“History usually is, when you dig deep enough.” Lady Baldridge sat back, looking satisfied. “But I’m sure you’re eager to see the collection. Finish your tea and I’ll show you the good bits.”
The “good bits” turned out to be a climate-controlled room that had clearly been added to the house specifically for this purpose. Constance might be eccentric, but she wasn’t careless—the collection was impeccably maintained, each piece properly labeled and stored.
“Most of it was my husband’s work,” Lady Baldridge explained as Elodie moved through the room with growing excitement. “He spent forty years acquiring pieces. Some from auctions, some from private sales, a few from rather dubious sources I prefer not to examine too closely.”
Elodie paused over a 12th-century reliquary, her trained eye cataloging details. Genuine. Excellent condition. Probably worth more than her entire building.
“Take your time,” Lady Baldridge said from the doorway. “The party doesn’t start until day after tomorrow. You’ll have plenty of time to play.” Then she paused, grinning. “I do hope you brought a May Day costume?”
Unable to contain herself, Elodie grinned. “I did, a faerie.”
Constance clapped her hands together. “Oh, how marvelous.”
She left Elodie alone with all those centuries of history, and for the first time in months, something loosened in her chest. This was why she’d become an archaeologist. Not for the grant applications or the conference politics or the slow suffocation of academic respectability. For this—the chance to touch the past, to hold objects that human hands had crafted and used and treasured hundreds of years before she was born.
She’d stopped for dinner, a lavish and entertaining affair, fell into bed exhausted after Constance’s entertaining stories, and slept like the dead. The next morning, she woke before the sun, scarfing down toast and tea before making her way back to the treasure room, as she’d come to think of it.
Elodie worked through the morning, documenting each piece with careful photographs and detailed notes. Most of the collection matched the existing inventory Lady Baldridge had provided—a credit to whoever had cataloged it before her. But as the afternoon light shifted through the windows, Elodie found something that made her stop.
A necklace. Fire opals and emeralds set in gold, with intricate Celtic knotwork that spoke of exceptional craftsmanship. The piece lay in a velvet-lined box that looked far newer than its contents.
Elodie checked the inventory. Then checked again. The necklace wasn’t listed. She lifted it carefully, feeling the weight in her palm. The gold was warm to the touch—warmer than it should have been, sitting in a climate-controlled room. The opals glowed with an inner fire, orange-red depths flickering like captured flames.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
Elodie jumped, nearly dropping the piece. Lady Baldridge had appeared in the doorway without a sound. Elodie gently placed the necklace back in the box, though some distant part of her wanted to snatch it back, put it on.
“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to startle you.” The older woman approached, her eyes fixed on the necklace. “I’d forgotten that was there, to be honest. Found it years ago, in the strangest circumstances. Can’t quite remember where it came from.”
“It’s not in the inventory.”
“No, I don’t suppose it would be. Some things resist being cataloged.” Constance smiled, but there was something in her expression that made Elodie uneasy. Was it stolen? “It suits you. The colors match your eyes.”
Elodie looked down at the emeralds, then at her own reflection in the glass of a nearby display case. Green eyes. Moss and emerald, depending on the light.
“I couldn’t possibly?—”
“Oh, don’t be silly. I’m not offering to give it to you. But you might wear it to the party tomorrow. It would go beautifully with the costume I’ve picked out.”
“There’s no need, really. I brought my own.” She smoothed her hands down her jeans, her gaze darting to the necklace again.
Lady Baldridge’s smile widened into something approaching glee. “It’s a May Day party, my dear. Everyone comes in costume. And while yours is lovely, I’ve laid out several options in your room—take your pick.” She patted Elodie’s arm. “Now come along. Cook’s made a roast, and I want to hear all about what David’s really like when he’s not trying to be impressive.”
Dinner was surprisingly enjoyable—Constance was sharp, funny, and genuinely interested in Elodie’s work (even, perhaps especially, the Fae Paper). By the time she climbed the stairs to her guest room, Elodie was feeling better than she had in months.
The costumes were spread across the bed. There was a medieval lady-in-waiting, a Renaissance noblewoman, and?—
“Oh, you have got to be kidding.”
She hadn’t really brought a faerie costume, she’d only said it to see Lady Baldridge grin. No, she’d brought a simple serving girl costume. Unable to help herself, Elodie reached out to touch the final choice. A faerie queen costume. It was made of a gossamer fabric in cream and gold, with a crown of silk flowers, and delicate wings made of wire and fabric that would catch the light like dragonfly wings.
It was ridiculous. It was exactly the kind of thing that had gotten her into trouble in the first place. If anyone from the department saw her dressed like?—
When’s the last time you had any fun?
Jennifer’s voice filled her head, gentle and teasing. Elodie looked at the faerie costume, then at the sensible medieval dress, then back at the faerie costume.
“Cheese and crackers,” she muttered. “Fine. Fine.”
