Page 7

7

Monday mornings were hard enough without hosting a stark-faced rector and his overly effervescent sister. My, what a pair they made. Enough to tire a saint. Eva poured tea while Mrs. Mortimer blathered on about the thick rope of pearls she’d recently purchased. The woman’s podgy fingers danced over the necklace while her brother shot her a gangrenous look at such a display of worldliness.

Blocking Mr. Blackwood’s view, Eva handed him a cup lest they all be forced to entertain a sermon. “Here you are, Mr. Blackwood. Haven’t we had fine weather of late? How long do you suppose it will last?”

“As long as God allows, I should think.” He sipped his tea.

Eva breathed relief as she served his sister. Of necessity, Mrs. Mortimer perched on the edge of a chair. She wouldn’t fit between the arms of it otherwise. The woman was grand of girth and even grander in appetite, the gleam in her eyes hungry as she gazed at the simple plate of toast circles lightly smeared with jam. Despite being a widow, she laughed at life, her plump cheeks ever rosy, her great bosom always jiggling. She was a blazing sun compared to her brother’s eternal midnight.

But she was also a whirlwind. Her inexhaustible vigor and incessant chatter never failed to overwhelm even the heartiest of souls.

Eva offered her the plate.

“What an unusual idea to serve toast. Very simple—yet delicious, no doubt.” Mrs. Mortimer immediately plucked two small circles. Any other woman would have snubbed such a common refreshment. By the time Eva poured her own tea, Mrs. Mortimer had already finished them both off and had her head tipped back, draining her cup.

“I was so relieved to see you at services yesterday morning, Miss Inman.” The woman reached for another piece of toast. “And your darling sister as well. Will she be joining us this morning?”

Eva blew the steam off her brew. “I had thought she might, but she wasn’t in her room. It appears she’s off on an adventure.”

“But the child is blind!” Mrs. Mortimer fanned her face with a lacy handkerchief. “Does that not concern you?”

It did. Every time she couldn’t account for her sister’s whereabouts, worry moved in and unpacked its trunks for a good long visit. It took all her willpower to force a pleasant smile. “I am certain Penny will return by eleven, which is our usual reading hour. She never misses it.”

Mr. Blackwood set his half-drunk cup on the table, his uneaten toast taunting Mrs. Mortimer.

“Such waste, brother.” She leaned forward to pinch the treat.

He blocked her hand. “Gluttony is a sin, sister.” His glower drifted toward Eva. “And what did you find out about the ring on your visit to Cambridge, Miss Inman?”

It was a harmless enough question, but the intensity in his gaze was already sifting her answer, though she had yet to speak a word. She fortified herself with a sip of stout Assam. “It turns out the relic is of historical value. There is a small team of ar chaeologists currently in my field who are hoping to discover larger items of greater worth.”

The rector’s thick brows gathered into a thundercloud. “I hope I need not warn you about false hopes or greed. It is our duty as Christians to rely solely upon the grace and mercies of God.”

How dare he assume she wasn’t depending upon God? Ever since she’d been a child this man had used harsh and authoritarian methods. His sermons and teachings, filled with brimstone and fire, had scared her at the time. Now his insinuations just made her angry. Eva set down her teacup, porcelain rattling. “I have no doubt you would never allow a sheep of yours to stray onto such a delinquent path.”

“Just so.” A flicker of approval—so faint she almost missed it—flashed in his gaze. “And yet you mention a team of archaeologists. Who are they?”

“There is Regius Professor Sebastian Pendleton, Professor Bram Webb, and three of Mr. Webb’s students, making a total of five men on the job.”

“Webb?” The reverend rolled the name around his mouth like a bite of rancid meat. “I seem to recall something associated with that name.”

She recalled far too much about the man. Oh, what a foolish girl she’d been, secretly pining after a silly boy three years her senior. “I am not surprised you may have heard of him. He is quite knowledgeable about Roman antiquities and, I am told, a professor of some renown.”

“Well,” Mrs. Mortimer cut in, “I for one pray there shall be many treasures unearthed, for I know it cannot be easy for you to care for this home and your sister.” The woman tsked with a little shake of her head. “And all on your own. I shudder to think of your burden.”

So did she. “As the reverend says, I must rely upon God.” And while he may have meant that as a spiritually cutting remark, she meant it in earnest.

“Miss Inman...” Setting her own cup aside, Mrs. Mortimer went back to fingering her pearls. “I wonder if I may be so bold as to make a suggestion.”

