Blameless (Parasol Protectorate #3)

Blameless (Parasol Protectorate #3) Page 33

The site was lovely, shaded with trees of various bushy Mediterranean inclinations that took being leafy and green quite seriously. Alexia stood up while the carriage maneuvered around, the better to take in her surroundings.

“Do sit down, Alexia! You shal fal , and then how wil I explain to Floote that you had—” Madame Lefoux stopped herself before she inadvertently mentioned Alexia’s unfortunate condition in front of the preceptor, but it was clear her worry was largely for the child’s safety.

Alexia ignored her.

They were surrounded by a series of tombs: low, circular, and grass covered, almost organic in appearance, quite unlike anything Alexia had ever seen or read about. Never having visited anything more stimulating than a Roman bathhouse, Alexia was practical y bouncing with excitement—if a lady once more corseted and trussed up to the height of proper British fashion and encumbered by both parasol and pregnancy could be described as “bouncing.” She sat down abruptly when their carriage went over a bump.

Alexia refused, on principle, to admit that her new high spirits were on account of Conal ’s printed apology, but the world certainly seemed a far more fascinating place today than it had yesterday.

“Do you know anything of these Etruscans?” she whispered to Madame Lefoux.

“Only that they came before the Romans.”

“Were they supernatural y based or a daylight exclusive society?” Alexia asked the next most important question.

The preceptor overheard her.

“Ah, My Soul ess One, you ask one of the most troublesome questions of the great Etruscan mystery. Our historians, they continue to investigate this matter. I did think, however, that given your peculiar skil set, you might…” He trailed off meaningful y as though intentional y leaving the thought unfinished.

“Wel , my dear Mr. Templar, I fail to see how I could possibly be of assistance. I am no trained antiquarian. The only thing I can identify with any consistency is my own kind.

I—” It was Alexia’s turn to leave a thought unfinished, as she realized the implications of his statement. “You believe there might be a preternatural focus to this culture? How remarkable.”

The Templar only shrugged. “We have seen the rise and fal of many great empires in the past, some run by vampires, others by werewolves.”

“And some that have been founded upon the persecution of both.” Alexia was thinking of the Catholic Inquisition, an expurgation movement the Templars were rumored to have taken a keen and active interest in promoting.

“But never yet have we found evidence of a civilization built to incorporate your kind.”

“As difficult as that kind of proximity might be?” Alexia was puzzled.

“Why do you think the Etruscans might be the exception?” Madame Lefoux asked.

The coach stopped and the preceptor stepped down. He did not offer Alexia a hand, al owing Madame Lefoux to jump out and take over that dubious honor. Some distance away, the Templar cavalry dismounted as well and stood about as though waiting for orders. The preceptor gave them one of those hand signals, and the men relaxed into a casual mil ing group. The silent efficiency was unsettling, to say the least.

“Don’t say much, do they?”

The preceptor turned his emotionless eyes on Alexia. “Would you ladies prefer to explore or eat first?”

“Explore,” said Alexia promptly. She was wildly curious to see the inside of the strange round tombs.

The preceptor led them down into the dry, dim interior of the already cracked tomb.

The underground wal s were lined with limestone. Steps led into a single chamber, not much bigger than Alexia’s drawing room back at Woolsey Castle. The limestone was elaborately carved to look like the inside of a house, with nooks, stone columns, and even ceiling beams picked out in the sandy, porous rock. It was the interior of a home, frozen in stone. Alexia was reminded of the elaborate jel y sculptures she had eaten at fancy dinner parties, made of aspic and formed with the aid of a mold.

There was no furniture, nor any other artifacts inside the tomb, the sole object being an extremely large sarcophagus in the center of the room. On the top lay two ful -sized clay figures: a man lounging on his side and leaning up on one elbow behind a woman doing the same, his free arm draped affectionately over her shoulder.

It was a lovely sculpture, but despite what the preceptor had said, Alexia experienced no sense of repulsion, no feeling about the place that she would have expected when in the presence of a preserved preternatural body. Either there was none present, or the remains had long since decomposed beyond effectiveness. The Templar was staring at her, monitoring her reactions closely. Face impassive, she walked about, self-conscious under his dead-eyed scrutiny, examining some painted images on the wal s.

The place smel ed musty, in the same way that old books do, only with an overlay of dirt and cold stone. But there was nothing there that engendered any adverse reaction in Alexia. In fact, she found the ancient abode quite comforting and restful. She was glad of this. She would hate to have to hide her instinct to run if there had been some kind of preternatural mummy in residence.

