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Tío Ricardo adjusted his thin, wire-framed glasses. “You set the example by allowing duplicates out of the country. Hardly anything is being recorded or studied or made available to the people here. Thousands upon thousands of objects pertaining to Egyptian history are disappearing—”
“Now, be fair,” Monsieur Maspero protested. “I curate the Egyptian Museum myself—”
“Oh, I know all about yoursale room,” my uncle said. “I’m shocked the mummies you’ve unwrapped over the years don’t all have a price tag on them.”
Despite Tío Ricardo’s mild tone, his polite smiles, I sensed his profound dislike of the two men. It was in the way he clutched his flatware, the way the corners of his eyes tightened whenever either Monsieur Maspero or Sir Evelyn spoke.
Monsieur Maspero flushed, his mustache quivering madly. “You go too far, Ricardo!”
Slowly, I leaned closer to Mr. Hayes. His scent reminded me of the morning mist shrouding the grounds of our estate: woodsy, with the slightest hint of salt and musk. When I was close enough, I cleared my throat softly. He tilted his chin down in acknowledgment without taking his attention off the men arguing.
“Yes?” he asked under his breath.
“Sale room?”
His expression remained carefully neutral, save for the tightening of his jaw. “Maspero allows tourists to buy excavated artifacts in his museum. Statuettes, figurines, jewelry, pottery, and the like.”
I blinked. “Historical objects of significance are for sale?”
“Correct.”
“Totourists?”
“Correct again.”
My voice rose. “And the money goeswhere,exactly?”
Their conversation abruptly stopped. All three men shifted in their seat to look at me. My uncle’s expression held reluctant admiration.
“Back to the government, of course,” Sir Evelyn said, his lips stiff and barely moving. When I had sat down he had regarded me curiously, but now he glared at me with obvious dislike. How quickly I had fallen from grace.
I straightened away from Mr. Hayes with as much dignity as I could muster.
“And the money will eventually end up in Britain. Isn’t that how it works, Sir Evelyn?” Tío Ricardo asked with a knowing gleam. “I think it’s fair to say that you’re becoming a wealthy man.”
Sir Evelyn’s expression turned stony.
My uncle laughed, but it sounded off to me. As if he weren’t actually amused, far from it. Tension gathered in his shoulders. “You say you’re only two men, when I know countless valuable artifacts are sold in that room by foreign buyers. No one is worse than Mr. Sterling,” Tío Ricardo said. “The man is a deplorable rogue.”
I let out a gasp and covered the sound by coughing loudly. No one noticed. No one except for Mr. Hayes.
“Are you all right, Señorita Olivera?” Mr. Hayes leaned forward, intently studying my face. “Did you recognize the name?”
My uncle handed me a glass of water and I took a long sip, biding time in order to carefully think of my answer. Should I admit to having met the vile Mr. Sterling? But to do so, I’d have to reveal what Papá had done. He’d sent me an ancient Egyptian ring, smuggled it out of the country and never explained his reasoning. Tío Ricardo would hardly approve, nor Abdullah. Not to mention what I thought of what he’d done. Papá had lost his senses.
I lowered the glass. “He doesn’t seem like someone I would care to know.”
“And you shouldn’t,” Tío Ricardo said. “The man ought to be in prison.”
“Now, see here. He’s a friend—” Sir Evelyn interrupted.
My uncle snorted. “Because he makes you an obscene amount of money—”
“Who follows the law to the letter—” Sir Evelyn said.
“Laws that you have made as the consul general of Egypt,” Tío Ricardo said, his hand curling into a fist around the cloth napkin. “You oversee the country’s finances. It is you who has stripped Egypt of any progress instigated by Ismail Pasha. It is you who has closed schools, barred Egyptians from higher education and opportunities for women.”
“I notice how you don’t mention how Ismail Pasha sank Egypt intodebt,” Sir Evelyn said dryly. “He’s the reason for Europe’s involvement in this country’s affairs. Egypt must pay back what it owes.”
