Lord Perfect (44 page)

"Signor Belzoni brought back such big things,"
Olivia said. "Giant statues and mummies and such. People can't
make up their minds what they're worth. But I shall look for small
things: jewels and coins. I know what those sorts of things are
worth. I shall also collect papyri. Lord Lisle said there is a great
demand for these documents, and Egypt has thousands and thousands of
them."

"You have to take them from people who've been dead
for a thousand years or more," said Lisle. "The mummies
hold the papyri in their hands or have them between their legs. Uncle
Rupert said the mummy dust clogs your nose and the smell is
disgusting. You have to go into small holes in the ground and crawl
about narrow tunnels. It's very hot. And you won't have a lot of
servants about to bring you lemonade and sandwiches or to cart away
the dirt. It isn't like digging up Lord Mandeville's lawn."

"We are not going to Egypt, Olivia," Bathsheba
said. "I recommend you put that idea out of your head."

Olivia's countenance took on a familiar mulish
expression as she opened her mouth to answer.

Rathbourne threw her a look.

Though she set her jaw, the contrary expression
vanished, and "Yes, Mama," she said, to Bathsheba's
astonishment.

"At any rate, I cannot understand why you prate
about traveling halfway across the world," said Lord Mandeville.
"You have not finished your excavation here."

Bathsheba's heart began to pound. He could have no
reason for indulging Olivia except to delay her departure. He must
have written to Fosbury, who could have the letter as early as today.
He could be here in how many days? One? Two? Or was it simply a
matter of hours?

Before her panicked mind could compose a polite refusal,
Lisle spoke.

"We've dug a moat round the entire mausoleum,"
he said. "I don't see how we could have missed the treasure if
it was there."

"Lord Lisle has a very orderly system," Olivia
said. "I know we covered every inch of the ground."

"Perhaps not," said his lordship. "I have
talked it over with Northwick, and it occurred to us that you
mightn't have dug deep enough."

"Recollect that Edmund DeLucey's pirate days were a
hundred years ago," said Lord Northwick. "Over time,
buildings settle and sink, gardens are redesigned and replanted. The
ground about the mausoleum has been built up and filled in several
times. One must remember, too, that the gardeners apply layers of
lime and fertilizer at regular intervals."

"I should dig deeper if I were you," said Lord
Mandeville. "Unless, that is, you have lost heart."

A dismayed Bathsheba saw her daughter's countenance
light up. Lisle's expression was only a slightly muted version of
Olivia's.

The children looked at each other, and it was clear that
neither could wait to get at their spades and pickaxes.

But Olivia surprised her mother yet again.

"Thank you, my lord," the girl said, "but
I must leave the treasure hunt to Lord Lisle. Mama and I depart
today."

"It isn't my treasure hunt,"
Lisle said. "It's yours. Edmund DeLucey was
your
great-great-grandfather, not mine. I should feel like a great idiot,
digging all by myself while everyone looked on. Besides, what fun
would it be to find it if you're not there? This was
your
quest."

"It is more than a treasure hunt," said Lord
Hargate. "It is a quest to put old ghosts to rest. Unless the
matter is settled for good and all—unless every possible avenue
is exhausted—Edmund DeLucey's descendants will continue to
believe in the treasure. Then one or another of them will turn up to
hunt for it. Then once again they will disrupt both the family and
the workings of the estate. How many men have been taken from their
regular work to chase after you pair?' he demanded, directing a
frigid glare from one to the other. "Have you any notion of the
burden you have placed upon the servants, not to mention the
inconvenience to the family? The least you can do is complete the job
you began and do it thoroughly."

"Yes, my lord," said Lisle.

"Yes, my lord," said Olivia.

And "Yes, my lord," Bathsheba had no choice
but to say, because he was absolutely right. One or another of the
Dreadful DeLuceys would take courage from Olivia's daring act and try
again.

The matter had to be ended once and for all.

And, as usual, she would simply have to make the best of
it.

WHILE THE OTHER men went out with the children, Benedict
stayed behind, saying he had letters to write.

