Page 17 of Of Gold and Shadows (Time’s Lost Treasures #1)

17

“Quarantine. Preferably in a separate building. Trust me, it’s the only way. You do not want to see this spread.”

Dr. Greenwood’s diagnosis was a brick to Edmund’s head, driving away the final sweet memories of holding Ami in his arms last night. He pressed his fingers against his temple, where a throbbing pain started, the walls of the study closing in on him. “Are you certain it’s influenza?”

“I’m afraid so. I’ve given your housekeeper instructions until I stop back later this evening. In the meantime, I suggest you go on holiday. Even with the quarantine, anyone staying beneath this roof runs the risk of contracting the illness.” He collected the medical bag near his feet. “Good day, Mr. Price.”

Edmund rounded the desk to shake the man’s hand. “Thank you, Doctor. Oh, and let’s keep this information out of the public eye. I don’t wish to alarm the neighbours.”

“Naturally.” Greenwood sniffed. “Panic is never good for the community.”

Edmund let out a long breath as the doctor departed, devising what to say so as not to cause a fright amongst his guests or staff. Barnaby would remain level-headed, as would his housekeeper, but there was no guaranteeing how everyone else might react. What an untimely disaster. He glanced at the ceiling, his heart looking far beyond the plaster.

Merciful God, spare the lives of my two maids and grant the illness be stopped. This is beyond my control—and You alone know how I loathe such a weakness. I have been here before ... please do not let me fail this time.

Horrid memories of the ’86 cholera outbreak crowded in, upping the pounding in his head. So many lives lost. So many that could have been saved if he’d stood up to Colonel McDonnough and forced him to isolate the sick.

He yanked the bell cord harder than necessary. Clearing his throat several times over from a scratchiness that had taken root, he paced the rug until Barnaby poked his head in the door.

“Yes, sir?”

“The sick maids must be moved at once. Have Jameson settle his belongings in the house, then set the women up in his cottage. After that, no one but Mrs. Buckner is to have contact with them. Is that understood?”

“Without question.” Barnaby gave a sharp nod. “I shall see it carried out at once, sir.”

Barnaby strode away.

As did Edmund. With clipped steps, he hurried toward the breakfast room—only to be stopped in the front hall by a whistling tune and the ever-present wily grin on Bram Webb’s face. His friend held a travel case in one hand, his hat tilted at a jaunty angle.

Edmund’s brow bunched. “Leaving without breakfast?”

“I’ve an early train to catch. As always, Price, it’s been entertaining.” He shot out his hand.

Edmund gave it a hearty shake. “As much as I hate to see you go, my friend, I was about to ask you to leave anyway. There is illness in the house, so take a care should you start to feel poorly.”

“You know me.” He clicked his tongue. “Slipping away just ahead of danger is one of my virtues.”

“Always the cavalier, but beware. One day you just may get caught in a dangerous net.” He clapped Bram on the back. “Thanks for valuing those coins. I owe you.”

“A promise I shall collect on in the future, Price. Until then, I leave you with your guests—or lack thereof, as the case may be. I’ll spare a quick good-bye to Ami, then let myself out.” With a mock salute, he wheeled about.

Ami?

The throbbing in his head banged all the harder. Her name on his friend’s lips was a punch to the gut, a blow he’d not take without knowing why.

“Wait.” The word came out more of a growl than a command.

Bram turned, one brow lifted.

In three great strides, Edmund closed the distance between them. “Is there something I should know about you and my employee, Miss Dalton?”

Bram chuckled, mischief flashing in his eyes. “Why? Are you jealous?” He waggled his eyebrows.

Oh, he was more than that. He’d lost many things to his friend—countless cigars, a prized antique snuffbox, too many card games to count—but old companion or not, on this he would stand his ground. “So help me, Webb, if you trifled with Miss Dalton, I swear I’ll—”

“Calm down.” Bram chuckled. “I know I’m devilishly handsome, but it’s not like that. I assure you the lady and I connected on a purely academic level. Turns out we have a lot of the same contacts thanks to her father’s position. But why such vitriol from you?” Bram’s eyes narrowed as he studied Edmund’s face, then widened. “Ah, I see.”

Despite his friend’s seemingly harmless explanation of his relationship with Ami, irritation still spread like a bruise beneath Edmund’s skin. “What do you see?”

“Something you fear.” An impish grin flashed across Bram’s face as he reset his hat. “Good-bye, Price.” Turning on his heel, he strode away, resuming his whistled tune right where he’d left off.