Oh dear. Eva ran her palms along the cool fabric of her skirt, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles. The one thing the rector’s sister could expound upon for hours was beauty—the need for it, how to maintain it, and above all, Eva’s lack in that department. She ought to know, for she’d suffered the woman’s lengthy discourses on more than one occasion. So it took every ounce of her willpower to force a pleasant tone. “I am all ears, Mrs. Mortimer.”

“Very good.” The lady inhaled deeply, her bosom threatening to spill out like overstuffed cushions. “As you know from our time together at the relief society, I delight in works of charity. Through my vast connections, I found a suitable placement as a jeweler’s apprentice for the Widow Kitman’s lame-legged son. Then there was the cleft-lip girl belonging to the Novaks. You know, the immigrant family who live in the old Hoffman place just outside of town? I daresay the girl is happy enough to be working in a fine home as a scullery maid. And let’s not forget little deaf Lucy. Poor soul—though not so poor anymore. Working as a junior seamstress earns her a fair penny, sure enough.”

“No one can call into question your compassion and generosity, Mrs. Mortimer.”

“Tread carefully, sister. Flattery is a deceitful poison, one that goes down smoothly yet festers into a canker in the soul.” While the warning was clearly directed at Mrs. Mortimer, the rector aimed his scowl at Eva.

“Of course, brother.” Mrs. Mortimer laughed heartily, the tight curls on her brow dancing along with her merriment. “But as I was saying, I have a suggestion for Miss Inman to consider.” She turned to Eva. “As a means to alleviate any sort of strain on your financial situation, I would be more than happy to sponsor young Miss Inman to attend a notable school for the blind that I am associated with in London.”

Eva’s heart tightened in her chest. “London! But that’s so far away.”

“She must leave home sometime, my dear. Surely you’re not thinking of keeping her under your care indefinitely? Why, I daresay placing your sister elsewhere will free you up to find a suitable match for yourself.” The lace handkerchief flew out again, this time employed at dabbing the corners of Mrs. Mortimer’s eyes. “It’s a lonely world without a man, take it from one who knows.”

But she wasn’t lonely. Not with Penny around. Eva had cared for her little sister since the day of her birth—and promised her father she’d always do so. Besides, her strong-willed poppet got on as well as girls with normal vision and was cheerful as any with a song perpetually ready on her lips. No, sending Penny away was out of the question. She’d already failed her parents. She would not abandon her sister.

Eva squared her shoulders, facing Mrs. Mortimer head-on. “I am sure you have nothing but the best intentions at heart, and I do appreciate the offer, but I don’t see a need for such a gesture. Thank you anyway.”

Mr. Blackwood rose like a bat in a night sky, towering over her with a downward turn to his thin lips. “God’s ways are not our ways, Miss Inman. Do not be so rash as to refuse what might very well be providence. I suggest you commit the matter to prayer before such a hasty rejection.”

Eva stood, unwilling to allow him such intimidation. “I shall consider your words, Mr. Blackwood.”

“Of course you shall. My brother is right, as usual.” Mrs. Mortimer chuckled as she rose, a cloud of violet toilette water wafting about her. “Do think on it, my dear. I shouldn’t like to take no as an answer.”

Eva assembled what she hoped was a smile and not a grimace. As much as she didn’t wish to, she set the offer on a shelf in the corner of her mind—for if she failed to pay the taxes and lost the house, she wouldn’t have a choice but to accept. There were no other relatives to care for Penny, or herself, for that matter. Her trusted friend Lottie yet lived beneath her parents’ roof, and the walls of that house were practically bulging at the seams. No one in Royston that was suitable could take on a blind twelve-year-old. She nibbled on her index finger.

Was this offer from Mrs. Mortimer a providence of God?

There was nothing more glorious than sifting through dirt on a brisk October morn. The sun on his shoulders. The wind in his hair. Bram hefted another shovelful of soil onto the screen, smirking as he did so. If ol’ Grimwinkle were here to witness such an unorthodox method—the screen Bram had fashioned being far too wide for conventional filtering—the man would no doubt blister them all with a fiery lecture. Thankfully, Uncle Pendleton was open to innovations. Employing a smaller sieve was far too time consuming at this stage. And time was the one luxury they didn’t have, not if they hoped to find evidence this was Caelum Academia before the deadline.

“Hey, Professor! Over here.” Jonathan Barker waved at him from across the field. “Look what I’ve found.”

