Page 4 of The Devil in Oxford
His dark gray eyes sparkled in the dim electric lights as he leaned closer to me. The spicy scent of his cologne tickled my nose. “I never regret abandoning the mites for a new acquaintance, my dear girl. Tell me, do you care for archaeology as much as Owen does?” He inclined his head in Mr. Owen’s direction. “You seemed terribly interested when I mentioned Professor Reaver.”
I was grateful for the discreet change of subject. “Far too much if you ask Mr. Owen.”
“Does he not care for scientific discovery?” The older fellow’s brows rose comically.
“Oh, Mr. Owen cares a great deal just as long as said discovery does not discommode him. It’s why I wasn’t allowed to join Howard Carter’s expedition to the Valley of the Kings earlier this year. He needed me at the bookshop, not off gallivanting with archaeologists—or so he claimed.”
“Not allowed?” Laurent wore an endearing look of affront on his face that Mr. Owen woulddisallowhis employee to do anything.
“He had a half dozen jobs for me to do instead, and as frustratingas he can be, I am fond of the old man. So I told my dear friend Mr. Carter that I could not go.”
Laurent let out a low sound of appreciation and rose from his chair, holding out his arm indicating I should join him. “Though I must say, to have been part of Carter’s most recent discovery would have been a feather in your cap. While I don’t have the glories of the Nile here in Oxford, I might have something else you will enjoy all the same. Perhaps it will cheer you this evening. Though I suspect the weather does not help.”
“No, it does not. I am getting cold even thinking of the long walk home. I may see if we can catch a car back this evening, even though it isn’t terribly far.” I laughed, standing and scooping up my glass. I rather liked Emmanuel Laurent, even if he was a politician. He had an affability about him, a way of listening that made you feel truly heard.Understood.It was a dizzying thing, or perhaps it was the three glasses of champagne I’d had on an empty stomach.
I laid my palm on his wool-jacketed arm and allowed him to lead me away from the rest of the group, down a quiet corridor and to a great door at the end of the hall with a lovely silver knob in the shape of a lion’s head.
“It certainly isn’t as thrilling as Mr. Carter’s discovery, but I hope it will lift your spirits for one evening.” He paused for emphasis before placing his hand in the mouth of the silver lion, and turned, pushing the door in.
I peered into the well-lit library and could scarcely believe what I saw. For such a small townhome, Professor Laurent had created a veritable museum of early British archaeology inside his library. The room itself had been combined with another to double its size, and it was lined with floor-to-ceiling cases. Over the years he’d lovingly affixed old, mismatched, glass curio cases to the walls, until the room was essentially one giant collection. Some of the boxes were open to the air displaying large fossils, while others were sealed shut to protect more delicate contents from the elements.There was a cobbled-together grace to the whole thing—a studied disarray, unlike the rest of the home—that made it all the more welcoming and warm. I pored over the shelves, uncertain where to begin.
“You can start wherever you wish. There is no beginning and no end. I tried to go thematically rather than chronologically. Likely not the best interpretive choice, but as it’s my personal library, I make the rules.” He smiled broadly but I was already hooked.
This room bore none of the holiday decorations from the more public areas of the house. It smelled clean and crisp, of old wood and leather soap. I took a step farther into the room and paused at the first case, taking in a small collection of four intricately twisted golden torcs.
“That set was a particularly lucky acquisition,” he said with pride.
“It’s extraordinary…” I whispered, moving on to the next case, which housed intriguing, old, beaded jewelry. I flitted from case to case, stretching up on the tips of my toes, greedily absorbing it all. Everything from broken bits of pottery to Bronze Age tools and even a recovered bit of Roman mosaic that he had carefully preserved and affixed to a section of wall.
“That tilework was one of my earliest pieces. It was found at a site not far from here sixty years ago.” He gestured to the mosaic. “It had been mostly consumed by the woods. That section is all that remains. Sometimes I like to sit here and think of the hands that made the tile, the ones who laid the pieces—all of it nearly two thousand years ago. It’s awe-inspiring, is it not?”
“It truly is.” I wet my lips, strangely moved by the humanness of the notion. The unending need of man to leave a mark upon the world behind him. “Do you ever pause to think of all the myriad lives that have been lived in its presence? I wonder sometimes if the pieces can recall what came before, and all the people that have appreciated them over the years.”
“You are like him…” He smiled fondly at me before checking his watch. “It’s uncanny.”
“Like whom?”
A cloud covered his expression, like a storm across a summer field. Sudden and sharp. “My dear son… Ernst. I lost him during the war, but he would say those very things from the time he could form sentences. Come crawl onto my lap in this room.Papa, do you ever wonder…?”He gave his head a shake. “It’s been years. Do not mind me, it’s an old man’s reverie. I suppose it’s the season making me miss him all the more. He did love the holidays. The sweets, the colors.”
My own heart ached. “I am sorry.”
“It is nothing. A memory, that’s all, and memories can’t harm us.” Laurent cleared his throat, turning back to his collection. “I thought this room might buoy your spirits. You looked quite sad earlier in the drawing room.”
I gave him a faint smile, stunned that I’d been so easy to read.
He patted me on the shoulder. “It seems I have found a kindred spirit here amongst the antiquarians. I shall leave you for a moment to explore. Take all the time you wish. Dinner will be delayed a bit longer as I am awaiting our final guest—an old pupil of mine whom I haven’t seen in an age. One of the most extraordinary lads I’d ever had the privilege of teaching. I’ve not seen him since before the war, but he had been a dear friend to my darling Ernst.”
The deep pain of regret echoed in his words. A sentiment I keenly knew.
“Don’t worry about me. I am perfectly content here. Please return to your guests. I think I might enjoy some peace with the artifacts after all.”
“I thought you might.” He gave me a conspiratorial wink, the shadow of melancholy lingering at the edges of his eyes. “If you’d like, I can ask that your supper be brought here. It is no bother.”
The large leather sofa in the center of the roomwasappealing. Justa few moments alone wouldn’t be too terribly selfish. “I shouldn’t. Mr. Owen would be very cross with me.”
“You need some quiet, my dear girl. It is written all over your face. Sit. I’ll make your excuses. Owen will have to answer to me if he objects.”
I ran my fingers over the edge of the sofa, weighing the options. “You know, I think a little quiet might be nice.”
