Cass raised her eyebrows.
“Oh, it would never have worked out,” Tess continued quickly. “We had just come off a particularly harrowing journey together- exploring one of the leys on Cosimo’s piece of the map. We had grown very close-extreme danger can do that to you, so take that as a word to the wise.” Her voice quavered slightly, taking on a wistful note. “Dear Cosimo and I had made all these grand plans, and then…”
The silence stretched. “What happened?” asked Cass at last.
“We came back!” Tess laughed, recovering her former good mood. “That is also much the way of things. Once we had returned, we realised it was all a bit fervid and overwrought-passion of the moment, shipboard romance, or what have you. It was simply not to be.”
“Oh, I am sorry,” Cass sympathised. “I’ve never been in love like that, but I can imagine.”
“We were very fond of one another, still are. But I had my life and he had his, and that was that. Marriage would have made us both miserable in the end. Besides, it would probably have meant that I would have had to give up questing-which in those days it did, anywayand I was not about to do that.”
“But you did give it up, eventually,” considered Cass. “Do you miss it?”
“Sometimes,” sighed Tess. “But one gets so old, don’t you know.” She gave Cass a sad smile. “I have my memories, and I still travel a bit-like coming to these society functions. But it is for younger folk to shoulder the burdens now. Still, while there is life and breath, I can help. And that is what I mean to do through you.” She reached for Cass’ hand. “I want you to know that I pledge every resource at my command to aid you in the quest. Whatever you need-money, advice, a soft place to land, the expertise gathered from a lifetime of questing-it is yours. Do not hesitate to ask.”
“Thank you, Tess. That is the best offer I’ve had in a very long time.” Cass turned it over in her mind for a moment. “You said Cosimo had a piece of the map,” she continued. “You’ve seen it?”
Tess nodded slowly. “Seen it, yes, and held it in my hands-a hundred times if once.”
“Brendan also told me Cosimo’s piece of the map has gone missing.”
“Has it now? That is interesting. I had not heard about that.” She pursed her wrinkled lips. “I wonder if that is why Cosimo isn’t here-he’s out searching for his bit of the Skin Map.”
“Not exactly,” countered Cass gently. “It seems Cosimo has disappeared too.”
“No!” The old woman gasped. “Disappeared, you say?”
“That’s what I’ve been given to understand,” Cass confirmed. “A man named Sir Henry is thought to be with him-and also someone called Kit, his great-grandson, I think.”
Tess made a sour face. “Oh, I don’t like that. No, I don’t like that at all-not one little bit. Something will have to be done.” She leaned forward and took hold of Cass’ arm. “Finding them is a matter of highest priority.” The old woman leaned close. “I see it now. This is why you are here!”
“Pardon?” said Cass. “I don’t follow.”
“Dear heart, you are here for such a time as this. Someone is needed to find Cosimo and Kit, and someone has been provided.”
“Me?”
Tess gave her a solemn nod and released Cass’s arm. “There is no such thing as coincidence. All that happens to us happens for a reason.”
“I’m happy to help, but I must tell you I don’t know very much about Cosimo-or anything else, come to that.”
“That is easily remedied,” declared Tess. “Cosimo doesn’t have a permanent home, but he keeps a flat in London-a little bolt-hole where he has a bed and change of clothes and what not. He spends a lot of time with Sir Henry Fayth at Clarimond House. I would try there first. Brendan can give you the coordinates.” She stood abruptly. “Where’s Brendan got to? Ah, there he is!” Tess declared, striding briskly across the courtyard. “Come along, there is no time to lose.”
Which is how Cassandra Clarke, the newest member of the Zetetic Society, found herself in the hills north of Damascus, walking along a path between two stones, taking her first steps to find Cosimo Livingstone.
CHAPTER 33
The French doors of Charles Flinders-Petrie’s study were open to the garden, and the drapes pulled back to allow the fresh air into a room that had been sealed all winter whilst its occupant was away on his foreign travels. Those journeys completed, Charles had returned to a London in the midst of a glorious spring, and he revelled in the balmy day. Outside he could hear a steady snip, snip, snip as Cumberbatch-his caretaker, gardener, and menial-trimmed the box hedge with his long-bladed shears.
The easy rhythm seemed to give shape to his thoughts as he pored over his ledger. The household had functioned reasonably well in his absence, but there were gaps and oversights to be reconciled and rectified. Had he known he would be so long away, he might have made better arrangements. Still, his plans had come right in the end, and the trifling matter of the accounts was nothing that could not be put right with a visit to the bank and a few letters of apology.
All things considered, he was more than satisfied with the result of his latest, and most demanding, labours. He was ready now, to rest and let nature take its course.
There was a stirring of the drapery, but Charles, fully engrossed in his work, thought nothing of it until he heard a brushing step and the creak of wood on the threshold. Glancing up from his reading, he saw a long, thin shadow on the Persian rug, and raised his eyes as the intruder stepped into the room.
“Douglas!” he gasped. “Good heavens, son, you gave me a start.”
“Sorry, Father,” replied the young man. “It was not my intention to startle you.”
“I daresay.” Charles closed his book and stood. “What are you doing creeping around the garden anyway? Why are you here during term?”
“I’m done with Oxford, Father,” said Douglas. He crossed to the leather wingback chair across from the desk and slouched into it. “Or perhaps, Oxford is done with me.”
“Oh, Douglas.” Charles returned to his chair behind the desk. “Do not tell me you have been sent down!”
The young man made a sour face. “I have not been sent down. I have left the place.”
“We have had this discussion before. You must finish your studies.”
“Must I, Father?” he sneered. “Why must I? You never did.”
“Now, see here!”
“No! You see here.” Douglas leapt to his feet and began pacing in front of the desk. “I have been taking orders from you all my life, and I am heartily sick of it. I’m not going back there. I don’t care what anybody says.”
“Lower your voice, Douglas.”
“All those petty potentates swaggering about their tiny fiefdomsnothing but stuffed shirts, gasbags, and idiots, the lot of them.”
“That’s unfair-”
“It is a bloody waste of time.”
“Mind your language in this house!” Charles regarded his wayward son, struggling to keep his temper in check. “What have you done this time, boy?”
“Don’t patronise me!” Douglas stalked in front of the desk, restless, bristling with anger. “I won’t have it.”
“You cannot expect to live here as a guest. You must have work. What do you intend to do?”
“I am taking up the quest,” he replied haughtily. “After all, it is the Flinders-Petrie stock in trade.”
“Oh, Douglas,” his father sighed. “We’ve been over this before. We agreed that you would wait until you finished your studies. If you abandon them now, you will be in no way prepared to meet the challenges you will face.”
“I am ready now.”
Charles studied him for a long moment. “You know that is impossible.”
“Why? Because you say it is?”
“Do we have to go into this all again?” Charles said. “You know how I feel.”
The slender young man stood with his hands at his sides, tight as a coiled spring. “I have come for the map.”
“No. It is out of the question.”