Free Lady Roma's Romance by Cynthia Bailey Pratt Page B

modern man had only just begun to create anew. Bath had thrived in those days before fading into a centuries-long sleep. How fortunate to live in these latter days of her second glory! With light steps, he trotted up to the front door of a small house and tugged vigorously at the bell. Handing in his card to the boy who opened for him, he was welcomed almost at once by the curator.
    “You’ve changed things about rather since I was here last,” Lord Yarborough said, craning his neck for a glimpse of the room beyond.
    “Yes, my lord. Those coins are new and that bronze. A householder in John’s Street knocked a hole in his cellar floor and discovered them. As they had no value in themselves, he donated them to us, happily.”
    “Fortunate man. Pray provide me with his address. I will send him a token of my regard. Such actions must be encouraged. I cannot bear to think how many beautiful things have been destroyed for their mere material value.”
    The curator, rather a monk-like figure with his brown coat and balding head, nodded and smiled. “With the widening of streets going forth almost daily, we have great hopes of more discoveries.”
    “You’ll keep me informed?”
    “Naturally, my lord.” He leaned forward to whisper behind his hand. “I have some hopes in that direction myself. I am negotiating with the owner of my house to let me undertake some investigation in the cellars. It was originally part of the Abbey, and, as you know, the monks sometimes covered up some interesting objects.”
    “Excellent. I hope the owner sees reason.”
    “I think she will,” the curator said, rubbing his hands together dryly. “A widow is susceptible to certain blandishments, you know.”
    “No breach of promise, now,” Lord Yarborough admonished, well aware of the lengths that a true collector was willing to go in order to obtain a rarity.
    The curator chuckled. “Not until I’ve found something good at any rate.” He cocked an ear toward the rooms at the back of the house. “If your lordship will pardon me ... I’m mixing up a batch of plaster of Paris.”
    “Certainly, certainly,” Lord Yarborough said absently, his attention fixing on the new finds. “I know my way about.”
    “I shall be glad to hear your lordship’s views, especially on the new pottery shards. Lincoln says they are ‘Samian’ ware; I have my doubt.”
    Lord Yarborough wasn’t impressed by the coins; they were all familiar faces to him. The patina of the broken bronze vessel was all greenish black, yet despite the corrosion he could make out the head of some animal on the side of the curving piece, a bull perhaps? He knew well that the worship of Mithras, a Persian god, had been popular with soldiers. Could this be ... ?
    Breaking in upon his thoughts, he heard a female voice from another room. It was so unexpected that he was drawn from his contemplation of the bronze. For an instant, he thought that perhaps Roma had come in search of him. True, he had not mentioned to her where he was going, but he knew, with a wry smile, that deducing his whereabouts would present no great challenge. He always came here after his return to Bath, to investigate and criticize any new finds.
    “If you are entirely certain I shall be in no one’s way . . .,” the young lady said.
    “There’s no one here but his lordship,” the curator said. “He’ll pay you no mind.”
    “His lordship?”
    “The Earl of Yarborough.”
    Was there a slight feminine gasp of surprise?
    “He’s a well-known authority on Roman ruins and remains.”
    “Oh, yes. Yes, I know.”
    Lord Yarborough had begun to lean forward to hear that voice, soft and low-pitched as it was. He tried to focus once more upon the bronze. Upon second glance, he decided that the animal mask was that of a deer, not a bull.
    “Ah, the little statue,” the curator said. “A very fine find. Not complete, of course.”
    “No. But I don’t mind that,” the young lady answered.
    His