Page 5

5

Eva gloried in the route from Royston to Cambridge. All along the way trees disrobed like blushing brides, shedding their reds and oranges into colourful swirls on each side of the road. The sweet scent of cherry tobacco puffing out of Sinclair’s pipe had made for a pleasant accompaniment as well. A good start for what she hoped would be a profitable outing.

Cambridge itself was a charming town despite the crowds. Carriage wheels clattered along the cobblestones, pedestrians darting about like water striders skimming a pond. And such clamor! Hawkers barked about their candied apples and hot sausages, competing loudly with the ring of bicycle bells and street musicians. Such lively activity was exhilarating.

Shortly after Sinclair turned the pony cart onto a quieter lane, the hallowed halls of Trinity College came into view. Eventually he pulled on the reins. “Easy now, Dusty.”

As the faithful old horse slowed to a stop in front of the entrance, the steward hopped down and rounded the carriage. “Here we are, miss.” He held up his hand, helping her from her perch. “My offer yet stands. I’ll gladly wait while you conduct your business.”

She brushed wrinkles from her traveling coat. “I don’t want you to miss out on one minute of your brother’s company. I’ll meet you at the Golden Lion as planned. I’m sure you’ll have plenty to discuss until I return. Besides, in this glorious weather, I relish a stroll. I may even stop at Heffer’s bookshop on the way. You know I don’t mind getting lost in there for an hour.”

His lips twisted into a wry grin. “Knowing you, it will be two or three, miss. If I can get you out the door even after that.”

“I’m not promising anything.” She returned his smile as she tucked away some strands blown from the refuge of her bonnet.

“Very well, miss.” Sinclair tipped his hat. “Until then.”

Gathering her hem, Eva climbed the college’s front steps, then paused as the gateway opened to a vast quadrangle. Gothic-style buildings lined the courtyard. Cloistered walkways hemmed the edges. Students dashed to their classes or clustered in groups on the lawn, their academic gowns billowing about in the autumn breeze. Where to go?

“May I help you, miss?” A man with the college insignia embroidered on his collar approached.

“Yes, please. I’m looking for the history department. Could you direct me?”

“Of course, miss.” The porter angled his head, indicating for her to step out of the flow of foot traffic. “This stretch of lawn is the Great Court. You’ll be wanting Nevile’s Court, just through that gateway on the west side. See it?”

She followed the length of his blue sleeve, spying a smaller yet as ornate entryway. “I do.”

“Very good. Once you pass through, you’ll take the cloister walk on your right, which will lead you to the building you’re wanting. You can’t miss it. The entrance has a bronze plaque with the word History on it.”

“Thank you very much.”

“My pleasure, miss. Enjoy your visit to Trinity College.”

She set off at a brisk pace and found the place easily enough, for the porter’s directions had been very thorough. The front desk clerk, however, wasn’t nearly as helpful—though perhaps he might’ve been if he was at his station. Her stomach rumbled, and she pressed her hand against it. It was lunch hour, after all, which likely accounted for his absence. What an ill-timed arrival.

Pulling off her gloves, she glanced at a wooden bench, debating if she ought to wait it out or go looking for a professor. If the front of the building had a placard, ought not the instructors’ offices bear markings as well? There were two corridors to choose from, plus a stairway straight ahead. It seemed most logical that a teacher’s office ought to be easily accessed by students, so she discarded the stairs idea just as a jolly chuckle pulled her attention to the passage on her left.

A tall young man with dark hair swung out of an open door, laughing, his scholarly robe open at the front and flapping behind him with each long stride.

“Excuse me.” Clutching her gloves, she boldly approached him. “I’m wondering if you might point me in the right direction?”

“Perhaps, but it’ll have to be quick, miss, or I’ll be late for an exam.” He shifted the thick books in his arms. “What is it you’re looking for?”

“I have an item I wish to authenticate. It might have some church history and is possibly of Roman origin.”

“Roman? Why, that’s easy enough. One of the most knowledgeable professors I know happens to be in his office now. I just came from there.” He tipped his head over his shoulder. “First room on the right.”

“Thank you.” She bypassed him with a grateful smile, then rapped on the frame of the open door.

“Pardon me, but I wonder if I might have a moment of your time, Professor?” She spoke to a broad set of shoulders, for the man stood with his back to her, tucking papers into a file.

He held up a finger. “One moment, please.”

She studied him while he worked. He was in desperate need of a haircut. His shaggy locks, the colour of watered-down Darjeeling, feathered raggedly against his collar. The hem of his suitcoat sported fraying threads and his trousers were more wrinkled than her traveling coat. Obviously his work held sway over his appearance. Still, a seed of respect for him took root, for she never could abide a milksop gent, tossed to-and-fro by the whims of fashion and popular opinion.

“Now then,” he said as he turned. “How may I help—”

His jaw dropped.

So did hers.

Time stopped. Sound. Motion. Everything ground to a halt.

“Eva?”

A cascade of emotions poured like ice water over her head. Disbelief. Anger. Heartbreak and longing.

