Page 8 of Of Gold and Shadows (Time’s Lost Treasures #1)

8

It felt wrong to leave like this, which was frustrating. Ami pulled Price House’s back door shut and stepped out into the late afternoon sunshine. It wasn’t as if she was breaking the law—well, man’s law, at any rate. But God’s...?

Her heels dug hard into the pea gravel pathway. Was it truly deceitful to have told Barnaby she needed to retrieve a book from her father’s office in town? She would do so, of course, just to make good on her word, but she didn’t really need one of her father’s books. What she needed was to make haste in securing the amulets, then rush them back to the museum and hopefully return here in time for dessert. Mr. Price probably wouldn’t even notice her absence. A man like him had more important matters on his mind than a hireling who missed a bowl of soup. Besides, he had Mr. Fletcher to dine with.

She followed the path around the garden wall toward the stables out back, hoping to talk the stableboy into saddling a horse for her. Honestly, in a sense it felt more wrong to stay here. Surely Mr. Price would understand the drive to transact a sale in a timely fashion. Why, she was just as much a person of business as he. Mr. Price simply happened to meet with his clients in a comfortable office instead of a deserted park at night.

With a seller who’d as soon cut a man’s—or woman’s—throat if crossed.

Shoving that thought aside, she upped her pace, absently rubbing where the bruise on her cheek had been. She’d be careful as always, so there was nothing to fear, especially since she’d made it clear to Mr. Dandrae that whoever he sent her way from now on must swear to conduct business without violence on pain of retribution—Mr. Dandrae’s retribution. Since that would involve paid muscle of his own, he’d be sure to take extra screening precautions, or she’d quit doing business with him altogether. And more than anything, he did not wish to lose an income stream, so she had no doubt he’d comply.

As she rounded the backside of the garden wall, her steps slowed. Three wicker skeps sat in a row on a long bench, tempting her to pause for a moment. At this time of day, most of the bees were foraging for nectar, yet some buzzed around the dome-shaped hives. She really didn’t have time to admire them. She could come back tomorrow. ... Still, one little look wouldn’t take but a minute.

Crouching slowly, she focused on one busy honeybee in particular. Its tiny wings flapped frantically, producing a soft hum as it closed in on the small entrance at the bottom. What a tireless worker, absorbed on the task at hand, not even noticing she was around. A frown creased her brow. Father often sang the merits of getting lost in one’s work, a virtue she couldn’t deny—except when it shut out someone you loved.

“Ye must have honey in yer veins, fer most women would admire from afar.”

Startled by a deep voice, she shot to her feet, her hand flying to her chest. The man in front of her was a tall fellow, lean and sinewy, skin like a leather coin purse. He wore a straw hat with a broad brim and a blue work smock. Canvas leggings covered his trousers. In one gloved hand, he held a basket, and in the other, a tin smoke pot puffing out small clouds. The scent of beeswax clung to him, that and something more pungent. Manure.

Ah, the gardener.

“Forgive me.” She smiled. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

Despite his rugged appearance, a kind grin lifted his lips. “It ain’t intrudin’ if yer helpin,’ missy. Care to give me a hand?”

She glanced at the sky, where the sun crept lower on the horizon. It would be a treat to work with the bees, but she didn’t really have time for it.

“’Course if yer afeared,” he continued, “then be on yer way. Agitates my pets somethin’ fierce if they sense anythin’ other than a calm spirit.”

She lifted her chin. “I’m not afraid, it’s just that I—”

“Good.” He tipped his head toward a shed near the garden gate. “O’er there ye’ll find a spare pair o’ gloves and a netting fer yer face. Not that ye’ll take a sting from these lovelies, but always pays to take a care.”

“But I really can’t—”

“Don’t ye fret, now. Yer fine gown won’t get mucked up a bit or my name isn’t Phineas. I’ll be right here a-waitin’ for ye.”

