Against the Tide (21 page)

On the morning of her interview, Lydia walked with Bane to the end of a pier that stretched out into the harbor. Gulls cried and swooped around them, the waves slapped against the huge pilings, and their feet clopped over the aged planking as Bane talked. How natural it seemed to be walking alongside him as he spoke about how to navigate the tricky politics within the Professor’s household.

“Don’t let on that you speak any other language besides Greek,” he said. “One never knows when such a skill might prove useful.”

She nodded. “I understand.”

“The housekeeper, Maria Rokotov, is fanatically loyal to the Professor,” he told her. “She is a grim, joyless woman with black hair and piercing eyes that miss nothing. Her son, Boris, is one of the Professor’s guards. Then there is Lettie Garfield, the cook. Mrs. Garfield is a grandmotherly type who is basically a decent woman, but she is frightened of the Professor. That fear means she will not hesitate to betray you if necessary.”

They reached the end of the pier, and Lydia rested her forearms along the railing as she gazed out across the bay. The harbor was filled with ships coming and going. Her gaze shifted off into the distance, where she could make out half a dozen ships about to disappear into the haze of mist shrouding the horizon.

Bane stood behind her, bracing his hands against the railing on either side of her. “I can’t tell you anything about the other servants inside the house, as they are new since I left.” His breath was soft against her ear, and she wished she could prolong this minute to last an hour, a day, an entire week. How fleeting her time with Bane was, and if she could not figure out a way to outwit the Professor, they would never have more than these few stolen moments.

The boom of a foghorn sounded and she watched a trawler disappear into the mists on the horizon. She felt inexplicably sad. Alone. She was about to embark on the most dangerous challenge of her life, but all she wanted was reassurance from Bane that he cared for her. With a flick of her wrist she moved her right hand to cover his. “Tell me something nice,” she murmured, tracing a pattern on the back of his hand.

She could feel him smiling against the side of her face. “I think you are the bravest woman I have ever known,” he said.

If Bane could feel the anxiety clenching her stomach, he would not call her brave. “Not good enough. Tell me something nice about me as a woman.”

His lips touched the side of her face, so softly she could barely feel it. “All my life I have been alone. Until I met you—a woman who wants to conquer dragons as badly as I. Now you are the most precious person in the world to me. Lydia, you take my breath away.”

Some women might crave compliments on their beauty or kindness, but Bane knew her too well and cut right to the very heart of what she desperately wanted to hear. His words were simple and honest, and she closed her eyes to savor them, knowing they might be the last words of affection she ever heard from Bane.

She reached a hand behind her to cup his jaw as they both looked out into the harbor. “You know I love you, don’t you?”

He moved to tighten his arm around her waist. “I know.”

And yet tonight she would go home alone, and unless some miracle occurred, she and Bane could never be more than two ships that crossed paths in the night.

23

T
o Lydia, there was nothing intimidating about Professor Van Bracken’s appearance. His posture was ramrod straight and there was a smattering of dark strands amidst his neatly groomed silver hair. A fastidious vandyke beard gave him a dignified air, and tiny lines fanned out from the corners of his eyes when he smiled at Lydia as he guided her into the reading room of Boston’s famed Athenaeum. One of the oldest private libraries in the country, it was also the grandest, with vaulted arches, hand-carved ceilings, and huge windows overlooking Beacon Street. The Professor was a member of the private club, which was the only reason Lydia had been permitted inside the hallowed walls. It was still early in the afternoon, so they had the reading room to themselves.

“Thank you for giving me the opportunity to speak with you about your manuscript,” she said, proud there was no tremor in her voice as she lowered herself into a chair. Could she really convince this man she was an accomplished scholar of ancient Greek languages?

The Professor’s manner was polite but formal. “You have an appreciation of old manuscripts?”

“Oh yes,” Lydia said. “I grew up surrounded by them because my father worked for an antique map dealer in Greece. We always had stacks of old maps in our house. In fact . . .” She brought forth the rolled-up engraving Bane had provided for her. “I thought someone with an interest in Greece might appreciate this etching. It is one of many my father gave to me, but it seems a shame for me to hoard them all. I’d much rather give it to someone who can appreciate it.”

