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and intents, but looking hale and hearty. Miss Montgomery, Shelby will be here with the carriage to attend to you at…six, is it?”

      “It’s usually at least six-thirty,” she murmured, aware that Sir John was now staring at them both, gaping.

      Stirling decided to let him out of his curiosity, a feeling so strong it was surely about to tear Sir John into pieces. “This dear young woman’s guardian had quite an accident on the highway last night—imagine, if you will, right at my property. Naturally, he is my guest. And quite naturally, Miss Montgomery came in haste and fear to tend to him. To my great delight, Castle Carlyle is hosting guests once again. So good day, then, to you both.”

      “G-good day, Brian!” Sir John stuttered, still staring at Stirling as he turned about, exiting casually, yet with the natural dignity of a man born to position.

      He was gone for several moments before Sir John—who stared blankly after him long after he disappeared from sight—turned to Camille, amazed.

      “Good God!” he said.

      She could offer only a grimace and a shrug.

      “This is quite amazing!”

      “I’m afraid I wouldn’t know,” she murmured. “I…merely went out to tend to my guardian.”

      “An accident?” Sir John said, frowning. “He’s going to be all right?”

      Sir John was a decent fellow. He seemed disturbed to realize that events had made him completely forget to ask after the welfare of a fellow human being.

      “Yes, yes, thank you. We believe he has suffered some bruises, but nothing serious.”

      “These hansom and carriage drivers!” Sir John said with a sniff. “They can be so careless and reckless. Then again, it doesn’t take much to set a fellow up driving!” He seemed quite disgusted that there was no training necessary for drivers, despite the fact that many a rich man, and probably several of his peers, had invested in such cabs, heedless of who might be driving.

      She smiled, refraining from informing him that the “accident” had not involved a cab or, indeed, a conveyance of any kind.

      He still stared at her troubled. “Quite remarkable,” he said.

      “Well,” she murmured, lowering her eyes. “If you’re pleased, then…”

      “Pleased!” Sir John exclaimed. “My dear girl, Lord Stirling’s parents were such patrons of this museum, you cannot imagine. And more! They were deeply devoted to the people of Egypt, anxious that, with foreign powers lending aid, the people should not suffer. And the work they did!” He studied her a moment longer, then seemed to make a decision. “Come with me, Camille dear, and I’ll show you a bit of their legacy.”

      She was startled. So far, her work had entailed exactly what they chose to hand her—usually the most tedious work—and nothing more. But now Sir John intended to take her into the vaults, the storage facilities of the museum.

      She was fascinated to realize that she had her threatening host to thank for this possibility. She hated feeling that she owed him any thanks whatsoever, but she wasn’t about to miss this opportunity.

      “Thank you, Sir John,” she said.

      He acquired a set of keys from his desk and brought her out of the offices, down stairs and through hallways, and then down once again. Here, the corridors were dark and the rooms were filled with wooden crates, some items unpacked, some in stages of being opened. They passed by a number of boxes that had come from Turkey and Greece and onward, until they reached a section shrouded in shadow. Some of the crates here were open. Smaller crates had been removed, and there was a row of sarcophagi still nestled in larger coffinlike boxes, cradled by their packing material.

      “Here!” Sir John said, sweeping his arms to indicate the array of treasures.

      Camille looked around slowly. There were definitely many riches here.

      “Only half, of course. Many of the artifacts went to the castle,” Sir John said. A scowl furrowed his brow. “Then there were several boxes that simply went missing.”

      “Perhaps they’re at the castle, as well.”

      “I don’t think so,” Sir John murmured. “But, of course, transporting these goods…ah, who knows! Still, Lord and Lady Stirling were always tremendously detailed about their work. Everything written down…” He paused, looking abashed. “I believe the boxes did arrive. But no matter. Their last find was so rich, we’ve not managed to begin to study and catalogue what we’ve got.”

      “These were discovered by Lord Stirling’s parents just before they died, I assume,” Camille said.

      Sir John nodded. “The small pieces and reliefs you are translating are from the same find,” he explained. “A glorious, glorious find.” He shook his head sadly. “Such a marvelous couple! Very aware of their responsibility to the Queen, but both devoted to study! It was quite amazing that Lord Stirling found a woman such as he did. Ah, Lady Stirling! I remember her well. No woman could so gracefully and kindly greet a room of friends, old or new. She was a stunning woman, simply beautiful. And yet, she could crawl into the dirt, work with a shovel or a brush, study texts, seek the answers to mysteries…” His voice faded. “Such a loss…”

      Sir John’s white hair glimmered in the pale gaslight of the museum depths as he shook his head once again. But then he grimaced sadly. “I had feared that Brian would hole up forever at that castle of his, tangled now with overgrowth, ever dark and forbidding, believing that his parents had been killed. But it appears he may at last be coming to terms with the past and dealing with his grief. And, my dear girl, if you have had anything to do with this magnificent rebirth of interest, you are perhaps the most valuable asset I have brought into the museum.”

      “Well, Sir John, thank you. But I hardly think that I’ve had much of an influence upon the man. We’re not at all well acquainted.”

      “But he wishes you to attend the gala fund-raiser with him!”

      “Yes,” she murmured. She refrained from telling Sir John that it had nothing to do with the fact that he looked forward to her company.

      Sir John frowned. “Camille, are you aware that this man is the Earl of Carlyle? Frankly, I’m flabbergasted that a man with such a pedigree would deign to ask a commoner anywhere. No insult intended, my child. It’s just that…well, we English do have our society.”

      “Hmm. Well, as we’ve all agreed, it is the age of enlightenment, is it not?”

      “An earl, Miss Montgomery. Even with his face hideously scarred, such a thing is unheard of!”

      The man was not intentionally being cruel, but he continued to stare at her, and she felt as if she had grown some strange appendage. She was in no position to explain that she sincerely doubted the Earl of Carlyle had revitalized his interest in the museum, aside from continuing his quest to find the presumed murderer of his parents. And it didn’t matter a whit to him whether she was noble or as common as dirt, as long as she served his purpose.

      “Are you afraid of the man? Because of the scarring, or even his reputation?” Sir John demanded.

      “No.”

      “You are not repulsed.”

      “A man’s manner and conviction in life can be far uglier than his face, Sir John.”

      “Well-spoken, Camille!” he applauded, beaming. “Come along, then! We’ve work to do. As you are transcribing, I’ll be happy to tell you more about the find they made. Naturally, the tombs of pharaohs are thought to have been the most magnificent. But sadly, most of those were plundered long ago. The very great thing about the Stirlings’ discovery of the tomb of Nefershut is that, though the man was a high priest, he was regarded with awe, was wealthier than Midas, and his tomb had not been disturbed. And so many were buried with the man. The Egyptians did not require that

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