Daughter of the God-King(12)

The other man’s gaze met hers in all seriousness. “When was the last time you heard from your parents, Miss Blackhouse?”

It was a strange question—Robbie was certainly well aware of her parents’ tepid interest. “I hear from them occasionally,” she answered cautiously. “Why?”

“Anything of late?”

Something in his tone made her search his face, her brow knit. “What has happened?”

He paused, the expression in the grey eyes grave. “Apparently no one has heard from them in a long while.”

Dismayed by the innuendo, she reasoned slowly, “And because you are concerned, you must not think it the usual case when they are at a dig and do not communicate for weeks at a time.”

“I fear for their safety,” the gentleman confirmed with a nod. It seemed to Hattie, though, that he was watching her very closely and didn’t seem all that distraught, given the subject.

Robbie, on the other hand, offered gentle sympathy as he reached to cover her hand with his own. “I am sorry, Hattie.”

There was a pause while they allowed her to assimilate this alarming news, but her mind instead leapt to the theft of her reticule, as well as the mysterious gentleman’s warning to return home, which was in stark contrast to Monsieur Barry’s warning not to leave until she had spoken with him. “I see,” she said rather inadequately, and stalled for time, carefully wary.

“Nothing has been verified,” the grey-eyed man continued. “But it does not look well.”

There was another pause in the conversation and Hattie did nothing to fill the silence, thinking instead about Robbie’s unexpected betrothal and his sincere sympathy, beside her—she knew him too well to pretend he did not fear the worst about her parents. She wondered for a moment if the two events were connected in some way—he was certainly not behaving like a bridegroom on the cusp of marriage—but this seemed implausible. On the other hand, everything seemed implausible from the moment she had first set foot in this stupid country.

When the grey-eyed man spoke again, the topic seemed anticlimactic, given their previous discussion. “Did your parents come often to their residence here in Paris?”

Hattie looked at him a bit blankly. “Yes—they do.” She deliberately used the present tense in contrast to his use of the past tense. “They come to Paris to arrange for exhibitions at the museum.”

He persisted, watching her carefully, “Your parents own no other property in town?”

“I’m afraid I have no idea,” she confessed. “They did not discuss such things with me.”

Almost diffidently, he continued, “Do you know if they had a strongbox—something in which they kept important documents?”

Bemused, she shook her head. “A strongbox? No—I’ve never known of such a thing.” She made a slight gesture toward Robbie. “Although Mr. Tremaine can verify that I was not in their confidence, so it truly doesn’t mean much.” Unbidden, she remembered the mysterious gentleman’s warning to tell Robbie nothing—which seemed ludicrous; she would trust Robbie with her life. Except for the persistent and annoying fact that the British embassy had apparently decided to steal her reticule. Lifting her chin, she demanded, “What is this about? Why this interest in their property?”

“It is unclear what will happen with their estate.”

Hattie could not quite keep the edge from her voice. “It has not yet been established that my parents are dead—or has it?”

Reacting to her tone, Robbie ducked his chin in the apologetic gesture he had made since they were small children and squeezed the hand he held. “Sorry, Hattie; we are thinking of your welfare—how you will go on if they continue missing.”

Hattie abruptly rose to her feet, and the surprised gentlemen hastily rose also. “Please keep me informed of any further news, and I thank you for your concern.” She could sense the men exchange a glance as she turned on her heel to go, but she had decided, sitting there, that she was not to be trifled with. Apparently there was a connection between Robbie’s work at the Congress and her parent’s work—although no one wished to tell her what it was and indeed, the basis for any such link was unclear; her parents had little interest in anything less than three thousand years old, after all. In any event, she had heard her fill of equivocations, and was leaving.





Chapter 5





On the carriage ride home, Robbie made a mighty effort to coax Hattie out of her temper and was largely successful, only because Hattie had resolved on a course of action, which always tended to calm her down. “I’m sorry if I was rude, Robbie, or if I’ve made trouble for you, but I thought he was rather rude to me in the first place.”