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“Henry would like to see this,” Mrs. Tyndale said breathlessly.
“I heard Sir Rupert dabbled in the field of Egyptian antiquity,” Helen murmured, “but I never knew his interest to be so… extensive.” Her voice trailed off as her attention was captured by a collection of text fragments carefully arranged beneath the glass. As she knelt to study them, her irritation grew. Like the Pharaoh’s Trinity, Sir Rupert’s collection belonged in a museum. That these pieces were locked behind the walls of his villa, away from scholars who might learn from them, caused her heart to thump in passionate indignation.
She reached the case at the end of the row where elaborately jeweled cuffs and collars sat atop velvet cushions. The light from a nearby sconce played perfectly across the stones in their intricate gold settings, and Helen thought the contents must have been arranged specifically to that advantage.
The specimen in the center caught her eye and she leaned closer. One wing of a scarab beetle sat atop a smooth velvet-covered pedestal. Next to it were two empty places where presumably the body and another wing should be. Frowning, she bent and tried to peer through the glass for any markings on the back of the wing, but the velvet pedestal blocked her view. Still, her heart thumped uneasily.
The drawing room doors opened, and she hurried to stand as Sir Rupert appeared. He was much as she remembered from their brief meeting years before—a thin man with a wiry frame and a prominent mustache that curled at the ends. His face was unlined except for the grooves bracketing his chin, and his eyes dark and deeply set.
“Miss Corbyn,” he said, advancing into the room, “welcome to Egypt. It’s a pleasure to see you again. I hope Ashford is well.” As he moved, she caught the pungent odor of cigar smoke mingled with the expensive scents of cologne and leather.
Helen forced her unease aside and assured him of her grandfather’s continued good health. She turned then to introduce Mrs. Tyndale.
“Tyndale,” Sir Rupert said with a stroke of his mustache. “Your husband’s come to liaise with the Egyptian Museum, I believe. I look forward to making his acquaintance.”
Mrs. Tyndale smiled. “You’re well informed, Sir Rupert.”
“It’s my business to know all that happens in this country. But tell me, what do you think he would make of my collection?”
“I’m sure he’d find it most intriguing,” Mrs. Tyndale said amiably as they took seats on one of the settees. “But our Miss Corbyn is quite the expert herself.”
“Indeed?” Sir Rupert turned his gaze back to Helen as he considered the novelty of a female scholar. “And what do you think of my collection, Miss Corbyn? Does it meet with your approval?”
“It’s quite extensive. It appears you’ve been collecting for some time.”
He nodded. “There are a number of challenges to the study of antiquities, not the least of which are this country’s latest overzealous regulations, but I think you’ll agree the rewards are well worth it. And it doesn’t hurt to have access to less, shall we say,officialchannels for acquiring the most valuable pieces.”
The room was silent as Helen absorbed this. She’d lectured Rhys on the harm of artifact smuggling, but she wasn’t ignorant or naive. She knew collectors engaged in less-than-legal means to obtain their finds far more often than she’d like to believe, but for Britain’s lead diplomat to admit as much left her speechless.
The Moorish gentleman returned with a tea set, and a second manservant took up a position near the doors. Helen waited while the tea was arranged to Sir Rupert’s satisfaction then, swallowing, she said, “I noticed you’ve an exquisite specimen of a scarab’s wing. The amethyst is remarkably clear, and the faience is some of the most stunning I’ve seen—such a vivid shade of blue. Was the rest of the scarab not found with it?”
She watched as Sir Rupert’s jaw tightened. “It was not,” he said tightly, tilting his head to study her. “But that’s a matter I hope to remedy soon.”
Helen forced a smile as her heart raced. She accepted a cup from the servant and said with false brightness, “How fortunate! Do you know where it is then?”
He merely dipped his head in curt acknowledgement. Helen didn’t wish to jump to foolish conclusions, but she couldn’t ignore the fact that the consul-general had one wing of a scarab and clear expectations of obtaining the rest. Perhaps her imagination had gotten away from her, but she wondered suddenly if Rhys’s sister weren’t being held in this very house.
She slowly replaced her cup in its saucer. If her suspicions were correct, appealing to Sir Rupert on Rhys’s behalf would only put him on the alert. But that was the least of her concerns, because Rhys was about to relay information to Sir Rupert’s man about a wing they already possessed. She had to warn him.
She stood. “We thank you for your kind hospitality, Sir Rupert, but I’m afraid we must be going.”
“But what about—” Mrs. Tyndale began, and Helen begged her to silence with her eyes.
“But you’ve only just arrived,” Sir Rupert said. “Was there a particular matter on which you needed my counsel?”
“Oh, no. We merely wished to make our arrival in the city known to you. I shall be sure to extend your regards to my grandfather,” Helen said, “but I’ve just recalled Mrs. Tyndale and I are promised elsewhere.” She forced a laugh as she asked Mrs. Tyndale, “However did we lose track of the time?”
Mrs. Tyndale, who was quicker than she appeared, stood with a smile. “Of course, you’re right, dear. How could we have forgotten?” Turning to Sir Rupert, she said, “We’ve not quite gotten our bearings since our arrival in Cairo.”
“But I can’t permit you to go so soon,” Sir Rupert said, and Helen’s heart dropped to her stomach. “You must finish your tea and tell me what you know of the Pharaoh’s Trinity.”
——
Rhys waited atthe end of the alley in Old Cairo. It was an area Rhys and Fiona had visited before, and he thought they must be near the convent of St. George. Just ahead, past a crooked twist in the lane, was the entrance to the bazaar where Fiona had been taken, and he wondered if she’d been held so close all this time.
He’d arrived ahead of the appointed time, keeping well out of sight as he assessed the agreed-upon meeting place. The alley was narrow and tucked in shadows. By contrast, the street at the end was noisy with pedestrians and donkeys and cart traffic, and the normal sounds provided a small measure of comfort.
Nothing seemed out of the ordinary as Rhys studied the faceless buildings that backed onto the alley. They appeared to be nothing more than they were: a jeweler’s shop, a cobbler’s establishment and another of the city’s ubiquitous coffee shops. No one lurked on the other side to ambush them as they left, but it was early still.
