Chapter Forty-Three
HAMPSHIRE, ENGLAND
Porchey wins out. For perhaps the first time in his life, he digs in his heels with Papa.
No amount of yelling or name-calling or threats to his income alter my brother’s determination to marry Miss Catherine Wendell.
In fact, Papa’s bullying and berating only makes Porchey more intractable, and I do wonder if Papa would have cut him off from inheriting the earldom if such a thing was possible. But then Mama intervenes.
For reasons best known to herself, she suddenly decides to take Miss Wendell under her wing.
Mama prompts her friends to host garden parties in her honor, dinners, and even a dance trying to ingratiate Miss Wendell—Catherine, as she insists I call her—into society.
She makes appointments for her with the finest dressmakers in London, always insisting that I attend along with Catherine’s mother.
Does Mama feel a certain kinship for the outsider she knows Catherine to be?
Does she recognize the same vulnerability she once had when she was marrying into this family?
Perhaps she’s harboring fears of alienation from Porchey if she doesn’t support this union?
Whatever Mama’s motive, Catherine is a sweet girl out of her depth with both Porchey and Mama, and I only hope she isn’t hurt unintentionally.
With Mama preoccupied, I fall into a glorious period of invisibility.
As Mama flurries about Highclere Castle and Seamore Place with Catherine on her arm, planning the engagement party and wedding, which she’s set for next summer, I am largely left to my own devices.
No nagging to accept every invitation that lands on the breakfast table.
No admonitions to get my nose out of a book or my eyes off an artifact.
No innuendos about my interactions with the available men at every event I attend.
No interrogation over Lieutenant Beaugrave. Brograve to me, I think with a blush.
For the first time since I was presented in society, I am free to follow my own interests. And it is marvelous. How do I spend these idyllic hours, second only to my days in Egypt?
Each morning, my maid throws open the windows to my bedroom, jolting me awake.
After sipping a steaming cup of tea, I get into my riding clothes.
Before the house fully awakens, rain or shine, I ride out on my favorite horse.
Upon my return from the stables, I stride directly into the Music Room, where Howard awaits.
We settle down to work immediately, nibbling intermittently on the tea and toast the servants have laid out for us since we can’t chance being waylaid over breakfast. Papa is strangely busy with private projects that have me worried, so Howard and I labor alone.
The comparison of the copies of ancient Egyptian records of court cases involving tomb robberies has given us a road map of the plundered tombs in the Valley of the Kings and so we know what to avoid.
But we need more information about where to head.
Mapping every object related to Hatshepsut and Tutankhamun, plotting every inch of the Valley of the Kings, poring over records—extensive and scanty alike—of the archaeologists that have gone before us, we search for the trail of the pharaohs, hunting for those pristine tombs.
“How goes the sleuthing?” A familiar voice startles me back into the present day.
Looking up from my pile of notes, maps, and grids, I see a grinning Brograve in the doorway. Disoriented for a moment, I shift from the far, far past to the present. Although I’m pleased to see him, for the life of me, I cannot recall why he is here.
“You’ve forgotten that I was coming,” he guesses with a chuckle. “How I love to see you lost in the past.”
How I love hearing him say that, I think. I never thought I’d meet a man who actually relished my fascination with history. Outside of Papa and Howard, of course, and that’s different.
“No, not at all,” I protest. “I just lost track of time, that’s all. Howard—I mean, Mr. Carter—and I have been pursuing a few leads on sites for next season.”
I suddenly remember that I’d asked him up early for the Highclere Castle hunt weekend.
Even though I’ve been declining social invitations left and right, I could hardly refuse to attend a party in my own home.
So I’d thought it might be the perfect time to be with Brograve while my parents are absorbed with entertaining.
I’m doing my level best to stretch out the time until my parents or Brograve ask me to make some sort of commitment.
Even though Brograve and I have never had an explicit conversation about our feelings or the future, in our circle, it’s not unheard of for couples to become betrothed on flimsier foundations than he and I share.
“Sometimes I think of you two as the detectives in one of those mystery novels. Instead of solving a murder, though, you’re solving an ancient puzzle,” he remarks.
