The Unassuming Curator, page 12
She blinked and surveyed her soiled gloves and gown, and her muddy shoes.
“I believe your notion of presentable may be rather different from that of most people in Society.”
“I have no idea why you would think so,” he teased, tucking his handkerchief back into his pocket. “Don’t all the most sophisticated ladies and gentlemen of the ton spend time digging in the dirt?”
“No.” She frowned at the earthworm in her hand. “I am quite sure they do not. Indeed, this may need to be something that no one else knows about but Aunt Millward.”
“We are garnering rather a lot of secrets, aren’t we?”
“I’m afraid we are,” she said ruefully.
He rose and extended his hand. She placed her free hand in his, and he helped her to her feet.
“Well then, since you and I now qualify as true confidants, I wonder if you would consider calling me Henry?”
Her smile was hesitant, but it was there. “Yes, so long as you call me Emily.”
His heart lifted. “Gladly,” he said, releasing her hand and plucking the squirming worm from her other palm. “I shall return as soon as I’ve gifted this to the boy, and then we will wrap up the plant and check on Aunt Millward before we look for anything more.”
She nodded, and this time, her smile was more confident. “Thank you, Henry.”
He smiled in return. “My pleasure, Emily.”
Chapter 14
The carriage wheels turned, and with a spit of gravel and creak of leather, the vehicle rolled away from Clapham Common. Inside, Aunt Millward leaned back in her seat and gave a satisfied sigh. “Well done, Henry,” she said. “That was a splendid way to spend the afternoon.”
Henry. Up until half an hour ago, Emily had only ever thought of the gentleman as Mr. Buckland, but at Aunt Millward’s use of his Christian name, Emily’s heart warmed. He was to be Henry to her now too.
The gentleman in question eyed the mud caked on his boots and knees and gave a rueful smile. “I’m not sure that my valet will agree with you, Aunt, but I am very glad you enjoyed the excursion.”
Emily made a mental note to personally apologize to Hannah for the state of her current wardrobe. Thankfully, she had taken Henry’s earlier suggestion seriously and had worn her oldest gown and most serviceable boots. The fact that Aunt Millward had managed the walk from the carriage to the log by the pond and back without so much as a fleck of mud on her hem was certainly worth celebrating. Then again, the older lady’s enthusiasm was more likely due to her relief that the cows and sheep had maintained their distance the whole time.
“Your valet must be used to such things by now,” Aunt Millward said. “It seems to me that you make rather a habit of getting dirty.”
Henry grinned. “Thankfully, he’s a remarkably long-suffering chap. I’d be lost without him.”
“Then, I certainly hope you are paying him well.”
“He has yet to complain,” Henry said.
“The good ones rarely do.” Aunt Millward gave him a stern look. “You are not without means, Henry. Make sure those who are important to you recognize it in word and deed.”
Henry’s gaze flitted to Emily, and she felt the beginnings of another surge of warmth in her cheeks.
“That is wise counsel,” he said, returning his attention to Aunt Millward.
“Yes.” His aunt’s stern look had yet to fade. “It is.”
Emily took an unsteady breath. What was wrong with her? Digging in the mud had taken her from enjoying Henry’s company above any of the other gentlemen at the Tilsons’ ball to blushing whenever he so much as glanced her way. Sitting opposite him was not helping. Especially since he looked no less handsome with dirt on his clothes than he did when dressed in his finery.
Perhaps Aunt Millward’s train of thought was similar to hers because with seemingly no forewarning, the older lady changed the subject to the next event on her social calendar.
“I assume you are attending Lord and Lady Southbeck’s much-anticipated gathering on Saturday, Henry.”
His grimace was so fleeting, Emily wondered if she’d imagined it.
“Lord Southbeck is a member of the museum’s board of trustees,” he said. “He holds these grand events as a means of fostering an appreciation for the arts and raising funds for the museum. Even though I oversee the natural history collection, as one of the museum’s curators, I am expected to be there.”
“So I imagine, but you have not told me whether you will be.”
Henry leaned back against the seat, amusement sparkling in his eyes. “I defy anyone to attempt to bamboozle you, Aunt Millward. It cannot be done.”
“I should certainly hope not,” Aunt Millward said. “Let that be your second life lesson during this carriage ride home.”
Emily bit her lip to prevent her smile from growing. Aunt Millward was a gem. A highly irregular but completely wonderful gem.
“One that I will definitely commit to memory,” Henry said solemnly.
“Good. And now you can tell me if you plan to be at the Southbecks’ musical event.”
This time his grimace was undeniable.
“I confess, listening to an opera singer—no matter how celebrated—warble one aria after another is not my first choice of how to spend my evening.”
“Yes, yes. I know you’d rather be in a library reading a book or outside hunting down plants, but one cannot spend all of one’s time doing those things.”
“More’s the pity,” Emily whispered.
The rumble of the carriage wheels prevented Aunt Millward from hearing her comment, but if his unexpectedly mischievous look was any indication, it had not escaped Henry.
“Tell me, Aunt Millward,” he said, “do you intend to attend? And more to the point, do you intend to drag Emily there too?”
