Prologue
Wiggons’ School for Elegant Young Ladies,
Cornwall, England, Spring 1804
Startled from her reading, Lady Sophia Trent nearly jumped when Miss Rosemary Fairview squealed as she gamboled into the chamber they shared with Miss Eliza Weston. In Rosemary’s hands was a package that must have just been delivered.
“What is that?” Eliza asked with curiosity.
“I don’t know yet.” Rosemary plopped herself onto the bed, her chestnut curls bouncing as she set the package down. “It’s from my parents. I can’t wait to see what they’ve sent me this time.”
Sophia got up from her seat by the window and wandered over. “Are they still traveling?”
Rosemary nodded. “But they’ve promised to try and return by next summer.”
“Well, open it,” Eliza insisted, being the least patient of the three.
After tearing the paper away, Rosemary lifted the folded foolscap that rested inside.
My Dearest Rosemary,
Enclosed are my journals from my too short sojourn into Egypt a few years ago. You may recall that following the Battle of Abukir and Battle of Alexandria in 1801, the British army confiscated a number of Egyptian antiquities from Napoleon. One, in particular, held great interest for me—a large stone with fascinating hieroglyphic carvings. No one has been able to translate the language, but I do long to know what was written on that stone. It is said that the French found it in an Egyptian town called Rosetta, but that is only a rumor, so I cannot speak to the truth of the location.
The number of Egyptian artifacts the British confiscated from the French were numerous, and I wish I could have viewed all of the items, but they were crated and locked away for shipment before I could go through everything. However, I do know they are destined for the British Museum and might very well be on display already. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if the stone was translated as well? I do so look forward to viewing the entire collection once your father and I return to London.
Soon you will complete your education, and there is so much I wish to show you, starting with the British Museum, and then the world, if England can put Napoleon to rest by then.
I’m certain I mentioned that your father allowed me to accompany a number of antiquarians on their expedition. Thankfully, he isn’t like so many other dreadful Englishmen who won’t allow their wives the least bit of independence or I might have gone quite mad over the years.
Rosemary, if I can teach you nothing more, at least heed this one piece of advice—don’t settle upon any gentleman who believes it is his right to dictate, order about, or overly protect his wife. You’d suffocate under such a tyrant, as would I have if I had been forced to marry that loathsome earl my parents had chosen before I had a chance meeting with your father.
However, I digress. Enclosed are my journals, as I’ve mentioned. They contain notes, drawings and research of the history I discovered in Egypt, and most importantly, the tombs of the pharaohs.”
“Tombs?” Eliza asked with wide grey eyes.
“Shush,” replied Sophia. “Do go on, Rosemary.
Until I can show you the world, I’m giving you a glimpse of what I experienced so that you will look forward to the Egyptian exhibit. I dearly hope you enjoy these journals as much as you enjoyed the ones from my travels through the Greek Islands and India. I cannot wait to show you the world, my darling.
With much love,
Your mother.
Rosemary set the parchment aside and opened the small chest. Inside were three thick, leather journals that when the pages were fanned revealed her mother’s excellent penmanship as well as many detailed sketches.
“You’d think she’d send at least something of interest.” Eliza complained as she flounced over to the window. “All she ever does is send you her journals after she and your father have left an area she found to befascinating.”
“I think it sounds very interesting,” Sophia argued. She enjoyed the journals far more than her two friends because Mrs. Fairview gave them a glimpse into the world outside of their school. Sophia longed to travel one day and live somewhere other than Cornwall. Not only was her school located here, but her family estate wasn’t so very far away either.
“They aren’t horrid novels,” Eliza moaned. “Thatwould have been interesting.”
The three girls hadn’t found a good novel, full of ghosts and terrors, in some time. The teachers had hidden all books that might contain such elements after Eliza began seeing ghosts, vampires and witches everywhere. Unfortunately, the teachers didn’t realize that Eliza didn’t need a book to fuel her imagination. She accomplished that all on her own.
“Do you mind if I look?” Sophia asked Rosemary, who handed Sophia the first of the three journals while she opened another and paged through, stopping only to study the sketches.
Thank goodness the journals didn’t contain anything that could be remotely considered frightening because Sophia wasn’t certain she had the patience to deal with Eliza’s imagination again. First, after the tempest had blown through little over a year ago, Eliza had gotten it into her head that Lord Atwood was a vampire. Actually, it didn’t take the tempest to convince her. Eliza had already convinced herself and Rosemary that Lord Atwood was cursed after they’d readWake Not the Dead.
Once the fear of vampires was put to rest, Sophia should have known Eliza’s imagination wouldn’t go on a holiday because as soon as rumors of the Kissing Ghost reached them, Eliza was convinced it was arealghost, searching for his love so he’d not need to endure eternity alone. Well, the Kissing Ghost turned out to be a real man, and there had been two—one being Anton Kazakov, husband of another teacher and previously thought to be dead. For days Eliza, and Rosemary, were convinced there was an actual ghost. But that was finally put to rest as well and all Sophia could hope for was that Eliza found something other than the paranormal to fixate on.