But most of all the gut-punching feeling of abandonment. Bram had been the first in a string of people to leave her, and she would not risk that happening again.

She spun on her heel and stalked away with long strides. She’d rather lose the family estate than speak with Bram Webb.

God was definitely not smiling upon her today.

It wasn’t every day a ghost from the past knocked at his door. Thank God for such mercies as that! But this red-haired spirit? The very sight of her conjured a myriad of memories. Eva Inman, the girl who had always been around, trailing him with wide, admiring eyes. Such adoration had softened his heart toward her and had fostered a protective instinct—leastwise as protective as a bubbleheaded lad could be. Seeing her now, transformed into a captivating woman, brought a wave of unexpected emotions.

Bram bolted around the desk.

“Wait!” He overtook Eva, stopping in front of her to block her path. “What are you doing here?”

Her jaw tightened—and what a fine jaw it was. He’d never imagined the formerly gawky-limbed Eva Inman could grow into such an entrancing vision. Oh, her long nose might not fit conventional beauty ideals, yet that feature lent her an air of regal grace. Her mouth, far too wide to be considered a dainty rosebud, held a magnetic allure. She was an October morn, this woman, with hair of fire and the threat of bluster in her pale blue eyes.

“I am seeking an opinion.” She lifted her chin. “But not yours.”

Oof. That stung. “And yet you came to my office.”

A bitter laugh spouted out of her. “Trust me, I didn’t realize it belonged to you.”

“Ah, carrying a grudge, are you?” His grin grew. “So you do still think of me even after all these years.”

“I don’t give you a thought, Bram Webb. Ever. Step aside, please.”

He plowed his fingers through his hair, thoroughly intrigued and more chagrined than he cared to admit. It wasn’t as if such a response wasn’t warranted. He’d been a hellion in his younger days ... and admittedly, even now had his moments, may God forgive him. “It’s been twelve years, Eva. I was a thoughtless young lad then, looking for attention in all the wrong ways. I never meant to hurt you.”

“Yet because of you, I nearly died of fever.”

He shook his head, thoroughly confused. He’d done many things he wasn’t proud of, but making a girl nearly three years his junior ill? “What are you going on about?”

“Don’t play the innocent with me.” Tossing back her shoulders, she strangled the life out of a pair of gloves. “You left town right after leading me into that abandoned barn.”

“Yes, the very next day as I recall. But I had no choice in the matter. My mother sent me away. And I fail to see how taking you to see a litter of kittens—which I thought was a kindness—could nearly have been the death of you.”

“It wasn’t the kittens. It was the scratch from the mother cat you scared into a frenzy.” She shoved up her sleeve. “I owe this to you.”

An angleworm of a scar crawled across the finely veined skin just above her wrist ... an injury of his own making. His heart wrenched. What a careless, callous boy he’d been. “Eva, I’m sorry.” He reached for her, then thought the better of it and pulled back. “I had no idea. Please do not hold the sins of a foolish lad against the man who stands in front of you now.”

“I tried to find you, you know,” she said, her voice softening. “I begged your mother to tell me where you’d gone, but she refused to give me any information. Said a girl like me wouldn’t understand and to run home to my mother. She was right. I didn’t understand.” Eva pushed her sleeve back over her wrist, her gaze now more wary than a cornered fox. “I could never understand why you left without a word, breaking our friendship without so much as a good-bye. So my forgiveness you may have, but my trust? Well, that is a bridge that could use some mending.”

His gut twisted. He’d never meant to hurt her so deeply, and yet truly he’d had no choice in the matter. A sigh drained out of him. “Fair enough. At least return to my office and tell me why you’ve come.”

She didn’t move a whit, just stared with an inscrutable gleam in her eye.

“There’s not a single cat in there. I vow it.” He slapped his hand to his heart.

The slight quiver of a smile rippled across her lips. “Are you truly a professor of Roman history?”

“I am.” Thanks to God’s grace and Uncle Pendleton, though she needn’t know that.

“Very well.” She whirled, marching off before he could so much as blink.

He scurried after her, surprised to see she’d already taken a chair in front of his desk, the timid lass he’d grown up with nowhere in sight. How had the girl who’d feared her own shadow come by such confidence? He took his own seat, inordinately curious. “Why the sudden interest in the Roman Empire?”

“This.” She rummaged in her pocket, then produced a silver ring.

The moment he held it up to the lamp on his desktop, he knew this bit of silver was something special. “Remarkable craftsmanship,” he muttered as he turned the relic one way and another. “Exquisite engraving. Definitely an exceptional piece of history. Late for the era, third century, maybe second—but that’s just a guess. The use of silver was a widespread practice during this period, particularly for artisans. Early Christian symbolism, perhaps, signifying faith during a time of persecution.”

The more he examined the ring, the more his pulse thrummed. This was a find! At length, he cocked his head at Eva. “Who did you purchase this from?”

“I didn’t. It was found on my land.”

Her land? He fingered the ring, flipping it over and over. “Are you speaking of your family’s estate outside of Royston?”

“Just as I said.”

