Lady Elinor's Wicked Adventures (13 page)

The prince shook his head. “No, never.” Then he threw his head back and laughed. “Those foolish thieves. Whatever they stole, it cannot have a tiny fraction of the value, of the importance of these murals. They will perhaps peddle a pair of earrings or a gold brooch. Merely an annoyance. But these paintings, through them the Etruscans will speak to us. They will reveal themselves. They will tell us something of their history.”

Elinor stood in front of a painting that showed a bearded man holding a woman by her hair and threatening her with a sword. She shivered. “But who are they, all these people?”

“Something is written next to them,” said Tunbury, “probably their names, but I can't read it.”

Savelli came over and held up his lantern. “The letters are Etruscan. Aich by the man and Cas'ntra by the woman. That would be Ajax capturing Cassandra, part of the story of the Trojan War. But we will decipher them all. We know that the Etruscans adopted many of the Greek myths. With luck, not all of these pictures will be of Greek heroes. I hope, I am certain, that some of the stories told here will be of Etruscan history.” With a smile he began to make a slow circuit of the walls.

“Will you want to set up a guard on the tomb?” asked Rycote, a bit hesitantly.

“My foreman, Lorenzo, will take care of that.” The prince spoke absently. Then he stopped and a shadow passed over his face. “Ah, you are thinking of my foolishness in not setting up better protection when we first found the tomb. Yes, I thought no one knew of the discovery so a single guard would do. I will not make that mistake again.”

* * *

In the morning, Savelli and Penworth had already gone off to the tomb when the others sat down to breakfast. Lady Penworth had a decidedly smug look on her face as she sipped her coffee. “This trip was definitely one of my better ideas,” she told her children. “Your father looks ten years younger and he has lost that worried look.”

No one was inclined to argue with her, though it is doubtful that Contessa Landi even heard her. Looking dreamily off into the distance, the contessa said, “A ball. I shall hold a ball in four days' time. It will be to honor my cousin's discovery. That will please him, I think. Should it be a costume ball? With everyone in Etruscan garb?”

She tilted her head and considered. Then she shook her head decisively. “No. They wore ugly things, tunics. Not at all becoming. No. We will be elegant. Everyone will come.” She smiled at the guests. “You will wear your finest jewels, and the men will wear their decorations. It will be magnificent.” She tossed aside her napkin. “I must confer with the majordomo.”

She rose and glided from the room in a cloud of lace.

Her son looked after her with exasperation. “Be warned. The villa will be impossible for the next four days. All the servants will be running about at her beck and call, and she will change her plans every few hours. Myself, I plan to keep out of sight.” With a graceful bow, he too departed.

The visitors looked at each other in amusement.

“Ought we go back to Rome?” Rycote sounded a bit hopeful.

Lady Penworth promptly dismissed that notion. “We could hardly leave without your father, and we could not possibly drag him away from the tomb at this point.”

“We will just have to do some exploring of our own,” said Elinor. She looked at her brother and Tunbury. “I'll meet you at the stables in half an hour.”

“Half an hour?” jeered her brother. “You'll never be changed in less than forty-five minutes.”

“I can change in less time than it takes you to pull on your silly boots,” she retorted.

“A bob says I beat the pair of you,” said Tunbury, pushing away from the table.

In no time at all, Lady Penworth was alone. “Children,” she murmured fondly.

Savelli went off to Rome to find an artist to do detailed drawings of the frescoes before exposure to air and light could damage them. Carlo Ruspi would be the man for the job, he said, and would be eager to do it the moment he heard of the discovery. Penworth was in the library organizing their notes and sketches, and Lady Penworth was helping him. Contessa Landi had sent her son off with a list of purchases to make for the ball that evening while she lay in her room recuperating from the exertion of giving orders. Rycote, Tunbury, and Lady Elinor had gone off riding yet again, but Rycote's horse came up lame, and horse and rider were forced to limp back to the stables.

After a good gallop, the other two riders slowed the horses to a walk as they went down a lane beside yet another row of tombs that had been uncovered by Savelli over the years and dismissed as of little interest. Had anyone asked her, Elinor would have been perfectly willing to admit that her interest in Etruscan tombs was fading rapidly. Besides, she was feeling uncomfortable. May in Italy was much warmer than May in England, and they had been riding over a flat plain without any shade.

In deference to the possible prejudices of her hosts, she was wearing a conventional riding habit rather than her tomb-exploring outfit. It was her favorite habit, a bright blue wool with a skirted jacket reminiscent of a more flamboyant era. Its wide sleeves and lapels were of dark blue velvet trimmed with loops of gold braid, and the matching hat, with its low crown and curved brim, perched forward over one eye while a plume swept back and curved down around her ear. Whenever she wore it, it brought back memories of her childhood, when she had ridden over the fields at Penworth with Harry and Pip, pretending they were Cavaliers off to defend the castle from the Roundheads.

