The Murders of Richard III - Elizabeth Peters [15]
“The silly season,” Jacqueline said. “You must admit you make good copy. Many of you are famous in your own fields.”
“And some of us simply adore being good copy,” said Liz. Her eyes moved from Lady Isobel, who pretended not to notice, to Philip, who laughed aloud.
“I’ve no objection to being photographed,” he said, striking a pose.
“Well, the rest of us do object,” said Mrs. Ponsonby-Jones vigorously. “I cannot imagine why people are so ill-bred!”
“Piltdown man,” said Jacqueline unexpectedly. They all stared at her; most of them looked blank, but a few got the point. The vicar chuckled, and Philip’s mouth widened in a cynical smile.
“The disclosure of the Piltdown hoax made headlines,” Jacqueline went on. “People love to see the experts deflated. You have publicized your find extensively. If, after the publicity, it should turn out to be another hoax…”
“Impossible,” cried Lady Isobel.
“I only wish we could be certain.”
It was the rector who spoke. Ruffled white hair framed his rosy face like a halo, but the cherubic features were worried.
“But you were the one who found the letter,” Weldon said.
“I did not find it,” said Mr. Ellis irritably. Thomas sensed that he had tried to make this point before, without convincing his fanatical audience of its importance. “It was sent to me anonymously, and if that is not significant….” He glanced at Jacqueline, who was watching him steadily, and smiled. “Yes. Mrs. Kirby sees my point, if the rest of you do not. Now, Mrs. Kirby, I have stated the fact somewhat baldly. The letter enclosed with the manuscript gives adequate reasons for the sender’s wishing to remain unknown at present. It also provides a plausible history for the manuscript, which was last seen by Buck, in the seventeenth century. We are not so naive as we appear; all of us are familiar with manuscripts and letters of this period, and there are no egregious errors in this letter which would suggest forgery. All the same…”
“Yes,” Jacqueline said. “All the same…frankly, Mr. Ellis, I wouldn’t touch it with a ten-foot pole. What prompted you to go ahead with this unnecessary publicity?”
“I deplore it!” Ellis looked like a vexed baby. “I have always argued against that aspect. After I had shown Sir Richard the letter, we agreed that the executive committee should examine it. Sir Richard very kindly suggested a weekend here, so that we could discuss the problem at leisure. I don’t understand quite how these arrangements evolved….”
“All sorts of strange things evolve when this committee meets,” said Kent sarcastically. “However, Ellis, you are too timid. What do we risk? There can be no question of legal fraud, since our anonymous donor has not asked for money; he is willing to wait until the manuscript has been officially authenticated before he is paid, and even then he throws himself on our generosity. How can we object to that?”
“But the embarrassment…”
“Bah,” said Kent. He was the only man Thomas had ever met who actually said “bah,” and he said it with emphasis. “There will be controversy in any case. Have you ever known two experts who can agree on a technical point? Every important scientific or cultural discovery has been greeted with mingled cheers and hisses. The Piltdown skull was accepted by experts for years; the authentic cave paintings of Altamira were considered fakes by most of the historians of the day. If our letter is a forgery, it’s a damned good one. Some experts will accept it and some will reject it, and the same thing will happen if it is genuine. I’m not keen on the publicity either, but it can’t do any harm—unless we manage to make asses of ourselves in some other way.”
Silence followed this pronouncement, which was, Thomas had to admit, a perfectly reasonable summary of the situation. Kent was no fool, for all his outspoken belligerence and his deplorable tendency to punch reporters in the nose.
Jacqueline looked at Weldon.