Blast that Webb! His friend ever had been too deuced cryptic, which had done him no good in his college days nor now. Scowling, Edmund set off at a brisk pace to the breakfast room, foul of mood.

And his ire only increased when Violet swooped over to him and linked arms before he had both feet inside the door.

“There you are, naughty fellow.” She poked him in the chest. “I’ve already finished my crumpet and jam and was hoping for a short stroll with you before you closet yourself away with my father.”

The viscount peered over the top of his newspaper. “Not now, daughter. Time enough for such diversions after he’s won the election.”

Across the table, Gil shoveled in a final bite of eggs, then dabbed his mouth with a serviette. “I’ll accompany you, Miss Woolsey.”

She cast him a dark look. “I must decline your offer, Mr. Fletcher. I wouldn’t wish Edmund to get jealous.”

Hah. No danger of that. He unwound his arm from hers. Clearly the viscount hadn’t yet spoken to her about his denial to marry her. He’d do so himself right now were he not trying to get them out the door posthaste. “I’m afraid there will be no strolling or any further discussion about my electoral platform. In fact, I must ask you all to leave.”

“But, Edmund!” Violet popped her fists onto her hips.

“See here, Price.” Bastion slapped the newspaper onto the table, rattling the teacups. “If you have any hope of winning, we must square away not only what you stand for but what you stand against.”

“Understood, my lord, but we will have to work out the finer details via correspondence.” He poured a stout cup of coffee and downed a few swallows, hoping the dark brew would ease the slight ache in his throat. “There is sickness in the house, and I would not have any of you taking ill.”

“Nonsense. Don’t tell me you’re the sort of man to let a few sniffles shut down your political ambitions.”

“Influenza is more than a trivial cold. I have two maids fighting for their lives even as I speak.”

A little shriek pipped out of Violet, and she edged away from his side as if he suffered the plague.

“Aha!” Gil rapped the table. “The curse of Amentuk strikes again, eh, old man?”

Shoving back his chair, the viscount rose. “You may be right, Price. The final wording can be accomplished via wire. You’ll be hearing from me. Come along, Violet.”

He strode out the door, Violet’s steps in double time to match his long strides.

Draining his cup, Edmund set it on the sideboard, then faced Gil. “If you hurry, you can ride into town with the Woolseys.”

Gil laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back in his chair. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“To stay might very well mean risking your life.”

He tipped his head, morning sunlight glinting an odd gleam in his eyes. “I will not leave until I have my portion of the profit from those relics.”

“You’d risk your life in order to collect a few coins?”

“I don’t see you dashing out of here.”

He bit back a wince. That hit home, for more reasons than one. Naturally, as master of the estate, leaving during a crisis could be seen as a dereliction of duty at best, and at worst, show he thought his life above those in his employ. A noble reason to remain, but not the only one.

He needed those antiquities sold. Soon. But how to do that without Ami’s expertise? For he must ask her to leave, yet she was only a little over halfway through valuing the artifacts. And when she did leave, there was no question she’d take his heart right along with her. He froze, a cold sweat breaking out on his brow.

Sweet, blessed mercy.

Bram had been right.

Edmund spun away from Gil, fists and jaw clenched. Gooseflesh prickled along his forearms. He was afraid. Terrified, actually. For eight long years, he’d steeled himself against ever going through this again, yet despite his carefully crafted barriers, somehow—some way—love had sneaked in like a killer in the night.

Only this time was different. During moments of solitude, he increasingly found himself contemplating the idea that perhaps his views on marriage were skewed. Maybe by witnessing the dismal relationship of his parents and experiencing his own shallow alliance with Louisa, he’d become soured on what ought to be a God-given gift. And, oh, how he yearned for something beyond the superficial, especially after holding Ami in his arms last evening. He knew for certain now he’d never loved Louisa as thoroughly as that mismatched pixie of an Egyptologist.

He swallowed hard, throat aching. If Ami betrayed him as Louisa had, he’d never survive it.

Pausing from yet again trying to authenticate the griffin, Ami flopped her arms on the worktable and buried her face, giving in to a few moments of rest. No doubt she looked a wreck, which was why she’d skipped breakfast. Violet would have engaged in several jolly pokes about the dark crescents beneath her eyes and her loose, unbrushed hair. It couldn’t be helped, though, for she hadn’t slept a stitch last night. Every time she closed her eyes, all she could see was Edmund’s face, his eyes, those lips. Bosh! She’d never desired a man so strongly. Which was unfortunate. There was no way a relationship could work between them. She knew nothing about his world of fancy dinners and political intrigues. Besides, had he truly meant it when he’d asked if she’d consider spending her life with him? It wasn’t actually a proposal, not a drop-to-one-knee-and-request-her-hand-in-marriage sort of thing. Surely his words were mere whispers in the shadows, a momentary lapse of formality caused by the late hour and romantic setting. And yet...

