My Gentleman Thief

Chapter Five

Chapter FiveGuests generally aren’t allowed in the club,” Lord Pemberton-Howe said as he and Yiannis walked into Boodle’s the following afternoon. “I caught our chairman when he was in a good mood last night. He’d just won a good sum of money at the tables.”

“I’m very grateful, my lord,” Yiannis said, looking around at the long room filled with gentlemen. Some sat at large round tables along the left-hand side of the room; others relaxed on sofas on the right. Nearly everyone had either a glass in their hand or one at their elbow. This was clearly a drinking establishment. A number of card games were going on as well. The deep hum of men’s voices and the scent of well-worn leather and smoke filled the cavernous room.

“Ah! There’s Argyll,” Lord Pemberton-Howe said, before heading off toward a group of men in one of the seating areas in the middle of the room. “Evening gentlemen,” he said as he reached them. “Allow me to introduce to you the son of a good friend of mine, Yiannis Istoriakis. Yiannis, this is the Duke of Argyll, the Marquess of Wynworth, the Marquess of Anson, and the Earl of Chester.”

“Your Grace, my lords,” Yiannis said, bowing to the four men. “It is an honor.”

“Didn’t know they allowed guests,” the Marquess of Wynworth said, lifting an eyeglass to his right eye and examining Yiannis more closely.

“I received special permission,” Lord Pemberton-Howe said as he lowered himself onto a chair closer to the fireplace.

“Did you?” Wynworth asked skeptically.

“Well, obviously he did, otherwise the fellow wouldn’t be in here, would he?” Argyll snapped. He turned to Yiannis, who had seated himself in a chair to Lord Pemberton-Howe’s left. “Old friend of Pemberton-Howe’s?” he asked.

“My father is. Dimitri Istoriakis is his name. He’s—”

“An archaeologist in Greece, isn’t he?” Lord Anson asked.

Yiannis smiled. “Yes, yes, he is.”

Anson nodded. “I’ve heard of him. I read his paper on the muses found on Delos. It was an extension of the work you did, was it not, Pemberton-Howe?”

“Yes. That’s how we know each other. We consulted together on our findings. It was through his provenance that Sophia and I were able to identify a number of the objects we found in our own excavations.”

“So are you here to study, Mr. Istoriakis?” the Duke asked.

“No, Your Grace. My father sent me here to do a survey of the Greek artifacts owned by British private collectors. He’s asked me to create a catalog of sketches and descriptions so that it’s possible to get an idea of what pieces have left the country and where they are now.”

The duke’s eyebrows climbed his forehead as Yiannis explained why he was here. After a moment’s pause, he said, “That’s quite a task.”

“Yes, Your Grace, I am aware. My father expected that it might take me a few years to catalog everything,” Yiannis said. Now that he knew this, he supposed there was no reason not to share the information. It wasn’t a secret, he didn’t think. Although why his own father hadn’t said anything to him… Yiannis shoved aside what was now becoming an all too familiar pain. Maybe if he completed this task quickly and thoroughly, he would see that Yiannis wasn’t such a failure after all.

“Indeed!” the duke nodded.

“Would you be so kind as to allow me to see your pieces, Your Grace?” Yiannis asked.

“Mine? Oh well…” He blinked slowly as he thought about it. “Yes, yes, I suppose you could do that. I don’t have them all here in town, but what I’ve got, you are welcome to come and see and, er, sketch.”

“That’s very good of you, Argyll,” Lord Pemberton-Howe said with a nod.

“And what of you, Lord Anson?” Yiannis asked, hoping that the other gentlemen would follow the duke’s example.

“Me? Oh, my collection, you mean?” Lord Anson asked.

“Yes. Would you allow me to sketch your pieces as well?” Yiannis asked.

“Why yes, of course. In the name of science, isn’t it?” his lordship asked, with a friendly smile.

“Absolutely,” Yiannis agreed.

“Well then, count me in.”

“And me as well,” Lord Chester said.

“Thank you, my lord, that’s most generous of you,” Yiannis said, giving the man a grateful smile.

“Of course, of course!” Lord Chester laughed.

“And what about you, Wynworth?” Lord Pemberton-Howe asked.

“Eh? Oh, er, I’m afraid I can’t help you,” the man answered, shifting his eyes away.

