Page 9 of The Butler and the Bluestocking
Shaking her head to herself, Bess straightened. “No, thank you, Kentigern, that will not be necessary. Please bring tea and some of the crumpets left from breakfast to me in the study.
“Of course, my lady.” Mal watched her go, only moving when the study door closed. He headed for the kitchen. What could have caused so much fear in Bess? Until today, his Nefertiti, who had held him at gunpoint without so much as a quaver, had seemed fearless. He would probably still think so, had he not passed close enough to see her trembling.
He’d seen such fear before in students who were called on in class to recite or respond to a question. Especially in first-year students who had little experience and were filled with horror stories told by teasing upper classmen about canings and humiliation for those whom a professor judged inadequate. But Bess was not a first-year student. Presumably, she had plenty of experience with social events and could not possibly fear society’s judgement of her as lacking in anyway. Hadn’t she? Hadn’t he overheard two of the sisters speaking about Bess and her London Season?
But now that he thought on it, she avoided going out on social calls and attending society events. He’d thought she did so because of her research which so pre-occupied her she often forgot the time.
And that work had him intrigued. His goddess was up late nearly every night, poring over texts and scribbling notes. Every now and then, he would bring her a biscuit and spot of tea. She would nod gratefully and wave him off without even glancing away from the documents scattered across the desk. Occasionally, he dreamt about being a pen or a piece of paper, just so she would touch him. He recognized the scholarly focus because he often experienced it himself. He’d tried to get her to discuss the project, but she’d remained closed mouthed. And she always locked her work away when she retired or left the study for any length of time.
Now he had two mysteries to solve regarding his Nefertiti. The easiest way would be to get her to confide in him. The way a person spoke of him or herself often revealed as much or more than the words that person said. He’d been trying for days to find something that would induce Bess to tell him about her research. Perhaps if he could succeed in that she might be more inclined to confide her other problems. It was worth a try, but first he had to get her to talk to him about more than fetching and carrying for her.
As it happened, it was a bit of absent-mindedness that occurred a day or two later, which allowed him to uncover the mystery of her work.
He entered the study with a message. “Lady Bess, forgive my interruption.”
Bess put down her quill and lifted her head. “Yes, Kentigern, what is it?”
“Nurse requests your assistance. It seems that Lady Jane has developed an earache, and the Countess and Lady Josefina are not at home. Nurse believes you are best qualified to substitute for the absent ladies.”
“Oh dear.” She stood wiping her fingers on her apron before removing it. “Is Jane in a great deal of pain? She probably is, since her earaches are usually severe. What about fever?” Bess bustled about the room gathering her shawl and a few books.
“Nurse gave no details but said you would know what was best to be done.”
“Very well. Please, tell Nurse I will be there shortly. I must go to the keeping room and find the medicaments that Josefina would use.”
“As you wish, my lady.” He bowed and left to carry her message. She passed him on the stairs as he returned to his duties.
Her hand on his shoulder stopped him and tingling surged down his arm. “Kentigern, I believe I failed to bank the fire in the study. Would you take care of that for me? I’ve no notion how long I will be with Jane and Nurse.”
“I will be pleased to do so, Lady Bess.”
“Thank you.” She hurried on her way.
Mal returned to the study and banked the fire as requested. He was leaving when he noticed that papers and books still covered the desk. Bess had also forgotten to put away her work.I’d best do that for her.
He’d intended only to stack the papers before locking them in a desk drawer then to shelve the books. However, he recognized instantly the first document upon which he laid his hand. It was a very good quality facsimile of the Rosetta Stone engravings.
On the reverse side of the facsimile were scrawled the words,for B. Biggs. Did Bess know that noted but reclusive scholar? Or was she perhaps B. Biggs herself?Biggs could be a shortened form of Bigglesworth. The possibility intrigued him so greatly, he could not resist exploring further. Seating himself in the desk chair he perused each paper carefully. Then he came to a partially completed letter addressed to Mr. Thomas Young of the London Royal Society.
Dear Mr. Young,
I have made significant progress in my study of your theories regarding the Rosetta Stone. I am nearly certain that you are much closer to a true translation at this time than is Champollion, and the identification of symbols enclosed in cartouches as representing names may well be correct. Further, . . .
The missive stopped there. She must have been in the process of writing it when he’d interrupted her.
He was well acquainted with Mr. Young. In fact, though Young was close to fifteen years his senior, they had often collaborated in various studies. The recommendation to the York Antiquarian Society that they invite him to speak had come from Young. What would Bess say when she found out he was Professor Marr? Since that invitation had brought Mal to this house and his encounter with the celestial Bess, he would have much for which to thank his friend.
Thinking of Bess reminded him that she could return at any moment. He carefully stacked the documents together and placed them in the righthand desk drawer, then turned the key in the lock and placed the key on the desktop, so Bess would see it when she came back to her work.
After shelving the books, he left the study whistling, his mind churning with ideas about the ancient Egyptians and the probable translations of the stone found near Rosetta by the French Army in Egypt nearly eighteen years ago. A niggle of worry about concealing his true identity from Bess intruded. He had to tell her the truth, but could not imagine how. She’d boot him from the house the moment she learned of his deception.
