“I’m well aware, Rosemary. My father did take me along on his adventures. I simply don’t believe that curses exist.”
“But, if they did, it wouldn’t affect those who actually took the mummy from Mayfair since they weren’t the ones who took the mummy from the tomb, right?” Eliza questioned.
“Oh, not necessarily,” Rosemary answered. “From what my mother wrote, some curses follow the mummy wherever it goes and anyone who comes in contact with it, or even near it, outside of the tomb, could suffer in one manner or another.”
Some of the color left Eliza’s cheeks. “Such as death?”
Rosemary frowned. “Perhaps, but I don’t think it’s so strong a curse, otherwise everyone who has viewed the items on exhibit at the British Museum would now be dead. Certainly hundreds of people suddenly meeting their demise would not go unnoticed.”
Eliza sank to a chair, as if she were relieved, much to Sophia’s surprise. In the past, Eliza would have latched on to the impossible and exaggerated. Was her friend finally maturing?
“If you’d read my mother’s journals you’d already know this,” Rosemary insisted.
At that, Eliza rolled her eyes. “I’ll read when it’s required. I don’t have the patience to do so for fun.”
“Journals?” Olivia questioned.
“From my mother,” Rosemary answered. “She and Father have traveled to some of the most fascinating places and once they’ve moved on, Mother usually sends me her journals so that I can read about her experiences.”
“Rosemary recently received three journals from her mother’s time in Egypt,” Sophia added.
“I hadn’t realized.” Miss Hamilton sat forward. “Might I borrow them when you are finished?”
“Of course.” Rosemary grinned.
Miss Hamilton’s eyes widened. “Goodness! Fairview. You are the daughter of Sir William Fairview?”
Rosemary grinned. “Do you know my parents?”
“Yes,” Miss Hamilton cried. “I met them in Egypt, before I was required to return to England with my father. Your mother was nearly as excited about the tombs and artifacts as my father. And, she often had her journal out, sketching what she’d seen.”
“I’ll be happy to share them with you, Miss Hamilton.”
“And, perhaps we’ll use them in our lessons.”
At that Eliza groaned.
* * *
Mayfair, London
By the end of the first week, Eve was more fatigued than she’d ever been in her life. Even taking care of her brother, their small set of rooms, mending, cooking, and working at the theatre each night had not left her this exhausted.
Every morning she was awakened with the sun, dressed for the day then reported to the breakfast room where she dined with Lord Kilsyth. During these moments, he was nearly pleasant as he asked after her sleep. Then they adjourned to the library where she read aloud and he continue his instructions, interrupting nearly every other word with the correct pronunciation. She’d yet to finish an entire novel because of him.
Even though he corrected her, and was her teacher, he was kind, and not harsh as he’d been that first day. Though, she also realized she tried his patience because he’d often quit the room suddenly, as if he needed to be away from her.
Eve understood that she wasn’t making the progress that Kilsyth had hoped, but it wasn’t for lack of trying.
Shewastrying, she really was, but it was so difficult to change the way she pronounced certain words, or to erase what he called aliltfrom her tone. “It’s cadence and rhythm, Miss Doyle.”
It was speaking! Oh, she’d quit if the necklace wasn’t at stake.
In the evenings, he and Pickmore discussed many topics, not that she was allowed to participate. Instead, she was to listen and train her ear to correct speech so that she might improve hers.
No doubt Kilsyth was one of the most brilliant gentlemen of her acquaintance, though she wished his mind would settle at times. Ideas occurred, then were discarded on a whim. Topics were introduced, then changed in the middle of a conversation. She learned he enjoyed the bitter coffee until ten in the morning, then didn’t wish to drink anything further until tea time. Boots were to be worn outside. If he didn’t fear someone calling, uninvited and without warning, he’d walk around in his stocking feet. Instead, he compromised and wore slippers, though he misplaced at least one of them on a regular basis and often both, since he kicked them off in the library.
After the first two days, she’d only seen him in a jacket when dining as he preferred his shirtsleeves, trousers and waistcoat, which Eve suspected he only wore because she was present. Kilsyth hated to be confined in uncomfortable clothing while in his library—his domain—and the only time he ever wore a cravat was when he had to be out in public.
