Chapter 16
Cart counted the large cracks in the polished floor, following each groove until it met another and branched off into even more connecting networks of cracks.
The indentations had been swept and polished so many times over the years, that if people brought their fingers to trace the lines, no hollow depressions could be detected.
He knew this to be fact because he’d posed the theory to Theo several years ago and they’d spent an afternoon with their hands flat upon the ground, proving Cart’s assumption.
The son had actually done all of England a great favor with his actions.
Now, the massive building housed books, manuscripts, coins, and drawings of unbelievable history.
Over the past two decades, the museum had even acquired the Rosetta Stone, Townley’s collection of sculptures, and the Parthenon sculptures.
Montagu House held an overpowering draw for Cart, due to the main fact that it was a free place of learning.
It enabled him to introduce Theo to all sorts of antiquities that many people would never encounter in their lives.
A few years prior, Lord Cummings, an acquaintance from Eton, had reached out to Cart, letting Cart know he had accepted a new post as curator.
Since then, Cart had been invited to the museum to dine with Cummings after-hours and partake in examinations of new acquisitions—and restorations of older pieces.
It had only fueled Cart’s desire for a path in the academics and antiquities field.
Today was one such day, however, where Cummings had requested Cart’s attendance during museum hours to help identify the exact place and date a coal drawing had been created.
It was precisely the thing Cart would have taken great pleasure and satisfaction in doing only short days ago.
But this day, Cart was unable to focus, especially as the minutes passed without Cummings arriving in the grand entrance to collect and escort Cart into the secured rooms of the museum.
He paced, following a particularly jagged crack until it split into three and then selected the ridge that moved back toward the main area—and the many early risers who were flocking to the house of impressive history.
It was likely that most were in attendance to see the Parthenon sculptures, as they were the newest display of important note.
He was in agreement of their extraordinary presence, with their faceless bodies etched into stone.
It was even fabled that long ago, the pieces were not white, but painted in vivid colors, hues that had deteriorated over time.
It was in large measure why Cart felt the way he did about pieces of art of historical nature—they must be preserved, kept in a manner maintaining their beauty for generations to come.
Thankfully, Lord Cummings was of a similar mindset.
It would not injure Cart overly if Cummings forgot their appointment.
The atmosphere of the building brought a calm that had eluded him for some time.
First, his attraction to Jude—so overwhelming that he’d allowed his guard and common sense to fall.
Then, the discovery of the vase…in her possession.
He’d immediately jumped to the conclusion that she’d stolen the piece.
However, that was completely irrational, much like most of his thoughts of late.
Why would a woman of the ton, from a solid family, have need to steal a vase?
There was no logic in that conclusion—and Cart prided himself on his logic.
He’d spent much time scrutinizing the alternatives.
How had the vase come to be in her possession?
It was possible she’d been duped into purchasing a stolen piece.
But why buy it only to turn around and sell it?
And, if she’d bought it from someone, who?
And why the fabricated story of it being found in a stable?
She’d avoided his questions on the topic—and he’d allowed it.
He was too close to the situation. To her. She was dulling his senses, leading him to believe that what seemed to be, wasn’t at all.
He couldn’t allow that.
Looking up, he realized he’d wandered into a more densely populated portion of the museum, one that housed small objects of Greek origin, unearthed a decade before when a group of explorers had stumbled upon a city buried by a mudslide or rock split five hundred years prior.
It had perfectly preserved pottery, coins, tools, and fabrics used by a community previously unknown to the museum.
The exhibit was fascinating, but Cart had studied everything in great detail over the years.
One of his habitual pastimes was standing against the wall, unnoticed, watching the people who came and went as they discovered the wonders of the museum.
He’d brought Theo with him several times in the last year, but she tired of watching others and not stepping forward to discuss the exhibits with them.
Cart was resigned to blending into the background.
His sibling, however, was more the social butterfly.
