Mistress - Amanda Quick [144]
“It will not come to that.” Emeline patted the towel-wrapped vase she held. “We will be able to sell these antiquities when we return to England. Collecting old vases and statues is all the rage, you know. With the money we receive for these items we shall be able to rent a house.”
“Not for long. We will be fortunate to make enough from the sale of these objects to support ourselves for six months. When the last of them is gone, we will be in desperate straits.”
“You will think of something, Lavinia. You always do. Just look at how well we managed when we found ourselves stranded here in Rome after our employer ran off with that handsome count. Your notion of going into the antiquities business was nothing short of brilliant.”
Lavinia managed, by dint of sheer willpower, not to scream in frustration. Emeline’s boundless faith in her ability to recover from every disaster was quite maddening.
“Give me a hand with this Apollo, please,” she said.
Emeline glanced doubtfully at the large nude statue Lavinia was attempting to haul across the room. “It will take up most of the space in the last trunk. Perhaps we ought to leave it behind and pack some of the vases instead.”
“This Apollo is worth several dozen vases.” Lavinia stopped halfway across the room, breathing hard from the exertion, and changed her grip on the figure. “He’s the most valuable antiquity we’ve got. We must take him with us.”
“If we put him in the trunk, we won’t have room for your books,” Emeline said gently.
A sick sensation twisted Lavinia’s insides. She stopped abruptly and looked at the shelf filled with the books of poetry she had brought with her from England. The thought of leaving them behind was almost too much to bear.
“I can replace them.” She took a tighter hold on the statue. “Eventually.”
Emeline hesitated, searching Lavinia’s face. “Are you certain? I know how much they mean to you.”
“Apollo is more important.”
“Very well.” Emeline stooped to grasp Apollo’s lower limbs.
Booted footsteps rang on the staircase. Tobias March appeared in the doorway. He glanced at the trunks and then he looked at Lavinia and Emeline.
“You must leave now,” he said. “I cannot risk allowing you to remain here even another ten minutes.”
Lavinia longed to hurl one of the vases at his head. “I am not leaving Apollo behind. He may be all that stands between us and life in a brothel when we return to London.”
Emeline made a face. “Really Lavinia, you mustn’t exaggerate so.”
“It’s nothing short of the truth,” Lavinia snapped.
“Give me the bloody statue.” Tobias came toward them. He hoisted the sculpture in his arms. “Ill put it into the trunk for you.”
Emeline smiled warmly. “Thank you. It is rather heavy.”
Lavinia gave a snort of disgust. “Don’t thank him, Emeline. He is the cause of all our troubles tonight.”
“Always delighted to be of service,” Tobias said. He wedged the statue into the trunk. “Anything else?”
“Yes,” Lavinia said instantly. “That urn near the door. It is an exceptionally good piece.”
“It will not fit into the trunk.” Tobias gripped the lid and looked at her. “You must choose between the Apollo and the urn. You cannot take both with you.”
She narrowed her eyes, suddenly suspicious. “You intend to take it for yourself, do you not? You plan to steal my urn.”
“I assure you, Mrs. Lake, I have no interest in that damn urn. Do you want it or the Apollo? Choose. Now.”
“The Apollo,” she muttered.
Emeline hurried forward to stuff a nightgown and some shoes in around the Apollo. “I believe we’re ready, Mr. March.”
“Yes, indeed.” Lavinia gave him a steely smile. “Quite ready. I can only hope that one of these days I shall have an opportunity to repay you for this night’s work, Mr. March.”
He slammed the lid of the trunk. “Is that a threat, Mrs. Lake?”
“Take it as you will, sir.” She seized her reticule in one hand and her traveling cloak in the other. “Come, Emeline, let us be off before Mr. March decides to burn the place down around our