Free Every Whispered Word by Karyn Monk Page A

these years. Nothing has changed.”
    â€œYour father died, which changes everything,” Elliott insisted. “I know it’s difficult for you to understand, Camelia. You’ve spent most of your life following your father around on his excavations, living in tents amidst dozens of natives, without a proper governess or chaperone to watch over you. And while your father was willing to indulge your desire to be with him and let you live such an inappropriate life for a young girl, now that he is gone you really need to think about your reputation.”
    â€œThe only reputation that interests me is my achievement as an archaeologist. If people must talk about me, then they should focus their attention on my work, not whom I live with or what animals I brought with me from Africa. I really can’t understand why those things should be of any interest to them.”
    â€œWhat people should do and what they actually do are two entirely different things. Whether you like it or not, your reputation as an unmarried woman also affects your reputation as an archaeologist. You came here to try to raise more funds for your expedition—but have you succeeded?”
    â€œI have been somewhat successful. I’m not finished yet.”
    She did not want Elliott to know the enormous difficulty she was having raising the money she needed to continue her work. From the moment her father died, Elliott had tried to convince Camelia that she should just give up on the site and sell it. Elliott had worked the site for fifteen years alongside her father. Although his love of Africa and his loyalty to Lord Stamford had kept him there over the years, he had gradually become convinced that there was little of value there. Elliott’s deep fondness for Camelia made him protective of her, and Camelia knew he did not want to see her use up what little money her father had left her, and devote what could be many years of her life, only to fail as her father had.
    â€œHow much money have you managed to raise?” he asked.
    â€œEnough to keep us going for a while,” she replied vaguely. Of course it wouldn’t keep them going much longer if Camelia had to pay her workers more to keep them from deserting her, but Elliott didn’t need to know that. “I expect to secure more shortly. I plan to approach the members of the British Archaeological Society at their ball this week to tell them about the excavation. I’m sure once they hear about the extraordinary new cave paintings we found last October, they will be very anxious to give their support.”
    â€œCave paintings can’t be moved to a British museum,” Elliott pointed out. “The society members are more interested in supporting ventures that will give them a handsome return on their investment, which means finding objects that can actually be removed and sold to a collection.”
    â€œWhich I’m certain we will find, once we get the site cleared of water and continue digging.”
    â€œHave you managed to find a pump?”
    â€œI will.”
    â€œHave you heard anything from Trafford?”
    â€œI had a letter from him this morning. They are still trying to take the water out by hand.”
    â€œIs that all he reported?”
    â€œUnfortunately, a wall collapsed and one of the workers was killed—a lovely, hardworking young man named Moswen. Four others were injured.”
    Elliott ruefully shook his head. “Now the rest of the workers will be even more convinced that the site is cursed.”
    â€œWhich you and I both know is nonsense. There’s no such thing as a curse.”
    â€œIt doesn’t matter what you and I believe, Camelia—what matters is what the natives think. If you can’t get anyone to work the site, the land is virtually worthless.” He regarded her soberly. “You should seriously consider the De Beers Company’s offer to buy it, Camelia. They have made