Gail Whitiker (17 page)

Truly, the gods were not smiling upon her today!

* * *

It was a quiet ride home.

At least, Joanna was quiet. Laurence and his sister chatted the entire way and though Joanna knew they were trying to put her at ease, she could not so easily be comforted.

‘Please do not be embarrassed by what happened on stage. Lady Joanna,’ Mrs Devlin said, her warm eyes filled with compassion. ‘My brother can be very persuasive when he sets his mind to it, and for what it’s worth, I thought you made a superb Rosalind!’

‘Indeed, you were exceptional,’ Laurence said as the carriage drew to a halt in front of Joanna’s home. ‘You played the part splendidly.’

Somehow, Joanna managed to rouse a smile in the midst of her embarrassment, even though praise for her acting ability was not what she wanted to hear. ‘Thank you.’ She wanted to tell them it wasn’t playing the part of Rosalind that she regretted, but
that look
. The one that had revealed far too much about her feelings for Laurence in front of both his uncle and his sister.

‘Perhaps you could tell your father that I will call on him in the morning,’ Laurence said, walking the short distance from the carriage to the door with her. ‘If he has time.’

Joanna’s eyes widened in disbelief. ‘You wish to speak...to my father?’

‘Yes. About the Rosetta Stone,’ he said. ‘I did make mention of that the other night.’

‘Of course,’ Joanna said, wishing a cataclysmic event would sweep her away like the eruption of Vesuvius had swept away Pompeii. Why else would he wish to speak to her father?

‘I shall make mention of it to him over dinner this evening. If you do not receive word to the contrary, you will know that he has time.’

‘Thank you.’ Laurence bowed, but his eyes never left hers. ‘And again, please do not regret what happened this afternoon, Lady Joanna,’ he said softly. ‘For what it’s worth, I most certainly do not.’

* * *

Joanna’s father was not otherwise engaged the following morning. When Quenton arrived to tell them that Mr Bretton was at the door, Bonnington instructed that he be shown in at once.

Joanna, sitting at her desk in front of the window, kept her head down and endeavoured to pay attention to her reading. Unfortunately, just knowing that Laurence was in the house made that all but impossible.

‘Good morning, Mr Bretton,’ her father said when the gentleman appeared. ‘You look in fine fettle this morning.’

‘It is a superb morning and I slept uncommonly well,’ Laurence said. ‘At least, I slept well when I did finally get to sleep. I have been up the last few nights working on a new play. Good morning, Lady Joanna.’

Joanna looked up, as though only just having become aware of his presence. ‘Mr Bretton. How nice to see you again,’ she said, moved to think that he did look uncommonly well for all the protestation of a late night. Casually dressed in a dark-blue jacket over buff-coloured breeches, and with that wicked sparkle in his eye, he was as dashing as she had ever seen him.

‘So, you wish to talk to me about the Rosetta Stone,’ her father said, thankfully drawing Laurence’s attention away from her.

‘Amongst other things. I have been reading about the deciphering of the hieroglyphic symbols at length this past six months and wondered what your thoughts on the validity of the stone were,’ he said, his expression at ease, but the excitement in his voice palpable.

Joanna recognised that for what it was. She felt exactly the same way whenever an opportunity to talk about some aspect of Egyptian culture or history came up. But as the minutes passed and she listened to the conversation taking place, she couldn’t help but again be impressed by the extent of Laurence’s knowledge. His questions were intelligent and his opinions, when her father asked for them, were logical and made on the basis of knowledge rather than speculation.

‘Well, Mr Bretton, I admit to being surprised,’ Bonnington said when the maid arrived with a tea tray. ‘Your knowledge of life during the reigns of Ramesses II and III is impressive. Tell me, if an opportunity came up for you to accompany us to Egypt, would you take it?’

Joanna’s head snapped up.
Her father was inviting Laurence to come to Egypt with them?
Oh, no,
no
, this was
not
good. Captain Sterne was going to be on that expedition. If she and Laurence went, she could only imagine how difficult life would be for all of them. Sterne would be there every day, watching what she and Laurence did. Listening to everything they said. Putting his own interpretation on every casual smile and every innocent gesture.

