Kitabı oku: «The Gryphon»

Chapter One

It was in the Temple of the Muses that Laurence Bretton first saw her—a slender, dark-haired young woman standing by the far side of the circular counter, her features partially hidden by the wide brim of a fashionable bonnet. She was engaged in conversation with a clerk whose eagerness to assist was all too evident, but whose frequent blushes and stammering replies seemed to indicate a greater interest in the lady than in whatever she was attempting to buy.

‘We do carry … an extensive selection of books dealing with the Ottoman Empire,’ Laurence heard the young man say. ‘Many of which I’ve read and can recommend myself. Reynier’s State of Egypt after the Battle of Heliopolis was most informative and I have … a very good copy of that in stock.’

‘As it happens, so do I,’ the lady replied in a brisk though not unkind manner. ‘And while I found Mr Reynier’s perspectives entertaining, they were not detailed enough for my liking. Have you a copy of Volney’s Travels through Syria and Egypt? The second volume?’

Volney? Laurence knew that name. Constantin François de Chassebœuf, Comte de Volney, was a French philosopher and historian who had spent several months in Egypt and Greater Syria, and who had written his Voyage en Egypte et en Syrie upon his return to France in 1785. Even to a scholar it was relatively dry reading and as such, hardly seemed the type of book a flower of English womanhood would be enquiring after.

Curious, he moved closer, in time to hear the clerk say, ‘Regrettably, we do not have a copy of that particular book in stock, but if I might suggest—’

‘Could you order it for me?’

The request was accompanied by a smile of such sweetness that the young man actually gulped. ‘Well, yes, of course, though I don’t know how much luck I will have in finding it. Perhaps Savary’s Letters on Egypt?’

‘Again, entertaining, but I have been told Volney’s book is far more detailed.’

‘It is,’ Laurence said, slowly stepping forwards. ‘And while it does not have as many sketches as I would like, his rendering of the Temple of the Sun at Balbec is quite exceptional.’

The lady turned her head, the quick movement setting the feathers on her bonnet swaying and treating Laurence to an unobstructed view of an exceptionally lovely face. Eyes, large and expressive framed by dark lashes that appeared even more so against the pale gold of her complexion, stared back at him, but with curiosity rather than alarm. ‘It is?’

‘Yes. I would be happy to lend you my copy as long as you promise to return it to me once you are done.’

A pair of sable-smooth eyebrows rose above a small nose lightly dusted with freckles. ‘You would lend such a valuable book to someone with whom you were not acquainted?’

‘No, I would lend it to someone I knew to be as interested in the subject as I,’ Laurence said with a smile, ‘after having taken the liberty of introducing myself so that we would no longer be unacquainted.’ He touched the brim of his beaver hat and bowed. ‘Laurence Bretton, student of history and reputable lender of slightly used books. And you are …?’

His enquiry was met by a startled pause and then by a flash of amusement in eyes the colour of Cleopatra’s emeralds. ‘Joanna Northrup. Dedicated researcher and devotee of all things Egyptian.’ She extended her hand. ‘It seems we are well met, Mr Bretton.’

The proffered hand was encased in a smooth calfskin glove, but it was not the directness of the reply or the firmness of her grip that took Laurence by surprise. ‘Northrup,’ he repeated thoughtfully. ‘Not, by any chance, related to Mr William Northrup, former Oxford lecturer and archaeologist involved in explorations in the upper Nile Valley in Egypt?’

Her look of startled surprise was followed by one of cautious interest. ‘He is my father. Did you have the good fortune to attend one of his lectures?’

‘Regrettably no, though, given his fondness for throwing chalk, it may have been to my advantage.’

‘He does have exceptionally good aim,’ she agreed.

‘I know of several gentlemen willing to attest to it. Nevertheless, I would have liked the opportunity. He is a legend to those who have an interest in the study of ancient Egypt.’

‘And have you such an interest, Mr Bretton?’

Recalled to the hours he had spent devouring anything he could find about the Rosetta Stone, a centuries-old block of igneous rock discovered in Egypt and said to be the key to translating ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs, Laurence nodded. ‘You could say that, yes.’

‘Then I wonder if you would be interested in attending a lecture my father is giving at the Apollo Club tomorrow evening? Attendance is by invitation only, but …’ Miss Northrup dug into her reticule and pulled out a card ‘… if you present this at the door, you will be admitted.’

