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They tracked Petrie by the blood-trail. Breathing fire when he’d joined the search, Madoc returned with a grin. “I’m going to teach you to fight, Isabella.” He hugged her. “Then you’ll be easier on your opponent.”
“He’s not seriously hurt, is he?”
“He’ll live. He won’t sit comfortably for a long while. How did you manage to knock him down?”
“Football.”
“American football,” Cecilia advised when he looked blank. “And to think I gave you advice on how to block unwanted advances.”
“I used that, too.”
Cecilia laughed. “I’m surprised Petrie didn’t surrender immediately.”
Gawen sobered them. “Did he say anything? Did he confess?”
“Petrie’s no fool. After cursing us all, he clammed up. He did say he wasn’t going to hurt you, Isabella.”
“Yes, he said that. He said he would only lock me in the darkroom. I couldn’t bear the thought of that.”
“What more did he say, Isabella?”
She related the bones of it.
Madoc grunted when she mentioned Timon Spirios. “So, we have no real confirmation of what we had guessed.”
“On the contrary, Mr. Tarrant, we have enough evidence to convict him.” Inspector Stavros had entered and assumed command. “The attacks on Miss Newcombe today and last night and the artifacts found in his haversack will convict him of theft. They also implicate him in the murders. I think we will have no difficulty with Mr. Petrie’s confession.”
“You did find stolen artifacts?”
“Oh yes, wrapped carefully in his haversack.” His penciled moustache twitched, the only betrayal of his satisfaction. “Eight artifacts. My man Simonides will provide a list. The items are primarily gold or bronzework. I have no doubt these items are the motive for the murders. Mrs. Arkwright, I regret that your husband will accompany us to Heraklion for an interrogation.”
“Will he be charged?”
“I will not lie to you, madame. He is clearly guilty of complicity in the thefts and obstruction of my investigation. We have yet to determine his involvement in the murders.”
“I feared it. I tried to warn him. He wouldn’t listen.”
“Not every man has a wife as devoted as you.”
Cecilia looked quickly for sarcasm. Isabella did not hear scorn or see it in the inspector’s face. Well acquainted with his double-edged comments, she knew it lurked behind his words.
Stavros turned back to Gawen Tarrant. “Simonides remains here for the next two days, Prof. Tarrant. He watches for Mr. Harcourt-Smythe. I think, however, that he will not return. We cannot charge him with murder or even accessory to murder. We do not yet have any evidence that he is complicit in the thefts. Rumors are not evidence. We know only that he is an antiquities dealer. Were he searched, I doubt we would find anything. If Mr. Petrie does not implicate him during his confession, I fear that all we shall do to Mr. Harcourt-Smythe is inform him that Crete no longer welcomes his presence. And now I must return to Heraklion. Good day to you all.” He bowed slightly then turned on his heel and left.
They stared at each other after the blue doors had shut. Cecilia broke the silence. “What is next, Gawen? Do you continue with the dig?”
His head reared back. He inhaled sharply. “I doubt we would accomplish any work in the three weeks remaining. No, we’ll close it out. Packing up will take one week of that.”
Cecilia stood and smoothed her skirt. “As Nigel’s devoted wife, I should go to Heraklion tomorrow. Isabella—.”
Anticipating the question, she volunteered. “I’ll go with you.”
Gawen unbent his long length and rose. “You’ll pack your husband’s gear and take it with you, of course. Madoc, will you see to Petrie’s gear? The women can leave it at the police station for him.” Then he walked out, crossing the terrace to his study.
When Isabella finished her minimal packing, she went to help Cecilia. She found the woman sitting on her bed, staring at a photograph. She started when Isabella appeared in the doorway. Then she smiled ruefully and tilted the photo so Isabella could see it, husband and wife laughing at a dinner party.
“Happier times.” She closed the photo wallet. “Funny, how life turns on you. I wanted Nigel to shine on this dig. He had a professorship equal to Gawen’s. He had wealth and status and friends in the BSA, but Gawen’s dig experience and those war medals gave him the leadership. I tried so hard to hate Gawen. I wanted him to make mistakes so Nigel could step into his shoes. Before the first week ended, I knew he was a better archaeologist than my husband. And then I realized he is also a better man. Nigel is ruined now. He’ll lose his professorship. Even if he escapes a prison sentence, I do not know what he will do.”
Isabella sat beside her on the bed. The woman was not someone who would welcome a comforting hug. Yet Isabella knew closeness was a comfort in itself. “And you, Cecilia, what will you do?”
“I don’t know. I cannot recover my marriage. It dissolved years ago, only I refused to admit it. And the gods have had their revenge on my fickle heart. The first affaire that I take seriously, the first affaire I have not consummated, and I am the one rejected.” She straightened her spine. “I think I must find my independence, as you have.”
