A Curse of the Heart

“You must understand,” she began, “I could not discuss the matter until I was certain of Mr. Stone’s intentions. But he is considered an expert on ancient Egypt and his knowledge will be invaluable to us.”

Although he had told her to agree with him, he rather liked the idea that she held him in such high regard.

“I do have some antiquities of my own that I intend to display,” Gabriel added with an exaggerated wave of the hand. “I thought you could accompany us to the office to discuss the best way to proceed.”

The mere mention of his own objects caused an odd feeling to form in his stomach. The feeling he imagined one would get when conducting an illicit affair: the thrill and anticipation of a passionate encounter waging a bitter battle with a moral responsibility. He dismissed the image of his lonely books left abandoned on his desk, deserted and forsaken. After all, he was not betraying them; he was in a museum filled with the wonders of Egypt. Perhaps he would stumble upon something to further his knowledge on the process of mummification.

Gabriel waved his hand, instructing Mr. Pearce to take the lead. “On you go, Mr. Pearce. We shall follow.”

The gentleman edged past them and skulked off in the direction of the office, glancing behind periodically, as though aware of Gabriel’s piercing gaze burrowing into his back.

Once in the room, Miss Linwood took her place behind the desk and invited Mr. Pearce to sit opposite. Gabriel chose to stand, knowing his pacing would unnerve the curator.

“There is also another matter that needs to be addressed,” Gabriel said, slamming the office door to make Mr. Pearce jump. “And in some ways, it relates to my reservations regarding the security of my own objects.”

“I can assure you,” Mr. Pearce said, his head moving left to right while he tried to locate Gabriel, “all the antiquities are treated with extreme care.”

“That is not the case. Is it, Mr. Pearce?” Gabriel said as he moved to the curator’s side. “You see, for the past week, someone has been sneaking into the storeroom at night. The antiquities are in disarray, boxes open and scattered across the floor and yet you have said nothing to Miss Linwood. Why is that?”

Gabriel glanced at Miss Linwood, whose expression resembled someone on the front row of a gladiatorial arena, waiting to see if the outcome would be thumbs up or down.

“I … I haven’t been in the storeroom,” he stammered.

Gabriel moved to stand next to Miss Linwood, folded his arms across his chest and frowned. “A curator of a museum has not been in his storeroom or taken an inventory of its treasures for a whole week?” he said, feigning amazement. “Is this how you normally work, Miss Linwood?”

“No. Not at all. The list should be checked daily, Mr. Stone.”

Mr. Pearce ran his fingers along the edge of his collar and craned his neck as though his shirt chafed his skin. He looked at Miss Linwood, then at Gabriel, before turning to look at the closed door.

“Well, the watchman will be able to tell us more when we have assessed the damage. Of course, he will want to look at the item the intruder dropped, and I will conduct a meeting with all staff. The motive is obviously theft,” he turned to Miss Linwood. “What did you say was missing?”

Her eyes widened and then she said, “The bronze spoon is missing from its box. It is Eighteenth Dynasty.”

“Add that to trespass,” Gabriel said counting the list of transgressions on his fingers, “damage to property and intention to cause bodily harm. Once we find out who is responsible, I'm certain the person will hang.”

“It is not my fault,” Mr. Pearce cried jumping up from his chair. “You cannot blame a man for doing what he is told. It was his lordship. He made me do it. But I swear to you, I have not stolen anything.”

Gabriel could sense Miss Linwood’s body stiffen. It was always unpleasant to discover one’s trust had been misplaced. In his head, he imagined putting a comforting hand on her shoulder to ease the tension, which would probably have stopped her from jumping out of her chair, too.

“You mean to tell me it … it was George Wellford who asked you to break into my home in the dead of night and scare me out of my wits?” she said leaning over the desk, her face level with Mr. Pearce.

The curator could only stare at the floor.

“Of all the sneaky, underhanded … ugh … you may tell Lord Wellford to go to the devil,” she continued before swinging round to face Gabriel. “What did I tell you? He wants me out of here and will do whatever it takes to achieve his goal.”

Gabriel waved his hands up and down: a simple gesture to calm a volatile spirit. “Let us hear what Mr. Pearce has to say on the matter,” he said turning to face the gentleman. “What precisely did Lord Wellford ask you to do?”

Mr. Pearce held his hands in front of him and began fiddling with his fingers. “I was to frighten her a little. That is all. Lord Wellford wants Miss Linwood to understand that the museum is no place for an unmarried lady.”

“You see, he wants me out of London,” she said. “Trust me, he will have some gentleman with a purse full of coins ready and waiting to cart me off to the country.”

The image of Miss Lin

wood as the wife of a country squire did not sit well with Gabriel. He could not imagine her taking tea with the vicar or hosting a summer fete or being out in the garden pruning roses. The lady had a passionate spirit and a deep love of the ancient world. It would be like trying to contain a butterfly in a jar: eventually, her spirit would wither and fade. Her father would not have left her the house and all his treasures if he had not thought her capable. If she were to marry, then the gentleman would have to accept that the museum was her life, and he doubted there were many men willing to do so.

“You were never in any danger,” Mr. Pearce said, finding the courage to look up at the lady. “I acted out of concern, nothing more.”

“Concern!” she spat. “You do not need to concern yourself with me.”