Every Whispered Word (15 page)

“I'm not responsible for the recent fire at my house, Oliver,” Simon said, anxious to put an end to the old man's rambling. He didn't think that was particularly the right moment to regale Camelia and Zareb with tales of his boyhood antics. “I didn't tell Haydon and Genevieve because I didn't want them to worry, but someone purposely set fire to my laboratory. I think the same people are responsible for vandalizing Lady Camelia's house this evening.”

“'Tis nae the work o' proper thieves, that's for certain,” Oliver reflected, gazing soberly around the room. “I was a thief myself,” he told Camelia and Zareb proudly, “and I'd have nae left a house in such a muck. What's the point o' lashin' the cow that gives the milk?” He scowled as he finished furiously, “'Tis only spineless scalawags that would do such a thing, an' if I ever get my hands on them, I'll whip them 'til they canna sit for a month!”

Somehow Camelia took comfort from the ancient little Scotsman's outrage. “Thank you, Oliver.” She wasn't entirely sure what to make of him, with his wiry shock of snowy hair and his boasts of being a thief. Simon had inferred that he was his driver, but it was clear to Camelia he was in fact much more than that. “That's very kind of you.”

Oliver beamed at her, then frowned. “Do ye know ye've a wee beastie wrapped around yer neck?”

“That's Rupert,” Simon told him. “Lady Camelia's snake.”

“Ye mean like a pet?” Oliver regarded Rupert dubiously. “Should he nae be in a cage?”

“I'm afraid Rupert wouldn't like being caged very much,” Camelia told him. “He is quite accustomed to moving about as he pleases.”

“The note, Tisha.” Zareb indicated the paper speared by the dagger. “What does it say?”

Camelia slowly pulled the dagger out of her pillow, then held the note closer to Zareb's lamp. Struggling to keep her voice steady, she read:

“Death to those who disturb the sleep of Pumulani.”

“What's Poo Moo Lanee?” asked Oliver.

“That is the African name of the land where my archaeological site is in South Africa,” Camelia explained. “It means ‘rest' or ‘resting place,' in the Nguni languages. About a hundred years ago it was settled by a family of Dutch Boers, who established a farm there. My father bought the land from the grandson of the original Boer owner, and he began to excavate it about twenty years ago. Since his death six months ago, I have continued with his work.”

“Sounds to me like someone disnae want ye there.”

“My father believed the land is the site of an extraordinarily important archaeological find,” Camelia explained. “Over the years we have found many artifacts indicating a thriving community once lived there, and a number of rare rock paintings support that theory. I believe there are rival archaeologists who want to frighten me into abandoning my site. They think if I give up, then they can buy the land at a fraction of its value and excavate it themselves.”

Oliver frowned. “Are ye sayin' this is nae the first time they've tried to scare ye?”

“No.”

“What else have they done?” demanded Simon.

“A few things,” Camelia said, dismissive. “It doesn't matter. They want to frighten me away, and they are not going to succeed. That land is mine, and I will continue to excavate it until I find what my father was looking for.”

“And what was that?”

“Evidence of an ancient civilization.”

Oliver scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Seems like a lot o' fuss over a few bits o' bone.”

“You're right, it does.” Simon regarded Camelia intently.

“I suppose it does to people who have not devoted their lives to the field,” Camelia allowed. “But to those who spend their entire lives hoping to make just one discovery of major historical significance, it could prove to be extremely important.”

“We must leave here, Tisha.” Zareb's expression was grim. “Now.”

“We cannot leave, Zareb,” Camelia countered. “Mr. Kent has not had time to finish his work on the pump.”

“I don't mean we should return to Africa tonight,” Zareb qualified. “I mean it is no longer safe for you to stay in this house. We must go.”

Camelia shook her head. “This is my father's house. I have no intention of letting some common ruffians frighten me out of it. We will clean up and we will stay.”

“That's a stouthearted lass.” Oliver nodded at Simon with approval. “Wet sheep dinna shrink—they shake off the water.”

“Sheep get killed, Oliver,” Simon muttered.

“Well, sometimes,” Oliver reluctantly allowed. “I was tryin' to be positive.”

“And I appreciate that, Oliver,” Camelia assured him. “This isn't the first time someone has tried to drive me away from my work, and I don't expect it will be the last. But I will not be frightened away.”

“There's a braw lass.” Oliver smiled at her. “'Tis nae the size of the dog in the fight, but the fight in the dog.”