Biting back a ragged sigh, she strode past him. It would be faster to simply help the fellow than argue with him. She yanked the hood over her head and shoved her hands into the gloves, more annoyed with herself for having paused by the bees in the first place. It was a ridiculous obsession, one her father had never understood. Her mother, though ... Ami’s heart softened as she shut the shed door. When dabbling in nature, she always felt closer to her mother. And besides, there were only three skeps. How long could it take?

“All right,” she said as she once again joined Phineas’s side. “Now what?”

“Jes stand there and hold this.” He handed her the empty basket. “I’ll load ’er up, and tha’s about all there is to it.”

Humming an old folksong, he set to work, puffing out a great deal of smoke around the first hive. Carefully, he then removed the dome and began carving out pieces of honeycomb with a small knife. She held out the basket to collect each chunk.

He eyed her as he set a piece inside. “Ye must be that professor woman Jameson told me about.”

Her brows raised. How novel. Finally, someone who didn’t question her abilities. “My father is the professor, but I have studied at his feet since a young girl. I’m an Egyptologist, here in his stead, cataloguing Mr. Price’s recent collection of artifacts.”

“Not here for the man, eh?”

“No, just at his request.”

“Well, well.” His grey eyes twinkled as he replaced the dome and moved to the next hive. “I expect he finds that a mite refreshing.”

Suddenly the disguise Mr. Price had worn when he’d hunted down her father’s office made sense. “He is frequently beleaguered by women, then?”

Phineas clucked his tongue. “I expect that’s what’s kept ’im from home all these years. That and ... well, other reasons, I suppose. He is the most eligible bachelor in all of Oxford, leastwise that’s what I hear.”

Ami cocked her head. Not that the man wasn’t thoroughly charming and pleasing to the eye, but integrity and looks alone didn’t make for such renown. “What makes him so sought after?”

“The name. Though they’re not titled folk, surely ye’ve heard of the Prices.”

“I, em, don’t really keep up with the rumblings of society, unless that society has something to do with ancient Egypt.”

“You are a singular woman, I’ll give ye that.” He chuckled. “The Prices made their money in the shipping industry, then expanded into other merchant investments. For all the talk of family lineage—of which there are some notable forefathers in the Price past—it is the wealth that attracts the women. His many estates, both here and abroad, lure ’em in like a fat leech on a hook.”

Interesting information, though probably a good thing she hadn’t known of it earlier, or she may have judged him more harshly. Wealthy men were notoriously arrogant, but Mr. Price had proved otherwise.

“You seem to know a lot about the Price family.” A bee landed on the back of her hand, and she blew it away with a gentle huff of air. “How long have you worked here?”

“Long as I been breathin.’ My family’s served Price House for generations.”

Two more bees tickled the skin near her wrist, and ever so lightly, she brushed them away.

Phineas paused before setting the next lump in the basket, his gaze holding hers. “Ye’ve a steady hand, miss, sign o’ a steady heart as well.”

Longing swelled in her chest. Would that her father had taken the time to notice such a thing. “It is kind of you to say so. Thank you.”

The gardener went back to humming as he moved to the last skep. After a few more cuts of honeycomb, he finished his tune. “Did ye know bees are some o’ the most consistent creatures around? They’ve a job to do, and they do it without fail. I reckon that’s a lesson fer all o’ us, keepin’ our commitments no matter what distractions come our way. One could do worse than learn from these beauties.”

Oh, the irony. Instant guilt churned in her belly. Of course old Phineas could have no way of knowing that his ruminations hit her like a hammer, for that’s exactly what she was doing by sneaking away tonight. Taking time from her commitment to Mr. Price, being distracted from her work here. Then again, sitting at a linen-clothed table wasn’t really working either.

Was it?

She frowned. If she missed this appointment, would Mr. Dandrae become wary of sending business her way?

Phineas replaced the dome, then pulled a soft-bristled brush from his smock pocket and handed it over. “Take a light touch, miss, and gently sweep away those what are still a-buzzin’ about the comb, then I’ll cover ’er up.”