Aunt Millward surely noticed Henry’s use of her given name, but she chose to make no mention of it.
“We shall both be there,” Aunt Millward said. This was the first Emily had heard of the event, which made it seem as though Henry was not the only person whose presence was assumed. “And there will be no dragging involved. I have learned from years of experience that such events are far more enjoyable if one uses a little fabric to plug one’s ears before the singing commences. I will provide Emily with ear plugs, and we shall both have a very pleasant evening.”
Henry’s laughter filled the carriage, and Emily could not help but join in. If Saturday’s entertainment was to be as painful as Henry suggested, Aunt Millward’s third life lesson may well save them all.
Henry jotted down the final entry in his ledger, set his quill aside, and reached for the blotting paper. Finally. Every piece in the Egyptian pottery collection was accounted for.
Rolling his shoulders, he rose from the chair and walked to the window. Another day of sunshine. After all the rain they’d experienced earlier in the week, everyone was glad for the warmer temperatures and drier weather. His only complaint was that for today, at least, his work demanded that he be indoors at the museum. He wished he could be outside. Preferably with Emily at his side.
A smile played across his lips as he pictured her triumphant expression when she’d handed him the perfect lesser periwinkle specimen she’d dug up after having successfully wrapped the ribwort plantain. He shook his head slightly. Was there another high-born young lady in all of England who’d be so eager to dig in the mud and handle earthworms? He did not think so. Neither did he think there was another so charming.
He moved back to the table and glanced at the calendar beside his ledger. His current commitments may prevent him from enjoying another outing with Emily right away, but at least he would see her at the Southbecks’ musical evening on Saturday. His position at the museum notwithstanding, she was the only reason he had sent an acceptance to the invitation.
A knock at the door interrupted his musings.
“Enter,” he called.
The door opened, and Rutherford appeared.
“My apologies for disturbing you, Mr. Buckland,” he said. “I just came up to tell you that the display case you ordered some weeks back is here. The men are wondering where you’d like to have it put.”
“Their timing couldn’t be better,” Henry said. “I have the pottery ready. Direct them to the Montagu room, would you? I shall meet them there.”
“Very good, sir.”
As soon as the porter left to deliver the message, Henry opened a desk drawer and withdrew a sign. Tucking it under his arm, he headed across the landing to the Montagu room. The door was open. Slowing his steps, he entered, experiencing—as he always did—a sense of wonder for lives once lived and creatures never before seen.
Cases filled with Roman artifacts and Viking relics lined one long wall. Against the other three, the skeletal remains of over thirty mammals and reptiles from around the world were displayed beneath a vast collection of animal skins. In the far corner, a space had been cleared, and if the carpenters had heeded the measurements he’d given them, it would be just the right size for the new display case.
Grateful that no one from the last tour had lingered in the room, Henry attached the sign he’d brought with him to the door. The displays in this room are currently unavailable. It was an unpopular sign, and whoever led the next tour group through would undoubtedly hear complaints, but it couldn’t be helped. If he did his job correctly, visitors would find the new Egyptian pottery display worth the wait.
Henry heard the men before he saw them. Their grunts of exertion and called directions echoed off the high ceiling as they made their way up the wide staircase. Henry pushed the door open wide and stood back as two workmen carried a long table down the landing toward him.
“You have my thanks, gentlemen,” he said. “Set it in the corner, if you would.”
“Righ’ you are, sir.” The older of the two men tilted the table to the left to navigate the doorway. “Lift it up a bit, Tommy.”
The younger fellow complied, and with a few more grunts and abbreviated commands, the older one guided the piece of furniture into its preassigned spot. Stepping back, Tommy straightened one corner and then took a moment to gaze around the room.
The other man offered Henry a slight bow. “’Ow’s that, sir?”
“Excellent,” Henry said. “I’m most grateful.”
The older man smiled, exposing a few missing teeth. “There we are, then. Always ’appy t’ do business with t’ museum.”
“We appreciate your service. If you’d talk to the porter on the way out, he’ll see to it that you receive your payment.”
“Very good, sir.” He bowed again. “Come on, Tommy.”
The younger fellow turned from staring at the pelt of a black bear hanging on the wall above his head. He mumbled something under his breath and tugged on the brim of his hat, then he followed his associate out of the room.
“How does it look?” Fernsby walked in, taking the workmen’s place beside the display table.
“I think it will work well,” Henry said, inspecting the new display case as he spoke. “It looks sturdy enough to support the weight of the pottery, and the carpenter has done a nice job on the finishing work.”
A half-inch-wide and six-inch-tall strip of wood surrounded the perimeter of the rectangular table, creating a large, flat case. Three lead-framed sheets of glass were attached by hinges to the far side of the wooden frame. Henry raised the piece of glass closest to him. It lifted smoothly, allowing him easy access to the container beneath.
Fernsby whistled through his teeth. “Very nice. Did you design it?”
“Yes. I wanted something that gave the collection more protection than the open cases but gave us easier access than the cases covered by a solid sheet of glass.”
“Clever,” Fernsby said. “How long will it take you to have the display ready?”