“Lady Camelia is not a dog,” Zareb objected. “She has been threatened by her father's own dagger—a blade that has been given dark powers by a very great shaman. She cannot stay here any longer. We
must
leave this house tonight.”

“Dark powers, ye say?” Oliver frowned and scratched his head. “Well, now, that's a different kettle o' kippers.”

“We cannot leave tonight,” Camelia objected. “We have nowhere else to go.”

“Ye could stay with us,” Oliver amiably offered.

Simon regarded him in disbelief. “I don't think that's a good idea—”

“Why not? We've more than enough room for the lot o' them—although ye may have to work a bit on Eunice to let ye have that snake slitherin' about. Eunice is nae fond o' slitherin' beasties.”

“Rupert can stay in Lady Camelia's room,” Zareb quickly suggested. “He will not mind that.”

“I cannot keep Oscar and Harriet locked in a bedchamber all day and night,” Camelia protested. “They have to have room to move about. We will stay here.”

“Well, now, I'm sure Eunice and Doreen will be fine with them, as long as they behave themselves and dinna make too much of a mess,” Oliver reflected.

“I will see to it that they behave well,” Zareb assured him before Camelia could say anything. “And I will feed them and clean up any mess. Your Eunice and Doreen will not notice they are there.”

“Well, then, it's all settled,” Oliver said happily.

“I really don't think this is a good idea,” Simon began once more.

“Ye've nae need to be worried about the lass's reputation,” Oliver added, ignoring Simon as he spoke to Zareb. “Eunice an' Doreen are well accustomed to watchin' over young lassies—they've done it time an' again, over the years.”

“The only honor that matters is that which burns within the heart,” Zareb stated solemnly. “Lady Camelia's honor is safe wherever she goes.”

“O' course, that goes without sayin',” Oliver agreed. “But with all of us under one roof, there will always be a pair o' eyes to make sure her ladyship is safe. I can tell ye, if the scalawags that came here tonight try to get into my house, they'll be feelin' the kiss o' my boot right up their scabbit arse—”

“Thank you, Oliver, I'm sure Lady Camelia appreciates your desire to help,” Simon interrupted. “However, I'm not entirely sure this is the best solution—”

“Now, lad, ye'll still have plenty of room for playin' about with all yer inventions,” Oliver assured him. “It doesna look to me like Lady Camelia will be bringing much with her.”

“Only some clothes,” Zareb said. “And I do not need a room for myself. I can sleep anywhere.”

“There now, ye see? 'Tis all worked out.” Oliver beamed at Camelia. “Why don't ye just gather up a few things, lass, and me and Zareb here will take them down to yer carriage?”

Camelia looked at Simon uncertainly.

In truth, she was shaken by this latest assault. Her father's home and everything in it had been ruthlessly attacked, and she had been powerless to stop it from happening. All that really mattered was that her animals had not been hurt, she told herself firmly. But what happened the next time she and Zareb went out, and Oscar, Harriet, and Rupert were left alone? If whoever was trying to frighten her succeeded in harming one of them, how would she ever forgive herself?

“Is this all right with you, Simon?” She hated the fact that she and her animals were being forced upon him. But the sight of her father's dagger buried in her pillow disturbed her more than she wanted to admit. “It would only be for a short while.”

Simon sighed. Oliver and Zareb were right. It wasn't safe for Camelia to stay at her house. He didn't believe in evil curses, but someone was determined to frighten her into abandoning her dig.

The next time they might not limit themselves to just destroying her furnishings.

“I would be pleased to have you, Zareb, Oscar, and Harriet stay with me,” he told her.

Camelia started to nod, then frowned. “What about Rupert?”

Simon warily eyed the serpent wrapped around her neck.

“Rupert can come, too,” he reluctantly conceded, “as long as you absolutely promise to keep him in your bedroom. I don't want Eunice shrieking in terror every time she comes upon him.” He refrained from mentioning that he didn't particularly relish the idea of stumbling upon the ugly creature in the middle of the night, either.

“I don't think Rupert will mind terribly staying in my room,” Camelia mused, protectively stroking the snake. “But are you sure you won't mind having Oscar and Harriet roaming about?”

“Of course not, lass,” Oliver quickly interjected. “They're sure to bring a bit o' life to the house.”

Camelia looked at Simon. “Simon?”

Her eyes were lit only by the sheer wash of gold spilling from Zareb's lamp, but Simon could see uncertainty shimmering in their depths. She was strong and determined, yet it was evident to him that this latest incident had had a profound effect on her. She had been terrified as she tore through the house calling for her animals. She had told Simon she didn't believe in curses. Perhaps that was true.

