Tea with Antiquities

Professor Malcolm Marr waited with some trepidation while the elegant lady in front of him unpacked the box he had brought with him.

He was merely carrying out a commission, he reminded himself, and had followed his client’s instructions to the letter, so whether she liked the result or not, it was not his responsibility.

Still, he found himself anxious not to disappoint the Duchess of Winshire. She was a good and kind person, as well as a powerful one, and he knew the present was for her new husband. A love token. He might not have experienced romantic love himself, but he had seen it in others. He respected the notion.

She had moved aside the wood shavings and the strips of paper, and was lifting out the first item. “Oh! It is beautiful!”

“Chinese, Your Grace,” he explained. “From the Tang dynasty. More than a thousand years old. ” It stood four square on a small marble stand, its neck arched and its bobbed tail proud. The colours were still as bright as the day it was fired.

“How magnificent,” said Her Grace.

The second piece bore signs that it, too, had once been brightly painted, but now—except in the cracks, it was the white of the marble from which it had been carved. Another horse, this one caught forever in a trot, its mane and tail flowing in the wind of its silent passage. “Greek, ma’am, in the Hellenistic style, so just of two thousand years old.”

“Beautiful,” the duchess breathed. “Professor Marr, these are perfect.”

Her smile took years off her age and reminded Mal that she had once been the reigning beauty of her time. “Nothing from Egypt? I know that is your specialist area.”

“Nothing on the market at the moment, Your Grace.”

“You have done very well, my dear. Now drink your tea and I shall drink mine while gloating over these two wonderful statuettes. My husband will be as thrilled as I am.”

She turned the full force of her smile onto the two pieces, and Mal let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. He had not made a mistake. He hated seeing the lovely remnants of the past in the hands of people who would not appreciate them, but that didn’t apply here.

He felt obliged to point out, however, that such horses were not rare, as such things go. “There are many such items available if one knows where to look, Your Grace.”

“As you do. You are not going to tell me that they are turned out in great quantity by a little workshop in East Wapping, I hope.”

He laughed at that. “No, Your Grace. They are genuine. They are also unique, in that every piece that is found is a little different from every other.”

“They are perfect,” she repeated. “You must not fret, Professor.” She changed the subject. “Now. I understand you are off to York. A public lecture, is it?”

“One for the York Antiquarian Society, Ma’am. I am taking in their full schedule of lectures while I am there.”

“You have a relative in York, I believe.”

“A godmother. Rose St Aubyn. I’ll be staying with her while I’m in York.”

“Oh!” The duchess sounded surprised, but she changed the subject, asking him about recent work, and they passed another thirty minutes in pleasant conversation before he took his leave.

Eleanor looked at the door as it closed behind the esteemed scholar. Perhaps she should have told him that Rose St Aubyn was away, and that the house was soon to be occupied by the daughters of the deceased Earl of Seahaven. But Eleanor remembered the eldest from her brief London season. Fiercely intelligent. Deeply interested in ancient civilisations. That had been years ago, of course, but Lady Elizabeth had not ‘taken’, and nor had she married since.

Perhaps the professor and the bluestocking might suit? Stranger things had happened. And if the young man thought to stay in the house the young lady occupied, they would certainly meet.

Malcolm Kentigern Marr is the hero of Rue Allyn’s “The Butler and the Bluestocking”, a story in Desperate Daughters. And he certainly does meet the lovely Lady Elizabeth.  Now published by still only 99 cents. Price goes up to $5.99 after 23 May.

 

Spotlight on “The Butler and the Bluestocking” in Desperate Daughters

The Butler and the Bluestocking: By Rue Allyn

The last thing Bess expects to find at their borrowed townhouse in York is a stranger claiming to be a butler. She has every reason to disbelieve him, but her family is in desperate need, so she squelches common sense and offers him a job on the spot. Pray heaven, she won’t regret her decision.

On arriving in York to visit his godmother, the honorable Malcolm K. Marr did not expect to find her house locked and empty. Nor did he expect to have to break in to the house to find shelter. Least of all did he expect to be awakened at mid-day after the break in to find a woman with the bearing of an Egyptian goddess demanding to know what he was doing in her house.

And 8 other great stories.

Excerpt

“Unhand her, you cur.”

Bess ceased her struggles.

Mrs. Crewe had arrived, and from the clatter of footsteps, she had the watch with her. 

“Of course.” He set Bess away from him, but his gaze never left her face.

Bess shifted to take in the entire scene. Yes, there stood Mrs. Crewe, a fire poker in her raised hand. Behind her framed in the doorway, stood two watchmen, one just arriving behind and to the right of the other.

“Cor Bill, who’s the toff?” queried the newest arrival. “And who’s the lady toff with him?”

“I dunno, Jim. He could be the butler for all I know. When Mrs. St. Aubyn sent word she was leaving, she said nothing about if her servants would stay or not.”

The remarks drew her attention and the stranger’s.

Bess managed to stifle into a snicker the irresistible urge to laugh.

The stranger’s tawny eyes gleamed, and all his teeth showed.

No doubt about it. Those strong white teeth prove he is smiling.

“Who are you, and why are you here?” demanded Mrs. Crewe.

The stranger looked a question at Bess.

Bess turned to her housekeeper and the curious faces of the watchmen behind her. “Mrs. Crewe, I believe we’ve had a misunderstanding. Would you be so kind as to show the watchmen out?”

“Indeed, Mrs. Crewe. Here are vails for their trouble.” The supposed butler stepped forward, coins in hand to give to the housekeeper, who gave the stranger a narrow-eyed look. 

“Are you certain, my lady?”

Bess nodded. “Quite.”

The stranger, his hand still outstretched, looked back over his shoulder at her, that smile doing very odd things to her stomach.

“There is no danger here.” Bess assured her housekeeper and the watch. Why she now believed the stranger represented no hazard to her or her family, she could not have said. The important thing was to get the watch out of the house before anything else could happen.

“Hmpfh,” uttered Mrs. Crewe. In taking the coins, she was forced to lower the poker, but she did not release it. “I’ll be back instantly, my lady.” With that she turned and ushered the watchmen before her toward the front of the house.

“I think you’d best explain yourself, Mr. . . .” She wondered what concoction of bouncers the man might create to explain his presence here. One thing she knew for certain, he was no butler.

See the project page at the Bluestocking Belles’ website for more information.

Desperate Daughters is on preorder for publication on 17 May. Order now to get the preorder price of 99c