At the moment she had no interest in adventures, imaginary or not. She was simply hot. They rode into a glen that seemed to be an ancient road between two rows of tombs. Spying a tree large enough to offer some shade, she rode over to it and dismounted by unhooking her leg from the horn of her sidesaddle and sliding to the ground.

“You're supposed to wait for me to help you. Don't you ever remember to be helpless?” Tunbury dismounted beside her and took the reins from her hand. “At least let me tie the horses up.”

She was more than willing to let him take care of the horses, and while he led them off, she removed her jacket and tried using her hat as a fan. Even in the shade it was hot. The air was utterly still, and the only sounds came from Tunbury and the horses clomping around and a few insects making insect noises. The whole world smelled dusty. She sat down on a rock and pulled out a handkerchief to blot the sweat that was probably making muddy tunnels in the dust on her face.

She was bored.

It was unreasonable. She knew that. After all, she hadn't been bored when they were in Rome. But here, even though the villa was beautiful and strange and all those things that people travel to see, she had nothing to do. Her father and the prince were busy with their excavations, and her mother was busy transcribing their notes for them, while she was told to keep out of the way so she didn't disturb anything.

The contessa didn't seem to do anything except sleep and change her clothes. Armando paid attention to her, but it was in the form of ridiculously florid compliments, and his increasing intensity made her uncomfortable. Pip and Harry talked to each other and treated her like a pesky little sister trailing along after them. She wanted to smack Harry over the head and shout, “Look at me! I'm all grown up!”

She heaved a sigh. It wasn't Harry's fault that she couldn't win his interest. It was her own fault. She had mistaken his feelings. Although she was in love with him, his feelings were only brotherly. No passion. She had no right to complain. She wasn't just being unreasonable. She was acting like a spoiled brat. Knowing it did not make her feel any better.

“Catch.”

She turned and put up her hands just in time to catch the object Harry had sent flying in her direction. It almost splattered in her hands. “An orange. Lovely.” She smiled in delight and started peeling it immediately.

Harry had tossed aside his coat and neck cloth too, and unbuttoned his waistcoat. He plopped down on the ground beside her and grinned. “There's another orange for you and some rolls. I remember how cranky you get when you haven't been fed for a while.”

She slipped the first of the orange segments into her mouth, holding a hand under her chin to catch the drips. She held the morsel against the roof of her mouth with her tongue, letting the juices wash away the feeling of dust while the sweet-sharp scent of it cleaned the air she breathed. She swallowed and turned to him with a dreamy smile. “I forgive you.”

“Forgive me?” The grin disappeared and he looked startled. “What did I do?”

“Well, if you don't know…” She turned away and shrugged.

There was a brief silence, and then they both began to laugh.

“Idiot!” she said affectionately.

“Ninny!” he replied.

By the time they had demolished the crusty rolls and licked up the last drop of juice from the oranges, Norrie's mood had improved mightily. She stood up and stretched before looking around. Harry was lying back and seemed to have fallen asleep. She picked up his jacket and began checking the pockets to see if he had anything else to eat. Preferably something sweet.

* * *

Harry had been half dozing when he heard her stand and watched through half-opened eyes as she stretched. Did she have any idea what she looked like? A woman might stretch in that cat-like way as she rose from her lover's bed. Norrie should have more sense. It didn't matter that she obviously thought him asleep. A glimpse of her with her head arched back like that would wake any man. It had certainly awakened his male organ.

This had to stop. He closed his eyes, concentrated on keeping his breathing slow and even, and thought about cold porridge.

“Harry!” It was half a shriek, half a demand.

He jumped up wide awake, his heart thumping. What had frightened her?

But she didn't look frightened. Confused, perhaps. Nervous, even. She was holding his jacket in her lap, and then lifted her hand.

It was his Colt. She had found his revolver and was holding it by the barrel, dangling over her lap.

He gave a short laugh, shaky with relief. “I thought something had happened to you.”

“Well, it looks as if you were expecting something to happen. What on earth is this?”

“It's a handgun.”

She gave him the look that idiotic reply deserved. “I know it's a handgun. What is it doing in your pocket?”

He started to relax. “Well, it isn't just a handgun. It's a revolver. A Colt pocket revolver.” He took it from her, checking to make sure she hadn't accidentally cocked it. “It shoots five rounds without reloading. I bought it when I was in America. They're very popular over there.”

She was still staring at it. “All right, it's in your pocket because it's a pocket revolver. But why do you have it with you at all?”

He shrugged, feeling a bit embarrassed. “Habit, I suppose. I grew accustomed to carrying it with me all the time when I was traveling. And we are in a strange place here. There could be bandits. Or snakes.”

Now she was looking dubious. “Snakes,” she said flatly. “Could you even hit a snake with that thing?”

“I will have you know that I am an excellent shot.” He was offended.

She looked even more dubious.

“I'll show you. Do you see that bush over there?” He pointed at a wilting shrub on the far side of the glen.

“I could hardly fail to see it. It must be ten feet high—quite as big as a barn door. I won't be impressed if you hit that.”

He gave her a look of disgust. “Do you see the branch in the middle that sticks off at right angles to the main branch?”

