Every Whispered Word (11 page)

Oliver drew his wiry brows together, perplexed. “Is that all?”

Doreen snorted, unimpressed. “That's nothin' compared to what the lassies in this family have done. Not that I want to hear about you lassies gettin' into any trouble, mind,” she added, casting a warning look at Melinda and Frances. “Yer mother an' Annabelle, Grace, an' Charlotte have done quite enough already,” she finished, referring to their older sisters.

“Lady Camelia is not only renowned for the fact that she goes about on her own,” Genevieve reflected. “She is something of a curiosity because she travels with an African servant who dresses in very flamboyant robes, and usually takes her pet monkey with her.”

Oliver slapped his knee, amused. “Now that's a lass with spirit!”

Byron regarded his father suspiciously. “You told me I couldn't have a monkey because it was against the law to keep one for a pet.”

Haydon glanced at Genevieve for help.

“Lady Camelia probably has some sort of special permit,” Genevieve quickly improvised, “because the monkey is only here temporarily. I'm sure when she returns to South Africa she will be taking it with her.”

“She will,” Simon affirmed. “Along with her bird and her snake.”

“Can I have a snake?” Byron asked his father excitedly.

Haydon shrugged. “Ask your mother.”

“I don't think a snake would make a terribly good pet,” Genevieve objected, frowning at her husband. “You can't play with it, and it isn't warm or cuddly.”

“But you
can
play with it,” Byron insisted stubbornly. “You can build an enormous tower of blocks and then put it inside, and let it be the horrible serpent fighting to get free of the castle. You can also wear it around your neck—or you can let it loose and then play hide-and-seek.”

“Aye, an' the next thing I know 'tis curled up in my bed an' I've dropped dead from fright,” muttered Doreen. “Better for ye to get a nice, quiet cat, which will be good for catching mice.”

“Snakes eat mice,” Byron pointed out.

“I'm nae havin' a snake slitherin' around my kitchen searchin' for mice,” Eunice said flatly.

“Fine, then,” he huffed. “What about a lizard? They don't slither.”

Oliver scratched his head. “The lad has a point.”

“Where did you meet Lady Camelia, Simon?” asked Genevieve, trying to change the subject.

“She came to see me the other day, because she had read about my work on steam engines,” Simon replied. “She offered to pay me to build a pump for her, and I agreed. Oliver, would you mind driving me over to the new house first thing in the morning? I'm anxious to get my lab set up as quickly as possible.”

“Doreen and I canna leave 'til after we've cleaned up the breakfast dishes an' set the house in order,” Eunice interjected. “If that doesna suit ye, Ollie, ye'll have to come back for us.”

“We'll be packed and ready to leave by ten o'clock at the very latest,” added Doreen.

Simon regarded them in confusion. “Packed?”

“Aye—ye didna think we'd be leavin' ye to clean and set up yer new house all by yerself, did ye?”

“That's very kind of you,” he quickly assured them. “But it really isn't necessary for you to sleep there. I'm certain you'll be much more comfortable staying here—and Haydon and Genevieve will need you tomorrow night.”

“Actually, Haydon and I are planning to return to Scotland with the children tomorrow,” Genevieve told him. “We only stayed on here a few extra days because we wanted to be sure we had found you a place. And since Lizzie and Beaton will be back tomorrow from visiting their families,” she added, referring to the housekeeper and butler who lived at their London home, “Oliver, Eunice, and Doreen have very kindly offered to stay in London with you, to help you get your new home organized.” She smiled fondly at the elderly trio. “While we will miss them, we do have enough staff at home to keep things running relatively smoothly until they return.”

“I'm goin' to make sure ye eat enough, lad,” Eunice informed Simon flatly. “Ye look like nae but skin and bone. 'Tis time to fatten ye up with some lovely haggis an' sticky toffee pudding.”

“An' I want to see ye're sleepin' on a real bed with clean linens,” added Doreen, “instead of falling asleep in a chair or on the table like ye've been known to do. I'll also see that yer clothes are kept neat an' pressed. Ye look like ye just dragged yerself in from a gale.”

