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I believe that the two of you are hiding something from me and feel it is only fair to give notice that I intend to know what it is. Family secrets are all very well if the secret is being kept within the family but not when it is being kept within some kind of cabal inside the family itself. I feel I have as much right to know the business of our family as either of you. I hope you will take me into your confidence and that you no longer see me as a child. That, however, is up to you.
As it clearly concerns dear Teddy, God rest him, I feel I have a right to know. Should you wish to contact me, you may do so by return of mail to this address. Until I see you again soon, all my love.
Alice”
She looked over the letter several times before finally folding it and placing it into an envelope and then placing it on the side of the bureau at which she worked. A hand to her forehead revealed that the bump had already receded substantially. The dizzy spells had also abated. She had no desire to return to the rented townhouse in which she had been staying with Simon and Ruth though. The advice of the doctor not to travel had been directed, she suspected, at a prohibition of long-distance travel rather than a fifteen-minute carriage ride within the capital.
But, she had decided to take his words literally and Harold had not objected. The idea of being at his house for dinner that evening was enough to make her feel giddy all over again, let alone the prospect of staying overnight. Her hand rested on the envelope and her mind returned to it. She hoped that Simon and Ruth would not worry. The letter, to her mind, should allay any fears they had. After all, she was resident in the home of one of England’s elite aristocrats. A Duke, no less, and of ancient family.
They will worry though. Of course they will. Because they believe Harold to be the devil himself. I wish I knew the truth of those events for which he is blamed. I wish as they were hurrying me towards marriage, they would acknowledge me as an adult in other ways too.
Reaching across the bureau, she tugged on the bellpull which would ring a bell in the servant’s quarters and summon one of the staff. A maid answered Alice’s call and took the letter to be given to one of the grooms to deliver by hand. Alice left the room and headed up a flight of stairs to the house’s top floor. It was there that Harold maintained a private suite of rooms for himself, separate from the public rooms on the ground floor. He had retired to the top floor as Alice had stated the need to write to her siblings, offering to show Alice around when her business was complete.
A skylight stood above the stairs, showing a purple, twilight sky. Facing the stairs was an Egyptian sarcophagus, standing upright on a polished table. Along the hallway were glass-fronted display cabinets containing ancient-looking swords, spears, and shields as well as pottery, porcelain, and figurines. They ranged from delicate pieces of fine art to more primitively wrought. Alice found it fascinating, lingering over each cabinet and its curiosities.
At the end of the hallway was a set of double doors of pale wood. Each door was covered in elaborate carvings depicting scenes of nature and the sea. For a moment she stood, trying to see as much of the patterns as she could. She jumped as the doors were pulled open from the inside. Harold stood in the doorway, one hand on each door and a wry grin on his face.
“I can tell exactly when I am about to have a visitor. The footsteps stop at my scrimshaw doors and I know my guest will be standing there when I open the doors.”
“They’re beautiful. Everything here is. I feel like each piece has a story,” Alice replied.
“It does or it would not have a place in my collection,” Harold said. “I developed a taste for such items while I was in Egypt. Since then, I have collected from every country I have visited and some that I have not.”
“The sarcophagus. Is that real?”
“No. I found the real thing in a Cairo bazaar and bought it to preserve it. The original was returned to the museum of antiquities in Alexandria. That is a replica that was given to me in thanks.”
“I’m so glad,” Alice said faintly.
Harold laughed. There was something different about him here in this part of the house. It was as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
As though among these artifacts and curios I am seeing the real man. Not the social pariah. Not the titled aristocrat. An innocent boy among his toys.
Harold stepped aside and waved her into the room. Alice gasped as she stepped inside. The room was circular with a domed ceiling. The middle of the dome was open to the air and below it was an extraordinary mechanism that looked something like a cannon, standing at an angle on one end. A simple wooden chair stood beneath it and a brass eyepiece projected out from the side. A complex mechanism of gears and wheels supported the whole thing.
“What is it?” Alice asked.
“My telescope. Built for me by Lamont of Paris after I was of some assistance to his son in Afghanistan. An extravagant present but very welcome.”
“But what do you do with it?” Alice asked.
“I look at the stars. With this, on a clear night, I can see the rings of Saturn. Or, simply explore the craters of the moon. It is quite remarkable.”
“Can I see?” Alice asked, enthralled by the idea of looking at objects so unimaginably distant.
“Alas, the sky is still too bright. But once we have the full cover of darkness, if there are no clouds, I will be glad to show you,” Harold smiled.
Alice tore her eyes away from the telescope. The room was clearly some kind of den for Harold. A threadbare armchair had a footstool before it and a pipe in a glass ashtray on its arm. A book lay open on the seat. A chaise, draped with an Ulster as though it were a blanket, stood against one wall with a half-full bottle beside it, the label written in an alphabet Alice did not recognize.
A rifle leaned against the chaise and a stack of paintings stood at the opposite side. Books and papers stood in piles and filled two large bookcases. The room was untidy and felt as though it was practically bursting with its assorted bric-a-brac. And like the display cabinets in the hallway outside, Alice felt there was a story behind each item.
“You are a man of many layers, Harold,” Alice said. “I feel like I could stay here for a month and not get through them all.”
Harold shrugged. He sat at one end of the chaise, his arm draped across its back, appearing completely at ease. Alice picked up a book from the top of a pile.
“A treatise on the occult,” Harold explained. “Dismissed as nonsense in this country but regarded as something more scientific in certain parts of Bulgaria and Romania.”
Another book seemed to consist of recipes for cooking meat over an open fire, a Latin text, and a work of esoteric mathematics. She shook her head, looking at Harold.
