Her expression was unreadable.
“Nothing,” she said after a pause. “Nothing except… thank you.”
He did not reply. Part of him thought he did not need to. Instead, he gave her a slow nod of acknowledgement as he opened the door for her, stepping aside. She passed through it, and he followed, both of them stepping into a house that now held more questions than answers.
***
The following morning, the breakfast room brimmed with the quiet clatter of porcelain and the low hum of intellectual discourse.
Catherine moved between the sideboard and the table with a composed smile, observing the assembled guests as they engaged in conversation. The presentations of the previous day had left the group invigorated, and the morning air carried with it a certain liveliness that masked the gravity of what only a few among them now knew.
Harold sat near the window, his manner untroubled and affable as always. He poured himself a second cup of coffee while listening to William’s detailed account of several Roman military artefacts catalogued the day before. William, unaware of any suspicion, gestured with enthusiastic precision, describing the unique curvature of a sword hilt and the apparent origin of its metallurgy.
“Fascinating,” Harold said. “I have had the good fortune to study similar examples in a number of private collections across the country. One begins to develop a sense, after a time, for which pieces are worth special attention.”
Catherine, seated beside Marcus and across from Alexander, lifted her teacup but did not drink. Her eyes flicked briefly toward Marcus, who had gone still at Harold’s comment.
The implication was unmistakable. Harold’s familiarity did not stem merely from study. It was the knowledge of a man who assessed pieces not as history, but as assets. But was it a knowledge he used merely due to a personal opinion, or was it part of a darker design in a chain of thefts?
“What do you look for?” William asked, genuinely curious. “I find the dating of weaponry among the most elusive of tasks.”
Harold smiled over his cup.
“Portability,” he said. “Durability. Rarity. One must consider which items are likely to remain intact when removed from their original settings and which are most attractive to prospective buyers. Naturally, that sort of assessment is purely theoretical.”
The glance he cast toward Catherine was brief but knowing. She felt the faintest prickle at the base of her neck.
Alexander leaned closer, speaking softly.
“That did not sound theoretical,” he said.
Marcus nodded once.
“No,” he said. “It sounded like a merchant’s offer.”
Catherine shook her head so slightly that only those on either side of her noticed.
“Or a challenge,” she murmured.
She set down her cup. Her thoughts raced. If Harold was growing confident enough to speak so openly, then he no longer feared exposure. Or worse, he believed any suspicion was too late to matter.
She rose smoothly from her chair.
“The weather is most obliging this morning,” she said, forcing as much cheer and nonchalance into her words as she could muster. “Might I suggest we examine the ruins on the eastern grounds before the sun climbs too high? The stones are most evocative in the morning light, and the view is especially fine this time of year.”
The suggestion met with quick enthusiasm. James declared he had not yet had a proper look at the site, and Sophia brightened at the prospect of studying the layout in situ. Even Charles, who rarely indulged in anything not directly related to written record, nodded his approval with eager eyes. Edmund said nothing, but Catherine caught the look of sharp calculation in his eyes.
Within the hour, the group made their way across the gently sloping lawn toward the low remains of the Roman foundations. Trees framed the site to the north and east, while open fields rolled away in the opposite direction. Tables had already been set under a canvas awning nearby, offering cool lemonade and small pastries. The atmosphere was cheerful, even festive, though Catherine never allowed her attention to stray far from Harold.
He walked with Sophia at first, charming her with anecdotes about Roman roads and the tragic misidentification of early Saxon brooches. But as the party reached the edge of the stonework, he drifted toward the outer boundary, his gaze sweeping the area not with the interest of a scholar, but the alertness of a man intently cataloguing something.
Catherine knew they still did not have enough proof to focus so much suspicion on him. But with everything they now knew,it was difficult to attribute everything that had plagued her about the man to anything else.
“Remarkably well-preserved,” Harold said. He spoke just loudly enough for several to hear. “One could work here quite undisturbed, I imagine. No foot traffic, no idle passersby. It would be quite the place for uninterrupted excavation.”
Catherine turned toward him, the breeze catching the edge of her shawl.
“Indeed,” she said. “Though we have always found the value lies in collaborative effort, rather than isolated study.”
