Chapter Seven
“Nefritiri, you naughty girl!”
The housekeeper’s admonishment rang out as the woman’s footsteps padded over the corridor outside Alex’s study. The shrill, aggravated tones tore her attention from the images she’d been studying. The photograph Benedict had left behind offered an adequate view of the symbols, but examining the cryptic message for clues had left her blurry-eyed and weary. While she took no pleasure at her typically unflappable housekeeper’s exasperation, she welcomed the momentary distraction from the task.
“Come back here, you little minx,” Mrs. Thomas called, nearing the study.
Alex smiled to herself. Somehow, she doubted the cat was listening to the matron’s commands. Had the mischievous feline launched another attack on the feather duster Mrs. Thomas wielded with precise efficiency?
The cat dashed through the doorway, a flash of black fur and golden eyes as it escaped its nemesis. Just as Alex had suspected, several feathers pilfered from the cleaning implement dangled from its mouth. Nefritiri leapt onto her desk, nimbly evading the reference volumes she’d stacked in one corner. Mrs. Thomas followed her into the study, halting her pursuit at the door.
“So sorry to disturb you.” Mrs. Thomas’s cheeks had flushed rosy red, whether from exertion or embarrassment, Alex could not be sure. “I see you’re hard at work again.”
“Think nothing of it. I see Nefritiri has been stalking the duster again.”
“At this rate, there won’t be much left of it,” Mrs. Thomas said with a defeated shrug.
Alex slanted the cat a glance. The little beast had taken refuge behind her desk, the incriminating feathers still in its mouth. “I trust your morning has been uneventful…other than this naughty girl’s mischief.”
“I cannot complain,” the older woman replied. “Though I suspect the cat may be the least of your worries. I spotted two men loitering outside your residence, a couple of serious gents, each trying to look as though they’renotwatching the house. I’m questioning whether or not to alert a constable.”
Alex set the image aside. “They’re still here?”
Mrs. Thomas narrowed her eyes in confusion. “You know them?”
“Yes…well, not personally. I know who they are and their purpose for being here.”
The housekeeper’s mouth went taut. “Is something amiss… Is there something I should know?”
“Oh, dear, I suppose I should have explained this morning. I hadn’t anticipated they’d stay here so late.” Alex drummed her fingers against the desk, then quickly stopped herself. She detested the nervous habit. “Those men are security agents. Matthew Colton assigned them to watch over the residence last night. There was an incident… All in all, rather a mess. I’ll tell you more later. For now, I’m longing for a spot of tea.”
“Of course, miss,” Mrs. Thomas said with a crisp nod. “I’ll bring you a pot. By the way, you did say there was an incident…a violent incident?”
“The potential for bloodshed was definitely there.”
Mrs. Thomas’s mouth thinned. “I suppose that would explain the stain on the Aubusson.”
Alex nodded.Did the woman miss a thing?
“I believe it would.”
“I’ll be getting your tea now, Miss Quinn. Would you care for a piece of shortbread?”
“Yes, that would be marvelous. I’ve had little taste for food this morning, but that might be just the thing to whet my appetite. I never can resist anything you’ve baked.”
Mrs. Thomas flashed a beaming smile. “I’ll be back straight away.”
As the housekeeper bustled from the room, Alex’s gaze settled on the spots of blood marring the fine carpet. A little sound escaped her, a cross between a sigh and a groan. The blemishes were small, but the reminder of the night before roiled her stomach. She pictured Rooney’s cold eyes staring into hers as he put his rough hands on her. Perhaps the tea would help to quiet her nerves. Then again, perhaps only time would diminish the remnants of fear.
Nefritiri regarded her with her usual dispassionate gaze. She’d dropped the purloined feathers on a thick book, evidently trusting Alex with her newly acquired treasure. The cat strolled toward Alex, soliciting a rub behind the ears. A full-bodied purr rumbled through the creature’s plump body, tugging another smile to Alex’s mouth. Amazing, really, how the simple physical contact with the sweet-natured feline soothed her frayed emotions in a way no amount of well-reasoned logic ever could.
Allowing a few minutes to simply enjoy the moment, Alex stroked the fur ball. Her attention wandered to the neatly penned expedition journal Professor Stockwell had prepared on the discovery of the Pharaoh’s Sun. She’d intended to review the notes today, before Benedict’s unexpected arrival had shifted her priorities to deciphering the dead man’s message.
Stockwell had meticulously documented the details of the exploration. Pillaged many times over, the tomb of an obscure pharaoh from the fifteenth dynasty had yielded few artifacts. A scarce few items of pottery and nonprecious metals had escaped the raiders’ clutches. Only the amulet known as the Pharaoh’s Sun would have elicited a thief’s excitement. The bronze pendant would likely fetch a modest sum, but its historical significance was considerable. The professor had taken pride in recovering the piece before a less scrupulous explorer could get his hands on it.
And yet, Stockwell had summoned Benedict. How very ironic. The professor’s most accomplished student had shifted his focus from academic interest to the price an antiquity would fetch on the market. Professor Stockwell knew that better than most. Why had he called upon a man who could not be trusted to safeguard a precious relic?
Had the professor fabricated the tale of a map to some long-buried treasure in a desperate effort to stir Benedict’s interest and entice him to pursue Rooney to London?
