“The battles-accounts, sir,” repeated the porter. “The bursar can give you the pertinent details, but there is a debt owing for drink and such within the college.”
“I see.”
“Would you like me to take you up now?”
“Thank you, but no. I can find my own way.” Burleigh smiled and dropped the stack of silver coins into the servant’s hand. “Let us keep this a surprise, eh?”
“Very good, sir.” The porter pocketed the coins. “It’s the first room on the right at the top. Please, feel free to make your way up in your own good time.”
“Good evening,” replied Burleigh.
The servant lingered. “I will just mention, sir, he may be in hall at dinner just now-that is, if he’s chosen to eat early. Most of the young men do. If you like, I can send for the gentleman.”
“I don’t mind waiting,” said Burleigh, waving the servant away. “If Charles is out, I will simply make myself at home until he returns.” He started up the staircase. “Again, my thanks, porter. You’ve been most helpful.”
When the man had gone, Burleigh made his way up the stairs. At the top of the staircase, he found two doors. On one, a calling card in a neat brass holder indicated that the occupant was indeed one Charles Flinders- Petrie. Burleigh knocked quietly; when there was no answer, he tried the door, found that it was unlocked, and let himself in to a large square room with a window overlooking Christ Church meadow and, beyond it, a willow-lined stretch of the Isis River. There were cows in the meadow and a herder with staff and dog moving them towards a barn for the night.
Burleigh stood for a moment, studying the interior. Two large overstuffed leather chairs sat on either side of a generous fireplace and, between them, a small round table bearing a silver tray with a crystal port decanter and four glasses. There was a painting on the wall of a country scene, and clothes spilled from an untidy wardrobe. A coat rack beside the wardrobe held a black student gown, a satin waistcoat, a long overcoat, two hats-one black beaver skin, one grey felt-and the distinctive striped scarves of several colleges, none of them Christ Church. One wall was taken up with a floor-to-ceiling bookcase, half full of books; the lower shelves held items of clothing, a pair of shoes, a battered straw hat, a cricket bat, ball, and gloves. He moved closer to scan the shelves; judging by the titles, the subjects were mostly to do with history. The tops of the books were dusty.
Across the room, the bed had been made, but was rumpled; a small pile of clothing-trousers, a shirt, a waistcoat, a black tie-lay on the floor beside it. A reading table at the window held a dirty plate with a rind of cheese and crumbs of bread, an empty mug with tea stains, a half-eaten apple. A bottle of wine, empty, stood on the floor beneath the table. Hanging from a strap on a peg by the door was a leather satchel.
In all, it was the room of a fellow who spent little time in it, and less time studying-a more or less typical student, Burleigh decided as, taking in his surroundings one last time, he lowered himself into one of the worn leather chairs at the fireplace.
Little by little the light grew dimmer as evening settled. A chill crept into the room, and Burleigh was considering whether to light a fire in the grate when he heard voices on the staircase. Presently there was a click at the doorknob, the door opened, and in stepped a sandyhaired youth with his dinner jacket slung carelessly over one shoulder. He was tall, but not gangly; slender, but not gaunt; his features were regular and well-formed and would have been fairly unremarkable if not for his eyes, which were subtly oval-shaped and ever so slightly aslant, giving them an almost Oriental appearance.
The youth threw his jacket on the bed and began unbuttoning his shirt.
“Hello, Charles,” said Burleigh.
The young man jumped and spun around. “Good lord! Who the devil are you?”
“Forgive me for startling you,” said his visitor, rising slowly to his full, imposing height. “My name is Burleigh-Earl of Sutherland. I think we share a common interest.”
“Oh?” said Charles warily. He made no move to come nearer. “And what might that be?”
“Antiquities.”
“Oh, that!” sniffed Charles dismissively.
“Yes, that,” affirmed his dark visitor. “Why, what did you think I was going to say?”
“I don’t know-bear baiting, dog fighting, I suppose. Gambling, what have you.”
“Nothing quite so exciting.” Burleigh turned and poured out two glasses of port from the crystal decanter on the table. “Come,” said Burleigh, and held out one to the young man. “Sit with me a little. Let us talk about artefacts. Ancient artefacts.”
“I think you have the wrong fellow,” protested Charles. He moved to accept the proffered glass. “I know nothing whatsoever of antiques.” He flopped into the chair. “Not my line at all, don’t you see.”
“But it is mine,” said Burleigh, seating himself once more. “I am a dealer in such things.”
“Bully.” Charles raised his glass. “Yum sen!”
Burleigh drank and then set aside his glass. “I will not impose on you any more than necessary, but as a courtesy I will insist that you attend me in a matter of some importance.” With this, Burleigh reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a black velvet wallet, which he unrolled to reveal the lapis scarab, the Sumerian votive figure, and the carnelian cameo of Augustus. He lined them up on the table beside him.
Charles glanced at the objects and feigned indifference. “Charming,” he said. “But I feel it only fair to warn you that if you mean to sell me these baubles, it is a rum go from the start.” He took another sip. “Don’t have any dosh, you see. Fresh out. Skint as a lizard.”
Burleigh regarded the young man with intent: his manner was not what he had expected; clearly, the fellow was playing at something. “You are disingenuous,” observed the earl. “Could it be that you still cling to the mistaken belief that I have not guessed the provenance of these items?”
The erstwhile scholar put back his head and offered a tepid laugh. “Provenance, sir? Why, how you talk. I’ve never seen the trinkets in my life.”
“We both know that is a lie,” Burleigh countered, keeping his voice level, his temper cool.
“How dare you!” Charles began, but the objection lacked force. “I will have you know-”
“Spare me, please,” interrupted the earl. “I have been dealing with antiquities of this sort longer than you have been alive, and I know whereof I speak.” Burleigh picked up the votive figure of the snake goddess and held it to the light. “These are genuine. What is more, they are in almost perfect condition-untouched by the ravages of time or the grave. In short, they were not dug out of the deserts of Egypt or Babylon, nor recovered from any tomb.” He fixed the young man with a stern gaze. “I will ask you in plain language-how did you come by them?”
Charles threw back his drink, then poured himself another. He slouched further into his chair and with a forced nonchalance said, “That is none of your business.”
“I have just told you that it is very much my business.” Burleigh’s voice, though calm, took on a steely note. “Why do you persist in this feeble attempt at dissembling? It is a waste of time.”
The young man glared at his visitor, but remained silent.
“Let us begin again.” Burleigh replaced the figurine and picked up the scarab. “I am happy to pay a fair price for this piece-and for the others as well. More than you would have made at auction.”
At this Charles perked up. “How much more?”
Burleigh gave him a sour smile. “Enough to give me the right to come here tonight with an offer-and a very handsome offer, I might add.”
“Well then?”
“I am prepared to buy all the pieces in your collection, singly or in a job lot-subject to examination, of course-at fair market value plus fifteen percent. No, let us make it twenty percent. An auction house would take at least that much in commission. You might as well have the benefit instead.”
“Twenty percent above market value?” repeated Charles. “And who, might I ask, determines market value? You, I suppose?”
“Anyone you like,” Burleigh answered. “But if you want my opinion, Catchmole at Sotheby’s will not steer you far wrong. I trust him.”
The profligate young man frowned as he mulled over the offer.
“There are conditions,” Burleigh continued after a moment. “You will tell me how you came by these objects-and any others I acquire through our arrangement. Further, you will agree never to sell any such artefacts to anyone else.”
