Page 49

A spot of perspiration has formed on Edward’s upper lip and quickly he wipes it away. The man misses nothing. Deception seems quite impossible.

“There is a small chance,” Edward says helplessly.

“I see.”

Gough sits back in his chair, retrieves his glass of claret, takes a long slow sip.

Inwardly Edward curses. He should have said nothing. Now he has ruined his chances, ruined them completely. Dejected, he begins to rise from his seat.

“I’m sorry, sir. I should not have bothered you with this. I—”

“Sit down, Mr. Lawrence.”

Edward pauses midway in the rise, shoots a wary look at Cornelius. Cornelius nods. Perturbed, Edward sinks back into the creaking leather seat.

“You say there is a chance the pithos is of questionable origin,” Gough says now. “I must assume, then, you have no concrete proof?”

Edward hesitates. “No, sir, only a suspicion. And even then—”

“Is it founded?”

With unease Edward thinks of Miss Blake’s uncle, how the man cheated him out of five shillings for something that was worth not even one. Still, Edward hesitates.

“Possibly.”

“Hmm.” The older man watches him, marks Edward’s hesitance with interest. “Then, Mr. Lawrence, I would keep a careful watch on the matter.”

“Sir?”

Gough clears his throat, links his fingers together in a fleshy basket.

“As I said, this artefact is of significant historical importance. To ignore it would be an insult to the study of antiquities.”

Edward watches him, confused. “You still wish me to write the paper, even though the pithos might not be credible?”

“I do.”

“But surely the Society could not accept such a paper?”

The corner of Gough’s lip lifts. “Perhaps, Mr. Lawrence, there is another avenue you can explore.”

The conversation is proving to be a drain on his senses and Edward sighs, rubs a hand across his face.

“Please, sir, I beg of you to speak plainly. What is it you propose?”

The director looks at him from beneath his dark brows. “You are quite correct in thinking that the Society cannot align itself with a paper which has as its subject an item which has been stolen. If, on the other hand, it was acquired by legal means then you have leave to write your study and to submit it to us as part of your membership application.” Here Gough pauses. “If, however, the pithos was sourced dishonestly and you can find out how, then there is an argument to be made about how the antiquity trade functions within more questionable trade circles. A paper on the subject would be highly valuable to our community, for it is we who suffer so cruelly from the effects of such a damning trade. Certainly, no one has attempted to explore this delicate matter before.” Gough spreads his hands. “So, Mr. Lawrence. That is what I propose. I would wager that to submit either one of these papers would guarantee your acceptance into the Society. You gain your admittance, the living to which you have always aspired, and we gain a study that would enrich our library. I cannot make it any plainer than that.”

Edward stares.

He meant only to ask Gough’s advice, his thoughts on the trade, to ask—without being explicit—what the consequences might be for Miss Blake as an indirect party. If there is a possibility of her being harmed in any way he has no intention of writing a paper at all. He looks at the older man imploringly across the desk.

“But how am I supposed to write such a paper without implicating the people involved?”

Gough takes no notice of Edward’s pained look. “Ah, yes. The people involved. You said your concern was for the family, that your silence regarding their identities was in their best interests?”

“Yes.”

“Then I must ask why you would wish to protect people who disregard the legal and moral obligations of antiquarianism? Such people are not deserving of protection.”