The Curiosity Keeper (34 page)

She pinned him with her stare and spoke slowly. “As I told you before, I know nothing of the Bevoy, and I certainly know nothing of its whereabouts. But if I did, I certainly would not share such information with you.”

“Come now, Camille. Is that any way to speak to our guest?”

The words were spoken by a woman.

A coldness draped over Camille like a veil of ice and snow. She knew the voice. Despite the years that had passed, none could be more familiar.

She turned slowly, as if it were a ghost standing behind her instead of a person of flesh and blood.

“Mama,” she gasped, her voice barely above a whisper.

Camille had wondered a million times what it would be like to have her mother home, but she had never imagined it like this. For this felt wrong. Very wrong.

The woman standing before her was very much like the woman Camille remembered. Time’s paintbrush had barely touched her beauty. Her hair still shone ebony, without a trace of gray. Her skin was a darker shade of tawny, and her dark eyes flashed in the shadows, focused steadily on her daughter.

The child in Camille wanted to throw herself into her mother’s
arms. She wanted to fling her arms around her neck and believe that everything that had happened was somehow a mistake. But something held her back from moving. For the expression that met her gaze was not the expression she remembered.

Hardness lined her mother’s face. She did not smile or move to embrace Camille. She stepped forward, her arms folded in front of her, one long forefinger tapping the fabric of the opposite sleeve. She lifted her chin and looked down her nose at Camille. No warmth lit her eyes.

Camille pressed her lips together as her mother circled her with slow, deliberate steps. When she was finished with her assessment, she stopped in front of Camille.

“All this black you wear. You look to be in mourning.”

Camille’s chin began to tremble, but she did not respond to the odd statement. She was acutely aware of all the eyes on her. Papa’s. Mama’s. Mr. Darbin’s. She had to be prudent.

Her mother stepped even closer. Her scent of mint and lavender triggered familiar memories, but now it seemed to reach fingers around Camille’s throat and squeeze. She remained perfectly still as Mama reached out and tilted her chin to the side with a cold finger. “You are a beauty, as your father said you were,” she said in her heavily accented English.

Camille did not blink. “What are you doing here?”

Her mother dropped her hand and adjusted the shawl around her shoulders. “I hear you have been giving your father quite the difficult time.”

Camille straightened her posture as if any bit of added height would give her an advantage. “And that news is what finally brought you back to England?” She made no attempt to contain her sarcasm.

“Quiet, girl,” growled Papa. “You’ll not be taking that tone with her, nor with me.”

Her mother lifted her hand to silence her father. To Camille’s amazement, he backed down.

“No, it isn’t what prompted me to return. Other matters of business incited my journey weeks ago. But what a shame to hear that you have been behaving like such a wild thing, after all the advantages you were given.” Her mother began to circle Camille again with slow steps. The very act made Camille feel like a caged animal.

At length her mother spoke again. “When I left, you were young, Camille, too young to understand the intricacies of family balance. I do not blame you for being angry with me for my absence. I expect it. But I will not accept your insolence. You are still my daughter, and I will have your respect.”

She finished her circle and stopped, her gaze burning into Camille’s. “At present, the importance of our family’s business troubles far outweighs any hurt feelings or anger you might have. If you know anything of the Bevoy, I expect you to speak now and quickly. Now is not the time for selfishness. And there is no time to waste. Your father and I have toiled far too long on this project to see it crumble at this stage, long before you were given the box. So tell me. Where is the stone?”

Camille practically heard the click in her mind as all the pieces of the puzzle finally shifted into place. Her father’s little gifts to her mother had not been a ploy to get her back, as Camille had thought all these years. He must have been sending her valuable English items—perhaps stolen ones—to sell somewhere on the continent.

How could she not have seen it? It made perfect sense.
Her father dealt in imports. Why not exports as well—even smuggled, illegal ones? And how much better if his agent in a foreign country was a woman well acquainted with the culture and landscape?

The full implication of this realization took a little longer to sink in, but it hit Camille harder than the first, triggering a sense of lonely bereavement she had not felt in years.

Her mother had left her not out of hard necessity. Not out of tender familial obligation. But for money.

For several moments, no one spoke. Then suddenly, violently, her mother reached out and grabbed Camille’s arm, the fingernails digging through the fabric of her uniform. “Where is it, girl?” The words were forced through gritted teeth.

At the contact, Tevy lunged forward and swished against Camille’s skirt in an act of protection, a snarl curling his lip, but her father jerked him back by the collar.

The sudden motion jolted Camille, and her heart beat wildly in her chest. She fixed her eyes again on her mother.

So this was the truth of her circumstances. Her father, her mother, and the Gilchrists’ hired investigator were all working together—against her.

Camille stood straight, doing her best to show no emotion. She could feel the bulge of the box in her apron pocket. And she felt another click, this one deep in her soul. Stubbornness coursed through her, powered by years of pent-up frustration and pain. She would never hand the Bevoy over willingly, not when she knew its true owner.

Never.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

C
amille winced as the rough rope rubbed against the tender flesh of her wrists and ankles. She adjusted her position against the wall so that most of her weight was on her hip instead of her backside, careful to make sure that the box stayed in her apron pocket and out of sight. Once she was a little more comfortable, she leaned her head against the shop’s rough wall and fixed her eyes on Mama.

She was still struggling to comprehend that her mother was really here in London after all these years. When she was younger she had often imagined what this day would feel like, how it would feel to behold the woman who had left her family with nothing more than the empty promise of a quick return.