She barely kissed the bristles to the bees, and they took flight. One of them landed on her face netting, giving her a close-up view of the tiny hairs on its legs before it darted away. What a wonder. God’s creation never failed to make her marvel.

Once she cleared the honeycomb, Phineas laid a white cloth over the top of her basket. Taking off his hat, he swiped his forehead with the back of his hand, looking pleased with their work. “Well done, lass. Let’s wrap ye up a piece fer yer efforts. Come along.”

She followed, heart full. Funny how such a small task could be so fulfilling, and it truly hadn’t taken a great deal of time.

Inside the shed, she pulled off her netting and gloves. While Phineas packaged a small bundle of honeycomb, a quiet lap-lap-lap caught her ear. Curious, she ventured to the corner, only to spy the black cat enjoying a saucer of cream. She crouched and ran her finger along the silky fur of its back. The cat barely noticed, so tasty was its treat.

She grinned over at Phineas. “Spoiling him, are you?”

He approached, his grey eyes fixed on his new pet. “Jes’ showin’ him where his home is. One always returns to where they’re cared for the most.”

Ami blinked. This gardener was a regular philosopher. “You are full of wisdom, Mr. Phineas—”

“Jes Phineas, miss, and no, child.” He chuckled as he handed her the cloth bundle. “I’ve no claim to wisdom other than what God teaches me here in the garden.”

“Well, I should say you’ve learned a great deal.” She tucked the package into her pocket. “And now I really should be going. Good day, Phineas.”

He dipped his head. “Appreciate the help, miss. G’day to ye.”

She’d barely reached the door before he called out, “Oh, and miss?”

“Yes?” She glanced over her shoulder.

“See that ye take a care with Mr. Price as well as ye did with my pets today. I’d not willingly see ’im hurt again, and ye remind me a great deal o’ her.”

Her brows knotted. “Her who?”

“I reckon tha’s for him to tell ye, miss. Jes ... tread as lightly with him as ye did with the bees, and all will be a’right.”

“Of course,” she murmured, confused as to why the old gardener felt the need to tell her such a thing. It wasn’t as if Mr. Price was interested in her when he could have any woman in society on his arm.

She strode outside, the sweet scent of roses thick on the air. The fact was that clearly some woman had hurt him in the past, which really wasn’t any of her business. She was here to do a job, nothing more, nothing less—and the next stab of guilt hitched her step. Running off to broker a deal on a stolen artifact had absolutely nothing to do with the job she’d been hired for at Price House. Should she really be going?

But if she didn’t, those faience amulets would more than likely end up stuffed away in some private home instead of being put on museum display for rich and poor alike to admire.

Edmund straightened his four-in-hand as he strode into the dining room, the blasted fabric nearly choking him, only to be intercepted by Barnaby the moment he crossed the threshold.

“A word from Miss Dalton, sir. She regrets to say she won’t be at dinner tonight. Something about retrieving a book from her father’s library.”

A peculiar wave of disappointment washed over him. He’d been looking forward to the woman’s lively conversation, but he hadn’t realized how much until the opportunity was stolen. He did feel a bit guilty for flirting with her so frequently, but she made it far too easy with her witty banter and uncommon beauty. Too bad she wasn’t Bastion’s daughter, or he’d give that matrimony idea more of a consideration. It was so easy to be around Miss Dalton, to laugh, to banter ... quite unlike the cool and distant relationship his parents had suffered—a marriage he would avoid at all costs. No, marrying Violet was out of the question, and he’d have to tell the man as much.

He gave a final tweak to his tie as he narrowed his eyes on the butler. “Why did you not offer to send a boy to fetch it for her?”

“I did, sir.” Barnaby shrugged, his sharp bones lifting his black suit coat at the shoulders. “Yet the lady claimed her father’s office is such a fright that no one but her would be able to find it.”