Laurence glanced at the card, upon which the address of the club, and underneath, the initials, JFN, had been written. ‘Thank you, I will most certainly attend. I wasn’t sure if your father was still involved in Egyptian explorations, given that I haven’t heard much about him for quite some time.’

‘We have not been much in society of late,’ Miss Northrup said, her glance briefly dropping away. ‘We suffered a series of … unfortunate deaths in my family and are only recently emerged from mourning.’

‘I am sorry to hear that,’ Laurence said, aware from the expression on her face that the memories were still painful. ‘Such things are never easy.’

‘No, they are not, especially when one’s life is so drastically altered by the outcome.’ Miss Northrup paused, as though reflecting on some private memory. Then, she drew a bracing breath and said, ‘However, we bear it as best we can and move on.’

‘Yes, we do,’ Laurence said, seeing no point in telling her that while the dramatic changes in his own life had not been inspired by such grievous events, they had kept him fully occupied in areas that had nothing to do with archaeological exploration. ‘At what time does the lecture commence?’

‘Seven o’clock, but I suggest you come early if you wish to secure a good seat,’ Miss Northrup said. ‘Given that it is Papa’s first lecture in quite some time, we are expecting a large turnout.’

‘Then I shall make every effort to do so,’ Laurence said, tucking the card into his pocket. Then, because it was important that he know, said, ‘Will you be in attendance as well?’

‘Oh, yes. While my father is one of the most meticulous archaeologists I know, he tends to be considerably less so when it comes to the organisation of his lectures,’ Miss Northrup admitted with a smile. ‘He would no doubt leave half of his notes at home and end up wandering off into a lengthy dissertation about the pyramid of Djoser, which has nothing to do with his more recent work in the area around Thebes. I am there to make sure he adheres to the program.’

Observing the fashionable gown, the elegant bonnet and the cashmere shawl fastened at the throat by a fine pearl brooch, Laurence was hard-pressed to imagine the delicate creature before him taking an interest in what his youngest sister had once called the most boring subject on earth. ‘You don’t find the subject a little dry?’

‘Not at all. I have worked at my father’s side for a number of years, transcribing his notes, organising and labelling his finds, even helping him to map out his future expeditions. And last year, during a visit to the temple complex near Dendera, I was fortunate enough to find the most incredible piece of—’

‘You found at Dendera?’ Laurence repeated in astonishment. ‘Are you telling me you actually went to Egypt with your father?’

It was a mistake. The lady’s eyes narrowed and her lovely smile cooled every so slightly. ‘Yes, I did. My second trip, in fact, and, in many ways, even more remarkable than the first. Words cannot describe the size and scope of Tentyra, or the magnificence of the Temple of Hathor. Such things truly must be seen to be appreciated.’

‘Of that, there can be no doubt. And I meant no offence,’ Laurence said, aware that she had misinterpreted his reaction and clearly thought less of him as a result. ‘I am simply envious of your good fortune in being able to visit a country I have been reading about for so many years. To travel up the Nile and to see firsthand the wonders being discovered in the desert would be the culmination of a dream.’

She raised an eyebrow, but her voice was scblueeptical when she said, ‘It would?’

‘Good Lord, yes. Oh, I’ve read all the books, studied the drawings, even talked with gentlemen who’ve been there,’ Laurence said, ‘but nothing could possibly replicate the experience of actually standing in a crowed street in Cairo, being assaulted by the sounds and smells of the markets or deafened by the babble of a thousand voices. One must go there in order to experience such things.’

The lady tilted her head, as though in reconsideration of her first impression. ‘And is it your intention to go there one day, Mr Bretton?’

‘I sincerely hope to, yes,’ Laurence said, knowing that if the opportunity were presented to him, he would go in a heartbeat. The consequences—and there would be consequences—could be dealt with once he got back. Right now it was important that he convince Miss Northrup of his sincerity, since he had obviously damaged his credibility and commitment to the field by having had the audacity to question hers.

Thankfully, the earnestness of his reply must have convinced her of the true extent of his interest, for she nodded briefly and said, ‘Then I will offer you a few words of advice. If ever you do go, be sure to stay at Shepheard’s in Cairo. It is an exceedingly civilised hotel and the view from the terrace is quite splendid. Also, when dealing with the locals, take time to negotiate anything you are offered. You will be hideously overcharged if you do not.’