He could not fault her for that. Many times, he longed to be the one who sought out company and did not lock himself away as a recluse, a misfit of society.
Cart backed against a wall, hidden from view by a large statue as people streamed into the room.
Their voices echoed off the elevated ceilings and he picked up on bits and pieces of conversation.
It pleased him greatly to be able to hear people’s thoughts on the pieces without having to join their company.
One man thought a coin must certainly be crafted of pure brass and, therefore, be almost worthless except for its historical value.
Little did the man know that the brass layer only covered the solid gold below.
Another woman admired a fabric—deteriorated by its time beneath hundreds of pounds of dirt and debris—commenting on the basic nature of the coloring. If only she knew that each thread had been hand dyed by crushed berries and insects to gain what little pigment it had, she’d be astounded.
But Cart kept to himself, listening but not interfering. Every museumgoer was entitled to their own experience—whether that led to increased interest in art and antiquities or a personal confirmation of the primitive nature of past cultures was irrelevant.
Mercifully, human nature and beliefs did not fascinate him. He didn’t feel compelled to dispute their irrational and illogical notions of history.
A light laugh followed by a much deeper chuckle drew Cart’s attention from a group of young men who found it amusing to grope a nude male statue to a more familiar grouping of ladies.
At first, he thought his mind so preoccupied with thoughts of her that he’d imagined her into existence.
But that would not explain the accompaniment of Miss Samantha and Miss Payton by her side.
Here of all places—one of Cart’s greatest sanctuaries and a refuge of sorts.
He moved slightly right to hide from their view behind the statue at the exhibit’s entrance.
He knew he should have slipped from the room, sent his regrets to Cummings on their missed appointment, and returned home—or anywhere besides the museum—but he found himself stuck, needing to see her and judge her true nature without her notice.
He knew above all others that people could acclimate their outward appearance to successfully fulfill another’s perception of them.
As much as he loathed admitting it, that was precisely what Jude had done—used Cart’s interests, habits, and personality against him. It was exactly the thing he’d feared since his uncle’s disappearance and Cart’s return to London.
Jude was attired in a simple dress of pale yellow with black boots and an unobtrusive hat, while her twin was adorned in a bold blue gown of a shiny material with black, elbow length gloves.
The subject of twins was something Cart hadn’t given any attention to studying, but the correlation between two such similar-appearing individuals with utter lack of parallel oneness did, indeed, intrigue him.
“Can we go now?” Jude’s youngest sister asked, slumping on a bench in the middle of the room. “My feet hurt and there are likely over a dozen things I’d rather be doing.”
“We just arrived,” Jude called over her shoulder without taking her eyes off the crude drawing she inspected. “Besides, I did not make the pair of you accompany me.”
“You know Garrett would not allow you to leave the house unattended,” Miss Samantha huffed, sitting next to Miss Payton on the bench. “We were not given the liberty of choice in our afternoon distraction.”
Cart wanted to laugh at the scowl Jude sent over her shoulder until he remembered her less than honest possession of the vase belonging to Lord Gunther.
“Do you not love the authentic coal strokes of this drawing?” Jude asked her sisters.
“The artist had only rudimentary tools, yet crafted such an elegantly abstract picture.” When neither of the women answered, Jude turned a sharp look on the pair.
“Come now, do appear a bit interested or I shall endeavor to spend until closing inspecting every item, painting, and sculpture in this museum.”
“Oh, the man’s adept skill at capturing the precise light in his dreary life is captivating, dear sister.
” Miss Samantha sat on the bench, inspecting the painting as if she were a matron of the ton inspecting a young debutante’s acceptability for Almacks.
“What would we do with all our extra time if we weren’t trapped here taking in all these stunningly ancient masterpieces? ”
The sisters were certainly amusing in their antics, much like Cart assumed he and Theo would be had they not been born over ten years apart. His sibling would be in line with Jude, spending hours exploring every exhibit and discussing each piece in great detail.