How to Dance With a Duke (40 page)

Cecily thought back to their visit to the warehouse. That whole day had been so traumatic she’d tried to put the memory of that warehouse, of the sights and smells she’d been exposed to, from her mind. But she closed her eyes and visualized the room. Tried to remember what impression she’d gotten of the volume of antiquities housed there.

“No,” she answered, opening her eyes to meet his. “There were not nearly as many items in that warehouse as there are on this list. But perhaps that’s just because the second list is the correct one.”

He shook his head. “Why go to the trouble of writing out two lists if only one is correct?”

“Good point,” she said, pursing her lips in concentration. Then, she snapped her fingers. “I’ve got it! Do you remember something odd about the warehouse?”

“You mean aside from its location? Not particularly.”

“I recall thinking when we entered the building that it appeared much larger on the outside than it appeared to be from the inside. Items from the expedition were lined up all along the back wall of the room, and if there was another door back there, I certainly did not see it.”

Lucas rubbed a hand thoughtfully along his jaw. “Nor did I,” he said.

“What if whoever oversaw the shipment of the artifacts from Egypt to England kept two sets of cargo? With two sets of inventories? One, the smaller inventory sheet, would be shown to the customs agents when they arrived back in port. The other, he hid inside of the mummified cat, thinking to remove it once he got back to England.”

“How did they manage to get the extra artifacts into the country without the customs officials noticing?”

“It is not all that difficult to create a false bottom in a wooden crate,” she said. “The extra artifacts would be stored within the false bottom, and the top part would appear to be filled with whatever artifacts appeared on the label and perhaps sawdust or some other filler material to make it seem as if whoever packed the items simply did not know how to do it properly. And I am afraid that the agents who check those sorts of things are rather notorious for being quite easy to pay to look the other way when necessary.”

“Then once the artifacts were unloaded they were divided into two groups—one of smuggled items that were to be sold off as quickly and quietly as possible so that the members of the club and the museum did not discover that their pieces were not as unique as they seemed, and one to go to the club and the museum.”

“But which lot was real and which lot was forged?” Cecily demanded. “I cannot believe that Papa would knowingly pass off forgeries as genuine. Especially not after staking his career on his reputation. And what of Will?”

“I’m afraid that both your father and my brother must have discovered what was going on. And Will paid the ultimate price for his knowledge.”

Cecily dropped into the chair. “But how on earth could someone have provoked Papa to apoplexy?”

He went down onto his haunches next to her, and chafed her hand between his. “I don’t know. I wonder if there is not some sort of medicine or herb that might bring an attack on. In someone of your father’s age I would imagine it wouldn’t be too difficult to do.”

Her eyes were bleak when she raised them to him. “All of this—murder and mayhem—all of it to protect someone who wanted to use my father’s expedition as a means to make more money than was possible with the actual artifacts.”

“I would venture a step further,” he said. “And posit that whoever it was, was not entitled to the profits from the original excavation, and managed to hire someone in Cairo to create cheap replicas that might be taken back to England with them and sold at a profit.”

“I never thought I’d say this,” Cecily said sorrowfully. “But if I do not see another hieroglyphic or Egyptian artifact again it will be too soon.”

Lucas kissed the back of her hand. “Don’t say that, sweetheart. It is neither your fault, nor the fault of the ancient Egyptians, that this happened. It may all be heaped upon the head of a murdering, lying snake, who will be stopped soon enough. Just you wait.”

She smiled sadly. “I know you are right,” she said, “but I cannot help but think of all the people who might still be alive if none of us had ever even heard of the ancient Egyptians. Papa and your brother, Will. How many more have been cursed by the gods?”

“Surely you do not believe in that curse nonsense,” he said with a frown. Being a little down was understandable. Actually believing that the gods had placed a curse on all who dared disturb their tombs was another thing entirely.

A sigh escaped her. “No. I do not believe the curse. Though Uncle Geoffrey has worked hard enough to make me heed it. If I didn’t know he was such a rational being I’d wonder if he weren’t beginning to lose his mind to age a bit.”