‘Thank you,’ Laurence said, relieved he had not done irreparable damage to a relationship he had every intention of pursuing. ‘If I am ever fortunate enough to find myself haggling over the price of a fellukah, I will be sure to remember your advice.’

‘A fellukah is fine if you are only looking for transportation across the Nile, but if your trip is to be of a longer duration, I would suggest a dahabeeyah,’ the lady said. ‘They are far more comfortable, some being quite luxurious, though the price will reflect that, of course.’

‘Of course.’ This time, Laurence knew better than to smile, though he was strongly tempted to do so. He’d never met a woman who knew what a dahabeeyah was, let alone one who was able to tell him it was the preferred method for travel along the ancient river. ‘Shall I bring Volney’s Travels with me to the lecture tomorrow evening?’

‘If you wouldn’t mind. Unless …’ Miss Northrup turned back to the clerk, who was still gazing at her with adoration and said, ‘Is there any chance of you being able to procure a copy of the book for me before then?’

The young man’s face fell. ‘I shall do my best, but I very much doubt it.’

‘Ah. Then I would be most grateful for the loan of Volney’s Travels, Mr Bretton,’ Miss Northrup said, turning back to him with a smile. ‘And I promise to return it as soon as I am able. As one who has experienced the difficulty in finding reliable source materials, I know how hard it is to let such an exceptional volume out of your hands.’

‘In this case, I have no concerns,’ Laurence assured her—knowing that as long as she had the book, he had an excuse for seeing her. ‘Volney and I will see you at the Apollo Club tomorrow evening. Good day, Miss Northrup.’

‘Good day.’ She started to turn away, and then stopped. ‘Oh, Mr Bretton, there is … one more thing.’

Laurence turned back. ‘Yes?’

She opened her mouth to speak, but then a tiny furrow appeared between her brows and she closed it again. Clearly, she wanted to say something, but for whatever reason was reluctant to do so. In the end, she merely shook her head and smiled. ‘Never mind. You will find us upstairs in the Oracle Room tomorrow evening. Please try not to be late. And don’t forget to bring the card.’

It was not what she had been going to say. Laurence was certain of that. But, hardly in a position to demand that she disclose what had so briefly tugged at her conscience, he simply assured her that he would not be late, offered her a bow then returned to his earlier browsing, all the while blessing the Fates for having sent him to this particular bookshop on this particular day.

To think he would actually be sitting in on a lecture given by the renowned archaeologist William Northrup! It was almost too good to be true, especially given the time he had devoted of late to activities that, while necessary to his family’s well-being, did absolutely nothing to quench his thirst for knowledge. He was first and foremost a student of history and tomorrow evening, he would have an opportunity to talk with like-minded gentlemen about the exciting discoveries taking place in the area of Egypt known as the Valley of the Kings.

It was a long time since he had found himself looking forward to anything as much … except to seeing the intriguing Miss Northrup again, Laurence admitted, casting another glance in her direction. A woman of rare beauty, she obviously shared her father’s love of ancient Egypt and, contrary to what society expected, had been allowed to travel with him to share in the excitement of his explorations. There had been no mistaking the enthusiasm in her voice when she had spoken of her impressions of the ruins at Dendera, and if she had worked at her father’s side for so many years, there could be no question that her interest in the subject was genuine.

Laurence could think of no other young lady—and he had met a great many over the last eight months—who would welcome such an adventure, which was all the more reason for getting to know the charming and decidedly intriguing Miss Joanna Northrup a great deal better.

Joanna did not speak to Laurence Bretton again. Though she was aware of him browsing through a selection of books on a table close to the window, she could think of no reasonable excuse for approaching him a second time—other than to correct his erroneous assumption that she was Miss Joanna Northrup—and so, tucking her purchases under her arm, left the shop and climbed into the waiting carriage.

Why she had allowed the error in address to stand was something she was not so easily able to explain. She’d had eight months to come to terms with the fact that she was now Lady Joanna Northrup. Eight months to accept that as a result of the untimely deaths of her uncle and his heir, her father was no longer a humble academic, but the Fourth Earl of Bonnington. Surely that was time enough to come to terms with such a drastic alteration in one’s circumstances.

‘Obviously not,’ Joanna murmured as the carriage clipped smartly towards her new home on Eaton Place. Otherwise she would not have allowed a handsome but completely unknown gentleman to come up to her in a shop, offer to lend her a book then use the offer as an excuse to introduce himself, all without informing him of her true position in society.