Even so, there was no question the sight of her father's dagger buried deep into her pillow had torn away a strip of her bravado.

“I'm sure Harriet and Oscar won't be any trouble at all,” he lied.

“There, ye see, lass?” Oliver beamed. “Now why don't ye gather your things an' we'll be on our way.”

“Oliver and I will make sure all the windows and doors are secure while you and Zareb pack. Call us when you are ready to leave.” Simon turned and left the room.

“Ye'd best tell Eunice an' Doreen about the monkey an' the snake last,” Oliver suggested in a hushed voice as they descended the stairs. “I'm nae sure they'll be quite as bobbish about it as I said.”

“I'll let you tell them, Oliver,” said Simon calmly. “Since this was entirely your idea.”

“Now, lad, I know ye well enough to ken that ye'd nae have left that lassie alone in this mess, with great dirks stickin' out o' pillows an' evil spells waftin' about. All I did was help ye make up yer mind to take her home.”

“She isn't a pet, Oliver.”

“Ye're right, she's a braw lassie—an' rare bonny too. Reminds me of Miss Genevieve, when she was a lass.” He chuckled. “They'll get on right quick when they meet.”

“They aren't going to meet. I'll be working night and day to get her pump built over the next few weeks, so we can get Lady Camelia back to Africa as quickly as possible.”

“Africa, ye say? Now there's a place I've nae thought to see. I wonder if 'tis really as hot as they say.”

“You aren't going, Oliver.”

“I imagine that's a long voyage, even on one of Jack's fastest ships,” Oliver reflected, ignoring him. “We'll have to pack plenty of Eunice's oatcakes.”

“Oliver—”

“A bloody shame, what they've done here.” Oliver's expression was sober as he looked at the smashed relics in the study. “But even in a fallen nest, ye may find a whole egg,” he added cheerfully.

“I think whoever ransacked this place did a fairly thorough job,” Simon reflected, his gaze sweeping over the floor.

“They didna break her, though, did they?”

“No.”

“So there's yer egg.” He smiled and went off to check the windows in the dining room, leaving Simon to contemplate the ruins around him.

H
er heart clenched when the carriage finally came to a stop.

Like most London houses Simon's new home was narrow and tall, in an attempt to make the most out of the limited land available. When Camelia was a little girl she had thought all houses were made that way, except for her family's dilapidated country estate. Her mother had not cared much for that drafty, ramshackle house, with its mouldering walls and its incessantly leaking roof. Lady Stamford had far preferred the lights and bustle of London to being sequestered for weeks at a time in the middle of a field, as she put it. Since Camelia's father was away most of the time on one or another of his expeditions, her mother chose to remain in the city, where she could amuse herself with shopping, attending the theatre, and visiting friends.

Camelia had adored those rare occasions when her father returned home and insisted they go to the country for a few weeks. She loved lying upon the grass in a meadow staring at the sky, with the sun warming her skin and the soft whisper of the wind shivering through the trees. She even liked the house, with its old, mossy smell that permeated every room, and the faded draperies and shabby furniture that spoke of generations of people living their lives within. Her father had filled every conceivable nook and cranny with artifacts he had collected on his travels. Some were ancient and fairly valuable, while others were merely common, everyday objects he found either beautiful or interesting. Camelia would listen rapturously as he wove her some splendid tale for each piece, describing how he had nearly died in his quest to find it, or from what incredibly dastardly or colorful character he had bought it. He would urge her to run her fingers over the piece as he spoke, trying to get her to feel its warmth, its spirit, its secrets.

Best of all was when he would bring home some new piece of weaponry. Her father loved weapons, not because of the injuries they could inflict, but because he was fascinated by the fact that craftsmen in virtually every civilization labored to make them as beautiful as they were deadly. He would hand Camelia heavy spears, sharp daggers, cumbersome swords, and intricately decorated shields, instructing her to test them for balance and weight. Sometimes, if she pleaded with him enough, he would let her take them outside and try her hand at wielding them. He would stand close to her as he demonstrated the proper way to hold a sword, throw a spear, and hurl a dagger, his huge bronzed hand clasped firmly over her small soft one, his deep voice resonating with quiet pleasure as he gave her instruction.

One day her mother had startled them while Camelia was tossing a dagger at a tree. The blade slipped and cut deep into her palm, causing a brilliant stream of blood to leak down her arm. Nearly hysterical, Lady Stamford had grabbed Camelia and whisked her back into the house, furiously accusing her husband of all but killing their only child. Camelia was not permitted to touch a weapon again for the rest of her mother's life.

