Pandora(75)

Edward hesitates again, shuffles his feet, winces at the painful pinch of his slippers.

‘She knows I asked advice about the pithos. As for the other matter …’

‘Hmm.’

Hamilton does not deliver the admonishment Edward feels sure to be on the tip of his tongue. The admonishment he deserves.

‘What do you intend to do with that knowledge?’

Heat floods Edward’s cheeks. The guilt again, churning in the seat of his belly.

‘I intend to publish my findings.’

‘Do you plan to name her?’

‘I plan to name no one.’

Sir William frowns. ‘You realise there is a great danger here? The authorities will have to be taken into account. Whether or not you name Dora or her uncle … you understand what I mean to say?’

Edward does. He squeezes his eyes shut, snaps them open again; black spots dance across his vision like ants. He takes a deep, calming breath.

‘I care very much about Dora’s welfare. Believe me, sir, I understand the dangers. But I will not allow anything to happen to her.’

He will not. He will make sure of it.

For a long moment Hamilton watches him. Then he turns, walks to the edge of the balcony – his cane a sharp click on the flagstones – leans on the stone balustrade and looks out into the night. Edward follows, goes to stand beside him.

Below them the water lulls quietly. Somewhere, an owl shrieks. Raucous laughter spills from the ballroom behind them on the musical strains of a cotillion.

‘I have no doubt Hezekiah Blake acquired both his collection and the pithos illegally,’ Sir William says finally, and Edward looks at him in surprise for he has not mentioned Hezekiah’s name. ‘I always knew him to be a deceitful man. As I said to Lady Latimer, I knew the Blakes many years ago. We met in Naples. Helen – Dora’s mother – was an accomplished artist, and I often commissioned her to sketch for me. Hezekiah sometimes travelled with them, back then. He was good with maps.’

Hamilton seems lost deep in thought, and Edward watches the plane of his face. In the moonlight his aquiline nose, his high cheekbones – they are all even more pronounced. The scarlet ribbon on his wig flutters in the wind. Like Edward, he decided against wearing a costume.

‘How is it, sir, you came to save Dora’s life?’

His companion turns to face him once more. ‘Tell me,’ he says, ignoring the question in favour of one of his own. ‘What do you know about the pithos?’

‘I know – from the investigations of the Society’s scientists – that it predates history. That is why, in part, I wrote to you.’ Edward pauses for effect, but Sir William seems strangely unfazed by this. Edward clears his throat. ‘Gough is charging them now to ascertain its geographical origin.’

Hamilton scoffs. ‘I can save them the trouble.’

‘Sir?’

‘That pithos was dug up in the foothills of Mount Lykaion. Six months ago.’

Edward stares. ‘How do you know?’

‘Because, Mr Lawrence, I was the one who organised the excavation.’



‘There you are,’ Lady Hamilton calls from across the balcony, her tone playfully mutinous when she discovers Edward and her husband deep in conversation. Edward straightens his features, tries for a look of nonchalance he does not feel.

No indeed, Edward feels, suddenly, overwhelming tiredness. What the diplomat has told him, it is beyond any stretch of his imagination. He shares a look with Sir William, whose eyes press upon him a warning that cannot be misinterpreted.

Not a word, they say. Not yet.

‘Really, William, is it necessary for you to discuss business the entire evening?’ Lady Hamilton remarks when she joins them, dazzling in bronze. ‘You have forced your new friend to neglect Miss Blake completely.’

‘Where is she?’ Edward asks and the older woman smiles at his concern, taps his shoulder playfully with her fan.

‘La, just behind me with Mr Ashmole.’ She turns, smiles. ‘See? Here she is, safe and sound.’

And yes, there Dora is, coming through the wide ballroom doors, Cornelius at her side. Edward begins to smile at her but then he sees Dora’s expression – closed, tight, frighteningly cold – and he falters.

Something is wrong.

‘I have found them, Miss Blake,’ Lady Hamilton quips on a laugh. ‘Typical men! We women are quite overlooked when business is at hand. And now the evening is drawing on and Miss Blake is tired and wishes to go home. Honestly, Mr Lawrence,’ she says, flicking her fan again. A stray gold feather slips from the seam. ‘How could you have deserted your charge?’

‘Dora,’ Edward says, over-careful now, trying to look into her eyes. ‘I am so sorry. I had not meant to commandeer so much of Lord Hamilton’s time. Do you really wish to leave?’

‘I do. I find my enjoyment of the evening has been somewhat dampened.’

Her tone is like ice. There is a sinking in the pit of Edward’s stomach. He glances at Cornelius. His friend meets his gaze, a warning in his eyes that Edward cannot interpret.

‘Are you sure?’ Edward tries again, and Dora turns her face.

She will not look at him, he realises in dismay.

‘I have already made my excuses to Lady Latimer.’