Pandora(46)

‘True. But stratigraphy analysis – the measure of grouping and correlating sediments on pedogenic criteria,’ Gough explains at Edward’s unresponsive look, ‘is a very exact science, and my scientists were most thorough. They even tested it against more recent pottery samples, of which the dates are already known, with success. My scientists, Mr Lawrence, are trained by the Royal Society directly, are masters in their field. No,’ Gough says patiently, ‘I believe there is no mistake here. Your acquaintance, shall we say, is in possession of an artefact of significant historical importance.’

‘But—’

Gough waves him into silence. ‘I would grasp this opportunity, Mr Lawrence. As I am sure –’ and here he shoots Cornelius a querulous look – ‘you have been informed by now, I am disinclined to look further into antiquities that do not originate from our own shores. Too long have we ignored our British treasures in favour of more exotic glamour. But the fact that this –’ Gough gestures at the vial – ‘is so very old is cause for investigation. Certainly, we have nothing like this on record and I have no recollection of anywhere else documenting something of this age, either. Since you refuse to divulge your sources, I permit you to look into the matter.’

Edward can hardly credit it. And now that the shock has begun to wear off, he feels the first stirrings of excitement, of hope. For the first time in years the Society of Antiquaries is giving him leave to pursue something that seems to have a genuine chance of success. And yet …

He thinks again of the pithos, the other items stored in the basement of Blake’s Emporium. How can he compose a credible report if the pithos has been secured dishonestly? But no. No. He must, he simply must remain optimistic rather than assume the very worst. There is still a chance that Miss Blake’s uncle has genuine reasons for keeping the pithos and those smaller pieces in the basement rather than on the shop floor. They could still have been obtained legally. It is possible. Edward takes an unsteady sip of his claret. Oh, if only he understood more about underhand trading! Edward presses his fingertips against the cut glass, tries to avoid Cornelius’ gaze.

‘Mr Gough. Sir. I also wanted to ask you about …’

‘About?’

‘The black-market, sir.’

Gough glances up again at Cornelius who now stands ramrod straight, jaw clenched. The director places his glass on the table, looks to Edward once more.

‘The black-market,’ he echoes.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Indeed. Why?’

‘I …’

Edward colours. He is in a quandary. To explain why is to admit the pithos might – might – be stolen, and to admit that would mean Gough may rescind his permission to write the paper at all. Edward opens his mouth to attempt another answer but Gough is leaning across the table now and asking in a harsh tone, ‘Do you mean to tell me our mysterious pithos is of questionable origin?’

A spot of perspiration has formed on Edward’s upper lip and quickly he wipes it away. The man misses nothing. Deception seems quite impossible.

‘There is a small chance,’ Edward says helplessly.

‘I see.’

Gough sits back in his chair, retrieves his glass of claret, takes a long slow sip.

Inwardly Edward curses. He should have said nothing. Now he has ruined his chances, ruined them completely. Dejected, he begins to rise from his seat.

‘I’m sorry, sir. I should not have bothered you with this. I—’

‘Sit down, Mr Lawrence.’

Edward pauses midway in the rise, shoots a wary look at Cornelius. Cornelius nods. Perturbed, Edward sinks back into the creaking leather seat.

‘You say there is a chance the pithos is of questionable origin,’ Gough says now. ‘I must assume, then, you have no concrete proof?’

Edward hesitates. ‘No, sir, only a suspicion. And even then—’

‘Is it founded?’

With unease Edward thinks of Miss Blake’s uncle, how the man cheated him out of five shillings for something that was worth not even one. Still, Edward hesitates.

‘Possibly.’

‘Hmm.’ The older man watches him, marks Edward’s hesitance with interest. ‘Then, Mr Lawrence, I would keep a careful watch on the matter.’

‘Sir?’

Gough clears his throat, links his fingers together in a fleshy basket.

‘As I said, this artefact is of significant historical importance. To ignore it would be an insult to the study of antiquities.’

Edward watches him, confused. ‘You still wish me to write the paper, even though the pithos might not be credible?’

‘I do.’

‘But surely the Society could not accept such a paper?’

The corner of Gough’s lip lifts. ‘Perhaps, Mr Lawrence, there is another avenue you can explore.’

The conversation is proving to be a drain on his senses and Edward sighs, rubs a hand across his face.

‘Please, sir, I beg of you to speak plainly. What is it you propose?’

The director looks at him from beneath his dark brows. ‘You are quite correct in thinking that the Society cannot align itself with a paper which has as its subject an item which has been stolen. If, on the other hand, it was acquired by legal means then you have leave to write your study and to submit it to us as part of your membership application.’ Here Gough pauses. ‘If, however, the pithos was sourced dishonestly and you can find out how, then there is an argument to be made about how the antiquity trade functions within more questionable trade circles. A paper on the subject would be highly valuable to our community, for it is we who suffer so cruelly from the effects of such a damning trade. Certainly, no one has attempted to explore this delicate matter before.’ Gough spreads his hands. ‘So, Mr Lawrence. That is what I propose. I would wager that to submit either one of these papers would guarantee your acceptance into the Society. You gain your admittance, the living to which you have always aspired, and we gain a study that would enrich our library. I cannot make it any plainer than that.’