But the woman in the room was not the mother she remembered. Her mother had never been overly affectionate, but this woman seemed completely heartless.

Camille spoke up. “These ropes are not necessary.”

Mama looked up from the jar of pocket watches she was sorting. “Your father believes they are.”

“And what of you? Do you believe it necessary to tie your only daughter like an animal?”

Mama set down a watch beside the jar, her dark eyes narrowing on Camille. “I told you I will not have your insolence.”

But Camille would not cower to anyone, especially this
woman who had abandoned her. “You never answered my question. Why did you return?”

Mama returned to the watches as if bored with the topic. “Your father needed help with the business.”

“So it was not to see Papa—or me, for that matter. It was about the business.”

Mama’s voice deepened. “I will not take your judgment.”

“It isn’t judgment.” Camille shook her head. “I cannot pretend to understand why you would stay away all this time. But now, knowing that you can go about your business while I am trussed up on the floor, I can deduce that any motherly affection you once had for me disappeared long ago.”

Mama stepped out from behind the counter. “You brought this on yourself.”

“And how did I do that?”

“The Bevoy, Camille. You know how important it is to our business, and yet you do your best to thwart your father’s plans.”

“The Bevoy does not belong to Father. Did you know that?”

“Are you accusing your father of stealing?”

“No. I just think you do not have all of the facts.”

“Mr. Darbin saw you with the box, Camille. Your father placed it in your hand. So until its whereabouts are determined, we must take every precaution.”

“Binding my hands is a precaution?”

Mama stepped even closer, her lips pressed into a tight line. Her distinctive scent of lavender wafted closer to Camille. “Do not question what you do not understand, child.”

“I am not a child, Mama. I may have been a child when you left, but time has changed everything.”

Mama pointed a finger in Camille’s direction. “I had no
choice but to leave. This world is very unpredictable. I saw what I needed to do to secure my future, and I continue to do that to this day.”

“But you had Papa. And this shop. And me.”

She huffed. “If I had left this shop in the hands of your father, it would have been bankrupt within a month. He is a trader, an adventurer, not a businessman. But you—even when you were very young I saw that you could do it. You could manage the day-to-day business while I took care of our operations in my homeland.”

“I was just a child.”

“You were strong enough—bright enough. I could handle things in my country that neither of you could. And you had a knack for influencing your father.” She gazed down her nose at Camille and gave a barely perceptible sniff. “I tell you, I did what I had to do to keep the family going.”

“If that is the case, then why did you not come home after you succeeded in your efforts? You could have come at least once or twice. And if you thought I could handle the business, why lie to me about why you were in Portugal? You could have explained.”

“It is not that simple.”

“It sounds pretty simple to me.”

Mama gave an exasperated snort. “We did what we did to protect you, Camille. Why can you not understand that? For your own safety, it was best for you to not know the intricacies of our business dealings. Besides, you were a child. It would have been far too easy for you to slip and say the wrong thing to the wrong person.”

Camille had no answer for that, just a sense of weary sadness. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall.

“One day, maybe you will understand.” Mama’s words hung heavy in the air like dust motes. “One day—you will see—the world will be unkind to you. There will be a point when you have to make a decision that you may or may not be content with. Then you will have to live with that decision, as I have done. And you will do what is necessary to thrive.”

Thrive?
Camille thought back over her past life in the shop. The lonely days and the fearful nights. The sense that she was worth no more to her mother than an occasional letter.
Were we thriving?

“I have already had to make such decisions, Mama. And I still don’t understand.”

Her mother didn’t answer, merely turned back to her watches, her face still void of emotion. But whereas her mother could remain void of emotion, Camille could not. Her mother’s apparent lack of affection and her lack of regret over the time they had spent apart ripped at her already aching heart.

With a wrenching effort she attempted to adjust her view, to face reality.

This was not a family, at least not at the moment. And she was not a daughter, but a prisoner. A hostage. A means to an end.

Whatever relationship she and her parents had shared had been badly ruptured, and Camille sensed it might never be repaired.

“So you are still wearing that old watch of your grandfather’s?” Mama nodded toward the brooch, condescension dripping in her voice.

Camille glanced down at the timepiece. “I am.”

Her mother huffed and turned back to her counting. “The old man was a fool. That was far too valuable a gift to give to a child.”

The malice in her mother’s tone struck Camille momentarily speechless, then angered her. “You will notice that despite my young age I managed to take good care of it. Grandfather showed me kindness, and I treasure this keepsake from him.”

“Of course you thought him kind. He showered you with gifts. You were young when he died; you didn’t have time to learn his true character. If you had known him better, you would have known that he was very much like your father. He squandered that whole estate. No mind for business.”

Camille bristled. “And why is a mind for business so very important?”

Mama stared at her as if she had grown a third arm. “How else is one to secure one’s way in the world? Tsk. With a question like that, it is hard to believe that you are my daughter.”

Camille gave up reaching an understanding with her mother. “How long do you intend to keep me here?”

“As long as it takes.”

The ride from Fellsworth to London was a long one. Normally the journey passed quickly on horseback, but today heavy rain blurred Jonathan’s vision and mud slowed his pace.

When he finally reached the city, Jonathan rode as close to Blinkett Street as he dared before renting a stall at a city stable block and paying a boy to tend to Zion. With cautious steps and a watchful eye he wound his way to the unpleasant little corner of London that, like it or not, had become an important location in his life.