She pounded her forehead against the table. Why did she wish his proposal had been real?

Behind her, footsteps clapped on the parquet floor. She sat upright, twisting her hair with one hand, then jamming the pencil through it to form a makeshift chignon.

Bram Webb entered with a grin. “Just popping in to say good-bye and extend a reminder that if you or your father are ever in Cambridge, I’m the man to show you a good time.”

No doubt he was. This charming scoundrel was part pirate, part scholar, and altogether mischief. Half a smile quirked her lips. “Thanks for the offer, but I wouldn’t hold my breath on that were I you. If I ever have the chance to travel, you can bet my best pair of cotton gloves it will be to Egypt. Still, it was a pleasure meeting you.”

He cocked his head. “But even more pleasurable for you to meet Price, eh?”

Heat crawled up her neck. Schooling her expression, she lifted her chin. “Mr. Price is a good man to work for.”

“He’s a good man period, so mind you tread lightly. I’d hate to see him crushed again by a woman.”

Interesting. First a warning from Phineas, and now him? She’d never once broken a heart, nor did she intend to do so. Shifting in her chair, she leaned her elbows on the table at her back. “You ought to be having this conversation with Miss Woolsey. She’s the one who means to marry him.”

“Maybe so, but Miss Woolsey isn’t the one he loves.”

Her breath caught in her throat. Was he seriously implying that Edmund was in love with her? Dare she believe such a thing? If she did, that could change everything. Her hopes. Her dreams. She bit her lower lip, worrying the skin between her teeth. Would she truly be able to set aside her aspirations of uncovering Egyptian relics, all for the sake of a man? No indeed. There was no way she could turn her back on her years of hard work for a mere man ... and yet there was nothing “mere” about Edmund Price.

“A word of advice, my new friend.” Bram clapped on his hat. “To protect the treasures of the past, one must understand the delicate dance between excavation, conservation, and the cultivation of present relationships ... and I’m speaking as much to myself as to you.” The case clock in the corridor bonged, and he gave a nonchalant glance over his shoulder at the sound. “That’s my cue. Good-bye, Ami.” He dipped his head before wheeling about.

“Good-bye, Bram,” she called after him.

It felt a little strange calling the man by his Christian name after knowing him for only a day, but truly, Bram Webb seemed more of a brother than anything—unlike Edmund. After the way he’d spoken to her last night, and now with Bram’s declaration that he didn’t love Violet ... had those words whispered in the dark been more than a fleeting flirtation? Could she—should she—develop a relationship with him? Suddenly she felt torn between her duty to protect history, the desire to make history, and the craving to make a life with a certain blue-eyed man. Little tingles ran down her arms. Absently, she rubbed them as she turned back to work.

“I was hoping to find you here.”

Her heart skipped a beat at Edmund’s low voice, the tingles turning electric—but this was not the time to give in to fanciful emotions.

Pull yourself together, girl!

Inhaling deeply, she turned, veiling her true feelings. “Did you hear from the doctor?”

“Yes.” He pulled over a chair, lines creasing his brow. “It’s influenza. You’ll have to pack your things at once.”

Her heart squeezed at the thought of leaving Edmund and abandoning her work. “There are at least a dozen crates left to unpack. What about your deadline?”

“Unfortunately, it remains.” He rubbed the back of his neck, and judging by the slight tightening of his eyes, she guessed he had a headache. “I’ll just have to sell what you’ve already priced to Mr. Harrison and add in the rest at a flat rate.”

The thought of these priceless antiquities tucked away in some forgotten corner of England churned the milk and tea in her belly. “What about the Cairo Museum?”

He shook his head. “I haven’t heard back from them yet, and even if I did, I suspect they would want a verified tally of each item, not boxes of unknown relics.”

She met Edmund’s gaze unwaveringly. “Then I shall stay and continue working.”

“No. I will not have you taking ill.”

“I won’t.” She swept her hand toward the only somewhat-empty corner in the room. “I’ll have Barnaby set up a cot in here so there will be no need for me to interact with anyone.”

“Absolutely not. I won’t risk it.”