She shifted uncomfortably against the crushed silk of her evening gown and crinoline, suddenly aware of the tautness of the strap fastening her dagger to her calf.

“Come, Tisha.” Zareb opened the carriage door and extended his hand to her.

“Thank you, Zareb.”

She felt a little better as she placed her hand in Zareb's. Although she was trying hard not to show it, the sight of her home ransacked and her father's precious possessions and books destroyed had shaken her deeply. They were only objects, she reminded herself firmly. The fact that some of them had been rare artifacts made this argument bittersweet.

What bothered her most was that someone had managed to drive her from the only place in London where she felt at least somewhat at home.

“Why don't you carry Harriet's cage, and I'll take Oscar and Rupert?”

“Perhaps we should leave them here a moment,” Zareb suggested, “until Mr. Kent has had a chance to warn Eunice and Doreen about them.”

“I don't think Oscar will stay in the carriage without me after his ordeal,” Camelia reflected, feeling Oscar tighten his hold on her. “And I'm afraid if he gets upset it will only alarm Harriet and Rupert. We should all go in together.”

“As you wish.” Zareb reached into the carriage and picked up Harriet, who had been put into her cage for the trip.

Simon watched as Camelia and Zareb joined him on the front walk leading up to his newly leased house. They made an odd pair, she in her scarlet evening gown and he in his spectacularly colorful robes, carrying a monkey, a bird, and a basket between them. Yet there was an extraordinary dignity to them as they made their way toward Simon and Oliver.

“Here now, lass, let me take that basket from ye,” offered Oliver, rushing forth as Simon unlocked the door. “Ye've enough to carry with that monkey holdin' fast to ye.”

“Thank you, Oliver.” Camelia smiled. “You're very kind.”

“We're home,” Simon called, pushing the door open.

“An' high time, too.” Eunice bustled through the door that led down to the kitchen with Doreen following behind. “Me an' Doreen was all but ready to send the peelers lookin' for ye—sweet Saint Columba, that lass has a hairy beast 'round her neck!”

“That's Oscar,” Oliver told her brightly. “An' this here is Lady Camelia, an' that's Zareb, an' that's Harriet in the cage.”

“Pleased to meet ye, I'm sure.” Doreen regarded Oscar warily. “Does he bite?”

“Only apples,” Zareb assured her. “Not people.”

“Lady Camelia and Zareb have had some trouble in their home this evening,” Simon explained. “They are going to be staying with us for a while before they return to South Africa.”

Eunice looked at him in surprise. “What sort of trouble?”

“Some ruffians broke into her ladyship's house while she was out an' tore it to bits,” Oliver replied. “Plunged a dirk in her pillow an' left a note sayin' wicked things—an' if I ever find the soddin' priggers, I'll give 'em a basting they'll nae forget!”

Eunice regarded Camelia sympathetically. “Ye take nae mind of it, lass—ye're here now, safe an' swack.”

“'Tis the way of thieves today—there's nae honor in it anymore,” Oliver continued angrily. “'Tis all pistols an' dirks and spineless threats—I ask ye, where's the honor in that?”

“What happened at Lady Camelia's house was not the work of ordinary thieves,” Simon pointed out. “They were purposely trying to frighten her.”

“That's even worse, the filthy curs.” Doreen pounded her bony fist against her palm as she railed. “They'd best nae try such a thing here, or I'll be crownin' them with a pot and puttin' a broom to their arse afore they know what they're about!”

“Hopefully the authorities will be able to find them before they know where Lady Camelia has gone,” Simon said. “I'm going down to the police station now to make a report.”

Camelia regarded him with alarm. “The police mustn't know about this.”

“Why on earth not?”

“If the police investigate, it will be reported in the newspapers, which means the members of the Archaeological Society will hear of it. The handful of members who have been reluctantly willing to give me financial assistance will then have cause to worry about me, which means they will withdraw their support—thinking they are only doing so for my protection.” She adamantly shook her head. “No one must know my home was ransacked or that I have been threatened.”

“If we don't contact the police, we have no hope of finding the men who did this,” Simon pointed out.

“Seems to me there's nae much hope o' that anyway,” reflected Oliver. “Unless they make a habit of breakin' into homes and smashin' everythin' they can lay their hands on.”

“The men who destroyed Lady Camelia's home will be found when it is time for them to be found,” Zareb observed. “The police will make no difference in that journey.”