Bram chunked the tip of the shovel into the ground, standing the tool upright before setting off. Beyond Barker, Charles Wimble and Nathaniel Hammet dropped their trowels and advanced on him as well.

“Let’s see what you’ve got.” Bram crouched next to Barker, the other students already huddled near him.

“Right there.”

Sure enough, what appeared to be a nozzle or some sort of spout poked from the soil where the young man had been digging.

Bram pulled out a metal rod he kept looped to his belt and poked tentatively around the area. Whenever the tip met with resistance, he eased it out. Eventually, he outlined the shape of the item, then held out his palm. “A trowel please, Mr. Barker.”

The curly-headed young man handed over the tool, and with a few precise gouges into the dirt, Bram unloosed a chunk of pottery with globs of dirt clinging to it. Removing a stiff brush from his pocket, he knocked off most of them, revealing an ancient oil lamp.

“Well, well. This is quite a find. Looks like this is the area we need to focus on.” Rising, he eyed the other men. “Take care the deeper you go, fellows. If there was indeed a settlement of some sort here—which is very likely—then you’re bound to hit a foundation. And that will be a key discovery.”

“We’re on it, Professor!”

Bram grinned at his students’ enthusiasm while trudging toward the tent at the edge of the field. Were he in their shoes, he’d be just as animated. Working on a dig was a far better prospect than sitting through Grimwinkle’s dull monologues.

He ducked beneath the canvas roof, bypassing a table with the other antiquities they’d unearthed thus far. All were shards or fragments, mere hints of an ancient habitation, not bad for only two days’ work but could’ve been better if Grimwinkle had allowed him more students. He was thankful for the three fellows he had been able to snag, but with more hands the work would go faster.

Bram set the lamp on the old desk Eva’s steward had rummaged up for them. “Our first whole relic, Uncle.”

“You don’t say!” Uncle Pendleton whipped out a magnifying glass. “Yes, yes. Very good! End of the second century. Definitely of Roman origin. Amazing it is in one piece. Now...” He set down the magnifier and fingered about on the tabletop, shoving aside papers and making quite a mess of things.

Bram stopped his hand. “Perhaps I can help. What are you looking for?”

“My cleaning kit. Ah, here we are.” Completely bypassing the desktop, Uncle Pendleton grabbed a small bag sitting near his feet. Opening the clasp, he poked about inside with one finger. “But it appears my bottle of cleaning solution must’ve fallen out in the wagon.”

Bram swiped up a rag, then carefully retrieved the lamp. “I’ll go clean it, then wrap the piece up and leave it on the wagon seat. You can show it to Miss Inman when you ride back for your afternoon break.”

His uncle scowled. “Pah! I’m no nursling who needs a nap.”

True, but if the man didn’t rest his mind periodically, his memory lapses grew worse. “Of course you aren’t. I was merely hoping you’d make the drive to the house and show this piece to Miss Inman so I wouldn’t have to. You know, give her some tangible evidence we are making progress.”

“Oh. Well, in that case, I suppose I shall finish up logging these field notes and ride over there. Off with you, then.” He ruffled his fingers in the air.

Bram retreated into the sunshine, a tiny bit ashamed he’d used such manipulation. Still, it was a necessary evil, what with Uncle Pendleton’s current state of fluctuating cognizance ... though admittedly the old fellow had seemed better the past few days. Now that Bram thought on it, he hadn’t noticed as many mental slips of late. Dare he hope things may be leveling off?

Nestling the little lamp tightly against his chest, he picked his way across the uneven ground to the wagon. He set the relic carefully in the back corner of the bed, then retrieved a burlap sack and began digging about for an amber bottle. The first thing he pulled out was an empty canteen. Apparently Wimble hadn’t thought to fill it, so he set that next to the relic and dug some more. This time he pulled out a broken-handled trowel, which would do none of them any good until he fixed it. And he’d never remember to do so if it remained in the bag. He pitched it toward the front of the wagon and—

“Ow!”

He jerked his head toward the muffled cry. The stained canvas lumped in one corner moved slightly. On silent feet, he rounded the wagon bed and yanked the covering into the air, allowing it to billow to the ground at his back. Two brown eyes looked his way, not quite finding his face.

“Lurking about again, are you?” He folded his arms. Penny Inman may be a dark-haired version of Eva, but that was where comparison stopped. Eva never would have been so bold to have stowed away on a wagon full of men. “What were you hoping to accomplish tucked beneath a tarpaulin like that?”

