Thirty-five
When they entered Acharnae late the next morning, Uncle Charles was several yards behind. Evangeline hadn’t spoken with either man since the confrontation last night. They had slept by the fire and allowed her to curl up alone beneath the ledge with both blankets.
It had been too quiet, and she woke with a start, her heart pounding in her ears. Only once she had spotted Uncle Charles snuffing the fire and Jonathan packing their belongings had she been able to breathe easily again.
On the trek down the mountain, she had refused either of their help and walked ahead while they chatted amiably as if they hadn’t broken her heart a few hours earlier.
As they walked farther into the village, Jonathan glanced back at Uncle Charles and furrowed his brow.
“We’ll stop here for a bit. Timothy needs a rest.”
Her uncle huffed. “Pampered donkey. How many rests does he need?”
Jonathan suggested Evangeline and her uncle wait for him at the tavern. She headed toward the tavern before she softened and thanked him. She didn’t want to feel gratitude toward him. It didn’t matter that he had fought for her uncle’s release or was attentive to his needs now.
Jonathan lied about who he was—what he was—and no matter how vigorously he denied it, he had used her. He made her care for him, to trust him. But she was guilty of ignoring her initial reservations and asking for his help. She had allowed herself to love him, and that was unforgivable.
Her arms and legs felt like sacks of rock as she trudged into the shuttered stucco building. Uncle Charles was several steps behind her, but he joined her at an olive wood table big enough for only two. The scent of garlic and thyme hung in the heavy air.
When a serving girl approached, Uncle Charles held up three fingers and ordered whatever was cooking over the fire. The girl answered in Greek and sauntered away.
“I hope you like chicken stew,” he said.
“Mm-hmm.” She didn’t have much of an appetite, though she needed the sustenance to keep walking.
The girl carried two bowls to the table and turned to return to the cauldron.
“Ask her to wait to serve Jonathan,” Evangeline said. “It will be cold otherwise.”
Her uncle did as she requested, at least she assumed.
“Why didn’t you teach me Greek?” she asked.
“Ah, you’re speaking to me at last.”
She frowned, and his smile fell away.
“If you had shown an interest in learning, I would’ve allowed you to study Greek. You determined your education.”
That was true. He had never discouraged her from pursuing her interests, and yet, he had kept so much knowledge locked away.
Her focus shifted to her bowl of stew, no longer engaged.
“You said your sister helped decipher my journal, but it was you who figured out the key.”
She glanced up, eyebrow raised. “You sound self-assured.”
“I know you and Regina,” he said. “She never cared for puzzles.”
“And we never knew you at all.”
His shoulders slumped, and he shoveled a spoonful of stew into his mouth.
“It’s true,” Evangeline said. “Were you even on digs when you were away?”
“Sometimes.”
“But not others.” She leaned toward him, lowering her voice. “Is this why you kept delaying me joining you? You were off spying?”
His lips thinned. “My work is dangerous whether I’m on a dig or not. I don’t have the luxury of changing hats to become an antiquarian some days and others a Regent’s man. I’m both, always.”
“Well, this might come as a shock, but your work placed all of us in danger—Aunt Beatrice, Regina, Sophia, me—not to mention the staff at Wedmore House.”
His complexion paled beneath his tan. “I didn’t expect Beatrice to take you and your sisters to London while I was still gone.”
“It was Sophia’s debut—or maybe you wanted to keep putting her off, too. It doesn’t matter now. Your lies made us vulnerable.”
“I’m sorry.”
She set down her spoon and wiped her mouth with the napkin. “It changes nothing. Don’t you understand? We almost lost Regina because of your secret life.”
He winced and apologized again.
She rubbed her fingertips over her heart to ease the pinch there. It was the same pain she had experienced after the riot at the market place, when she realized what her parents had endured before their deaths. Part panic, part sorrow.
“Tell me what happened in London,” he said softly. “How did your sister cross paths with Farrin?”
Evangeline took a deep breath and told him about the night Farrin sent Xavier into Wedmore House to recover a map and all the events leading up to the confrontation at the docks.
“We thought he was looking for a map to a new dig site,” she said. “I’d been reading your journal about the Black Death.”
“That was locked in my desk.”
Heat washed over her. “Yes, but you were away longer than expected, and I was searching for a clue as to where you’d gone. You taught me how to pick locks.”
“Fair enough.” He smiled. “It’s a useful skill. I assume you found my other journal by picking the locks on my trunk.”
“Yes, and you’re lucky I applied my skills. Otherwise, we never would have found you, and you would be wasting away at the Semkari camp.” She paused, tapping her finger against her lip. “The Black Death is such an unbecoming name, and undeserved. They were hospitable to Jonathan and me.”
“As long as they haven’t been hired to annihilate you.”
She frowned. “Uncle Charles.”
“Believe me, they earned their name. They could slip into any enemy camp and assassinate targets without anyone ever seeing or hearing them. They were like the plague, leaving nothing but dead bodies behind. They still operate that way.”
She nodded slowly, trying not to dwell on what could have happened at the Semkari camp. “Do you believe we’re safe with him?”
“Safer than on our own. Until I rebuild my strength, we need Hackberry, but I’m watching him.”
Jonathan entered the tavern a few moments later.
“I’m unsatisfied with our conversation,” she said to Uncle Charles, “but it must wait.”
Jonathan pulled up a chair so they were crowded together. His knee bumped hers. She shifted away, her blasted heart beating faster.
“I found two oxen and a cart for the rest of the journey,” he said.
She startled. “What about Timothy?”
“I found a good home for him. The poor fellow deserves a rest.”
She pursed her lips. “I didn’t have a chance to say goodbye.”
“He’s waiting by the cart with his new owner. I anticipated you would want to see him off properly.”
Uncle Charles’s eyebrows ticked up, and he lifted his bowl to drain his broth, hiding his face.