An image of the cluttered odds and ends he’d seen crammed into that small room came to mind. “True enough,” he murmured. “Thank you, Barnaby.” He made to sidestep the man.

The butler followed his movement, blocking his path. “There is one more thing I think you should know.” He tipped his head slightly, indicating Gil on the far side of the room. “Mr. Fletcher did not bring any baggage.”

Edmund wrinkled his brow. “What are you talking about?”

“There was no trunk on his carriage, sir, and as you’ll note, he is not dressed for dinner. I daresay Mr. Fletcher will be wearing the same garments tomorrow ... and the next day. All he came with was a small satchel he refused to let anyone handle but himself.” Barnaby took a step closer, voice thinning to a whisper. “And he’s been making rather free with the wine as well.”

Edmund regarded his business partner. Sure enough, Gil tossed back a great guzzle as he peered up at the Price family portrait wall. How odd. He was a teetotaler.

Or at least he had been.

Edmund’s gaze drifted back to Barnaby. “Thanks for the information.”

Successfully sidestepping the butler this time, he strode the length of the dining table. He’d been hoping to ask Gil about his supposed good news tonight, but in his current state, that might be out of the question. “Good evening, Gil.”

Gil faced him, the colour of his cheeks nearly matching the drink in his hand. How many glasses had he already downed?

“Good evening to you, Price.” He toasted his glass in the air. “Nothing but the best, eh, old man?”

Edmund clenched his jaw, the new moniker beginning to grate. “Never let it be said Price House doesn’t treat its guests well, and I would prefer you go back to calling me simply Edmund instead of old man.”

“Oh? Ha-ha! Why, the term is all the rage in London. Though with you having been gone for so long, I suppose you’re not familiar with such things ... which is good.”

Edmund rubbed the back of his neck. True, he had been out of the country, but he wouldn’t have expected such commonalities to become trendy in his absence. Even so, he willed a pleasant smile. “Say, Gil, you didn’t happen to hire a second coach to bring your effects, did you?”

“Hmm?” His wide brow wrinkled.

“My butler informed me there was no trunk on your carriage.”

“Oh yes. Ha-ha! About that.” He slugged down the rest of his drink, then swiped his hand across his mouth. “Had a bit of a mishap on the way here. It appears my trunk was put on the wrong coach. I expect my suits are in Brighton by now, having a jolly holiday.”

“I am sorry to hear it.” He frowned as Gil snatched the decanter off the wine cart and refilled his glass. “I shall have Barnaby pull a few of my suits for your use until everything is sorted out.”

“Good of you, old man.” Gil slapped him on the back, sloshing wine onto the rug.

Edmund gritted his teeth. Barnaby hadn’t been jesting about his partner’s wine intake. “Some food is in order, I think.” He swept his hand toward the table. “Shall we?”

“Should we not wait for the divine Mish—em, Miss Dalton?”

While it was true Miss Dalton was pleasing to the eye, it annoyed him that Gil had noticed. “She will not be joining us after all.”

“Such a shame,” Gil slurred as he sank sloppily into a chair. “I think she rather fancied me.”

“I have it on reliable authority she only admires mummified corpses.” He shook out his serviette with a sharp snap. Somehow the thought of Miss Dalton preferring Gil over him stuck like a fishbone in his throat. Which only irritated him further. He didn’t have time to think about a woman. Lifting a finger, he signaled for the first course.

Gil motioned for more wine. “So how many buyers have you lined up for our ’Gyptian collection?”

“Only one thus far. I didn’t wish to get too far ahead of myself. It’s not even priced yet.” The rich scent of curry filled the air as the footman removed the lid from the mulligatawny.

Gil picked up his glass instead of his spoon. “Say, do you really think that little filly is up to the task? Maybe you ought to get someone who knows—well, well, here she is now.” The flatware on the table rattled as Gil grabbed hold of the tablecloth to steady himself while he rose.

