The Courtship (Sherbrooke Brides 5)

“ ‘The boy took the lamp, but he wouldn’t give it to the magician until the magician helped him out of the cave. Enraged by the boy’s refusal, the magician sealed up the cave and returned to Africa. The boy would have died there but for the lamp.’

“ ‘When the boy emerged from the cave, he was changed. There was power in him that shone like a beacon, and all saw this power and knelt before it. It was rumored that the lamp appeared, then disappeared. When the boy had lived out his years and died, the lamp disappeared. Everyone believed the lamp was probably taken by the magician from Africa. It was not. That magician was long dead.’

“ ‘It was I, Jaquar, the old king’s advisor, who took the lamp. Even as I write this, I know that I will seal the accursed thing into this iron cask. I am sending it away, to be hidden forever, this history and warning with it. Leave it hidden, deep, without light.’ ”

Lord Beecham looked up a moment, and Helen said, “And somehow it came into the hands of the Knights Templar until the one Templar gave it to King Edward. Come Spenser, keep going. What did the lamp do? Why does Jaquar call it accursed? Why hide it deep, without light? Surely there must be something more?”

“There is nothing more that is important, just greetings and closings and what Reverend Mathers called more admonitions to the unwary.

“That’s all, Helen. It is a history of the lamp, or whatever it may be, more formally written than I have translated, but in essence it is accurate enough. It was recorded in the second century before Christ, in Persia.”

“It is very nearly identical to the tale of Aladdin and the Magic Lamp except for the ending, of course, and the warning from this Jaquar.”

“Yes. It seems to me, then, that the history of the lamp was well enough known, widely enough spoken of, that it became incorporated into the Arabian Nights. We have verified the bloody lamp, Helen, but it hasn’t helped us one whit to find it. I believe the only conclusion is that someone took it from the iron cask. When? Perhaps hundreds of years ago. Perhaps it was never even buried at all. Who knows? In any event, we know it existed at one time and that it was powerful and, according to this Jaquar, dangerous.”

Helen was humming under her breath, a habit he recognized she did when she was concentrating utterly. She said, “But I wonder. How old was it before the magician from Africa went after it? Another one hundred years? Perhaps a thousand years older?

“How long was it buried in that long ago cave, hidden away, deep, and in darkness? Why didn’t this Jaquar simply write down why the lamp was dangerous? And how did it end up in the storerooms of the Knights Templar?”

He rose and walked to her. He took her hands and pulled her against him. He said against her hair, “Forget the damned lamp. Who cares when it comes right down t

o the core of the matter? It is old, ancient, long gone from here. Listen to me now, Helen. I want you very badly. I am holding myself by the only single honorable thread in my body. Kiss me, Helen, then run.”

“All right,” she said, “if you are sure this is what you want,” and kissed his mouth, his ear, his chin. “I will see you at dinner,” she said over her shoulder as she raced to the door of her study. Her last glimpse was of him standing there in the middle of the room, breathing hard, looking like a starving man.

She wanted to come back to him, but she didn’t. She knew this was important to him. She knew him that well.

For the first time she realized she was thinking more about him than about the lamp. It was true even though now they’d added its history and its warnings to their knowledge. Truth be told, the lamp was long gone, just as Spenser said. What was important was that they had discovered that it had existed, verified by an ancient text. She was pleased. She was ready to let it go back into myth.

She thought about the man she loved with all her heart, the man she wanted with every fiber of her being to wed. She thought of Gerard Yorke and knew to her very soul that he was still alive and that he would never let her go. She just didn’t know why.

And she cried in the privacy of her bedchamber and cursed the eighteen-year-old girl who had been so stupid as to believe herself in love with such a paltry man.

Spenser was so certain that everything would work out, but she just didn’t see how it could.

In the early evening Lord Prith strode into the drawing room where Helen and Lord Beecham were talking, and announced, “I have a surprise for all of you. Flock, bring it in.”

In walked Flock carrying a silver tray. “It is my newest experiment with champagne.”

“Father, it’s purple.”

“Yes, Nell. I poured some grape juice into the champagne, just to give it that nice healthy color. All of you can try it.”

“Father, Spenser and I are the only ones here, and he doesn’t drink champagne.”

Lord Prith heaved a deep sigh and held up his hand. “We will wait, Flock, until we have a more ample supply of palates.” He sat down and leaned back, smiling at both of them. “Now, have you decided what you will do about Gerard Yorke?”

“We are just beginning our thinking,” Spenser said. “And food will help.”

Flock said from the doorway, “Cook has excellent timing. Dinner is served.”

Over a splendid dinner of pork tenderloin with mushrooms, fish and capers in black butter, innumerable side dishes, including cook’s specialty—eggs au miroir—and redcurrant fool for dessert, they decided that everyone would go to London the next morning. Helen and her father, Flock and Teeny, would stay at the Beecham town house. It was the first time the town house would welcome guests since three years before, when Lord Beecham’s great-aunt Maudette had arrived with her ten best friends, all very old ladies, all of whom tatted and left their work in progress all over the house. Actually, looking back on it, Spenser had enjoyed himself immensely during those chaotic two weeks.

“Flock and I will be ready to leave tomorrow by ten o’clock,” Lord Prith said to Spenser. He added, “Goodness, what with the Sherbrookes hanging about all the time, my little Nellie will be very well chaperoned indeed. Now I won’t have to worry about you taking advantage of her, my boy.”

There was another small bit of dead silence.

“And then,” Lord Beecham said, clearing his throat, “Douglas Sherbrooke and I will go to meet with Sir John Yorke at the Admiralty.”