The Practice, as her father’s eldest sister was so fond of saying, was to wait for a person acquainted with both the lady and the gentleman to make the introduction, then for the lady to enter into the conversation to the degree to which she felt it appropriate, that degree being determined by the gentleman’s position in society and, to a much lesser degree, by the nicety of his manners and comeliness of his person.

From what little Joanna had been able to glean of Mr Bretton’s situation in life, the conversation was not one of which her aunt would have approved.

Of course, had he not introduced himself, she would not be in the enviable position now of having Mr Volney’s book to read over the weekend. She would still be scouring London’s many bookshops, quizzing inexperienced clerks in her search for the elusive volume and probably meeting with the same disappointing results as she had in all of her previous attempts. So, in fact, her meeting with Mr Bretton had been most fortuitous in that it had saved her from all those endless hours of tedium!

The fact he had initially been sceptical of her interest in Egypt was a failing Joanna was willing to overlook. She had encountered it countless times before, both from gentlemen who thought she hadn’t a brain in her head and from women who couldn’t understand her desire to be more than a wife or mother. But given that his interest in the subject was surely as keen as her own, she was willing to forgive him his boldness in approaching her, and to excuse herself for having encouraged the conversation. She was even looking forward to seeing him at her father’s lecture tomorrow evening.

It would be a pleasure talking to a London gentleman who really did know more about pharaohs than foxhunting and wasn’t ashamed to admit it!

Upon arriving home, Joanna turned her attention to the events of the upcoming days. Now that the family’s period of mourning was at an end, invitations had begun arriving again. While she wanted to believe that most were extended out of a genuine desire to welcome the new Lord Bonnington and his daughter to society, she suspected that just as many were prompted by morbid curiosity.

After all, in the blink of an eye, her father had gone from being the ignored younger son and brother of an earl, to being the Earl of Bonnington himself, while she had been elevated from a bluestocking nobody to the highly eligible Lady Joanna Northrup.

Astonishing, really, how far reaching the effects of a single gunshot could be.

‘Ah, there you are, Joanna,’ Lady Cynthia Klegston said as Joanna walked into the morning room. ‘All finished with your shopping?’

‘For now.’ Joanna bent to kiss her aunt on the cheek—a token of respect rather than affection. She had never been entirely comfortable in the company of her father’s eldest sister, a brusque, plain-speaking widow with two married daughters who had paid little or no attention to her youngest brother before his unexpected elevation to the peerage and who only did so now because she realised it was in her best interests to do so. ‘I left your necklace with the jeweller to be repaired, checked on the order for your stationery and advised Madame Clermont that you would be in to see her at two o’clock this afternoon. She said that would be convenient.’

‘Of course it will be convenient,’ Lady Cynthia snapped. ‘I bring her a great deal of business. It behoves her to find it convenient. And I think you had best come with me. I’ve decided you shall have a new gown for the dinner party. As a young lady who is not engaged or married, we cannot afford to have you appear anything less than your best, especially now that you are Lady Joanna Northrup and in need of a wealthy husband. Dash it all, where are my spectacles? I can never find the wretched things when I need them.’

Having noticed the spectacles on the small table next to the wing chair, Joanna silently went to retrieve them. As a rule, she tried to stay out of her aunt’s way. Lady Cynthia was a forceful presence, who, like her late older brother, hadn’t bothered to keep in touch with her younger brother’s family until death had forced her to do so.

Ironic, really, that her aunt, who had once been so openly disapproving of every aspect of William’s life, should now be heard to say that she was doing all she could to help her poor brother and niece cope with the unexpected changes thrust upon them.

‘Speaking of convenient,’ Lady Cynthia said, ‘did you find whatever it was you were looking for?’

‘It was a book and, no, I did not,’ Joanna said, surprised her aunt would even remember that her niece had gone out for reasons other than to see to her own errands. ‘But I happened upon a gentleman who offered to lend me his copy.’

‘How thoughtful.’ Lady Cynthia gazed up at Joanna over the rim of her spectacles. ‘I take it you were acquainted with the gentleman?’

‘No, but he knew Papa,’ Joanna said, stretching the truth a little. ‘He will be coming to the lecture tomorrow evening.’

Her aunt’s expression was blank. ‘Lecture?’

