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He glanced toward the heavily curtained window. “It’s a bit drizzly for a walk.”
“Oh, Lilah’s walks are very short. Miss Norton will protect her with an ample umbrella.”
He tried to picture the willowy Miss Norton scurrying after the tiny dog, a large black umbrella over them both. He turned his attention back to his aunt. “And how are you on this damp morning?”
She made a face. “Not well, I’m afraid.”
He leaned forward, clasping his hands loosely between his knees. “What is it?”
She patted her chest. “Oh, the usual, dear boy. My heart. Some days I feel I can hardly breathe.”
“I’m sorry. Is there nothing they can do for you?”
“I think I’ve had every pill and potion invented, but to no avail. Dr. Aldwin says I must have total rest, but you know it’s impossible not to worry about things. I find myself lying in bed at night just thinking of you off in foreign parts, and Vera with her children. Little Harry, you know, is going away to school this autumn.” She shook her head. “I do hope they choose the right school for him.”
Reid hid his smile. As long as he could remember his aunt had been a worrier. “Well, I’m glad you sent me a note. I would have come by soon at any rate.”
“I hope I didn’t disturb you at your duties, but I really felt I had to see you after the other day.”
“Tell me what I can do for you.”
“I’ve been thinking about what we discussed.”
He tried to remember what they’d talked about. He hoped she wasn’t still dwelling on the attack on their camp.
“It’s about your Uncle George’s collection.”
Reid was immediately interested. “Yes, I was thinking about it, too, since my visit. He must have some highly valuable pieces in it, from an archaeological standpoint.”
“I’m sure everything in it is of the utmost value.”
He hid another smile, remembering how protective his aunt was of Uncle George’s reputation. “Yes, perhaps so.”
“I would like to ensure that it is well taken care of at my demise.”
He rubbed his hands over his trouser legs, uncomfortable with her behaving as if she was at death’s door each time he visited. “Yes…I suppose it would be good to make some provision if…in the unlikely event…” He coughed, uncertain how to proceed.
“I’m glad you understand. Your Uncle George would have wanted the collection to be used for the advancement of science. He told me many times he wished to leave it to some museum or university, but he passed on before he could act upon his deepest desire, and has left me to dispose of his collection as I see fit.”
“I see. Do you have anything in mind?”
“I’m much too ignorant of all he has to make such an important decision, which is why I wanted to consult with you.” She folded her hands in her lap as if in preparation of an announcement.
“I’d be happy to advise you in any way I can.”
“Your Uncle George was very fond of you. Alas, we never had any children of our own, so you were like a son to him.” She smiled in recollection. “You’ll never know how happy it made him when you decided to pursue his hobby.”
“We spoke often of our mutual love for Egypt and its history.” Reid had many pleasant memories of his uncle.
“Of course he could never pursue it full-time, what with his work in the consulate.” She fingered the long chains around her neck. “Those were the days. So many parties, so much delicate negotiating with the government officials, the native sultans…” She sighed. “Once we returned to England, of course, his work with the Foreign Office again kept him so occupied, all he could do was put away most of his collection, in the hopes that someday he’d have the time to catalog it properly.”
Reid nodded, remembering his many conversations with Uncle George on this very subject. But then his uncle had died suddenly in his early sixties, and Reid had gone abroad, so he’d never really bothered to think about the collection again.
“I’ve come to a decision.” Reid waited, wondering what she was going to say. “I want you to take charge of organizing the collection and together we can then decide where to donate it. I was thinking of the University College.”
Reid whistled softly. Although he’d never seen the entire collection, from what he remembered, this would be a sizable donation to the college.
“Of course, because it’s such a large bequest, I want to make some stipulations.”
“That is perfectly reasonable.”
“Yes, I thought so. Firstly, I want you to have sole charge of it, and any decisions that are made by the institution have to be approved by you.”
He sat still. “I don’t know what to say.” Her announcement certainly demonstrated a great degree of trust in him—an element in short supply these days among those working with ancient ruins, where so much pilfering and secrecy went on.
She smiled. “I’d hoped you’d be pleased.”
Reid considered the enormity of the task. “I…am,” he managed, still trying to take it in. “It will take some time. I haven’t ever seen everything Uncle George amassed.”
“Oh, it will take months perhaps. He left boxes and boxes of things, all labeled, of course. I’ve had them brought down from the attic and the stables to his study and library.”
He shifted in his seat. “I don’t know how much time I would have to devote to it. I need to return to Egypt at some point.”
She pursed her lips, and he recognized the signs of her displeasure. “Couldn’t someone take over your duties there for the time being?”
