Wicked. Shannon Drake

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      “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 a great man’s wives and concubines be buried with him, yet look at this array of sarcophagi! And then there was the matter of the curse.” He waved a hand impatiently in the air. “Apparently, according to popular belief, no tomb discovered can be without a curse. A love of the mysterious, perhaps. We have opened many tombs with no severe warnings at the entry. But in this particular instance—as in some others—there was a curse just inside the tomb. ‘Let he who disturbs the New Life of the blessed one be cursed upon this earth.’ And sadly, the Lord and Lady Stirling died.”

      “Did anyone else associated with the dig die?” Camille asked.

      Sir John slowly arched a brow with something of a troubled countenance. “I…I don’t know. Certainly no one of the renown of the Stirlings.”

      Camille started to turn, thinking she had heard a scraping sound just behind her, where the mummies and their sarcophagi lay.

      “Camille! Are you listening to me?” Sir John demanded.

      She was amazed that she had been so easily distracted. And it was evident that Sir John hadn’t heard any kind of noise. She was afraid that she was beginning to hear things—taking the small-scale drama that had suddenly invaded her life to greater heights. She loved ancient Egyptian history and all the stories that went with it, but thus far, she had never fallen victim to silly romanticism. She didn’t believe that mummies would rise from their tombs to stalk the living.

      “I’m sorry. I thought I heard something.”

      “Camille. We’re in a museum. Many people are walking over our heads.”

      She smiled. “No, I thought СКАЧАТЬ