“Indeed,” her husband returned. “Now, I suppose we had best request the Bow Street runners to come for a visit so that we may inform them of our theory. If nothing else, they may wish to examine the warehouse for themselves.”

Twenty-one

While Lucas spoke with the Bow Street runners, Cecily traveled the short distance to Hurston House, hoping to spend a bit of time with her father before his afternoon session with the latest physician.

Though she could not forgive him for his attempts to keep her away from the studies that had given her such a sense of purpose, her relationship with Lucas had shown her that her father’s relationship with her mother had likely been more complex than she had been able to understand as a child. In addition, she now understood Lord Hurston’s reasons for wishing to shield his daughter from the dangers that his travels abroad could bring. She didn’t agree with him, but given that one man had died, and another had almost done so, she was willing to concede that there were perhaps some elements of her father’s work that were indeed more dangerous than she could have imagined.

And, perhaps most importantly, she had seen her husband’s cordial interactions with his mother and she understood in a way she had never done before that there was much to be gained from such a relationship. For all of Lord Hurston’s faults, she did love him, and for whatever time he had left on this earth she would do whatever she could to ensure that he knew it.

She was handing her hat to the butler when she spied Violet descending the staircase, her eyes red-rimmed.

“Violet, what is it?” Cecily rushed forward to grasp her stepmother’s hands. “Is Papa worse?”

Lady Hurston struggled to regain her composure, and shook her head. “No, no, there is no change, my dear,” she said at last, having taken a deep breath to calm herself. “I was merely trying to come to a decision about something.”

The two walked arm in arm into the little sitting room that Violet called her own. It was a cheery room, decorated in yellow chintz and bright patterns, which glowed in the afternoon sun.

When they were seated, with a pot of tea on the table between them, Cecily asked, “Now, if it will help, please tell me what troubles you.”

Her stepmama smiled. “Do you know, Cecily,” she said, her smile fond, but her eyes still shadowed, “I believe that marriage suits you. You have seemed a great deal more content with life since your match with Winterson.”

Cecily felt a telltale flush creep into her cheeks. “I suppose you may be correct,” she said, attempting to appear blasé about the matter. “Winterson is a good husband, I believe.”

“Oh, come now, dearest. It is there for anyone who really knows you to see written plainly on your face. You are glowing. Even if you refuse to admit to the man that you adore him as much as he adores you.”

“How did you…?” Really, it was too trying to be read so easily. There had been a time when she fancied herself perfectly inscrutable. A time that had clearly passed.

Violet gave a little tsk, then took a sip of her tea. “I have known you since you were four years old, Cecily. If I know one thing about you it is that you are stubborn.”

At her stepdaughter’s protest, the viscountess merely shook her head. “I also know how devastated you were when David Lawrence broke your engagement all those years ago.”

Before Cecily could ask, Violet raised a hand to forestall her question. “There was no way on earth that I would believe that you were the one to release him. I knew how desperately in love with him you were, and I also knew that Millie Pilkington came with four thousand a year. He might have been flattered by your attentions—enough to propose—but in the end, I knew that he would do what was best for him.”

“I had no idea you knew,” Cecily said with shake of her head. “I thought I was so clever to make it seem as if I were the one who cried off. If I’d known you and Father—”

“Oh, heavens, your father had no idea!” Violet told her with surprise. “If he’d known that Lawrence jilted you he would have called the fellow out the next morning. And I did not wish for you to bear the scandal of it. So I let him believe the story you wished him to believe.

“That wasn’t wrong of me,” she asked, a frown line appearing between her brows, “was it?”

Cecily was surprised, but not shocked, she supposed. It had been a long time ago. And she had been trying to keep the scandal to a minimum. As much for David as for herself. And if her father had discovered the truth, there was no doubt in her mind that it would have been pistols at dawn and damn the consequences.

“No,” she said aloud. “It was exactly the right thing to do. Otherwise I’d have been forced to marry David, and though at the time I thought that was what I wished, I know now that it would have been a mistake.”

