My heart raced at the promise of this hopeful future with Brograve, and I whispered back, “I want that as well.”
He reached for my hand, and we were silent for a long moment, breathing in the magnitude of our words. Had we just made a pledge to each other? I looked up into his eyes, and they glimmered with an excitement I shared.
But then a sinking feeling overtook me. What did it mean for this digging season? Does Brograve want to wait until it’s over for an actual commitment, around which he seems to be dancing, and a stint on the dig? Or might he even consider working alongside me in Egypt this season? After all, I couldn’t be entirely certain how many more years Papa’s excavations would continue.
I opened my mouth to pose some of these questions, but before I could speak, Brograve said, “Eve, the last thing I want to do is pressure you or intrude. I know how important these excavations are to you. But what would you think about me joining you and your father for part of this year’s dig?”
“Really?” I asked, relieved and thrilled all at once.
“Really,” he said, pulling me a little closer.
“I would like nothing more,” I assured him.
Brograve glanced over his shoulder at Roger, who had busied himself packing up the remainder of the picnic lunch. Then he leaned in to kiss me, and I could think of nothing but him.
No, I think. Brograve is not the source of the restlessness. Ifanything, our discussion has given me a certain peace and lightness about my future with him, amorphous though it may remain. I smile at the thought of his accompanying us to Egypt, which I plan on raising with Papa in the days to come.
Howard clears his throat, bringing my awareness back to the Music Room. I glance around the room, watching as Papa moves between Howard’s worktable and mine as we review excavation sites. Our positions are familiar and the tasks we undertake routine, and yet there is a heaviness in the air. Unspoken words drift among us.
Howard’s well-worn Valley of the Kings map, covered with his scribbled notes and colored dots, is fully unrolled on his table. He and Papa have been looming over it for the past hour, and I’ve been feigning work while listening to their discussion.
“We cannot seem to settle on a spot,” Papa announces, after much debate.
Howard turns back to the map. “We’ll come to an agreement. We always do, don’t we?”
“I’m not certain we will this year, Howard,” Papa replies, and drops onto one of the silk embroidered chairs. His face, never the picture of health, looks sallow and sunken.
“What do you mean?” Howard looks up from the map at my father.
“I cannot afford another fruitless year.”
“We are hovering around a big discovery, I know it. For example, theushabtiLady Evelyn found in KV twenty could very well lead to a secret chamber.”
“I don’t think you understand, Howard. It’s not that I can’t afford the blow to my reputation if we come up empty again. I quite literally cannot afford another dig. Financially.” Papa’s face grows more distressed with each word, and I see how making this announcement pains him.
I stand at my worktable, dropping the ruse. “What do you mean, Papa?”
He turns toward me, his eyes wide with momentary surprise, as if he’d quite forgotten my presence. For a moment, I am transported back to my childhood days when I was a silent, ignored witness toPapa and Howard’s archaeological conversations. And I feel quite as powerless as I did then.
My father doesn’t answer. If his features appeared wan and hollowed out before, he looks positively ashen now. And terribly old. He clearly doesn’t want to explain—particularly not to me. But I need to know what he meant, and I’ve had enough playacting at normalcy.
He lets out a long, troubled breath. “I think we’ve had our last season.”
I freeze. Even though I’ve been anticipating this decision for some time, it hits me like a physical blow, and I fall into the chair next to Papa.
“If Porchey had married a girl with money, it might have been different. Or if we’d hit gold on one of our excavations, that would have helped immensely,” Papa continues, staring at the floor. He cannot meet our eyes. “But without either of those windfalls, I’m not sure we can even make ends meet on Highclere and the London house. I’ve sold off three of the four properties I inherited from my father, and I’ve been auctioning off artwork, furniture, and books for years now. But the taxes keep climbing and the tenants contribute less and less each year. I simply don’t have the spare funds to finance Egypt anymore.”
“What about Mama’s wealth?” The words feel awkward in my mouth, as I’m certain all this talk of finances is in Papa’s. Money is not a polite topic, and should be avoided to the extent possible. I suppose we’ve reached the limit of that prohibition today.
“I’m afraid even she’s reaching the end of her tether.”
I want to ask what that means. Does that mean her situation is less robust than I believed? Perhaps Godfather hadn’t left her the generous bequest I’d believed. Or does it mean that she’s no longer interested in paying for excavations that yield very little in the way of remuneration? But I cannot ask her. That is Papa’s appeal to make.
I take a seat next to Papa, and Howard sits down in an adjacent chair. None of us speaks. Only the competing tick of the two clocks breaks the silence.
“What if,” Howard finally says, “I paid for the next year’s dig?”
“You?” Papa spits out, seemingly affronted by Howard’s proposalto help financially once again. I cannot tell if he’s simply shocked that Howard has offered a second time or if he’s affronted the last vestige of Papa’s honor. Either way, his tone is brusque, bordering on offensive when he should be grateful.
