Clack clack clack.
“Caleb,” Amelia murmured repressively. Surely he comprehended that being trapped in a hidden room with several women bearing sharply pointed objects was not the best circumstance in which to be provoking?
As the thought came to her, she almost laughed.Of coursehe didn’t comprehend, unless he’d undergone an entire personality transformation in the past thirty seconds. Provocation was practically his astrological sign. She squeezed his hand, and he was good enough not to get them killed with some further comment.
Lady Ruperta straightened in her chair, clutching the book of poetry so tightly her knuckles grew even whiter than they had been. “Leave him? And lose everything, including my reputation? Besides, if I do, who will restrain the man from hoarding so much junk that the house eventually collapses? I cannot leave.”
“Lady Ruperta is a true heroine,” Mavis interposed from behind Amelia. The loyalty in her voice was heartwarming—as in, Amelia’s heart grew warm with anxiety that the woman would stab both her and Caleb with her pitchfork should she consider them a risk to her friend.
“I am indeed,” Lady Ruperta agreed. “Bitter and long have been the years of pretending that I tolerate my husband. Of smiling when people tell me about their travels to Paris, or show me their fashionable dresses. As for the particulars of wedlock: closing one’s eyes and thinking about England onlygoes so far, I can tell you. Thankfully our daughter was able to escape this mausoleum, althoughbitteris the least I can say about one’s child running away to Australia.
“But I have my special friends to console me. Granted, we must hide our gatherings, in case our husbands want to join them”—a general groan of distaste arose from the company—“but we still have a gay time.” She smiled at those around her, and for the first time Amelia spied a genuine warmth in the woman.
But then the smile soured, withering away. “Nigel is the very last person who ought to possess dangerous enchanted objects,” she said. “He’s too dull to consider the consequences of their magic, and too humorless to care. Our estate manager was turned into a frog not one hour after besting Nigel at a card game, and I’ll never believe that was accidental. This is why I cannot divorce the man, you see? I must stand guard.”
“Why didn’t you alert the Home Office?” Amelia asked. “They would have sent someone here immediately.”
Lady Ruperta scoffed. “I did approach them. Useless lot. A fellow in a cheap suit told me not to worry my little head about it, just focus on taking care of my husband like a good wife should. I do declare, I’ve had enough of mediocre men thinking they are so clever!”
General murmurs of agreement followed this statement. Caleb remarked wryly, “I’ve heard a few lady academics express the same sentiment. I’m starting to wonder if all women feel that way.”
There followed a long, eloquent silence as every female gaze in the room directed itself at him. “Ah,” Caleb said. “Right. Well, I’m certainly glad thatI’mnot mediocre.”
Lady Ruperta scoffed. “We’ll be the judge of that, young man.”
“What about calling the police?” Amelia asked.
“Oh, I’m sure they’d also say Professor Sterling was mediocre,” Lady Ruperta answered, and Amelia choked on a traitorous laugh.
“No, I mean call them about Sir Nigel,” she clarified.
Lady Ruperta shook her head. “Nigel bought all his treasures legally. And he’s never posed a threat. Apparently ‘driving people into a stupor with his prattling’ and ‘setting fire to the piano with an enchanted vase’ are not crimes. We’re talking aboutEnglandhere, Miss Tarrant: the country that gave us bread pudding and the House of Lords (two things I would not call interchangeable, but only because I am very fond of Mrs. Cuddle’s bread pud with custard). As a baronet, Nigel would have to assassinate the Queen—”
“God save Her Majesty,” everyone murmured.
“—before anyone helped me restrain him. The best I’ve been able to manage is hiding his more dangerous pieces, even burying some outside, before finally convincing him to donate to the British Museum.”
“But you did convince him,” Caleb said, “and we’re here now. So why are antiques still going missing? And why were these two”—he half turned to indicate Hilda and Mavis, and swallowed heavily at the ferocity of their expressions—“these two excellent ladies burying things even tonight?”
“Because I don’t trust you,” Lady Ruperta replied simply.
Amelia considered this, then nodded in acceptance, but Caleb blinked at the woman with dazed astonishment. “But—but—we’re experts.”
“Ha!” Lady Ruperta’s curt laugh was echoed by the other woman. Even Amelia winced slightly. “You broke my dining room furniture on your first day here. Since then, there havebeen exploding mugs, ruined bedding, constant arguments, and who the hell keepsgiggling? I’m not confident that you will keep Nigel’s most powerful antiques safe.”
“That’s understandable,” Amelia said. And when Caleb gave her an outraged look, she added, “But only from your perspective. Antiquing is seldom a quiet practice. Ghost rampages or object explosions tend to be par for the course. Usually we require people to sign a liability acceptance form, but perhaps Miss Tunnicliffe did not provide you with one—?”
“She did have some papers,” Lady Ruperta said, sniffing imperiously, “but it would be plebian of me to read what I sign.”
Amelia smiled, which seemed more advisable under the circumstances than shouting with frustration. The Material History degree course included a module on Dealing with People, and she had aced it (although only because her final essay was so good that the flaws with her practicum were overlooked). “I do beg your pardon for any misunderstandings,” she said politely. “I hope you will reconsider unearthing the buried items and handing them over to Mr. Dummersby.”
Although this sentence was outfitted with a full stop, the existence of an unspoken extra clause detailing what would happen should Lady Ruperta not reconsider was plain for all to perceive. The government, if properly informed by an expert (more specifically, byMr. Sterling, Amelia had to admit), would never tolerate such powerful magical objects being amassed without security on private property. Nor would the British Museum, for that matter—not when an excellent profit could be made from putting them on public display. The gold locket alone warranted a full team of antiquarians, curators, and lawyers descending upon Ravenscroft Manor, every one of them accompanied by a soldier.
“I do not wish to speak with Mr. Dummersby,” Lady Ruperta said, her lips flattening as if Amelia had demanded that she shake hands with a plague-ridden beggar with fleas. “Speaking with the two of you has been quite enough of an endurance test.”
“But unfortunately Professor Sterling and I must leave at once,” Amelia said before Caleb could reply instead, considering that he’d managed to slither out of the Dealing with People module altogether. “We have a matter of urgency to deal with in Oxford. Indeed, we were leaving when your ladies intercepted us.”
“Very well, I suppose,” Lady Ruperta relented ungraciously. “But for God’s sake, leave by the actual road, will you? And lest anyone accuse me of being a poor hostess, I shall procure raincoats for your comfort, despite how you destroyed my dining table.”