She considered. “Yes, I see it.”

“All right then.” He took aim and fired.

The branch was severed just where it joined the main branch. There was a moment of silence—the shot seemed to have silenced the nearby insects—followed by a growing rumble. The wall of the glen behind the shrub trembled and then broke loose and began to roll down. With an oath, Harry pulled Norrie out of the path of the boulder that came crashing through the shrub and down the hillside to land not far from where they had been sitting.

They stared at the large slab that came to rest in a cloud of dust at their feet.

She pulled slightly away from him, though not quite out of his encircling arm, and leaned over to examine it. “Harry, I think you killed a stone.”

He snorted and released her. She might be perfectly calm, but his hands were shaking. “Aren't you supposed to be distressed or impressed or something when a boulder lands at your feet? A mild swoon might even be in order.” He looked at the spot where the shrub had been before the stone rolled over it. There was an opening there, and she was already climbing up to it. “It's probably just another tomb,” he called up to her. “Haven't you seen enough of them by now?”

She stood beside it and threw an impatient look down at him. “I know it's just another tomb. But someone has left candles and a lantern inside this one. Why would anyone do that?”

He joined her and frowned. Why indeed? There should be no need for candles in a tomb that had been already excavated, a tomb that was one of the ones Savelli said contained nothing of interest. He peered inside, but it was too dark to see anything.

“We'll need to light the candles to see in there,” she said.

He looked at Norrie and smiled slightly. Here she was, faced with a mysterious cave on her host's land, a cave no one had mentioned but which was obviously being used for some purpose, some secret purpose, which probably meant some illicit purpose. Given all that, what would she want to do? Explore it, of course.

“I have some matches in my coat pocket,” he said. “I'll be right back.”

She had collected all the candles, some half dozen, by the time he returned. He was about to protest that they would be able to hold only one apiece when he realized that if they found anything worth examining, they might need more for illumination. Fortunately, he hadn't opened his mouth and said something foolish before she tucked the extra candles into the pocket of her riding skirt and handed him the lantern.

Once it was lit, she was about to charge into the tomb, but he caught hold of her arm. “Norrie, pretend you are a timid, fragile damsel and let me go first.”

She rolled her eyes, but stepped back.

“Thank you.”

It was cool in the cave, almost chilly after the heat outside. He should have realized that it would be and fetched Norrie's jacket as well as the matches. He glanced back to ask if she was cold, but she was busily examining the walls with her fingertips as if there might be some secret hidden in them. With a soft sigh he continued ahead, hoping they would find something to justify her interest.

They were in a tunnel, a common enough feature of the tombs they had visited. But as he moved ahead cautiously, he realized that this one was unusual. The floor seemed to have been swept clean. No crumbling bits of rubble lay about to trip the unwary. No broken walls narrowed the passage to make progress difficult. There was no need to tread cautiously. On the contrary, progress was so easy that he didn't like it. Something about this worried him. He wished he could send Norrie back.

He stopped so abruptly when the entrance tunnel opened into the central chamber that Norrie crashed right into him. Under other circumstances he might have enjoyed that.

“What on earth…?” She peered around him. “Oh.” It came out on a long, awed breath.

Oh indeed. He took a deep breath himself and let it out slowly. The light of the lantern was enough to show a flat slab of stone serving as a table to display objects that glittered like gold.

Only gold glittered like gold.

They approached slowly, cautiously, stepping silently as if there were someone or something here that could be disturbed.

The central object was something that looked like a breastplate, more than a foot wide, shaped to curve around the neck. The embossed designs were difficult to make out, but there seemed to be a variety of winged creatures as well as strips of spirals. They lit the extra candles, dripping wax onto the stone to set them in place.

Brighter light did nothing to chase away his uneasiness, the feeling that something was wrong here. Very wrong. In other tombs he had sometimes felt awe at the age of the relics, even sadness at his inability to understand the inscriptions, but there had always been something almost welcoming. The Etruscans had filled their tombs with depictions of pleasure and happiness.

Not here.

Norrie reached out to touch a wide gold bracelet, its embossed figures of a woman surrounded by animals clearly visible. But she drew back. “Something is wrong here,” she said.

So she felt it too. He stepped around the stone to take a better look and halted abruptly. There was another table, this one of wood, against the wall. On and around it were several oil lamps, enough to make that area as bright as day. It was apparently a work table. On it was a large red-figure jar depicting a sacrifice. That jar was complete, and the piece of beeswax next to it suggested that its luster was being improved. Another jar was in the process of restoration. Some of the pieces had already been glued together while others were arranged about it. Pots of glue, paint, and gesso were all at hand along with containers of brushes.

Everything needed for the restoration of ancient pottery.

On the ground were several small wooden chests, two of them nailed shut, one partly filled, and one empty but lined with straw. More straw lay in a pile to the side.

Norrie came to join him, and her eyes widened. “Where did these things come from?”

“My guess would be the tomb Prince Savelli just discovered, and perhaps from earlier discoveries.”