Free Wicked by Shannon Drake Page A

involved a cab or, indeed, a conveyance of any kind.
    He still stared at her troubled. “Quite remarkable,” he said.
    “Well,” she murmured, lowering her eyes. “If you’re pleased, then…”
    “Pleased!” Sir John exclaimed. “My dear girl, Lord Stirling’s parents were such patrons of this museum, you cannot imagine. And more! They were deeply devoted to the people of Egypt, anxious that, with foreign powers lending aid, the people should not suffer. And the work they did!” He studied her a moment longer, then seemed to make a decision. “Come with me, Camille dear, and I’ll show you a bit of their legacy.”
    She was startled. So far, her work had entailed exactly what they chose to hand her—usually the most tedious work—and nothing more. But now Sir John intended to take her into the vaults, the storage facilities of the museum.
    She was fascinated to realize that she had her threatening host to thank for this possibility. She hated feeling thatshe owed him any thanks whatsoever, but she wasn’t about to miss this opportunity.
    “Thank you, Sir John,” she said.
    He acquired a set of keys from his desk and brought her out of the offices, down stairs and through hallways, and then down once again. Here, the corridors were dark and the rooms were filled with wooden crates, some items unpacked, some in stages of being opened. They passed by a number of boxes that had come from Turkey and Greece and onward, until they reached a section shrouded in shadow. Some of the crates here were open. Smaller crates had been removed, and there was a row of sarcophagi still nestled in larger coffinlike boxes, cradled by their packing material.
    “Here!” Sir John said, sweeping his arms to indicate the array of treasures.
    Camille looked around slowly. There were definitely many riches here.
    “Only half, of course. Many of the artifacts went to the castle,” Sir John said. A scowl furrowed his brow. “Then there were several boxes that simply went missing.”
    “Perhaps they’re at the castle, as well.”
    “I don’t think so,” Sir John murmured. “But, of course, transporting these goods…ah, who knows! Still, Lord and Lady Stirling were always tremendously detailed about their work. Everything written down…” He paused, looking abashed. “I believe the boxes did arrive. But no matter. Their last find was so rich, we’ve not managed to begin to study and catalogue what we’ve got.”
    “These were discovered by Lord Stirling’s parents just before they died, I assume,” Camille said.
    Sir John nodded. “The small pieces and reliefs you are translating are from the same find,” he explained. “A glorious, glorious find.” He shook his head sadly. “Such amarvelous couple! Very aware of their responsibility to the Queen, but both devoted to study! It was quite amazing that Lord Stirling found a woman such as he did. Ah, Lady Stirling! I remember her well. No woman could so gracefully and kindly greet a room of friends, old or new. She was a stunning woman, simply beautiful. And yet, she could crawl into the dirt, work with a shovel or a brush, study texts, seek the answers to mysteries…” His voice faded. “Such a loss…”
    Sir John’s white hair glimmered in the pale gaslight of the museum depths as he shook his head once again. But then he grimaced sadly. “I had feared that Brian would hole up forever at that castle of his, tangled now with overgrowth, ever dark and forbidding, believing that his parents had been killed. But it appears he may at last be coming to terms with the past and dealing with his grief. And, my dear girl, if you have had anything to do with this magnificent rebirth of interest, you are perhaps the most valuable asset I have brought into the museum.”
    “Well, Sir John, thank you. But I hardly think that I’ve had much of an influence upon the man. We’re not at all well acquainted.”
    “But he wishes you to attend the gala fund-raiser with