“I would scarcely call myself independent.”
“You are yourself, Isabella, and that is an independence of itself. I have always been the viscount’s daughter or the society wife or the professor’s wife. Never myself. It is time that I discovered myself. It is a new age. I want to find myself in this new world.”
“And Gawen?”
“Oh, you hit hard.” Biting her lip she stared sightlessly at the closed wardrobe. Then she flipped open the wallet and looked at the smiling couple. “Gawen thinks I am his weakness. I don’t know if I want him because I love him or because he is a challenge. The first man to reject me. Before I ruin his life, I must discover that answer. And no matter what I want or what he wants, we cannot move toward each other while I am married to Nigel. Now is not our time. In the next few months—perhaps.”
“Where will you go?”
“The British School in Athens, where I shall bemoan my husband’s hand in stealing artifacts, a moral lapse that made two murders possible.”
She winced. Gossip would speed to England and swirl in the archaeological community for years. “Cecilia, should you?”
“I can explain everything before the Standings arrive and put their spin on everything. And this is the only way I can help recover this dig’s reputation. As that man Harcourt-Smythe said, two murders have tainted it. I must do what I can.”
“For the dig or for Gawen?”
“That is one and the same, Isabella. My foolish behavior forced Nigel into his petty revenge. I must atone for that anyway I can.”
“And when you return to England?”
“I shall start divorce proceedings. That is not what a loving wife should do, but it is what I must do. I cannot bear to continue this farce.” She removed the photo and crushed it. “I shall go to my little flat in Kirkgardie Street. And I will go to St. George’s only to collect my things.”
“Will you not contact Gawen?”
“I pursued him here. He must take up the pursuit now. And you, Isabella, what will you do when you return to England?”
“I’ve my living still to make.”
“Have you a place to live?”
“Not yet. I can’t expect to earn a living from art. I’ll have to find another job.”
“Would you—we’ll be in similar situations, starting new lives. I know I can help you to find work. You can help me learn to be myself. If you would.”
“Are you offering to let me share your flat, Cecilia? I would have to pay rent.”
“We’ll make it the flat on Kirkgardie Street. You can have the attic for a studio.”
“Is that not Nigel’s home, too?”
“No, mine alone. I lived there when he was posted to Dover then to France. Oh, this is wonderful. I didn’t want to be lonely.”
“Don’t pin your hopes on me, Cecilia. It may not be possible.”
“Madoc, you mean? He’s welcome, too.”
“And then you will not have shattered your ties to the Tarrant brothers.”
“Yes, a flanking approach. Gawen shall hear about me through Madoc.” As if the few plans had lifted her mood, Cecilia sprang to her feet, tossed the crumpled photo into a wastecan, and resumed packing.
By dinner, everything was ready for stowing in the motorcar tomorrow morning. As Isabella latched the last case, she realized that she had arrived on a Saturday and she would be leaving on one. Fate enjoyed its bits of irony at the expense of human hearts.
She had promised to go with Cecilia to the BSA in Athens; she didn’t know when she would see Madoc again. Nor did she have Cecilia’s confidence that the man she loved would continue the pursuit. Had she found her love only to lose him?
At dinner, three places had been removed. The Standings talked together at one end. Castlereagh and Matthews concentrated on their meals and said very little. Isabella sat beside Cecilia, who wore flame red, as if to burn her image into Gawen’s brain before she left.
The brothers came late. The little bit of conversation stumbled, as if they were newly introduced strangers. Talk did not really begin to flow until Dorcas replaced the lamb with a salad.
Gawen produced a flat leather wallet and handed it to Isabella. “Since I will likely not see you in the morning before you leave, I think it best to give this to you now. Your money is there, what you originally gave me as well as your pay for the two sets of illustrations. With your wages from Harcourt-Smythe, you have a tidy sum. Find a way to carry it on your person.”
Isabella forbore to open the wallet and count the bills. She placed it above her plate. “I have nearly finished the illustrations for the third article.”
“Good, good. I can pick them up from you in Heraklion, after we finally crate everything here. That will more than cover your passage to England.”
“We may not be in Heraklion when you arrive,” Cecilia interposed, her voice like butter, her expression complacent, as if pleased that she had managed to outwit him. “We may have moved on to Athens.”
Don’t, Isabella wanted to warn her. Don’t provoke Gawen. Don’t be the catty socialite. That’s not the way to win him.
Beneath the table Madoc’s knee pressed Isabella’s. The Standings stopped talking and looked at them. Recognizing Cecilia’s challenge, Castlereagh leaned back to get out of the way. Even Matthews stopped eating.
And Gawen set down his fork. His green eyes glittered. “Athens? Why there? Why not wait in Heraklion?”
“I doubt Nigel will want to see me, and I know I do not want to hear him shout accusations.”
“He may not be jailed.”