Interesting. He’d expected her to be married by now. Then again, his uncle had expected as much out of him. He looked at her—truly looked—and saw weariness shadowing her eyes, belying the determined set of her shoulders. “So you are still living at home?”

“I am. I have been in mourning for the past year.”

Hmm. He’d heard her mother had died long ago, and being she now said the land was hers ... “Your father?” he surmised.

“Yes.” She lifted her chin defiantly, but he also saw a flicker of pain—a pain she clearly tried hard to conceal.

“I am sorry to hear it.” He kept his tone respectful. The loss of a parent was a wound that never truly healed. Still, that didn’t account for her not getting married before her father had died. It seemed an odd omission for a woman of her standing, especially one as captivating as she had become.

But that was none of his business.

Her gaze drifted to the relic in his grasp. “So what might I sell that for?”

A strangled oath rumbled in his throat, and he tugged at his collar. Why must everyone be so quick to make a coin off antiquities? He’d liked her much better when he thought she was merely wishing to date the thing. He set the relic down, the clack of the metal against the wood mirroring his unease. “Most people don’t realize that value is not always measured in coin. This ring”—he tapped the silver—“holds a worth that transcends time. It is a symbol of perseverance, faith, and survival against all odds. Putting it on the open market would be to undersell its intrinsic value.”

“I didn’t come here for a lecture, Professor Webb.” She jerked on a glove rather forcefully, the fabric stretching thin over her knuckles. “I came here for a price suggestion. If you cannot provide one, then please refer me to someone who can.”

“I see.” He sighed. Clearly she was not to be persuaded of any other course—and though he disagreed with her wishing to sell the piece, he couldn’t help but admire her determination. “Can you tell me exactly where on the estate it was uncovered?”

She yanked on the other glove. “The cursed acres.”

“You don’t say.” He pressed his lips tight to keep from smirking. His friend Edmund Price had suffered through a supposed curse just last year—one that turned out to be completely manmade. The folklore surrounding Eva’s land was likely instigated simply to keep people away from the area ... though to what end?

He held the ring up between them, studying the ancient craftmanship. The piece fairly winked in the light, hinting at secrets that may be linked to it still lying undiscovered beneath the dirt. Generally, where there was one buried artifact, more were to be found.

“What if...” he mused. “What if this relic isn’t the only one there? What if this is more than a forgotten ancient ring and could be the key to understanding secrets buried long ago?”

She rose, impatience flattening her mouth to a straight line. “Can you value the piece, or can you not?”

Stubborn woman. “Of course I can, but not precisely off the top of my head. I’d have to compare it to other recent sales of similar artifacts, which involves a bit of record digging if you wish an accurate valuation.”

“Good. Then do so and let me know as soon as possible. Thank you, Mr. Webb.” She held out her hand. “Though I should like a receipt for leaving the item here with you.”

He set the ring down, hard-pressed to know if he was more irritated by her abrupt manner, her resolve to sell a piece of history as if it were nothing more spectacular than a loaf of bread, or her lack of trust. Whatever the reason, there was no doubt whatsoever that Eva Inman had grown to know her own mind. He dipped the tip of his pen into the inkwell.

“If I find you to be trustworthy,” she spoke while he wrote, “I will bring you more items my farmhand digs up, though I don’t suppose you’re interested in the broken bits of pottery and whatnot he’s already unearthed.”

“So there is more!” A large splotch of ink bled onto the page as he flung down the pen. Could that ring have belonged to a Christian refugee hiding from the long arm of a Roman emperor? Perhaps his uncle’s theory of just such a refuge in that area was more than a senile old man’s wandering mind. Maybe he didn’t need to find the still-missing notebook. This discovery by Eva’s farmhand might be a more accurate suggestion as to the location of Caelum Academia than any notes his uncle might’ve penned. Dare he hope? It seemed too good to be true, yet did God not work in mysterious ways? Such perfect timing did seem to bear His fingerprints.

Eva eyed him. “He has found other items, but the ring is the only thing of worth.”

“He must stop.” Bram shot to his feet. “You must order him to stop digging!”

“What on earth for? I need the income—I mean, it’s none of your affair, really.” Colour bloomed on her cheeks.

“A plow could destroy that whole area. Let me do an archaeological survey. Immediately. I can leave tomorrow.”

She laughed, the sound as merry as a summer morn. “You jest.”

“I’ve never been more serious.”

Instantly she sobered, her gaze measuring him in ways he could only guess. “No. That land is to be sown with winter wheat. I cannot allow it.”

“And yet if you do, I might find relics of more worth than that ring you brought in. You could add to your bank account beyond your wildest dreams.”

Her gaze shot to the relic on his desk, lips pinching tightly for a moment. “Why should I trust you again, Bram Webb?”

He folded his arms. A lot of time had passed between them, but he wanted—needed—a look at that site ... and that warranted the biggest gamble of his life. As a girl, she’d mooned after him—when she wasn’t annoyed with him. Might she still in some small corner of her heart harbour that juvenile infatuation?

He met her steely gaze with one of his own. “Why should you trust me? Because, Eva Inman, though you’ll never admit it, you were once in love with me, and I suspect, deep down, you may still be.”