Lydia feared the gift would be too forward, but Bane had been right in predicting the Professor’s reaction. He looked as delighted as a child on Christmas morning as he unrolled the etching. He clasped his hands tightly, making his knuckles crack and pop as he studied the map. “I believe this may be the most thoughtful gesture any business acquaintance has ever offered to me,” he said as his dark eyes devoured the document. He appeared fascinated as she recounted Bane’s story of how her father had rescued the map from a flood.

“Your father is to be commended,” the Professor said. “Any man who would sacrifice his own home to a flood in order to salvage these precious documents from his shop is an extraordinary man. A true hero. Please extend my best wishes to him.”

Lydia glanced down. “I’m afraid my father passed away a number of years ago. But yes, I was fortunate that he shared his passion for the rare and wonderful world of old manuscripts with me.” She smiled a bit as she let her gaze travel over the hand-tooled leather books that graced the shelves. “It is a balm for my soul to come into a room like this.”

“Yes, indeed.” The Professor’s demeanor had warmed from polite formality into a more genial camaraderie. It was
exactly
as
Bane had predicted. “I understand you have no formal training in ancient Greek, which is understandable given your gender. It is truly a shame an admirable young lady is closed off from such a worthy pursuit. So, how did you acquire your knowledge of ancient Greek?”

Nerves coiled tighter inside her as she braced herself for the most difficult challenge of the interview. “Self-study, for the most part.” She tried not to wince when the Professor’s eyes widened in astonishment. Lydia rushed to reassure him. “Greek is my native language, so it was not quite the challenge it would be for others.” She rattled off a few of the phrases she memorized from the book she had been studying. “By memorizing the transliteration tables and mastering the changes in the diacritical markings, one can gain an understanding of the language.” She was immensely oversimplifying things, but the Professor did not seem to realize that, so she kept talking. “From there it merely takes practice. Hours and hours of practice that were always my favorite part of the day. Most of the other children in our village wanted to play games or go swimming in the ocean, but to me, nothing compared to delving into the pages of an old book. And in Greece there were plenty of opportunities to stumble across old literature.”

She laughed a bit and remembered the example Bane had told her to use. It went against her nature to roll out a stream of lies, but there were two innocent boys who needed her help, so she tamped the misgivings down. “In truth, I did not mind that none of the other children wanted to study with me,” Lydia said. “Somehow, it just didn’t seem right for noisy children to be running in, dirty and grubby from the ocean, and putting their hands all over those wonderful pages. My books did not deserve that sort of treatment.”

The Professor’s eyes glowed. “Exactly! Oh, my dear, I believe I would feel safe trusting you with my manuscript. That codex dates to the ninth century. Can you imagine? For over a thousand
years it has been locked away in a monastery vault with no one to read it, no one to admire its beauty and marvel at the hands that immortalized the wisdom of the ages.” The Professor rolled her map up and slid it back into the canister. When he looked up, his face was flushed with excitement. “I would like to offer you the position to translate my manuscript.”

A combination of relief and fear warred within Lydia. She had pulled it off, gained entry into the Professor’s remote, guarded fortress, and was going to give a breath of hope to two kidnapped children. The prospect of what she was about to do terrified her, but Bane was going to be so proud when she told him of her success. She braved a smile and nodded her assent.

“We shall leave for Vermont immediately,” the Professor said, rising to his feet and fastening the buttons on his jacket. “The afternoon train leaves at two o’clock, so we must hurry.”

Lydia’s jaw dropped in disbelief. “But . . . but I need to return to my room and collect my things.”

“No time. If we do not catch this afternoon’s train, we must wait until next Monday, and that is not acceptable. Not when that manuscript has already been waiting for over a thousand years.” He paused long enough to pat her on the arm. “Not to worry. We have plenty of ladies’ shops in Burlington where you can select some ready-made clothing. I will gladly pay the fee, as I am the cause of your inconvenience. You may select an entirely new wardrobe. Whatever you need.”

