwinkle. He needed to find something, a wax tablet, a fragment of a codex, or, by a great act of God’s mercy, a preserved scroll. Something—anything—to prove this was Caelum Academia.
