Page 92 of Pandora

Cornelius wipes his mouth with his napkin, then throws it down next to his plate. He is disappointed, it seems, that whatever ploy he attempted has failed, and Edward is torn between feeling smug and wanting to hit him for his insolence.

“My dear Mr. Ashmole,” Lady Hamilton laughs, “what a grump you are. You brought the subject up!”

“So I did,” he says, pointedly refusing to meet Edward’s eye. “But I am easily distracted, as I’m sure you have noticed.”

“Apparently so! You remind me in many ways of King Ferdinand. He too liked to jump from subject to subject. It drove poor Maria quite to distraction.”

“You are very close to her majesty, I understand?”

Lady Hamilton beams. “Very close, Mr. Ashmole. She confided in me for many, many things.” She sends a pretty frown over the table to her husband. “I do miss court.”

Sir William looks sage. “You know our return was necessary, Emma. It could not be prevented any longer.”

Dora leans forward in her seat. “Why did you return, Sir William?”

Edward clamps his mouth. He hoped, for Dora’s sake... Beside him, Hamilton lays down his glass.

“Ah. Yes. I had not anticipated reaching the subject quite so soon. I’d hoped we might wait until after dinner. My dear,” he says, looking to his wife, “you do not mind if I speak of the Colossus?”

Lady Hamilton waves her hand. “You know I have no objection, William. I am as much in dismay at what transpired as you are. A terrible loss. Near half your collection, gone.”

A line appears between Dora’s brows. “Gone, Sir William?”

“William, please. Dora, we know each other of old, after all. And I’m afraid what I have to say does pertain to you.”

Dora blinks. “To me?”

Inwardly Edward groans. It was agreed that Edward was not to tell Dora what they had spoken of the night before, not to even hint at it, that Sir William had wanted to disclose the information to Dora himself, but Edward worries how Dora might react to the news, especially after last night. Coming from a friend—if that is what he still is—would surely be the best course...

“Dora, the tale I have to tell comes in two parts,” Hamilton says. He rests his elbows either side of his plate, steeples his fingers into a pyramid. “As you are aware, I have spent many years collecting Grecian antiquities. It has progressed so that it is now far more than a hobby—”

“More of an obsession, I should say,” his wife cuts in, and Sir William frowns at her across the table.

“Yes, an obsession, I concede.” He clears his throat. “I have been collecting since I moved to Naples thirty-five years ago. Sixteen years ago I decided for its protection, since the situation in Naples was becoming increasingly volatile, to send part of my collection to London. It arrived safely. But last year, when Naples was recaptured by the French, I thought it prudent to ship—along with my fine art—the second half of my pottery collection back to England. Alas, it did not arrive.”

Cornelius sits back in his chair. Edward can see that, despite his objection to any discussion that shows Dora off to effect, he is enraptured.

“Emma and I followed on the next packet. I had military business to attend to here in London, but needed to wait a few days to finalize matters in Italy before setting sail after the Colossus. Just as well we did, I suppose, otherwise we would have been on board when the ship sank.”

“The ship sank?” Dora is wide-eyed, her plate of sole quite forgotten.

Hamilton looks understandably aggrieved. “I plan to organize a salvage expedition, but I don’t hold out much hope. I’ve since been told the ship has broken apart on the seabed and with the weather being so monstrous...” He shakes his head. “I have lost everything. Or at least I thought I had. You can imagine my shock, I am sure, when I arrived at Lady Latimer’s last night to find—decked out in gaudy pomp—an item that looked strikingly similar to one of the items I lost.”

Dora is very still.

“The pithos.”

“The very same.”

Finally, Dora’s eyes meet Edward’s across the table. Then, slowly, she pushes her plate aside, lays her hands flat on the starched tablecloth.

“I would ask, please, that you be frank with me.”

Sir William nods. “Very well. Twelve months ago I instigated a dig in Greece. The excavation was difficult. It took six months to finally reach the room I sought. From it, we retrieved a pithos. It was very large, extremely heavy, and took five men to haul it out.”

Hamilton pauses.

“Go on,” Dora says. Her face is perfectly straight.

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