Free Digging Deeper by Barbara Elsborg

him, desperate he ask her. Her hand twitched as though she’d like to shoot it up in the air. He knew she should be the last one to ask, just as he’d always been the last.
    Beck turned to Matt. “What do you think?”
    “Horizontal,” Matt muttered.
    Probably because he needed to lie down. “Why is that?”
    “We can cover more ground, so we know we’re digging in the right place,” Matt said.
    “We’re looking for Roman artifacts. Anything interesting is probably going to be deeper,” Jane pointed out.
    “Oh, yeah,” Matt said. “Vertical then.”
    Beck forced back the snippy comment trying to slide though his gritted teeth and gave up.
    “Right, after we’ve set up, you can spend the next couple of hours playing with the magnetometers and the other equipment. I want measurements of soil resistivity. Two of you work with probes and then compare your results. You can choose whether to mark the site off before or after you do the survey.”
    He knew what he’d rather they did, but they had to find things out for themselves. The site needed to be laid out in accurate grids, turf removed with care, tent set up, diagrams drawn, jobs allocated, decisions made over where to start, and so forth. Beck was there to supervise and monitor but he didn’t need to watch them every moment of the day. He intended to get on with writing his book.
    ———
    Flick drove to the back of Hartington Hall and parked next to a rusty minivan. She thought of Beck and sighed. Two minutes before nine. Celia was desperate for her to be late so she could give her a lecture about unreliability, fecklessness and Flick’s lack of moral fiber, spicing the criticism with a raft of other denigrating comments. Any excuse to insult her, but Flick was never late. She knocked as the clock inside struck the hour.
    Henry opened the door and beamed. “Good morning.”
    “Good morning, Pharzuph.”
    “Ah, the angel of lust and fornication. Well chosen.”
    Flick scowled. “Damn it, Henry, do you spend all day checking the devil’s family tree?”
    She’d scoured the Internet for the names of unusual devils, but not yet caught him out. He was a very clever man. She had no idea why he’d married such a horrible woman.
    “You mustn’t keep writing me love letters,” Flick teased as he handed her the familiar sheet of scented paper covered in Celia’s flowery writing.
    “You’re not going to love me when you see what she wants you to do.”
    Flick ran her eyes down the list of jobs their regular help declined. Handwashing a week’s worth of crystal glassware, polishing the silver and dusting the Royal Doulton figurines and animals. In Flick’s house everything went into the washing machine or dishwasher, including the ornaments. It made life much easier, though so far she’d melted a salad spinner, warped a spatula into an art exhibit and had a bit of an accident with Stef’s Armani jumper. While Flick worked she was also expected to look after Lady C’s mother, Gertrude. In many ways the worst job of all.
    Top of the list was the silver. Flick groaned. Her least favorite chores, in part because Celia insisted her mother counted each piece Flick cleaned, presumably so she couldn’t help herself to a candlestick or two. Flick had long since given up being offended by Lady C, but spending time with her poisonous mother was like being attached to a machine that drained all your energy until you lost the will to live.
    “When did the archaeologists arrive?” Flick asked.
    “Just before you. Celia is out there telling them how to dig a hole.”
    Flick thought about Beck, felt a shot of desire sweep through her and squashed it by smiling at Henry. If she didn’t want more of Beck’s black looks, the best thing she could do was avoid him.
    Gertrude was already in the dining room, sitting with a tray of tea and toast. As usual the Times newspaper lay open on the table in front of her. Flick had never seen her read a word of it.
    “How