“Aye. I’d heard of yer interest in old…cathedrals,” he said, trying desperately to ignore the frown of confusion on Fynster’s face.
Lady Battenkirk’s face beamed with delight. “A fellow enthusiast! Indeed, my lord, I attended an archaeological dig,” she informed him, putting her hand to her bodice, which, he noticed, was a peculiar shade of green, particularly against the burgundy cuff of her sleeve.
“I am certain it was fascinating.”
“Oh, indeed, it was quite fascinating. They found some pottery of some sort, which I suppose was all well and good for the men of science, but I have rather a lot of pottery and didn’t see the significance of it, really. I was so hoping for something a bit more exciting. Bones, perhaps.”
“Bones would be far more exciting,” Fynster politely agreed.
“I rather suppose that at the end of the day I much prefer traveling about and picking up trinkets here and there,” Lady Battenkirk said gleefully. “I do adore a bargain, my lord. Speaking of bargains, I have traveled as far as Scotland and found some very interesting trinkets.”
“Did ye find any bones?” Fynster asked with a wink.
That made Lady Battenkirk laugh in a sort of wheezing guffaw. “Nary a one!” she cried through her laughter before catching her breath. “But there truly are such wonderful knickknacks to be had from Scotland—not at all like the markets in London. Frankly, England’s north country has quite interesting pieces, too, and many of them are from Scotland. All those border wars, I suppose, back and forth and back again.”
Grif smiled thinly.
“Oh!” she cried, laying a finger next to her nose as she peered into space. “I know something that might interest you, my lord! One day last year, I happened into Cambridge and I had the chance to meet a lovely young woman from London, who was selling a gold statue of a beastie of all things!”
“A what?” Fynster asked, wrinkling his nose a little while Grif felt his heart sink right to his toes.
“Beastie, darling,” Lady Battenkirk said, articulating carefully. “A creature of some sort. Reminds me of an angry lion with his great gaping mouth and red glass eyes. I honestly can’t say what it is, but it made for such an unusual piece of art! Well, I paid the poor miss for it, as it was clear she desperately needed funds, although I would have sworn by the look of her that she was Quality. Nevertheless, my mission in life is to help those who cannot help themselves, and I helped that poor dear by purchasing her statue and giving it to my friend Amelia. And do you know that Amelia faithfully displayed that unique creature on her mantel until the day she died?”
Grif had the overwhelming urge to put a finger in his collar and loosen it for some air. He risked a glance at Fynster who was looking at Lady Battenkirk in confusion.
“You’ll not find such unusual art in London, I assure you,” she said with a snort and a shake of her head. “Southern England has her treasures, too, you understand. Once, in Cornwall, I found the loveliest amulet. Do you know what an amulet is?” she asked Fynster.
“I can’t say that I do, really,” he answered absently, and frowned curiously at Grif.
“I beg yer pardon,” Grif said, quickly interrupting before she could pin him in with another long-winded tale, “I am certain I promised the next dance.”
“Then you must run along, my lord! You’d not want to keep a pretty young miss waiting. Perhaps you might like to view my various treasures when we are next in London?”
“I would indeed. I shall call on ye, if I’ve yer leave.”
“Of course you do, sir!” she said, beaming happily.
Grif smiled at a clearly perplexed Fynster, wishing that he had the luxury of truth to explain to his friend what he was about. But there was nothing to be done for it—a man of Fynster’s character could not rest without telling the truth to the Lockharts, Grif was certain—so with a bow for Lady Battenkirk, Grif took his final leave of his good friend.
He walked outside onto the terrace so that he might breathe some air and get his thoughts together. Between a pair of torchlights, he gripped the railing and stared out into the black night, his insides as jumbled as his mind with nerves and regret and a whole host of things he could hardly name. He’d never bargained for this. He’d never thought his journey would result in such an upheaval in his life, of lies and betrayals and even love…
“Ah… there you are.”
Speak of the devil, Anna’s voice drifted behind him, and Grif closed his eyes. The good Lord was punishing him, surely. He opened his eyes, made himself turn around. Anna leaned forward and peered up at him. “Are you quite all right? No bumps or bruises from the game?”