Edmund glanced over his shoulder. In strolled Miss Dalton, hair loosely caught up at the nape of her neck as if she’d dashed across a field to get here.

And he wouldn’t be astonished in the least if she had.

He stood with a grin and pulled out her chair. “Miss Dalton, what a surprise. I take it you found your book in record time.”

“My—?” Her nose scrunched as she took her seat. “Oh. Yes. Well, you see, I didn’t actually go to my father’s office. I couldn’t reconcile taking time away from working on your cargo.”

“I hope you don’t feel you’re a prisoner here.” He frowned as he reclaimed his chair.

“If I am”—she smiled—“then this is a lovely cage.”

“Not half as lovely as you, my dear.” Gil planted his elbow on the table, chin in hand, eyeing her like a cream puff on a silver platter.

Edmund was tempted to knock away the man’s propped arm, not so much for the compliment but for the look in his eyes. What had gotten into his business partner to account for such a change? Clearly the spirits he imbibed played a role in his current mannerisms, but had something happened on the Continent that he was trying to drown out?

Miss Dalton lifted her chin, apparently ignoring Gil’s blatant stare. “Thank you, Mr. Fletcher.”

The footman leaned in, removing the tureen while Barnaby filled the empty spot with a large platter. He had barely lifted the cover when Gil tapped the rim of his empty glass. “A refill, if you please.”

Barnaby nodded, the tightness of his jaw his only hint of displeasure. Clearly Fletcher’s conduct was getting on the staff’s nerves—and Edmund’s.

Without waiting for approval, Edmund spooned out a healthy serving and plopped it onto Gil’s plate. If the man didn’t get some food into him soon, he’d pass out by the time pudding was served. “Try this chana masala, Gil. I think it will be to your liking.”

“Miss Dalton is to my liking.” He waggled his eyebrows.

Edmund’s irritation flared. “Mind your manners,” he grumbled for Gil’s ears alone.

“Don’t be such a prig, old man.” Gil cut his hand through the air. “Just having a bit of fun. We are having fun, are we not, Miss Dalton?”

Miss Dalton merely picked up her fork—God bless her—and took a bite, overlooking his poor behaviour. “Mmm. This is delicious.”

Pleasure warmed his chest. Granted, it was a small thing, but for the delicate senses of the usual Englishwoman, spicy food would’ve been tolerated at best, not praised. And it was spicy—exactly how he liked it. “You like Indian fare?”

“I adore all things exotic. Have you tried koshari ?” At the shake of his head, she continued. “It’s an Egyptian dish made of lentils, rice, and chickpeas in a rather fiery sauce. A little spicier than this, I should say. I love it, and it’s one of my father’s favorites.”

“You’re one of mine.” Gil shoved away his plate, completely untouched.

The vein in Edmund’s temple began to throb. Since when had his business partner become such a lecher? He reached for Gil’s wine glass and moved it away.

“I say!” Gil objected. “What do you think you are—”

“So, Miss Dalton,” Edmund interrupted. “What treasures did you uncover today?”

“Just one, but a rather large one at that, and its rarity only adds to the uniqueness of your collection.” Her eyes sparkled in the lamplight. “A six-foot statue of Anubis carved from ebony and embellished with gold leaf. Your staff was helpful in unpacking the big fellow, as it is quite heavy. It took two men to move it.”

“You should have called on me, my dear,” Gil slurred. “I would help you with anything.”

“And yet, Mr. Fletcher”—she skewered him with a sharp look, apparently tired of his innuendos—“after so much wine, I believe it is you who will be requiring help to make it to your room tonight.”

“Oh?” he drawled as he leaned over the table toward her. “Are you offering for the task?”

That did it.

Edmund shot to his feet and hauled Gil up by the arm. “You’re finished, Fletcher. Go sleep it off.” He glanced over at Barnaby. “See Mr. Fletcher to his quarters, please.”

“At once, sir.” In four long strides, Barnaby shored up Gil with an arm around his shoulder.