“Perhaps I should have a look at the collection first. With the help of some assistants, it’s possible we could manage to catalog the items more quickly.”
She shook her head. “Oh, no. I couldn’t bear to have the house invaded by strangers.”
“It wouldn’t be anything like that. Museum workers tend to be very quiet, and perhaps with only one assistant, I could manage, at least enough to have the collection moved.”
“No, no. I couldn’t have it. My nerves wouldn’t bear it.” She clutched her gnarled hand to her mouth and turned away.
“All right, no one need come,” he assured her, not wanting to have to deal with a swoon. He wondered if Miss Norton would be coming back soon. She seemed to have a gentle yet effective way of dealing with his aunt.
Before he could rise, his aunt spoke again. “I knew you would understand. Would you like to look at the collection now or come back tomorrow?”
She seemed fully recovered. Reid flipped open his watch. “I have time now to begin to look at things, get a feel for the scope of the work. You said everything has been brought here?”
“Yes. You can go right into your uncle’s study and the library. I’ll ring for the maid to escort you.”
Reid stood, preferring to come to no decisions until he’d seen the state of the collection. Time enough then to think what this job of cataloging would entail. Time enough to think what remaining so long in England would mean…
The moment Reid entered the study, memories of his uncle surrounded him. The scent of his brand of pipe tobacco lingered in the air. It seemed nothing had been changed from when his uncle had last sat here. The glass-enclosed bookshelves were crammed with leather-bound volumes and portfolios. The gilt-edged desk blotter still had ink stains on its green surface. Reid stepped farther into the room and examined the desk’s surface. Even his uncle’s pipe rested against the edge of an ashtray—a glazed piece of pottery from Crete.
He turned to the black-clad maid. “Thank you. I’ll just look around.”
She gave a brief curtsy. “Very well, sir. Just ring if you need anything.”
The door shut behind her and stillness descended once again. Reid remembered his hours sitting on the straight-backed chair facing the large walnut desk, his uncle in the swivel chair in front of it. Uncle George would light his pipe and take a few puffs, the chair squeaking as he leaned back with those first satisfied puffs. Then with a conspiratorial grin, he’d show Reid an item or two and tell him the astonishing tale of how he’d come to acquire it. Then he’d finger the side of his nose and say with mock severity, “And not a word to your Aunt Millie about it!”
Reid would promise with all the solemnity of a boy entrusted with a secret by so great a man as Uncle George.
His uncle’s life had seemed one adventure after the other, and Reid had longed to grow up quickly to follow in his footsteps.
Reid smiled to himself as he picked up a brass envelope opener—a medieval knife from the early Ottoman Empire—and fingered its sharp edge. He’d had a few adventures of his own since then. It would have been nice to sit here once again and swap stories with his uncle—but sadly he’d never have the chance now.
He took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders, remembering what he’d come for. Behind him, against one wall, were stacks of boxes. He peered at the topmost one: Egypt: Saqqâra Pyramids, September 1839. He took out his pocketknife and carefully cut the string holding the box shut.
Everything inside was tissue wrapped. Reid took out a few items—vases, a female statuette, a broken piece of blue porcelain tile. The box was crammed full.
He set the things on the desktop and entered the next room. The library was also as he remembered it, but stacked in its wide center were piles of boxes. He whistled as he looked around.
This could mean months of work. He wasn’t sure how many notes his uncle had taken, but he’d have to uncover them if he hoped to place and date the relics stored in the boxes.
He walked slowly around the room, reading labels where they were available, opening some of the boxes and looking at the samples inside. When he reached a smaller box, with the word Notes scrawled across it in black ink, he slit it open quickly. Inside he found leather-bound notebooks.
He leafed through one. His uncle’s travel journals. He deciphered the neat ink scrawl. Some pages were stained, many were yellowed with age, while others were still clean and very legible. Many had to do with his uncle’s official functions, but others detailed his archaeological endeavors. “Eureka…” he breathed, his excitement mounting.
After skimming a few pages describing a harrowing climb into a tomb, Reid closed the worn notebook. For all his adventurous side, his uncle had been a meticulous recorder. A life’s work summed up within the pages of a dozen or so notebooks. Uncle George had been a pioneer in a new branch of science. The few pages Reid had read reminded him a lot of his own work, but it also brought to the fore how primitive his uncle’s foray into this new field had been.
He let his gaze roam around the room. Regardless of the enormity of the task, it had to be done. The record of the past needed to be cataloged and analyzed. The treasures needed to be brought to the light of day and shared with scholars.
With a sigh he eased himself down on the floor and positioned himself cross-legged on the soft Persian carpet. Opening the journal to the first page, he began to read.