“If the lass doesna want the peelers to be told, then we won't tell them,” Doreen decided. “No point in stirrin' up the wasps when ye've already got bees chasin' ye!”

Camelia smiled. “Thank you for understanding, Doreen. I hope Zareb and I are not imposing upon you too much.” Like Oliver, it was clear to her that these two women were far more to Simon than just servants. She liked that.

Hopefully, it meant they would have a better understanding of her relationship with Zareb.

“Ye're nae imposin' at all,” Eunice swiftly assured her. “'Tis a big house with just the four of us rattlin' about—there's plenty of room.”

“Why don't ye take this basket while me an' Zareb here go out to the carriage and collect the rest of their things?” Oliver suggested to Eunice. “Ye an' Doreen can show Lady Camelia to her room an' help her to get settled.”

“I'm thinkin' ye'd be happiest in the room with the green paper,” Eunice decided, taking the basket from Oliver. “'Tis nae fancy but it's clean, an' if ye like I can bring ye some—
sweet saints!
” she shrieked as Rupert popped up from the basket. “
Help!
”

She heaved the basket into the air and threw herself against Oliver, mashing his face against her plentiful bosom. Camelia and Simon both ran to catch the basket, in which Rupert was now a most reluctant passenger. Suddenly the snake shot upwards, freeing himself from it. Simon caught the basket while Camelia jumped up to catch Rupert.

At that point Oscar decided he'd had enough of Camelia. Screeching wildly, he leapt off her and onto Doreen's head. Thrown off balance, Camelia crashed against Simon. They toppled to the floor, losing the basket along the way, while Doreen screamed and tried to pull Oscar off.

“Got you!” said Zareb triumphantly as he caught Rupert.

“Help!” shrieked Doreen, staggering drunkenly about the room.
“Get this wild beastie off me!”

“Come down from there, Oscar,” commanded Zareb.

Oscar gladly leapt from Doreen's wobbling head to Zareb's firm shoulder.

“I canna breathe.” Oliver's voice was muffled against the plentiful pillows of Eunice's bosom.

“Oh, Ollie,” she cried, easing her terrified grip upon him, “I thought I was goin' to snuff it for sure!”

Simon looked at Camelia, who was lying on top of him, her legs twined intimately against his. “Are you all right?”

Camelia stared down at him, transfixed. She was suddenly acutely aware of the fact that Simon was very tall, which in truth seemed a rather odd thing to contemplate, given that they were lying together sprawled upon the floor. But Simon had managed to completely cushion her with his body as they fell, protecting her with the massive expanse of his chest and shoulders, and the lean, chiseled length of his legs. Her body had sighed and melted into the warm contours of him, molding to his granite-hard shape. It felt extraordinary to be lying against him so. It made her heart pound and her senses flame as she absorbed every detail of him. He smelled of spicy soap and something else, a wonderfully mysterious masculine scent that made her want to lay her cheek against his shoulder and breathe in the scent of him. His chest was rising and falling beneath her, his breaths deep and steady, and if she held very still, she could feel the steady beating of his heart against her.

Warmth flowed through her, pooling in her breasts and belly and between her thighs, a confusing, intoxicating sensation that made her feel strangely languid and aroused as she stared into the smoky depths of Simon's deep, unfathomable gaze.

“I think the lass is hurt.” Oliver furrowed his white brows with concern. “She's nae movin'.”

Camelia gasped and rolled off Simon with a thud. “I'm fine.”

“Let me help you up, Tisha,” Zareb offered. “You look flushed—are you sure you are well?”

“I'm just a bit winded, that's all.” She briskly smoothed down the wrinkles in her gown, feeling flustered.

“I hope ye're nae thinkin' that slitherin' beastie is goin' to be stayin' in this house,” Eunice reflected, eyeing Rupert disapprovingly.

“I'm so sorry Rupert frightened you, Eunice,” Camelia hastily apologized. “I should have carried the basket myself—but I can assure you, there really wasn't any danger. Rupert's venom is not dangerous to people.”

“Dangerous or no, I'll nae have him slippin' about my house scarin' me half out o' my wits.”

“And you won't have to,” Simon assured her. “Rupert is going to stay locked in Lady Camelia's room at all times—you won't even know he's here—isn't that right, Camelia?”

“Yes.” In truth Camelia had hoped that she might be able to gradually acquaint Rupert with the members of the household, so that eventually they would feel comfortable having him around during their visit.

“What about that scraggy monkey?” demanded Doreen, rubbing her stinging scalp. “Will it be in the lass's chamber as well?”