He used his hands to gesture, making the ice in his glass clink against the sides. “Have you found anything interesting in the Al-Mas’udi translations?”
I started to follow him, but hesitated at his question. “How did you know?”
He turned to face me, salt and pepper brows lifted. “I’m aware of all my faculty’s research. Wasn’t that the case at Harvard?”
“No.” My dean had no idea what I borrowed from the library unless I told her. “I don’t think so.” I didn’t like this. My research was mine.
Dr. Merton frowned, then blinked. He knew my history, and in that moment, I read the awareness on his face.” I don’t keep tabs, nor do I steal my colleagues’ research.” He bent his head toward me. “I’m aware of why this may set off warning bells, but trust me, I don’t run my department like the one you came from.”
I let out a breath. “I apologize.” It was difficult to keep my past from influencing how I interpreted others’ intentions.
He smiled. “Accepted, of course. Now, I want you to meet some individuals who came tonight hoping you would be here.”
Right away, I tensed.Benefactors.In my head, I switched that out with the word, “individuals.” This—selling my research—I could do it. But I didn’t like it. Private donations, and sponsorship, were a part of academic life I hadn’t known existed when I first started. But it was how I was able to go to Turkey more than once, following my initial discovery.
As long as the conversation stayed vaguely related to my interest—we were all good. If it veered into the personal, Dr. Merton would be disappointed.
He led me through the crowd. A few feet away, Dr. St. John stood with an older couple. He smiled brightly when he saw me. “There she is! The ingenue!”
Ass.He smiled, as if I’d spoken the word aloud.
“Dr. Ophidia, it’s my pleasure to introduce you to Lord and Lady Elliot.” Dr. St. John gestured toward the couple. “My lord and lady, Dr. Ophidia.”
Well, shit. Did I curtsey? I wasn’t prepared. There was nothing on my index card for this.
I was spared further embarrassment when Lord Elliot held out his hand. “Nice to meet you.” He held my hand loosely, then got right down to it. “Dr. Merton and Dr. St. John have been telling us you believe there may be another shard of pottery here in England?”
“It’s all so interesting. It reminds me of Indiana Jones.” Lady Elliot spoke with an American accent, and at once, I let out a breath. Their title had thrown me, but her accent brought down my nervousness to workable levels. Lady Elliot might be titled now, but clearly she hadn’t started out that way.
“Yes,” I answered. I had to remind myself before I went on that I had shared this part of my research with my class. Still, maybe it was conversing with lords and ladies, or maybe it was the whole situation, but my stomach clenched. “I have some suspicion.”
“Fascinating,” she replied. “Do you know where exactly?”
“If she knew where, she’d probably have found it already!” Lord Elliot let out a bellow, but his wife didn’t seem to take offense.
She rolled her eyes. “That came out wrong.”
I immediately warmed to her with that, sympathizing with someone else who struggled to make their thoughts and feelings clear.
Rather than focus on my awkwardness, I decided to pretend that these were merely students who had questions for me after class, and approach the whole thing with the same allowances I’d make for them. “You’re right about it being like Indiana Jones, though. My class is actually on a treasure hunt right now.”
Lady Elliot’s eyes widened, and even Lord Elliot leaned in. Dr. St. John grinned, gave me a nod, and took a sip of his drink.
“I’m calling it a treasure hunt, but it’s really building a map. We’re tracing the path of artifacts through history—the Mask of Agamemnon, the treasure of King Priam, the Shroud of Turin, and other religious icons. I’m often asked why all pieces of the vessel I found weren’t in one spot. I find it helps people understand how historical artifacts were traded privately for many years. Or stolen.”
“We had a mummy, a real Egyptian mummy, for many years at Kellynch Hall, our family’s home. One of my relatives was given it by a friend—an amateur archaeologist—who brought it back in the early 1900s.” Lord Elliot’s skin flushed. “In the 80s, we gave it back to Egypt—Cairo University, I believe. Something political I’m afraid I didn’t pay attention to.”
“It was a common practice.” I was in my element now, discussing history and archaeology and nothing whatsoever personal. “Unfortunately, it still goes on. There was a concerted effort in the states after the Iraq War to return items looted from Baghdad’s museum. Your relatives a hundred and fifty-years ago merely thought they were taking home souvenirs.”
He nodded, but I went on to add, “Not that it was right.”
Dr. Merton cleared his throat and shot me a look.Right.I was supposed to be earning my keep by encouraging people to make large donations to the Ioannou School, not wag my finger at them.
“And you think the same thing happened to this pottery,” Lady Elliot said. “It traveled here, by looting or some other means?”
“Yes,” I replied, and then, despite knowing they knew about me, I went on, “Are you familiar with my dig in Turkey?”
“Oh yes!” Lord Elliot seemed grateful the focus was off his relative’s thieving friend, and onto something else.