“Do you seriously think Inspector Stavros will not charge him?”
He looked down briefly. “No. He’ll be charged. Stavros assured me of that.” Then he looked back up. “You are wise to avoid that. He chose to become involved with the thefts. He’ll be fortunate if Stavros leaves it at the thefts. Your husband will not find any of his time in a Cretan gaol enjoyable, and he will want to spread blame as far as he can.”
“I see you understand Nigel very well. I will visit him once, to inform him that I will be seeking a divorce, and then—.”
“You’re going to divorce him?”
“We have been unhappy for years. We should have never married. I had hoped this dig would help him fulfill a dream and become satisfied with his life, and we might reach an amicable way to continue on together.”
Kat cleared her throat. “You will be vilified for divorcing him while he is in gaol, Cecilia. If you could wait—.”
“I will be vilified no matter what I do, Kat.”
“That’s true,” Gawen murmured.
Only Isabella, sitting beside Cess, heard her sigh of relief. The woman picked up her fork and knife, as if she had reached the conclusion of her announcement. “I am going to Athens, and Isabella will accompany me. And there I shall ensure that slander does not completely ruin my husband’s future opportunities and that the innocent people on this dig are not also tainted by the thefts and the murder.”
“I say, that’s fine of you,” Standings said, and the students added their appreciation.
Madoc set down his wine. “Do you ladies plan to travel to England by yourselves?”
“We were not planning to, no. We had hoped to have the company of some of you from our dig.”
“Perhaps it would be better if you traveled ahead of us,” Gawen suggested, and Isabella’s heart sank. Gawen and Cecilia settled the travel plans as they worked so hard to hide their need for each other and to avoid rejection. Finally, he said, “Yes, I think this plan is best. If we all traveled together, the gossip would fly. I’m certain you will have people from the BSA to travel with. They will be more than interested to hear your sad story.”
“And in London?” Madoc said. “Isabella still has your fourth article to illustrate.”
“I will give you an outline in the morning. You can post the illustrations to me at St. George’s.” The finality in Gawen’s voice tried to cut off all connection. He scowled down at his plate, as if it had offended him.
Madoc threw down his napkin. His chair scraped back.
Under cover of the table, Isabella dropped her hand to his thigh, enough to stay him. She didn’t look at him or at Cecilia but focused on Gawen. “You want me to send the illustrations by post? For both articles? Six illustrations total? I’m sorry, Gawen, but I would rather not trust either illustrations or my payment to post.”
“Since it is certainly clear that you both wish to sever ties to us, to the dig—.”
“I did not hear that said,” Madoc interposed.
“Nor did I,” Cecilia said. “Gawen, why would you think I do not want to continue seeing you?”
“I—you said—.”
“I merely informed you of our plans. Nothing else.”
Isabella judged it time that she speak up again before Cecilia committed to more than she should in front of the Standings and the students, who would not hesitate to gossip once they returned to St. George’s. “So, my illustrations will not be lost in the post. I can bring them to you at St. George’s. Or you can pick them up in London. Cecilia’s flat on Kirkgardie Street will be our base. You both should come to visit.” She glanced at Madoc, adding a squeeze of her fingers. “Come to dinner. You and Cecilia can chaperone Madoc and me. Perhaps we can talk about future illustrations? If that’s all right, Cecilia?”
Her stiffness broke, and she leaned to one side. Her smile was the first genuine one since dinner had begun. “I would have suggested it myself.”
“That’s settled then,” Madoc said quickly, before his brother could foul the works again. “Cecilia, will you write out the directions for me? I’ll produce us both at eight o’clock three weeks from tonight. That’s not too late for your article, is it, Gawen?”
“No, no. I’ll still be well ahead of my publisher.”
* * *
MUCH LATER, MADOC BURIED his face in Isabella’s neck. “I thought the two of them were going to ruin it for us, didn’t you?”
She chuckled and clung tighter. “They would have ruined it, but I think we outwitted them. Oh, I won’t see you again for three weeks. That’s so long.”
He lifted his head. With a smile, he pushed a pale gold curl out of her eyes. Then his hand tracked down her face and cupped her neck. “It’s not forever.” He kissed her. “I still won’t have a job, Bella. I can’t support you. I can barely support myself. I’ve no right to say this, but—. Bella, I want you for the rest of my life.”
“Yes,” she breathed.
“I haven’t asked you yet. I won’t ask until I do have a job.”
“I’m still saying yes. Yes to anything. I love you.”
He tilted his head back and laughed. “My future is not as hopeless as before. I have two dates in London, one with you, one with Michael Tredennit. I can survive three weeks knowing you’re at the end of them.”
As they kissed, Isabella realized that she also faced her future with hope. Her beloved lived; she would be with him. This time, she had lost nothing to death.
. ~ . ~ . ~ .
