Father touched my arm again, his warning more urgent. “My lord, I’ve been meaning to ask you about your thoughts on Wellington’s recent advance. What do you think of the current situation?”
The conversation blurred as it drifted to different topics. I sensed the visit coming to a close, despite my father’s efforts. Romantic fancies, indeed.
16:Bridget
Everything comes gradually and at its appointed hour.
OVID
I exhaled with relief as Father and I left the abbey. Lord Hawthorn had cooled, but I failed to persuade him about the excavation, which left me all the more unsettled.
To my surprise, Mr. Cobb stepped out of the shadows of the stable just as we were about to depart. My unease grew as he approached us.
“Mr. Cobb, what are you doing at the abbey at so late an hour?” Father asked.
“I’ve been doing some work for the viscount, although he’s as close-fisted as they come. But I’ve been meaning to speak with you, Vicar, about the dig at Perry’s,” Mr. Cobb replied, his gaze shifting between us. With long hair the color of straw falling over his brow, small-set eyes, and a long nose, he reminded me of a rodent.
Father waved a dismissive hand in my direction. “Then you must speak with my daughter about the matter.”
Mr. Cobb tipped forward so close I inched backward. “How much will you or Mr. Perry pay me to work those fields?”
“I fear not much, if anything,” I answered bluntly. “Although we hope for more income should an antiquities society take interest.”
Mr. Cobb glowered as he shoved his filthy hands into his coat pockets.
“You’ll not tempt me or anyone else with that fare,” he said as he pulled his felt hat over his narrowed eyes. He spat on the ground just as the chaise pulled forward.
We rattled down the rutted road filled with puddles from the rain. A sigh escaped Father. “I fear our conversation offended Lord Hawthorn.”
Our conversation? More likely mine, but Father was altogether gracious.
When we arrived home, Mrs. Herriot greeted us in the parlor, waving a missive with a crimson seal. “A courier brought a letter for you all the way from London!”
“When did it arrive?” I cried as I removed my bonnet.
She beamed, still holding the letter pinched between her forefinger and thumb. “Shortly after you left.”
A letter sent by courier suggested urgency. I didn’t recognize the seal, but the Roman column in the center made my heart beat faster. Had the Society of Dilettanti or the Society of Antiquaries relented at long last? I opened it and was immediately greeted with a Latin phrase.
Publicae causa, studio rerum antiquorum.
I gulped and my hands trembled.
“What is it?” Mrs. Herriot cried while Father peered over my shoulder.
“For the sake of the commonwealth, with zeal for ancient things,” I translated slowly.
“Don’t keep us waiting!” she cried, wringing her hands. I obliged her, reading it out loud.
“My dearest Miss Littleton, I trust this letter finds you in the best of health and spirits. I am writing to you on behalf of the esteemed Society of Antiquaries of London, an association dedicated to the preservation and study of our nation’s rich history and cultural heritage. Word has reached our esteemed society of your remarkable discoveries and scholarly pursuits in the realm of antiquities. The account of your diligent efforts, particularly in uncovering mosaics of historical significance in the village of Bramnor, has captured our collective imagination. We are eager to discuss these findings further and intend to visit Bramnor near the end of April to explore the site firsthand. We hope this timing is convenient and look forward to meeting with you and your esteemed colleagues.”
I gasped, reading the name of Mr. Archibald Harrington, the Society’s secretary.
Father squeezed my shoulder. “Well done, Bridget.”
I closed my eyes, hardly believing it. The Society of Antiquaries, with their prestige, seemed certain to dismiss me for lacking formal education. I had believed that the Dilettanti, with their free-spirited noblemen, would support passion and talent over credentials. But the Society of Antiquaries surprised me, willing to recognize my work.
“They are coming for a visit!” I exclaimed. “Father, they received a royal charter from King George! The king follows them with great interest.”