What Lydia needed more than anything was the translation book sitting on her bedside table. Without that book, Lydia could not translate so much as a single line of text. And she knew with certainty that none of the shops in Burlington would have anything to help decode Byzantine Greek script.

She grappled about in her mind for an excuse to return to the
boardinghouse and retrieve the book. “I have a condition that requires medication,” she said. “I can catch the train next Monday and join you, but I cannot leave without my medicine.”

The professor wrapped a firm hand around her upper arm and began propelling her toward the door. “We have pharmacists in Burlington as well. We will be there by nightfall, and I will make sure you have everything necessary to begin your work.”

The Professor was forceful, but Lydia would not let him pull her. She dug a foot into the thick oriental carpet covering the floor, locked her muscles, and refused to budge.

The Professor stopped and turned to face her. “Lydia . . . may I call you Lydia, since we are going to be working together?”

More afraid than she had been at any time since setting foot in the building, she didn’t trust herself to speak and merely nodded.

“Lydia, that Greek manuscript has been neglected for over a thousand years. Those priceless lines of text are waiting to be unlocked, their secrets shown to the world for the first time in over a millennium. Don’t you think it has waited long enough to show its secrets to the world?”

She raised her chin a notch. “I should think one more weekend would not make much of a difference to a thousand-year-old document.”

A thin smile curved his mouth. “Perhaps not to the document. But I am afraid
I
am unable to endure the strain of waiting another day.” He wrapped his hand around her arm, and this time it was like an iron band. “Come along, my dear. We have a train to catch.”

Lydia kept her gaze locked on the landscape flying past her as the train carried her north. For hours they had been passing endless miles of dense forest, the trunks of the trees looking black against
the snow on the ground. The Professor, seated just a few inches away from her on the bench, was oblivious to her distress as he read a book of essays by Voltaire. From the moment they boarded the train, he had been entirely engrossed in his book, leaving Lydia free to grasp the true extent of her danger.

The absence of her ancient Greek translation book was only part of her problem. Just as bad was the fact she had not worked out a plan to communicate with Bane. They had not yet devised a technique for passing messages to each other. She was going to be stranded with a madman in the middle of nowhere, with no communication to the outside world and no resources at her disposal. And tomorrow morning, the madman was going to present her with a manuscript she had no hope of translating.

Her anxiety caused a headache to pound against her forehead. The jostling of the train ratcheted up her apprehension as she felt herself slipping farther away from Bane with each passing mile. She wished she had her little blue bottle. She knew it was irrational to be obsessed with such a thing at this point, but tension gripped her spine and the ache was becoming painful. There was only one thing that could soothe it.

The moon was high before the train pulled into the Burlington station. The Professor held his hand up to help her descend onto the station deck. It was so much colder in Vermont! The wind pierced her inadequate cloak, which she pulled tighter, hoping to quell the trembling in her hands.

The Professor waved to a man in a nearby carriage. “Simpson! We’ve arrived,” he called out to the waiting man. As the Professor guided her into the carriage, he spoke to the driver. “Take us to the Carlyle Pharmacy,” he said. As he pulled the door closed in the carriage, the Professor smiled at her. “I am true to my word, Lydia. Carlyle lives above his shop, and I am certain he would be willing
to mix together whatever medication you have need of. Now, tell me what I can have him prepare for you?”

After her fierce insistence this afternoon of her reliance on a drug, she had to give him an answer. She would rather wean herself free of her reliance on the syrup, but the Professor was waiting for an answer.

“Just a bottle of Mrs. Winslow’s.”

The professor smiled. “If all your requests are so easy, I’m sure we will get along smashingly,” he said. When they arrived at the pharmacy, the windows were dark, but the Professor pounded on the door until a sleepy Mr. Carlyle made an appearance. Within a few minutes, Lydia had what she needed, and the Professor assured her he would send a servant to bring a selection of ready-made clothing to the estate on the following day.

“It will take us another two hours by carriage to arrive at my home,” the Professor said as she settled back into the richly upholstered seat cushion. Then he did something that set her even further on edge. He pulled all the shades down, cutting off her starlit view of the world. “I hope you don’t mind, but I prefer traveling with the windows covered.”