August 12, 1840. Toured the inner chambers of pyramid. Intensely hot. Came to chamber of sarcophagi. Massive tombs. Crawled down narrow chamber, about two hundred feet lower…Air became thicker and staler the farther we went. Hoped no noxious gases lingering there. Wouldn’t have wanted to join the mummies resting there, only to be found by a future explorer a century or so from now.
My dragoman almost left me. He didn’t like invading a tomb…Can’t be helped, I told him. Had to pretend an indifference I was far from feeling…
Reid wasn’t aware how much time had passed when the sound of a throat clearing behind him brought him back to the present.
He looked up to see Miss Norton in the doorway, holding a tray. He stood, then immediately bent to rub the top of his legs, which had become stiff. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”
She smiled. “Please don’t get up. I didn’t want to disturb you, but when Lady Haversham told me you had been here since this morning, I thought you might like some refreshment about now.”
The words made him realize he was both thirsty and hungry. He walked toward her to relieve her of the tray, appreciating her thoughtfulness.
He set the tray on a desk and flipped open his watch. It was just past noon. “I didn’t realize I’d sat there so long, although my body certainly does,” he added with a grimace as he rubbed the kinks out of his neck.
She poured a cup of tea, adding a sugar cube and placing a slice of lemon on the saucer. The simple task captured his attention. Perhaps it was the slim shape of her hands, or her graceful motions, or simply the fact that she’d remembered how he took his tea. She handed him the cup.
“Thank you.”
“I brought a plate of sandwiches, in case you were hungry. Or if you’d rather, your aunt dines at one.”
“Actually, I’d prefer just the sandwiches. That way I can work for another hour or so before leaving. I need to get back to the museum to continue with the other collection. If you could make my excuses to Aunt Millicent.”
“Certainly. I’m sure she’ll understand.”
She offered him the plate of sandwiches and he took one. “Just seeing them makes me realize I’m famished.”
She smiled, and he noted again how expressive her face was. His artist mother had dragged him through every museum in whichever country they’d been living in. Now he valued the lessons. It gave him an appreciation for the human form.
Miss Norton reminded him of paintings from the Italian Renaissance, he decided, with her pale skin and tawny hair. She had a rather thin but mobile face, her caramel-brown eyes large and her mouth generous. Botticelli. Botticelli’s Birth of Venus with its mixture of sadness and kindliness in the shapely eyes.
He hadn’t realized he’d been staring until she moved away from the desk and gazed at the opened boxes on the floor. “My, I never realized there were so many things in storage.”
“Nor did I.” He leaned against the desk and took a bite from a sandwich quarter.
She peered into an open box but didn’t take anything out, which also pleased him. Most people would grab anything unusual with no regard to its fragility. He had noticed the same thing at the museum. Although she’d asked a lot of questions about the mummy masks, she hadn’t touched anything.
She paused at the open journal on the floor.
“Notes?”
He nodded. “Travel journals, but they contain quite some detail on the artifacts. My uncle did some extensive exploration in the years he was in Egypt.”
Her eyes widened with interest. “When was he there?”
He calculated. “From the midthirties to the midforties.”
“We were in Palestine from 1868 to 1874.”
“I didn’t go over until 1880,” he told her. “Ten years ago.”
She nodded, her expression pensive. “I remember our boat stopping in Alexandria. It seemed such a busy place filled with so many turbaned people. I was only a young girl, so it’s a jumbled memory.”
“I spent a few years as a boy in Cairo in the…let’s see…early sixties. When I went back out this time around, I was much older, a full-grown man of thirty.” He looked down at the remains of the sandwich in his hand. “Set on leaving England and never looking back.” He looked up, embarrassed at the words that had slipped out, probably as a result of having gone back in time since he’d entered his uncle’s study.
She didn’t seem perturbed by his reply. Instead her gaze appeared to radiate empathy, as if she knew exactly how one sometimes cannot bear memories of a place.
He set down his sandwich and brushed the crumbs from his fingers. “Egypt was just the challenge I needed at the time. I sought action and adventure.”
“Did you find it?”
He squeezed the lemon into his tea. “I found my fair share.”
She took a few more steps around the boxes. “Your uncle seems to have been a man of adventure, as well.”
“Yes, his journals make for some interesting reading. I wish I had the time to delve into them more fully.” He set his cup down, frustrated once again as he thought of the task ahead of him. “My aunt wants me to catalog all these artifacts.”
She turned her attention back to him. “My goodness. Can you do it all yourself?”
“Hardly. But she insists no strangers are to come to the house.”
“I understand,” she said. “Her nerves.”
“Tell me, just how badly off is she?”