“Well, there is another matter which I need to confess to you, Cecily,” Violet said, her expression remaining serious. “I fear that you will not be able to forgive this action of mine so easily. There is a small possibility that you may even decide to cut yourself off from me altogether.”

“Do not be foolish, Violet,” she said with a laugh. “I doubt there is anything you could do or say that would cause me to break with you completely. Come now, confess and we will laugh about it together.”

But Violet did not laugh; instead she looked down at her hands, as if unwilling to meet her stepdaughter’s eyes. Cecily felt a sense of foreboding ripple through her.

“Cecily,” Lady Hurston began, “do you remember when you asked me about your father’s journals, and whether or not they’d been sent to the Egyptian Club?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Well,” the older lady said, “I may have told a tiny bit of a lie about that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I could not help but recall how adamant your papa had always been about keeping you from entangling yourself in the world of scholarly things. And how he tried again and again to ensure that you would not harm yourself with too much knowledge. And it was this that I was thinking of—so soon after your father had returned from his trip, and so very ill—when I told you that small, little fib.”

“And?”

“And, I’m afraid your father’s journals have been here in this house the whole time.”

Silence descended upon the little parlor. Broken only by the sound of the fire burning merrily in the grate.

“Here?” Cecily finally asked. “The whole time?”

“Yes.”

“But I looked,” she said, aghast. “His study was the first place I searched for them.”

“I moved them whenever I knew you were coming to search for them,” was Violet’s response.

“When I was sneaking into the Egyptian Club with Winterson? When I was compromising my reputation?” Cecily felt her voice rise in volume and pitch. “All that while, Papa’s journals, which I wanted to translate for the perfectly altruistic purpose of presenting what might be his final voyage to the land he loved, all that time they were here in this house?”

“Yes.”

As her stepmama was confessing what she had done, Cecily examined her heart for outrage, for anger, for feelings of betrayal. But to her surprise she felt none of these things. Rather than feeling hard done by, she felt relief at knowing where her father’s journals were. At knowing they were within her reach at last. And suddenly, she realized what a gift Violet’s lie had given her. And she was grateful. Grateful that her stepmother had so respected her own husband’s wishes that she had lied to her stepdaughter. Grateful that she herself had taken matters into her own hands that day and gone to the Egyptian Club, hoping to get a glimpse of the journals. For without Violet’s lie, there would be no marriage between her and Lucas at all. “You are not angry?” Violet asked, obviously stunned to see her stepdaughter grinning at her from across the tea table.

Cecily threw her arms around Lady Hurston and hugged her. “I am elated!” she said with a laugh. “Now, let us go get the journals at once.” Her expression grew serious. “If there is any mention at all in Papa’s journals about who might have been responsible for William’s death, then we must find it at once.”

The two ladies rose and Cecily followed Violet upstairs to her father’s study.

To her surprise, Lord Geoffrey was already there. He stood on the library ladder, his hand clasped around a red calfskin-bound volume, which Cecily recognized as the same sort of journal her father had been keeping for years.

“Geoffrey,” Violet said, obviously startled to see her husband’s old friend making free of the library. “Whatever are you doing here?”

“Cannot an old friend be allowed to borrow a book now and again?” the gentleman said, nimbly climbing down the ladder, careful not to drop the three volumes he had tucked beneath his other arm.

“What are you doing with Papa’s journals, my lord?” Cecily asked, fear gathering in the pit of her stomach as she realized with a sinking heart that the man before her had as strong a motive as anyone to kill William Dalton. “I feel sure that if you would only ask Violet, she would give you whatever you wish.”

“Is that right, Cecily?” he asked, putting the books down on the desk, and reaching a hand into his greatcoat to remove a small pistol. “I fear that you much mistake the matter. Though I have asked again and again since our return from Egypt just where your father’s journals were hidden, Violet would only tell me that they were perfectly safe. Isn’t that unaccommodating of her? To force me to look for them on my own?”