It would be torture! How could the three of them possibly exist in such close proximity for all that time? More importantly, how could she work so closely with Laurence for all those months and not give herself or her feelings for him away?

Please say no, Laurence!
Joanna whispered silently.
Please do not make me go through this!

Sadly, Laurence did not say no. After a brief hesitation, he leaned forwards in his chair and said in a voice of unmistakable pleasure, ‘Yes, I most certainly would.’

And with those five words, Joanna saw her carefully mapped-out life begin to unravel. ‘But...what about your plays?’ she blurted out.

‘I would still be able to write,’ Laurence said, his gaze sharpening as it turned to rest on her. ‘There would simply be more time between plays. But I wouldn’t miss the chance to go to Egypt. It has long been an ambition of mine.’

‘Then I think we must see about making it happen,’ Bonnington said, a great deal happier with the outcome of the conversation than his daughter.

‘But what would he
do
, Papa?’ Joanna asked, hoping to find a solution in the practical aspect of the offer. ‘You already have a full complement of workers.’

‘
Had
a full complement,’ her father said, reaching for a letter on his desk. ‘This came from Mr Harkness yesterday. Apparently, his father is failing and, as eldest son, Mr Harkness feels obliged to take over the family business. He says he deeply regrets that he is unable to accompany me on any future expeditions and that he is tendering his resignation, effective immediately.’

Joanna’s face fell. ‘Oh, dear. That is most unfortunate.’

‘Yes, it is and I am sorry to lose him. But his departure creates a vacancy and I need someone to fill it. Someone who is comfortable writing for hours on end.’ He turned to look at Laurence. ‘Is that a role you would be interested in filling, Mr Bretton?’

‘I don’t know, my lord. What exactly would I be required to do?’

‘In a word, you would become my shadow,’ Bonnington said. ‘You would make notes about anything I find and keep track of our progress as we go along. I would expect you to take down questions and make detailed reports about everything we see, all transcribed neatly, accurately and in a timely manner. But I warn you, it isn’t as easy as it sounds. Sometimes, so many things happen in a day you cannot write fast enough and on others nothing happens at all and you will likely be roped into doing something far more menial. And, of course, a lot of our dealings are done in Arabic so it would be necessary for you to work through an interpreter.’

‘Actually, I have a good understanding of the language and speak it well enough to be understood.’

‘So much the better.’ Bonnington was clearly delighted with the information. ‘I guarantee you would be an integral part of the team.’

It was easy to see how much the position appealed to Laurence and Joanna could only imagine how excited he was at being offered the post. But his accepting it would not be at all good for her. He would always be there, close by her father’s side, writing down everything he said and asking questions, recording the exploits of the expedition as they happened. It would also be necessary that he spend time with her, making notes that corresponded to her drawings, the way she and Mr Harkness had.

And all the while, she would have to pretend that she had no special feelings for him. Pretend that her day didn’t start until she saw him, or that when it was over, she would count the hours until she saw him again—

‘Think about it for a few days, if you like,’ her father said. ‘Talk it over with your family and anyone else you need to. You are, as Joanna said, a very successful playwright. I’m sure there will be others who take a very different view of your accepting a position with me and traipsing off to the desert for eight months to a year.’

‘I expect there will be,’ Laurence acknowledged, ‘but I really don’t see why I cannot do both.’ He looked across at Joanna and said, ‘If anything, one should provide marvellous inspiration for the other.’

‘You are the best judge of that, of course, but if it works to your advantage, so much the better.’ Bonnington pulled out his pocket watch and swore. ‘Damn. I’m late for lunch with Dustin and God knows I’ll never hear the end of it. The man grows crustier with every passing year.’ He got to his feet and brushed sand and other bits of debris from his jacket. ‘I’ll wait to hear from you, Mr Bretton. If you are not interested, I shall have to find someone who is.’

‘You will have my answer by Friday,’ Laurence promised.

‘Good. If you have any questions, ask Joanna. She probably knows better than I do what is required, given how closely she worked with Mr Harkness.’

‘Thank you, my lord.’

