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Helen waited whilethe hotel maid, a pretty Turkish girl named Mina, fastened the last of the buttons on her green poplin gown. It felt glorious to be freshly bathed and coiffed once more, although she gazed at her English silhouette in the mirror with mixed feelings.
While she was a proper English lady who could appreciate the finely tailored gown, she couldn’t help feeling regret for the loss of herjalabiya. Or more accurately, for the time she’d spent with Rhys while she’d worn the garment.
Their journey from Alexandria, though not without its difficulties, had been the most thrilling experience of her life, and she couldn’t attribute all of the excitement to the men who’d shot at them… or her first camel ride… or her first view of the Nile. No, she felt confident that the energy thrumming through her veins for the past days was due to the gentleman himself.
Rhys’s smoke-grey eyes instantly came to her mind, crinkled at the corners as he’d tried to hide his amusement at her Levinge. She pressed her lips against her own bubble of laughter and pushed her thoughts aside. This was no time to be thinking such things when the man’s sister was still missing. She straightened, pulling her shoulders back as Mina left the room with a soft snick of the door latch.
Collecting reticule, gloves and bonnet, Helen went to find Mrs. Tyndale. The older lady had agreed to accompany her to pay a call on the consul-general. Helen found her completing her toilette, and they made plans to meet up shortly in the hotel’s main receiving room. The professor donned his hat and joined Helen as she descended the grand staircase.
“I sent a message round to my contacts with the Egyptian Museum,” he said. “I’m going now to see what I can learn of this Collector person.”
“Thank you,” Helen said with a press of her hand to his arm. “I’m certain Mr. Evelyn will appreciate any assistance we can provide.”
As they reached the final steps, the entry doors opened to admit the noise from outside and Rhys himself. Helen’s heart jumped into her throat on seeing him again, and she swallowed it back down.
He removed his hat and looked up. His hair was mussed, his shoulders firm beneath the smooth canvas of his coat. Determination deepened the lines at the corners of his eyes, and Helen’s stomach tightened.
When he spied them at the base of the stairs, his face brightened with what she thought might be… relief. Did he have news then?
He strode toward them with determined steps. “Miss Corbyn,” he said with a nod. “Tyndale.”
“Do you have news of your sister?” Helen asked eagerly.
He nodded solemnly, turning his hat in his hands. “I’ve arranged an exchange of sorts. My sister for the amulet—”
“That’s wonderful!” Helen said.
“—and the rest of the Trinity,” he finished. “Or rather, the location of the remaining pieces.”
The noise beyond the hotel faded, and only the soft shushing of water falling in the fountain could be heard. Rhys’s jaw firmed, and Helen, who’d grasped his arm without realizing it, dropped her hand. “But we don’t know where the other pieces are,” she said, “or if they’re even still out there.”
“Indeed,” the professor added, “I’m given to believe one of the wings has recently been unearthed in Lower Nubia.”
“Only one?” Rhys said. “Then there must be another wing out there still.”
Helen nodded as a frown pulled at her brow. “But what if the Collector already has it? That would explain his eagerness for the scarab, and if that’s the case, he’ll certainly know this for a ruse.”
“He doesn’t have the other wing,” Rhys insisted. “I’m certain of it. His henchman was too interested to learn more. And,” he said tightly, “I didn’t have a choice. It may be a risk, but it was the only way to secure his agreement to make a trade.”
The uncertainty of this plan—the danger of it—madeHelen uneasy. “I have to say, this doesn’t sound like the most prudent course of action. You’ll be endangering yourself and your sister by meeting with this man. Should we not alert the foreign office to the matter and let them make the exchange on your behalf?”
Rhys’s jaw tightened, and he laid a hand atop hers, which had found its way to his sleeve once more. His hand was warm through her glove as he said, “Miss Corbyn, I appreciate your concern, but there’s little time, and I’m through with prudence. I must carry through with this plan.”
Helen swallowed her fear. She could hardly blame him for wanting to secure his sister’s safety, but she wished he might do so with less danger to himself.
“If it were your brother or sisters,” he said, “would you not do everything you could to aid them?”
“Of course,” she said readily as there was no need to consider her answer. With a heavy inhale, she said, “How can I help?”
The lines smoothed from Rhys’s forehead. Then, with a glance that included the professor, he said, “I could use your expertise to craft the details. The information must be believable, and it should require some time for the Collector to verify. My sister and I will need time to make our way from Egypt.”
“You can keep the story as close to what Helen has already discerned from the texts,” the professor mused, “to lend it the weight of believability.”
“But the texts only reference one of the wings,” Helen warned. “We’ll have to improvise a bit. How much time do we have?”
“Two hours.”
“Two hours?” Helen squeaked, and Rhys nodded ruefully.