He had meant only to write to his mother, to assure her
he was well, but his mind wandered to his brothers, each of whom
would be affected, though to different degrees, by his decision to go
away with Bathsheba.

Then he thought about the report he had promised to
write for one of the parliamentary committees, and the letter to a
barrister regarding one of his clients, and the letters he needed to
write seeking royal clemency in two troubling criminal cases.

He must find successors to head his various
philanthropic endeavors, too.

He sat at a writing desk in the library, the pen in his
hand, the paper before him still blank.

"Rathbourne, I must speak to you."

He turned at the sound of the familiar voice.

Bathsheba stood for a moment in the open French windows.
A breeze from the garden wafted in.

He dropped his pen and rose. "I thought you meant
to go with the treasure seekers," he said.

She closed the doors and came inside, and the room
brightened several degrees.

"I ought to be there," she said. "There
ought to be a witness from Edmund DeLucey's side. But they will find
nothing today. Everyone knows that, except the children."

"I know what you are thinking," Benedict said.
"I saw the panic in your eyes when Mandeville told them they
hadn't dug deep enough."

"You know he will keep contriving excuses to delay
our departure," she said. She began to pace the room, her hands
tightly folded against her stomach. 'Today, they must dig deeper.
Tomorrow he will make a case for digging at the New Lodge. You know
he is not concerned with laying ghosts to rest, whatever your father
says. Mandeville wants to give my daughter to Jack's family. He
thinks—everyone thinks it—that I am not a fit mother. He
wishes—and who can blame him?—for Olivia to have every
material advantage. And perhaps he wishes to make peace between the
families before he dies."

"I told you I would not let anyone take Olivia from
you," Benedict said. He crossed to her and took her tightly
folded hands in his.

"By law a child belongs to her father, and thus to
her father's family," she said.

"Fosbury will have to take it to the law, then, and
be prepared to spend the next decade or more in expensive legal
wrangling."

"You forget," she said tightly. "If you
go away with me, • you will not be able to afford expensive
lawsuits. If you go away with me, you will have no influence over
Lord Fosbury and any of his sympathizers. You will no longer have the
king's ear."

He knew all this. He knew what he would lose.

But he was intelligent and capable, and he would soon
make a new life for himself. A happy life, with a woman he loved and
a child to whom he'd already become attached.

"Then I shall have to be clever and cunning
instead," he said. "We shall simply have to take Olivia
away in the dead of night." He drew Bathsheba into his arms.
"Stop fretting. Have a little confidence in me. Try to remember
I'm perfect."

She laughed then, and he felt the tension go out of her.

"The trouble is, I am not," she said. "I
am not at all sure it is right to deprive her of— What is that
noise?"

Birds, he thought at first. The shriek of angry crows.

Bathsheba went to the French doors and opened them. The
sound came again.

Not birds.

A scream.

Bathsheba picked up her skirts and ran.

He raced after her.

* * *

"MAMA!"

"Coming!" Bathsheba cried. Rathbourne was
ahead of her, his long legs carrying him farther, faster.

"Mama!"

Olivia burst out from a turning and ran toward her
mother, arms outstretched. She was filthy, black from head to toe,
but she was running, unhurt. A moment later, Lord Lisle appeared,
equally dirty. "Sir!" he called. "Uncle!"

Bathsheba slowed and stopped. Rathbourne did, too.

"Mama," Olivia gasped.
"We
found it!"

Chapter 20

"IT" WAS A SMALL, DIRT-ENCRUSTED BOX ABOUT a
foot in length, and perhaps nine inches in height and depth.

One of the outdoor servants who'd assisted in the
excavation carried it to the terrace. There, family and guests
gathered round to watch as another servant stepped forward to brush
off the dirt. But Peregrine took the brush and cleaned the box
himself. He worked steadily and as gently as if the thing were made
of alabaster, though his hands shook with excitement.

In fact, the box proved to be made of wood and covered
in brass-studded leather.

It also proved to be securely locked.