Page 6 of A Little Bit Dangerous
The items captured Mr Chance’s attention, his curious gaze fixating on the sandstone slab. “Good God! Is that a fragment from the Dendera Zodiac? It resembles Denon’s sketch of the ceiling he drew in a temple in Thebes.”
Isabella knew it couldn’t be the zodiac.
That treasure was kept at the Royal Library in France.
“Sadly, no.” Mr Brown peered into the corridor before closing the door and turning the key in the lock. “Though it’s certainly an astrological chart. They said it came from an ancient temple in Amarna.”
Mr Chance put on a pair of metal-rimmed spectacles he had removed from his coat pocket and inspected the stone.
Isabella’s attention strayed to the impressive figure of a man, not the artefact. Christian Chance was nothing like the boy she remembered. Gold-blonde hair skimmed his shoulders as if he meant to defy convention. Like the fake artefacts found in the back alleys of Cairo, his rugged physique had been carved on the streets of London. She had never seen a man fill his coat in quite the same way—like a skilled tailor had spent days shaping the material around every hard muscle.
Mr Brown removed two pairs of gloves and a folio of paper from the trolley and placed them on the desk. “There are more candles in the drawer. You have until ten o’clock to make notes, not a minute more. Then I must return the artefacts to the display cases.”
Mr Daventry offered Isabella a warm smile and gestured to the table in the far corner. On a tray was a flagon and a platter laden with fruit, bread and cheese. “There’s food and refreshment. I know you often forget to eat, Miss Lawton.”
She did not forget.
Food was a luxury she could ill afford.
“Don’t eat while examining the documents,” Mr Brown stressed, flapping like a mother hen. “You’ll find paper, ink and the necessary implements inside the desk. You’ll lock the door. Open it for no one. Heaven forbid someone should learn these items are forgeries.”
“We’ll return before ten,” Mr Daventry said calmly.
Mr Chance drew his pocket watch and studied the face in the candlelight. “One cannot rush such things. What if we need more time?”
“Then you must return tomorrow at dawn.”
Mr Chance glanced at her as if he would rather walk the plank than suffer a second meeting. “Then let’s pray we accomplish the task today.”
Being in her company must be a dreadful reminder of what his family had lost. She was the link to a past he did not wish to revisit. How could one not hate the offspring of one’s enemy?
Questions flooded her mind.
None of them related to the artefacts sitting on the trolley.
Concentrating on the task ahead would be difficult when she longed to hear Mr Chance’s sad story. Not just because she hoped he was happy now. His clothes were new and expensive. From the size of his broad chest, it was years since he’d missed a meal.
But victims found solace with other victims. One did not feel so alone knowing fate had dealt someone else a dreadful blow. Perhaps his determination to improve his circumstances would give her the courage to forge ahead.
Mr Chance crossed the room, muttered sharp words to Mr Daventry and locked the door behind the retreating men. He lingered there momentarily, huffing and sighing as if deciding how best to breathe to conserve his energy.
It was her first time alone in a locked room with a man—except for Mr Griffin. But he’d been more interested in inspecting her skirts than discussing her plans for the future. Had she not escaped the seminary, she might have suffered Abigail’s fate. As with other pupils, the girl had found herself married to a lecherous oaf.
Mr Chance turned to face her, and the room felt suddenly small. “Shall we begin by examining the ushabti?”
Impressed that he had identified the figurine correctly—and had not issued orders as men were wont to do—Isabella agreed. “I know enough to make a thorough assessment.”
Mr Chance drew another chair closer to the desk and pushed his large hands into the gloves supplied by Mr Brown. “We should begin by listing the features we’d expect to find in a funeral figurine.”
Such objects were hardly rare. Relatives placed them in tombs, believing they acted as servants to the deceased in the afterlife. No one knew how many one might need when reaching a higher plane.
“Yes,” she said, her gaze flitting between the striking man and the juicy red apple on the far table. At the prospect of sating her hunger, her stomach growled like an angry bear. “Would you mind if I ate first?”
His deep frown said he did mind. “You eat. I’ll study the artefact.”
Pride battled the stomach pangs. It took every effort not to race across the room and gorge herself silly. Still, she would struggle to concentrate until she had food in her belly, and so surrendered to her body’s needs.
Her hands trembled as she sliced the bread. The first mouthful did more than chase away the cramps. It soothed her restless spirit.