“I'll just be makin' sure ye dinna burn yer new house down,” Oliver finished baldly. “An' come night, I'll be blowin' out the lamps an' hidin' the matches—do ye hear?”

Simon regarded Haydon helplessly.

“Don't look at me—this is Genevieve's idea.”

“It's just until you get settled, Simon,” Genevieve told him gently.

Ever since he had arrived at their house in the middle of the night several days earlier, Genevieve had been deeply concerned about him. Although Simon had insisted that the fire was caused by an unattended candle, and promised that he would take greater care in the future, Genevieve was worried that such an accident might occur again. Next time he might not be so lucky. She knew Simon became extremely distracted when he worked, often forgetting to eat, or sleep, or even to step outside and take a breath of fresh air to clear his lungs. He seemed pale to her, pale and somewhat agitated, which was how he often got when he was working on one of his inventions. She didn't like the fact that he insisted upon living alone, even though he assured her he preferred it that way. She and Haydon had offered to hire a servant for him countless times, so that they could at least know that he had food in his house and someone to talk to now and again. But Simon always refused, insisting he couldn't work when there were people around to distract him.

“Eunice, Oliver, and Doreen aren't quite ready to go back to Scotland yet, and they find there just isn't that much for them to do at home anyway,” Genevieve continued, trying to make it sound as if it was really for their benefit that she was suggesting this. “So it makes sense for them to stay with you for a while, and help you to get your home organized.”

“Ye'll like havin' us with ye, lad,” Doreen assured him.

“I'll prepare all yer favorite dishes,” Eunice promised, setting a plate of warm shortbread in front of him.

“An' I'll keep ye from burnin' yer house down.” Oliver's eyes twinkled with amusement.

Simon sighed. “You'll stay only until the house is organized?”

“O' course, lad.”

“Once the kitchen is to my likin' an' I've managed to put a bit o' meat on ye, I'll be on the first train back to Inverness,” Eunice added.

“The minute yer clothes are washed an' pressed an' the house is clean, I'll be gone, too,” Doreen promised.

“Very well.” Simon took a piece of shortbread and bit into it.

“Shouldna take more than a couple o' months at the very most.”

Simon choked. “A couple of months?”

“Dinna fash yerself, lad,” Oliver said, whacking him hard on the back. “I promise ye, after a day or two ye'll scarce even know we're there.”

         

If one more person told her how much they admired her for her dedication to her work, she would throttle them.

Instead Camelia smiled and tried her best to maintain an expression of ladylike calm, or at least some variation of what she thought ladylike calm might look like. Occasionally she glanced at the women crowding the stifling ballroom, searching for some hint as to how she was supposed to act at this spectacularly tedious affair. The young girls swirling gracefully upon the ballroom floor all bore the same vacuous expression, like beautiful china dolls with their lips painted into taut little bows. The other unmarried women standing in clusters around the dance floor waved their fans and fluttered their eyelashes at the nervous young men brave enough to attempt a conversation with them.

Some of the girls looked as if they wanted to bolt, and rightly so, Camelia thought. One only had to look at the wretched assortment of gangly-legged, bran-faced young suitors around them to understand. A faltering dance or two, a sickly cup of tepid punch and a plate of stringy chicken, and the next thing they knew their mamas would be declaring it a match.

She turned her attention back to the droning voice of Lord Bagley, eternally grateful that she was well past the age of eighteen, when some of her father's friends had tried to convince him that he needed to find her a husband.

Fortunately, her darling father had not believed his only child needed to be married off the instant she came of age. And since Camelia had assured him that she had no interest in marriage, but wanted to be working alongside him, the matter had been swiftly put to rest.

“. . . and then we packed them on a ship and sent them on to the British Museum, where they have been the very core of its Greek Antiquities Collection ever since,” finished Lord Bagley, triumphantly running his fat, gloved knuckle underneath the yellowing gray swath of his moustache. “I told your father then that he should have come with me, but he always was too stubborn for his own good. Said he believed there were extraordinary riches to be found in Africa, and he was the man to find them.” He chuckled and shook his head, as if there was something marvelously amusing about Lord Stamford's devotion to his work in Africa.