“Why not?” the duke asked point-blank.

“I, er, got rid of my collection. Yes. Yes, I gave it all away. Returned it to Greece with a collector who sells the stuff,” Lord Wynworth said, not making eye contact with any of the men.

Lord Pemberton-Howe raised his brows at that one. It was so obviously a lie.

Yiannis caught Lord Pemberton-Howe’s eyes. The older man gave a little shrug.

“I’m surprised to hear that,” his host said. “You got rid of all of it, did you?”

“Yes. Yes. That’s just what I did,” his lordship said, warming to his story. “You know how it is. Some people say that taking such items from Greece is wrong, so I, er, I returned it.”

“How very generous of you, my lord,” Yiannis said. “But surely, there are many pieces that are perfectly fine to have removed from the country. I believe my father once mentioned that as there were so very many pieces, it certainly didn’t hurt having some of them spread around the globe. It gives people in other countries a chance to appreciate the grand culture of Greece and motivation to study its history.”

“Indeed?” Lord Wynworth asked.

“Yes. Why if it weren’t for archaeologists such as yourself and Lord Pemberton-Howe, we would not have uncovered quite so many ancient sites,” Yiannis said, doing his best to butter up the other man in the hopes that he would change his mind and reveal the truth.

“Oh, I’m not an archaeologist. I just enjoy reading and hearing about what’s happening, you know,” the man demurred.

“Well, even doing that much helps grow the knowledge of Greece and its history,” Yiannis said, giving the man an encouraging smile.

He still looked acutely uncomfortable, however. Perhaps because he had clearly gotten caught in his lie.

“Still, it looks like you’ve got a good start on your task, my boy,” Lord Pemberton-Howe said, much to Lord Wynworth’s obvious relief.

“Yes, indeed.” Yiannis turned to the other men. “I thank you all for your generosity and will make appointments with you at your earliest convenience.”

“Of course,” the duke said. “Now, Pemberton-Howe, you must tell us what mischief your youngest has been getting into recently. I heard she won a race against Harkness the other day.”

Lord Pemberton-Howe gave an embarrassed laugh even as his face paled. “Oh, you know Thalia. She’ll do nearly anything she knows she shouldn’t. Happily, her sister is going to put a stop this.”

“Ha! And how is she going to pull off that miracle?” Lord Chester asked with a laugh.

“Going to have her make her curtsy to society. That should put a crimp in her behavior,” his lordship answered with a little lift of his lips.

“Oh, ho! Now that I’ve got to see!” Lord Anson said.

The men all laughed, but Yiannis could only give a little cringe and feel sorry for poor Thalia to be spoken of in this way. Clearly, these men thought very little of her and her ability to behave properly. He truly hoped she would prove them wrong. On the other hand, Yiannis found her daring rather charming.

There had to be a way out of this. Thalia was certain that there was. She also knew that talking to her sister was not the way. Rose, once she made up her mind, was intractable. There was absolutely no way she could be talked out of it, Thalia knew this for certain.

She had to find another way.

Thalia thought about it all that night after Rose and Fungy had left, and all of the following day, while Yiannis went out with her father to meet some men from the archeological society. She was about to go out and ride off her dark mood when Mrs. Drummert, the housekeeper, came into the drawing room.

“I beg your pardon, Miss Thalia, but I just remembered that your father asked this morning for someone to go up into the attic to find his traveling desk. He says that it’s in one of the trunks he brought back from Greece.”

“Why would he want his traveling desk?” Thalia wondered aloud.

The housekeeper shrugged. “I believe he was thinking of lending it to Mr. Istoriakis to use while he’s here.”

“Ah, yes, that would make sense,” Thalia nodded. “He’ll probably need to bring it with him when he goes to sketch other people’s artifacts.”

“I suppose so, Miss.”

Thalia nodded. “Well then, it sounds like I’m due for a trip to the attic.” She stood and shook out her skirt. At least she wasn’t wearing anything nice. She was bound to get very dirty and dusty up there.

“Thank you, Miss.”

She gave the housekeeper a nod, and then strode purposefully up the steps.