“But I will.” She flashed him a smile, yet it did nothing to slacken his frown.

“Why?” The morning sun pouring through the windows highlighted the weariness in his eyes, and something more ... what? Surprise? Suspicion? Irritation? He gave his neck one last knead, then dropped his hand. “Your loyalty is, well ... I must say it astonishes me.”

“That’s an easy enough question to answer. For one”—she held the small clay seal she’d been cleaning in front of his face—“these items belong in the Cairo Museum, and if having them legitimately valued and priced is what is required, then I shall do it. It is imperative such rare antiquities be showcased and celebrated by their own people.”

“You’ve made that abundantly clear already. What’s the other reason?”

“Because you made it clear you need the money.” She set the seal carefully down on the soft cloth, then angled her head at him. “Though for the life of me I cannot understand why the wealthiest man I’ve ever met should need more.”

He splayed his hands. “I may be wealthy, but most of my money is tied up in investments at the moment.”

“So what is your pressing need that makes you require cash in hand? Surely you have everything you could want for.”

“By the grace of God, I do, but it’s not for me.”

She tapped her finger against the tabletop. Who would this man deem so important that he’d take on such a daunting task as this?

“Then who?” she asked point-blank.

A soft sigh escaped his lips—a mouth she’d been trying very hard not to stare at.

Thankfully, he rose and began pacing. “When I first arrived in India, I was quite green. I didn’t understand the culture, and I most certainly did not understand the land. Like a fool, I tried to broker all contracts myself, not trusting anyone to do so in my stead. One such deal, however, needed to be transacted on the other side of a mountain. The one—and only—road had been washed out, so I set off with a machete and the swagger of a twenty-two-year-old. I didn’t make it very far before I tripped and landed on a snake.”

He stopped in front of her, and with a quick roll of his sleeve, exposed the inside of his forearm. Two jagged lines, slightly irregular in shape, marred his skin. Raised. Slightly rough. Deeply pink. Less than a quarter of an inch, but deadly all the same.

“Oh my,” she breathed.

“And unlike Miss Woolsey’s experience in the garden”—he straightened the cuff of his sleeve—“this one truly was a deadly viper.”

A shiver ran the length of her spine. “A Russell’s viper?”

Admiration deepened the blue in his eyes. “You do know your snakes, don’t you?”

Unfortunately, she did. That particular venom was highly toxic. He’d have suffered internal bleeding in a matter of hours and died within a day. She pressed a hand to her roiling belly. “How did you survive?”

“God’s providence.” He sank into his chair, looking more tired than she’d ever witnessed. “A native found me shortly after the strike. He slung me over his shoulder and ran me to his village, straight up the side of that mountain. I still marvel at his strength. I outweighed the man by at least six stone. He knew exactly what to do, and though it took nearly a month of recuperation, he never left my side ... which earned him the ostracism of his tribe. Sanjay lost all standing in the village for his care of me—a white man.”

“And it is this Sanjay who is in need right now?”

He nodded. “Because of me, Sanjay was forced to move his family to Calcutta. I helped him start a small textile business, and he and his family had quite the knack for weaving the traditional fabric patterns they grew up with. He struggled to sell it, though, the Calcuttans preferring nothing so quaint, so I exported some samples to London. That’s when his business really took off. Once his extended family heard of his success, they left the village and moved in with him as well. As you’ve likely deduced, he is a very conscientious fellow and would not turn any of them away, which has been fine up till the present.”

“Why?” Her brows pinched. “What changed?”

“There’s an exorbitant new export tariff set to go into action at the end of next month, one that will drain all of Sanjay’s current English sales—which makes up the bulk of his income—dooming him and his family to poverty.”

Ami tapped her lower lip with one finger. “So you mean to sell this cargo and send the money to Sanjay. I am surprised he would take such charity. Men are generally very proud creatures.”

“Not when it comes to saving the lives of loved ones. But to ease any discomfort he might feel, I’ll send the funds along with a contract, making us official business partners, so no charity involved.” He lifted his chin, defiant. “That will get him through until I can figure out a way to reverse the pending tariff legislation.”

Most rich patrons with whom her father dealt clutched their purses with a death grip. She found it sweet that Edmund had the opposite mindset. She laid a light touch to his sleeve. “I think it is very noble of you to help your friend.”

His gaze flicked between her touch and her eyes. “Just as I think it is noble of you to wish to stay here.” His eyes hardened to gunmetal grey. “But I still insist you leave, and I won’t take no for an answer.”