Page 62 of The Unassuming Curator

“Preposterous, scandalous, underhanded,” Henry said. “Call it what you will, for a reason known only to Fernsby, he considers the directorship position to be of greater value than our friendship or his integrity.”

“Why did you ask about the embedded stone?” Emily said.

“Each of the pieces in the set sports a different jewel. Fernsby asked me which I thought was the most valuable. Having not examined them thoroughly, I could only guess.”

“But you suggested the ruby,” Emily finished for him.

“Yes.” Henry appeared contemplative. “Fernsby left the accessions room soon after that discussion. I stayed behind to clear a path through the crates to the tables. It did not take me long, but it must have been enough time for him to transfer this from his pocket to my satchel.”

“He cannot be allowed to get away with this,” Aunt Millward said.

“He won’t.” Henry was adamant. He wrapped the artifact in Emily’s scarf, placed the bundle in his bag, and stood. “I must return this to the museum tonight and make sure the other pieces of the set are where they should be. In the morning, I will confront Fernsby, and the board of trustees will hear the truth.”

A prickle of fear skittered down Emily’s spine. She did not know Mr. Fernsby like Henry did, but she’d witnessed Adam challenge a criminal and had firsthand knowledge of the terror such a person could unleash when he was cornered. “You must not face him alone.” She rose to stand beside him, her hands clasped tightly. “Please, Henry.”

His expression softened. “Do not concern yourself over me. Fernsby is always the last to arrive in the morning; Townsend and Rutherford will be there.”

“Emily is right, Henry.” Aunt Millward was firm. “Whatever is motivating Mr. Fernsby’s despicable actions is not likely to disappear when he learns he’s been found out. Quite the opposite, in fact. He is more than likely to act rashly.”

“If it will allay your fears, I will send word to you after I have spoken to him.”

“You must do that much, at least,” Aunt Millward said.

“Very well.”

Aunt Millward appeared satisfied.

Emily, on the other hand, could not rid herself of her disquiet. “Promise me that you will be careful,” she said.

He leaned forward and brushed her cheek with his lips. “Do not fret,” he whispered. “I shall see you again soon.”

“Henry Buckland! What are you thinking?”

At Aunt Millward’s exclamation, Henry’s lips curved upward. “Forgive me, Aunt Millward, I should have mentioned it earlier.” He slipped the strap of his satchel over his shoulder. “As of this evening, Emily and I are officially courting.”

It was not exactly how Emily had envisioned him sharing the news with the older lady, but given the gratified expression on Aunt Millward’s face, it seemed that he had done enough. Henry must have thought so too, because his smile widened.

“Good evening, ladies,” he said. And then he hurried out of the room.

Chapter 23

The hackney cab rolled up the drive and stopped at the base of the stairs leading to the British Museum’s front doors. Cutting a large black block out of the star-filled sky, the imposing building loomed over the darkened grounds. Devoid of light or the usual sound of voices, it had a mausoleum-like air, which, given the building’s contents, was not far from the truth.

Henry exited the hackney. His feet crunched on the gravel, and the driver looked down from his perch.

“Want me t’ wait fer a bit?” he asked, his face illuminated by the moonlight.

“Thank you, but no.” Henry reached up to pay the man. “I’m not sure how long I will be.”

“Righto.” The driver tugged on the brim of his hat. “Good evenin’ to ya, sir.”

The wheels started rolling, and as the carriage disappeared into the gloom, Henry mounted the steps. When he reached the top, he opened his satchel and dug out his keys.

The bolt on the large front door slid back with a solid thud, but the door opened without a squeak. Rutherford obviously kept the hinges well oiled. Keeping the door ajar to allow a small portion of moonlight into the entrance hall, Henry approached the porter’s desk. There had been many times during the winter when Henry had left work after dusk. Rutherford had always lit the candle he placed on the corner of the table with a flint stored in the drawer beneath. Fortunately, both items were still there.

It took only a moment for the wick to catch. Holding the candle high, Henry relocked the front door and walked across the entrance hall. Glassy eyes watched him from the stuffed giraffe and bear standing guard on either side of the staircase. Purposely ignoring them, he started upward. The candle flickered, sending dancing shadows up the walls and onto the ceiling high above. He cupped his hand around the flame and continued ascending until he arrived on the landing.

Upon reaching his office, he unlocked the door and walked inside. Setting the candle on his desk, he slid his satchel off his shoulder and opened it. He withdrew the scarf and carefully unrolled the fabric until the wooden idol appeared. Moving closer to the candle, he held the figure within the circle of light. The stone in the creature’s forehead winked at him, igniting Henry’s ire. If Fernsby’s attempt to implicate him in the theft of something so rare had been successful, the repercussions for Henry and the museum would have been disastrous. Henry could only hope that restoring this item to the accessions room would complete the set once more.