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THANK YOU FOR READING Digging Into Death, the first book in the Isabella Newcombe historical mysteries. Digging into Death was my first venture into the historical and mystery genres, and it was tremendous fun to write. When I penned it, I never expected my nephew to pursue an archaeology degree nor marry an artist.
The follow-up Christmas with Death was another tremendous surprise. I considered the first book a one-off and never expected to return to these characters. Quelle surprise when my sister finally talked me into writing the sequel. By then, I had started the Hearts in Hazard series of Regency mysteries. Returning to 1919, 105 years beyond the Regency novels, was a definite jolt.
Finally, I’ve now published Portrait with Death. That story nagged at me for months and months. I vowed to finish the HnH Regency mysteries first. Wise that I did. Had I approached the story too soon, we might never have met Flick Sherborne who will take us into the 1920s.
For any questions, comments, and speculations, please contact winkbooks@aol.com. You can find my books on my website ~~ www.writersinkbooks.com. Look for the books at online distributors both nationally and internationally.
To receive seasonal information about all of my books, please join my monthly newsletter list. Contact me at winkbooks@aol.com. Use this link to join the newsletter and receive a free short story featuring secondary characters from Christmas with Death. https://dl.bookfunnel.com/wc84divkre
Please write a review. Indie writers thrive on freely-given reviews. We’re small beans here; we don’t have the advertising budget of the Big Peeps. Of course, with any book that you enjoy, whether written by me or by someone else, please share with other readers looking for escape from the dark stresses of life. That’s the reason I write.
Dream it. Believe it. Do it.
~~ M.A. Lee
Mysteries with a dash of romance, set during the Regency Era of England
1 ~ A Game of Secrets ~ Smugglers, secrets and spies: Kate tries to hide in plain sight; Tony tries to catch a spy. First they fall in love, then they fall into trouble with smugglers. Will they survive?
2 ~ A Game of Spies ~ Salons and soirées, flirtation and dancing, gambling and spies: Josette and Giles fall in love over a deck of cards—and try not to die.
Spymaster Giles Hargreaves was introduced in A Game of Secrets.
3 ~ A Game of Hearts ~ Two couples :: One titled widow, one wealthy businessman: two hearts shadowed by their past. One bright young flirt, one hard-edged young man: two hearts crossed by circumstance. Mix in a courtesan and two rakes, all out for mischief, and murder bloody and foul.
4 ~ The Danger of Secrets ~ Deep in the wintry countryside, a house warmed by relatives and friends: secrets of family, secrets of hearts, secrets of blood and pain. Match a daughter to an unknown father; match a spinster to an earl; match a serial killer to his next victim.
Gordon Musgrove was introduced in A Game of Spies.
5 ~ The Danger for Spies ~ Impossibilities? Rakes don’t lose their hearts. Spies don’t give up the game. No one hides in plain sight. Codes are unbreakable. A man can’t hold onto revenge for years and years. Impossibilities are designed to be shattered.
Toby Kennitt was introduced in A Game of Spies.
6 ~ The Danger to Hearts ~ A country manor in early Spring: older woman and younger man. Horses, cats, needlework, roses and afternoon teas ~ What could possibly go wrong in an idyll? Trouble in the past, trouble now, and murder.
The character Jess Carter was introduced in A Game of Secrets.
7 ~ The Key to Secrets ~ Debutantes should snare fiancés, not murder them. Constable Hector Evans must solve three murders. Is his former love guilty, of is she a convenient scapegoat?
Constable Hector Evans was introduced in The Danger to Hearts.
8 ~ The Key for Spies ~ Spies and traitors. Lies and treachery. Unexpected love where bullets fly. One traitor destroys loyalty. What will two traitors destroy?
9 ~ The Key with Hearts ~ A convenient marriage inconveniently causes murder.
10 ~ The Hazard of Secrets. Two hearts with dangerous pasts—Can they keep their secrets, or will murder force them to reveal all?
11 ~ The Hazard for Spies ~ Disguised to spy. Will murder destroy their chance for love?
12 ~ The Hazard with Hearts ~ Two wives haunt the castle. Will she be the third to die?
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DIGGING INTO DEATH ~ A governess seeking refuge, a handsome young man, an archaeological dig: romance is inevitable; murder is not. Suspicions escalate, artifacts are stolen, and then a second murder. Has the love of her life beguiled her straight into death? Available in paperback and e-book
Christmas with Death ~ Christmas is for miracles, merriment, and murder. Set in 1919 at an English country manor for a party throughout Christmastide. Available in paperback and e-book.
Portrait with Death ~ Isabella and Flick stumble upon the body of George Webberly, a teacher at Greavley Abbey School. He’s been bludgeoned to death. Why would anyone kill a school master? Motives abound, and suspects increase. Who committed the murder? Can Isabella find the answer?