‘Yes. The one Papa is giving at the Apollo Club. I did tell you about it,’ Joanna said. ‘Just as I told you that I would be in attendance as well, given that many of my drawings will be on display.’

Her aunt’s reaction was exactly what Joanna had been expecting. She took off her glasses and said with a sigh of frustration, ‘Joanna, I really cannot understand why you and your father persist in this ridiculous occupation. He is the Earl of Bonnington now and with that comes an obligation to his name and his position in society. Both of which are far more important than sitting around with a bunch of stodgy old men talking about Egypt.’

‘I understand your concern, Aunt,’ Joanna said as patiently as she could. ‘But you must understand that up until now, archaeology and the study of ancient Egypt have been the focus of my father’s life.’

‘Of course, because his position in the family made it necessary that he find something to do with his time,’ Lady Cynthia said, ‘though why he could not have gone into the church or purchased a commission is beyond me. Either of those occupations would have been far more suitable. However, with both Hubert and Trevor gone, your father is now the earl and he must accept the responsibilities inherent with the title. That includes seeing to your welfare and he must know that your chances of making a good match will not be improved by his conduct,’ Lady Cynthia said, the expression on her face leaving Joanna in no doubt as to her displeasure. ‘Circumstances demand that you marry well, and your bluestocking tendencies and your father’s willingness to encourage them will not improve your chances.’

‘I doubt it will be my conduct or my father’s that will have a negative impact on my eligibility, Aunt,’ Joanna was stung into replying. ‘I suspect much of society knows that Papa is heavily in debt as a result of his brother’s and nephew’s recklessness and if you would find fault with anyone, it seems to me it should be with those who are truly to blame for the predicament in which we now find ourselves!’

It was a sad but true commentary on the state of their affairs. Joanna’s late uncle had gambled away a large part of the family’s fortune, and his son had squandered the rest on women and horses. Both had met with dramatic ends: her uncle from a fall off a cliff in a drunken stupor, and her cousin from a gunshot wound sustained during a duel with the angry husband of the woman with whom he had been having an affair.

The sad result was that, while Joanna’s father had inherited a lofty title, there was precious little to go along with it. Bonnington Manor, a once-beautiful Elizabethan house, had been left to moulder in the English countryside, its stone walls overgrown with vegetation, its lush gardens choked with weeds. Even the town house in London was in desperate need of refurbishment. While both residences had come with a handful of loyal retainers, the list of unpaid bills that accompanied them was enough to make a king blush.

Little wonder her father had not embraced his elevation to the peerage, Joanna reflected wryly. By necessity, one of his first duties was to find a way of raising enough money to carry out the extensive repairs required—and she was not so naïve as to believe that she did not play a role in that solution.

‘Well, no matter what the state of your father’s affairs, I do not intend to let you sit like a wallflower in a garden of roses,’ Lady Cynthia said. ‘You are a fine-looking girl. With luck, we will be able to attract a gentleman of means and to secure an offer of marriage, which we both know is your father’s only hope of salvaging the estate given his own stubborn refusal to marry again. Speaking of which, I hope you have not forgotten that we are going out this evening?’

Joanna had, but given her aunt’s decidedly prickly mood, decided it would be wiser not to let on. ‘No, of course not.’

‘Good, because while I do not particularly care for Mrs Blough-Upton, it is important that you be seen as often as possible now that you are out of mourning. You will be one and twenty on your next birthday and I do not intend to allow this obsession with Egypt to ruin your chances for making a good marriage.’

Sensing there was nothing to be gained by continuing the conversation, Joanna bid her aunt a polite good morning and then went upstairs to her room. She was well aware that her aunt’s only concern was to find her niece a rich husband. And that she could not understand why anyone would be so passionate about a country that was dirty, poverty stricken and populated by the most inhospitable people imaginable.

Joanna thought the opinion a trifle unfair given that her aunt had never set foot in the country, but neither could she entirely find fault with the assessment. Egypt was dirty and poverty stricken and populated by some very questionable types—but there was so much to see and discover that the one negated the other. Tremendous finds had been made in the last few decades. Travellers were flocking to the banks of the Nile to see the wonders being discovered there, while explorers following in the footsteps of James Bruce and Giovanni Belzoni were setting out to uncover the tombs of long-dead kings, hoping to find in those burial chambers a cache of precious metals and jewels. And, more importantly, clues to deciphering the mysteries of the past.