“That’s not too far off the mark, Lieutenant Beauchamp,” Howard chimes in cordially.
Usually he doesn’t bother interacting with the society folks who amble about Highclere Castle at my parents’ invitation, but Howard genuinely seems to like Brograve.
It would be hard to dislike the affable lieutenant.
His nature has proven to be uniformly even and pleasant, a rare and welcome treat after a lifetime of mercurial parents.
“Have you stumbled on the hidden tomb?” he asks, sitting on one of the fussier upholstered chairs facing us.
“Not exactly,” I answer. “Although we’ve been considering a promising triangular-shaped area outside the tomb of Ramses. About fifteen years ago, Theodore Davis—”
“The retired American archaeologist,” Brograve interjects.
“Yes.” Howard nods approvingly. I can see that he’s pleased with Brograve’s interest and growing knowledge. “Although Davis is a businessman foremost, and an archaeologist only as a hobby.”
For a time, Howard worked for Davis, supervising his excavations in the Valley of the Kings. Whenever Davis’s name is mentioned, he’s wont to explain the limitations of Davis’s expertise—his bank account. The excavation in question occurred long after Carter finished working for Davis.
I return to the subject at hand. “Anyway, Davis uncovered a pit with a strange assortment of objects—everything from broken pottery to animal bones to papyri to remains of flowers. And, they found the kind of linen bandages used to wrap mummies, one of which had the name Tutankhamun on it. Nearby, Davis stumbled across an empty chamber and assumed it was Tutankhamun’s tomb, plundered in antiquity. ”
“You two think otherwise?” Brograve ventures.
“Perhaps,” Howard answers, his smile gone and his face closed off.
“But is there evidence of Hatshepsut near the site? I know that her tomb is your main objective.” Brograve handily surmises the problem with this potential site.
I am impressed. Not only that Brograve is parsing all this unfamiliar history and our arcane methodologies but also doing it for me. I don’t doubt that he has some genuine interest, but I know the spark is fanned by his feelings for me.
Before I can answer, Howard barks, “The location of Hatshepsut’s tomb has no bearing on where we choose to dig.”
Brograve recoils a bit at the harsh words, and then pushes himself to standing.
“Apologies if my understanding of archaeology is limited, Mr. Carter.” His smile returns when he faces me.
“In any event, I should chase down my man and direct him in the unpacking. From your clothes, it looks as though we may ride before luncheon?”
I glance down at my forgotten riding clothes. Smiling up at him, as if my attire had been selected for just such an occasion, I say, “What gave it away?”
He moves to leave the Music Room, and I nod. “I’ll be right behind you.”
The moment he clears the Music Room doorway, I hiss at Howard, “Why did you speak to him so sharply? He’s just making conversation.”
“You told him about Hatshepsut,” Howard growls back in an angry tone he’s never used with me before. “How could you? You know how furious your father would be if he knew we’d had her in our sights all along.”
“Brograve is loyal to me.” I stand firm against Howard’s tirade. “He knows better than to mention it to my father.”
“No one is completely trustworthy. What might he say after a few too many ports in the smoking room after dinner? And you’ve got to be aware that our excavations are hanging by a thread.”
Is he talking about Papa’s financial troubles? My stomach lurches. Howard and I have never discussed the pecuniary plight of my father and the impact it could have on our dig. I haven’t even discussed it with Papa, and I hadn’t been certain Howard knew. But now it sits uncomfortably between us.
“I hope you have faith in me,” I say, pivoting away from him and out of the room.
I catch up with Brograve in the corridor, just as he’s about to enter the Great Hall. Tugging gently on his arm, I say, “I’m sorry about Howard. He can be crotchety and difficult. His reaction had nothing to do with you.”
“How many times do I have to ask you never to apologize? About your father. About Howard. About your work.”
“I know I can be a little obsessive.”
“Eve, I meant what I said before.” He reaches for my hand.
“Your fascination with ancient Egypt is wonderful, and I’m proud of the work you do there.
I’ll miss you come January, but while I’m tromping around rainy Suffolk, drumming up votes for my election, it will give me great pleasure to think of you digging away in the warm Egyptian sun.
Who knows? Maybe one day I’ll dig alongside you. ”