“My question exactly.” At the sound of another voice, both gentlemen turned to face the door.
“Lord Claridge,” Henry said.
He and Fernsby inclined their heads in greeting, and the chair of the board acknowledged them with a nod.
“I would apologize for interrupting,” Claridge said, “but truth be told, I’m rather glad I came when I did.” He moved to stand beside the new display case and studied it with interest. “Most ingenious,” he said. “And did I hear you correctly? This design is of your own making?”
“I claim credit for the design, my lord, but the carpenter and glassblower did the real work.”
“Extraordinary,” Claridge said. “Really. Quite extraordinary. I look forward to seeing it filled.” He paused. “I believe you were about to tell Mr. Fernsby how long that will take.”
“Yes, my lord. I have the cataloging complete, so it should only take a few days to have the pieces ready to display.”
“Excellent. The timing couldn’t be better.”
“The timing?”
“Yes,” Claridge said. “I’ve heard from Lady Grenville’s solicitor again. Her donation is scheduled to arrive at the museum on Monday, and once again, she is insisting that you be the person to attend to the delivery. The board wishes you to oversee every part of the unloading and cataloging; I have given Lady Grenville’s solicitor my word that you will.”
“Of course,” Henry said, even as misgiving tightened his stomach into a knot. The butterfly collection was well within the realm of his expertise; the literature was not.
“Glad to hear it.” Claridge gave a satisfied nod. “I shall return early next week so that I might report on the progress of the Egyptian pottery display and the status of Lady Grenville’s donation at our next board meeting.”
Early next week. The director was giving him only a day or two to assess the vast donation of manuscripts he knew nothing about.
“Might I suggest that Mr. Townsend would be far better suited to—”
Lord Claridge raised his hand to stop Henry before he could continue. “We all know that Townsend is an expert in his field, but to be a truly effective representative of the British Museum, one must also have the social skills and business acumen to match.” He offered Henry an enigmatic look. “Consider this a test of the breadth of your abilities, Buckland. A rather important one at that.”
Henry had never enjoyed taking tests at university. That sentiment had yet to change. “I’m not sure I understand exactly what you are looking for, my lord.”
“It’s hardly complicated, Buckland. Just prove to the board that you can do what needs to be done with a multifaceted donation.”
Henry had serious reservations about the assignment, but this was obviously not the time to say so. “Very well, my lord.”
That, it seemed, was all Claridge needed to hear. He started toward the door. “Until next week, then.”
His clipped footsteps faded along the landing, and Henry turned to Fernsby. He was staring at the open door with an odd look on his face.
“Any idea what that was all about?” Henry asked.
Fernsby’s expression cleared. “Wish I could help you, old fellow.”
“Almost as much as I wish you could. It’s ridiculous to not bring Townsend in on this donation.”
“I daresay Townsend would offer you a stronger word than ridiculous. Continued avoidance is likely your best strategy.”
The knot in Henry’s stomach tightened further. Townsend could act the role of curmudgeon, but Henry had always had a respectful working relationship with the man. He’d hoped that a new week would enable them to put their recent discord behind them. Claridge’s injunction had all but ensured that it would increase. He rubbed the back of his neck. “You might be right.”
“I usually am,” Fernsby said. He pulled out his pocket watch. “The next tour starts in five minutes, so I’d better go. I’ll bypass the Montagu room until you have the new display ready.”
“I appreciate it.”
Henry walked with him onto the landing and pulled the door closed behind them. The sign swung noisily back and forth, a patent reminder that Henry had no time to waste.
Chapter 15
The Southbecks’ drawing room was at least twice the size of the one at Dunsbourne Manor, and it was decorated in a Grecian theme. Large urns stood on either side of the doorway, and marble busts of sightless gentlemen wearing laurel wreaths upon their heads sat on shelves in recessed archways around the room. Candles flickered from sconces on the wall and from a magnificent candelabra atop a marble stand beside a pianoforte. Chairs had been arranged in half a dozen tidy rows, facing the pianoforte, and behind the chairs, the gathering guests mingled.
Lord and Lady Southbeck greeted Aunt Millward warmly and expressed their pleasure in meeting Emily and their regret that Lord and Lady Dunsbourne were unable to join them. No one wished Adam and Phoebe were there more than Emily, but she understood Adam’s decision to stay behind. Not wanting to abandon his wife was a valid excuse for opting out of an event he had never really wanted to attend anyway.
Emily allowed her gaze to traverse the room’s occupants. Would Henry overcome his reluctance to sit through opera music to be here tonight? She could not deny that her hope that she would see him again had caused her to have Hannah spend a little longer on her hair and had influenced her choice of gown.
“Do you know the opera singer, Aunt Millward?” she asked.
“I have heard her sing before, but I have never been introduced,” Aunt Millward said. “She is standing beside the pianoforte in a silver gown.”
Emily directed her attention that way and saw the lady in question. She was a little older than Emily had imagined, but she held herself with assurance and gestured with her hands as she spoke to a lady whose gray hair was ratted to the extreme.
“Is that the Dowager Lady Pendleton with her?”