The stairs grew narrower as she climbed from the first floor where the family’s sitting room and bedrooms were, to the second floor where the nursery and the upper servants’ chambers were, to the third floor and the rooms of the scullery maids and lower footmen, and finally up a narrow, almost rickety staircase to the attic.

The room was dark and the air thick with disuse. Thalia realized that she should have brought a candle with her. She hadn’t realized she would need it when it was a bright day outside.

There were two windows covered with tattered curtains. Daylight was doing its best to seep through, but it clearly needed a bit more help. Thalia made her way to the closer window, skirting the furniture scattered helter-skelter throughout the room. When she pulled the curtain open, dust flew, choking her for a moment.

Waving a hand in front of her face to brush away the dust motes, she made her way to the second window and drew that curtain back as well. Finally, she could see.

Of course, there wasn’t much to see. Various bits of furniture, chairs, a table with only two legs, lamps, and disassembled beds took up most of the space. Pushed up against the inside wall, however, Thalia spotted the trunks they had brought with them from Greece.

The first trunk she opened held her own and her sisters' outgrown clothes. The second had clearly been her mother’s trunk. For a moment, Thalia paused to pull out a dress she remembered fondly. It was beige with stripes of white. Her mother had worn it mainly when she had to go down to the digging site. It didn’t show the dust and dirt so much, she used to tell Thalia and her sisters. Thalia remembered looking down at her own dress when she’d been allowed down, noticing that it was always a shade lighter than it had started out due to the pale dust of Greece. Her mother’s dress had done just what she’d intended, and she hardly ever looked dirty—unlike Thalia, who rarely hadn’t.

Thalia now held the dress up to her face. It even smelled like her mother. She closed her eyes for a moment, wallowing in the flood of memories and yet willing the tears not to come. With a quick shake of her head, she folded the dress back up and turned to put it back into the trunk. She hadn’t even noticed the stack of books and papers she’d uncovered when she’d taken it out. Thalia bent to investigate further.

The papers Thalia recognized as the rough drafts of her mother’s sketches of the site. Carefully labeled were all of the pieces they’d found and exactly where in the excavations they’d been found. Each page was a mess of notes, lists, and lines stretching across the paper as her mother tried to detail exactly where everything was before they’d extracted it from the earth. It was fascinating to look at but nearly impossible, without careful study, to figure out what had been where.

The book Thalia found was easier, even if she did feel a little guilty reading it. It was her mother’s diary and notes. Her precise, tight handwriting covered every page, and sometimes there were even notes going up the side of the page when later ideas had been added. Her thoughts and feelings were mixed with academic notes, theories of what various pieces they’d uncovered were, and ideas as to how they fit together and were related to one another.

The sketch of a woman’s head caught Thalia’s interest as she flipped through the pages. Written carefully beneath it was “Thalia? Calliope? Melpomene?”

Thalia.

She looked at the face. It was soft and gentle. Its eyes stared out at her from the page with understanding and wisdom.

In even smaller writing lower down on the page, her mother had made a note, “Thalia. The muse of comedy and poetry. With all the twists and turns of the baby inside of me, if it is a girl, there is no question she must be called Thalia. Would also complete our three graces.”

Thalia’s legs gave out from underneath her.

She hadn’t even looked at the date of the entry she’d been reading. Clearly, it had been just a few months before she’d been born. So that was how her mother had decided on her name—because she’d found a statue of the muse. Well, she supposed she should be grateful it wasn’t that of Melpomene. Thalia didn’t think she’d like to have that name.

She gave a little laugh. And I seem to have been as active inside the womb as I had been outside of it. Well, mother had always laughed and said that I’d been a busy one. Of course, Thalia hadn’t realized that she’d meant from even before she was born.

But was the statue her mother had found truly that of Thalia? How could she tell just from the head?

She started to read through her mother’s notes, but it was clear that she hadn’t come to a definitive answer.

Thalia knew at once what she had to do. It was perfect. Her father couldn’t possibly argue with it. And Rose, too, wouldn’t be able to find fault.

Thalia had to become an archaeologist. She had to finish her mother’s work and figure out just whose head it was that she’d found. There were probably other pieces mentioned in her mother’s notes that had to be identified as well. There was probably still a great deal of unfinished work to be done!

Thalia couldn’t enter society! She had to solve this mystery and do this research.