Gil immediately pulled away. “I’ll walk myshelf, thank you very mush,” he slurred as he stumbled from the room.

Edmund sighed. There was a fine line between granting his partner the dignity to retreat alone and ensuring his safety ... though in truth, after the way he’d just treated Miss Dalton, a wicked part of him wished the man would stagger right into a wall.

He met Barnaby’s gaze. “Check on him after a few minutes, will you?”

“Of course, sir.”

Edmund sank back to his chair, angling toward Miss Dalton. “I apologize for my partner’s behaviour. It was unconscionable. He’s not usually like that.”

“Don’t worry about me, Mr. Price. I am not a flower so easily crushed.” She smiled as she took another bite.

His gaze lingered on her. He couldn’t help but admire the woman’s unfazed resilience ... the very trait he’d admired in Louisa as well. And look what that had done to him. Left him little better than a twisted wreck. He was tempted to slug back his own glass of wine at the thought, but he reached for his water instead. He’d do well to tread carefully around Miss Dalton.

She dabbed her lips with her serviette. “I met your gardener today. Phineas.”

“He’s a good man.” Edmund chewed a bite thoughtfully. “Though given to roping in the unsuspecting. Let me guess. He asked you to deadhead the roses.”

“Collect honeycomb, actually.”

“A job you no doubt enjoyed, what with your passion for honeybees.”

A lovely pink deepened her cheeks. “You remembered.”

I remember everything about you.

Blast! So much for treading carefully.

He set down his fork, no longer hungry. “I realize it is far too early for you to estimate what my shipment is worth, but I do have an interested party stopping by my study tomorrow morning at ten o’clock. I wonder if you might be there to verify the value of what you’ve uncovered thus far?”

“I could, but . . .” She bit her lip.

“But what?”

She pushed away her plate, finished as well. “It might be better if I merely give you a tally for you to relate the information.”

“If this is about your worry of taking time away from the cargo, think nothing of it. Meeting with sellers is part of the business as well. I find that bringing in an expert lends credence to a sale.”

She met his gaze, fire in her eyes. “And I find that men have a hard time believing a woman can be an expert.”

“Rubbish.” He snorted. “You’ve proven to me you know what you’re about.”

Those same eyes suddenly glistened, and if he didn’t know any better, he’d suspect the intrepid Miss Dalton was near tears.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

For the life of him, he couldn’t think as to why he’d evoked such a clear emotion. “While I appreciate the gratitude, I wonder what it is for?”

“In my line of work, Mr. Price, it is a rare compliment for a woman to be acknowledged as a historical authority.”

He peered at her closely, saddened by whatever hurts she’d suffered for the sake of men’s pride. “Some men are far too insecure in themselves.”

“Yet you are not.” She met his gaze—and held it.

“A trait I was forced to learn at a young age.” As was every lad at boarding school, for it was either learn to stick up for yourself or take a beating.

“I suppose we have both learned, then, to stand our ground. It is an attribute I must hone if I ever hope to lead a dig in Egypt someday.”

He angled his head. A commendable goal and quite bold for a woman. “So that is your great aspiration, is it? To lead an excavation in the Egyptian sands?”

“It is.” She flashed a brilliant grin.

“Then I pray that one day your dream shall come true.” He lifted his glass. “To dreams.”

She lifted hers in response. “To—”

Footsteps pounded into the dining room, Barnaby’s usual slicked-back hair hanging loose over his brow. “Pardon the interruption,” he puffed, “but you must come at once, sir.”

“Where?” He shoved back his chair. “What’s happened?”

“It’s Mr. Fletcher. I went to check on him as you asked and—” His gaze darted to Miss Dalton. Whatever he had to say couldn’t be good.

Edmund dipped his head. “Lead on.”

He followed Barnaby’s long legs out the door, down the passageway, and across the great front hall to where Gil lay on the marble floor.

A pool of blood near his head.