Joanna walked her father to the door and then came back to where Laurence was gazing at the large map of Egypt pinned to the wall. ‘It is an incredible opportunity,’ he said quietly

‘Yes, it is,’ Joanna agreed, knowing how much it meant to him and deeply sorry that she had to be the one to discourage it. ‘But it is not easy work.’

‘I didn’t expect it would be. But it would have to be easier than drawing everything you see.’

‘They are equally labour intensive, but require very different skills. But I do wonder how it will affect the writing of your plays,’ Joanna said. ‘You say the trip will serve as an inspiration, but I doubt you will have any time to turn your mind to fiction. You will be expected to focus on what is factual the biggest part of the time. And, of course, there are the inclement conditions.’ She turned to look at him. ‘Have you any experience with extreme heat?’

‘None.’

‘It can be debilitating. Quite apart from the intensity of the sun beating down on your head, the heat of the air can become oppressive and make it difficult to breathe. And, of course, disease spreads rapidly in the squalid conditions. A man in poor physical condition will suffer the effects very quickly.’

‘Fortunately, I am in excellent health,’ Laurence said. ‘But I suspect there will be a period of acclimatisation.’

His casual use of the word made her smile. ‘There is no question of that, but you must do so quickly if you are to be of any use to my father and the rest of the expedition. You must also be on the look out for poisonous snakes and scorpions. They seldom make any sound as they approach, but their bite is lethal.’

‘I shall consider myself warned. Anything else?’

‘Insects often carry disease. One must never go to sleep without ensuring that the netting around one’s bed is secure. And, of course, stomach complaints and...other problems are quite common when one first arrives in Egypt,’ Joanna said. ‘One must take great care with the food and water.’

‘Duly noted. What else?’

‘A big issue is the people themselves. The incidents of violence against visitors can be quite high. The Turkish soldiers are without discipline and violent, the Arab tribes are often at war with each other, and one runs into Armenian mercenaries with alarming regularity. Somewhat less easy to learn is the ability to tell an honest Arab from a dishonest one.’

‘That, I should imagine, is a skill acquired as a result of frequent dealings with both kinds,’ Laurence surmised. ‘And one not to be learned overnight.’

‘True, but it is imperative that you be able to recognise the signs quickly. One will be your greatest ally in the desert, the other, your greatest enemy.’

‘Lady Joanna, is it my imagination or are you determined to discourage me from accompanying you and your father to Egypt?’

‘That was not my intention at all,’ Joanna said, blushing at the lie. ‘But neither would I wish you to set off without being fully aware of the circumstances under which you will be required to work. The work is hard, the hours long and the conditions are not at all conducive to comfort. Then there is the question of your many followers.’

‘My followers?’

‘Yes. I am not at all sure the theatre-going public will be pleased when they learn of your intention to travel to Egypt,’ Joanna said. ‘Judging from what I saw at the theatre the other evening, you will be sorely missed.’

He waved his hand, as though to dismiss the seriousness of the statement. ‘I am not the only one writing plays for the London stage.’

‘No, but neither are you a run-of-the-mill playwright. You are Valentine Lawe.’

A muscle clenched in his jaw. ‘I am Laurence Bretton...who writes plays as Valentine Lawe.’

‘It is the same thing. It really doesn’t matter who or what you call yourself. Only that you
are
the source of the stories.’

‘But to be offered a place on your father’s expedition means more to me than I can say,’ Laurence said. ‘You know that. I told you as much the first time we met!’

‘I really don’t understand you, Mr Bretton,’ Joanna said in frustration. ‘You have a God-given talent for creating stories, yet are determined to turn your back on it. What my father does is inspired by a love of history, but his knowledge comes from books. He has spent years studying and reading and researching. You just sit down and write. Surely to ignore that is a terrible waste.’

‘A man must follow his heart,’ Laurence said quietly. ‘I never dreamt I would be offered an opportunity like this and now that I have, I cannot throw it away.’

‘Yet you would risk your career as a playwright? Does it really mean so little to you?’

‘No,’ he said quietly. ‘It means a great deal. But we have already agreed that a man can have more than one passion in his life.’