“He was right.” Camelia disliked immensely the way Lord Bagley was dismissing her father's work.

“Certainly—as long as he was talking about diamonds and gold,” Lord Bagley agreed. “But your father wasn't talking about minerals. The last time we spoke, some six months before he died, he did nothing but complain about the big mining companies.”

“He said they were destroying the land,” Lord Duffield added. A thin, dour-looking man of about sixty, he wore what little remained of his graying hair combed over in a thin mesh across his liver-spotted scalp. “He insisted that if they were allowed to continue they would completely destroy Africa.”

“He was right about that, too,” Camelia insisted. “Tell me, Lord Duffield, have you ever seen firsthand the devastation wrought on the earth by the process of diamond mining?”

“Mining is a messy business,” he returned dismissively, absently patting down a few stray strands of his hair. “I'm afraid that's unavoidable.”

“Surely you must agree, my dear, that diamonds have put Africa on the map,” Lord Gilby added, stroking the fastidiously trimmed point of his wiry gray beard.

“Africa was on the map for millions of years before that wretched white pebble was found near the banks of the Orange River barely eighteen years ago,” Camelia replied evenly.

“But what was it?” Lord Pendrick twisted his fleshy, alcohol-flushed face into a scowl. “A barren, miserable piece of cracked earth and rock, peopled only by ignorant, naked savages, wild beasts, and those ridiculous Dutch Boers. Nobody cared about Africa until the diamonds were discovered—it was wild, uncivilized, and virtually uninhabited.”

Lord Duffield nodded vehemently. “Absolutely right.”

“Now, thanks to the mining, they are laying railroads and telegraph wires, building towns, and establishing governments. I've heard they are even installing electricity at Kimberley, where the biggest mine is.”

“They are trying to bring some sort of civilization to the place—and they'll do it, too, as long as they can get those savages to get up and do an honest day's work.” Lord Gilby laughed, making it clear he believed such a feat was nearly impossible.

“It is difficult to get natives to work when they haven't been raised with a proper Christian work ethic,” reflected Lady Bagley, the abundant folds of her face nearly swallowing up her pious little eyes. “I'm afraid they would rather sit around in the sun all day and do nothing.”

Camelia clenched her fists, preparing to let the ignorant, patronizing group before her know just what she thought of their disgusting bigotry. She felt Elliott move a little closer to her, not quite touching her, but making his reassuring presence felt all the same. He was trying to help her keep her temper under control, she realized. Elliott had always been far more adept at playing this game than either she or her father, and he knew it. She inhaled a shallow breath, which was all her painfully tight corset would allow, and fought to calm her anger. Nothing would be gained if she launched a scathing attack on her audience. She would only succeed in insulting them and alienating the members of the British Archaeological Society, thereby destroying any possibility of eliciting support from them.

If she couldn't manage to raise more contributions, she had no hope of seeing her father's precious dream realized.

“South Africa is a beautiful country that is currently undergoing some extremely exciting developments,” Elliott began, smiling as he smoothly shifted the conversation onto less treacherous ground. “In the fifteen years I worked alongside Lord Stamford I came to appreciate all of its riches, however simple some of them may be. Lord Stamford was convinced Africa held the key to the history of humanity, and I believe he may have been right.”

“He was right,” Camelia insisted. “It is just a matter of time before we prove it. The site we are excavating has already revealed hundreds of fascinating artifacts that I believe date back thousands of years. I'm certain within the next few months we will find even more pieces of major significance.”

“Really?” Lord Bagley regarded her curiously over the rim of his brandy glass. “Just what, exactly, is it that you are about to find, Lady Camelia?”

Camelia opened her mouth to answer, then stopped. Despite his casual demeanor, a sudden intensity had flared in Lord Bagley's eyes, causing a prickle of unease to creep along her spine.