Daventry narrowed his gaze. “What I ask of you will test your mental and physical limits. If you’re not up to the task, tell me now.”
He knew damn well Christian would accept.
A skilled enquiry agent could sense a man’s restlessness.
No one wanted to admit to being weak.
“I cannot abandon my responsibilities at Fortune’s Den.” Christian kept the accounts, dealt with paperwork, and fought alongside his brothers when reprobates caused trouble. Family always came first.
Daventry smiled. “I’m sure you can keep everyone happy. Besides, I have someone waiting at the museum to assist you. Considering the delicate nature of the problem, I need the matter dealt with quickly.”
Christian fell silent while considering his dilemma.
What did Daventry want him to do?
Document the artefacts?
Read detailed letters proving provenance?
Study endless reams of text?
As the carriage trundled along London’s streets, Christian noticed the haggard costermongers setting up their handcarts. He knew homeless children would be out stealing the odd apple or two while the sellers’ backs were turned.
The need to live in a just and fair world ran like blood in his veins. It was why he admired Lucius Daventry, undoubtedly why he nodded and said, “I can spare three days.”
“I may need five,” Daventry countered. “Though if you’re as efficient as your brothers claim, you will achieve the task in three. And you must swear to keep the details confidential.”
Christian imagined the tense meeting with Aaron.
You’ll not keep me in the dark.
What the devil does Daventry want with you?
“You have my word. I shall not discuss the matter in any depth.” It was time Aaron learned to trust Christian’s judgement. So why did his heart ache? Why did he feel like a soldier deserting his comrades? “Most people think I’m a rogue, but I’ll not break a vow.”
To theton, anyone forced to spend more than a night in the rookeries was a scoundrel. Anyone disowned by their titled family was a villain.
“If I’m to trust you with the truth, do I have your word you will see this job through to the end?” Something in Daventry’s tone implied thejobwas more complicated than Christian had been led to believe.
Christian pushed aside any reservations and nodded. “Don’t expect me to stab my thumb and make a blood oath. Now tell me what the hell this is about.”
Daventry smiled at Christian’s impatience. “The museum’s curator has asked me to investigate an incident of fraud. He believes some artefacts purchased during his brief absence last month are forgeries. Though the provenance comes with a seal from the Grand Vizier in Cairo.”
“The Grand Vizier?” That in itself was odd and raised many questions. “He would have required a substantial amount of money in return. How much did the museum pay for the artefacts?”
Daventry glanced out of the window. “We’ll be there shortly. It’s better if I explain everything then. But the Vizier is gathering funds to wage war in Syria, which may explain why he sanctioned the trade.”
“Or a corrupt official used the seal without permission.”
Daventry arched a brow. “Continue thinking like an enquiry agent, and you will have no issue gaining the answers we seek.”
They arrived at Montagu House in Great Russell Street, home of the British Museum, a grand palace befitting a nobleman of the first rank. Christian followed Daventry through the entrance that looked like a gateway to a Gothic monastery and across the deserted courtyard to a door tucked away in a shadowed corner.
“The curator is expecting us,” Daventry said as they descended the stone staircase to the basement. “You’re to examine the documents away from prying eyes. Should anyone ask why you’re here, you’re to say you’re writing a thesis on Ancient Egypt.”
They were met by a middle-aged man with brown wavy hair and impressive side whiskers. Through beady black eyes, he scanned Christian’s physique and muttered his frustration.
“I need a scholar, Daventry, not one of your lackeys.”