She sat upright, picking pieces of straw from her hair. “I wasn’t planning on staying beneath it all day.”

“Then what were you planning?”

“I wanted to hear what it sounded like on a dig site.”

Which reminded him entirely too much of himself at that age. “Is your interest in archaeology so very keen, then?”

“It is. And I know you found something.” She scrambled to the side. “What is it?”

He smiled at her eagerness. The little sprite was a kindred spirit. “Would you like to see?”

She nodded vigorously.

“Then scoot yourself to the edge, and I’ll meet you there.” He retraced his steps to the back and pulled the lamp from the corner, then waited for Penny to dangle her legs over the open gate. Gently, he set the relic in her upturned hands. “I should warn you this hasn’t been properly cleaned yet so you will get dirty.”

“Pish! I don’t mind in the least.” She explored the surface and as far as her slender fingers would reach inside. Closing her eyes, she lifted the relic to her nose and inhaled deeply several times, as if the past were a scent she might remember. She bowed over the ancient oil lamp like a prayer, pressing it against her cheek, tendrils of her hair flying to the heavens. His own heart squeezed in response. Were he an artist, he’d capture this passion for all to experience the holy innocence of the moment.

“Thank you,” she whispered, then her eyes flashed open. Carefully, she held it out for his retrieval. “And do be careful of that small crack on the inside of the spout. Any more pressure could break it into pieces.”

He angled the lamp so sunlight could climb down the spout. Sure enough, a whisper of a hairline marred the inside. “Good catch.” He pulled the rag from his pocket and began wrapping the little lamp. The piece would be better served by cleaning it back at the manor than out here in the elements. “Did you notice any other blemishes?”

One of her feet swung back and forth, the hem of her skirt swishing with the movement. “No. But holding it made me feel sad and kind of empty inside.”

He frowned. Such an incongruous answer compared to the bliss on her face a moment ago. “Why?”

“I can’t have been the only girl to have ever held that piece in my hands. And does anyone remember that other girl now? She’s gone. Never to feel this same wind on her cheeks.” She lifted her face to the breeze. “I ache for her.”

He stiffened, unsure what to do with such unbridled depth of feeling. Yet here he was, the sole recipient of a young girl’s tender emotions.

And he had no idea how to respond.

Clutching the lamp in one hand, he rubbed the back of his neck with the other. Part of him admired her willingness to be so transparent, even longed to be genuine himself, but that would never do. He’d learned at a young age such a vulnerability could be turned against him. No. This world was a cold place, filled with ruthless men. The only way to survive was with a grin and a cheeky remark. And though it had never really bothered him before, somehow, here with this blind girl on a fallow field, he felt as empty inside as Penny.

But he couldn’t very well tell a child that. He’d be hanged if he told anyone.

“You’re wrong, you know.” He tousled her hair.

“About what?”

“That other girl isn’t forgotten. You remembered her, and now so have I. One of the best things about archaeology is that it honours the past.”

A smile brightened her serious face. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

“I usually am.” He reached for her arm. “Come. Let’s get you back to the house, and this time you can ride up on the seat with my uncle.”

“Oh, please, can’t I stay? I’m already out here so there’s no sense in you wasting time to drive me back. I can be of help. I know it!”

He grinned. It was astounding, really, how sightless eyes could turn all puppy and pleading. “I don’t know. Won’t your sister worry about you?”

“She won’t even know I’m gone.” She tossed back her loose braid. “She was entertaining visitors when I left.”

Absently, he ran his finger along the lamp’s spout, debating what to do with the girl. Naturally she’d be no help whatsoever out in the field, and yet she had proved valuable in pointing out a hairline crack he’d not noticed. And as she’d said, she was already out here. Perhaps he could give her something to do, especially since Uncle Pendleton would be away from the dig for a few hours.

“All right, then.” He grabbed her by the arms, helping her to the ground. “I shall set you up in the tent, where we’ve accumulated several relics already and will likely add more today. You can use that heightened sense of touch of yours to examine the items and identify any peculiarities such as the crack you discovered in this lamp. Then you may dictate your findings to one of my students. How does that sound?”

She bounced on her toes. “Like a cracking good time!”

“Right then, let’s have at it.” After planting the lamp on the wagon seat, he guided her back to the tent, where his three students had gathered near his uncle, passing around a large jug of water.

Bram set Penny squarely in front of him. “Men, meet our new assistant for the day, Miss Penny Inman.”