“I am sorry to say, Mr. Templar, I do not think I can be of any help. I do not even see why one might associate this culture with my kind.”

The preceptor looked disappointed.

Madame Lefoux, who had been watching him while he watched her friend, turned sharply to stare down at the sarcophagus.

“What were they holding?” she asked.

Alexia wandered over to see what Madame Lefoux was on about. She was struck by the pleasantness in the almond-shaped eyes of the statues, but upon looking closer, she realized what it was that had drawn Madame Lefoux’s attention. The man was leaning on the elbow of one arm, the hand of which was up and flat as though offering a carrot to a horse. His other hand, behind the woman’s neck, had thumb and forefinger curved in the act of holding some smal object. The woman had both hands curved in such a way as one might pour libations or offer up a flask of wine.

“Good question.”

Both ladies turned to look at the preceptor inquiringly.

“The woman held an empty ceramic flask, its contents long since dried and evaporated into aether. The man was offering a piece of meat on his open palm. The archaeologists found an animal bone resting there. He was holding something very strange in his other hand.”

“What was that?”

The Templar shrugged and fished about his high col ar with one finger, final y pul ing out a chain that was around his neck. Careful y he lifted it out from underneath nightgown, jacket, waistcoat, and shirt. Al three of them moved toward the light streaming down from the entrance. A smal gold charm dangled from the end of the chain. Alexia and Madame Lefoux bent to examine it.

“An ankh?” Alexia blinked in amusement.

“From Ancient Egypt?” Madame Lefoux arched one perfect black eyebrow.

“Were the two cultures chronological y comparable?” Alexia scrabbled to remember the dates of Egyptian expansion.

“It is possible they had some form of contact, but it is more likely that this little object came into Etruscan hands through trade with the Greeks.”

Alexia studied the smal piece of gold closely but, uncharacteristical y, pursed her lips and said nothing. She found it odd that an Etruscan statue would offer up the Egyptian symbol for eternal life, and while, to be sure, she had many theories on the subject, she was unwil ing to share them with a Templar.

The preceptor tucked his charm away when neither lady had anything further to say and led the way back up the limestone stairs and out onto the sun-dappled hil side. The other tombs were much the same, only in not quite such good repair.

The picnic that fol owed was an uncomfortably silent affair. Alexia, Madame Lefoux, and the preceptor were seated on a square of quilted gingham spread atop the tomb while the other Templars enjoyed their own meal a short distance away. One of the Templars did not eat, but instead read from the Bible in lugubrious tones. The preceptor seemed to feel this was an excuse not to engage in any conversation with his two companions.

Alexia ate an apple, two rol s of crunchy bread spread with some kind of tomato sauce, and three hard-boiled eggs dipped in more of the green stuff that had so delighted her the day before.

With meal finished and Bible put away, the party prepared to leave. There was one benefit to picnicking, Alexia realized. As she had used no utensils, nothing needed to be destroyed because of contamination.

“It is not a bad life we lead here, is it, My Soul ess One?” The preceptor spoke to her at last.

Alexia was forced to admit that it didn’t appear so. “Italy is a lovely country. And I cannot fault your cuisine or climate.”

“You are—how do I say this politely—unwelcome back in England?”

Alexia was going to correct him and boast of Conal ’s public apology but then thought better of it. Instead she said, “That is a very diplomatic way of putting it, Mr.

Templar.”

The preceptor smiled his horrible cheerless grimace. “Perhaps, My Soul ess One, you might consider staying here with us, then? It has been a long time since we of the temple at Florence had a preternatural in residence, let alone a female of the species.

We would make sure of your every comfort while we studied you. Provide for you your own, more isolated quarters.”

Alexia’s face soured as she thought back to her unfortunate encounter with Dr.

Siemons and the Hypocras Club. “I have entertained such an offer before.”

The Templar tilted his head, watching her.

Since he seemed, once more, to be in a chatty frame of mind, Alexia asked, “You would put up with devil spawn permanently in your midst?”

“We have done so before. We of the brotherhood are God’s best weapon against the supernatural threat. We were made to do what needed to be done no matter what the cost or personal risk. You could be very useful to our cause.”

“Goodness gracious, I had no idea I was that appealing.” Alexia waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Madame Lefoux joined the conversation. “If that is the case, why are you not equal y welcoming to werewolves and vampires?”

“Because they are not born daemons. To be born with the eternal sin is not much more than to be born with original sin. The soul ess suffer, as we al do, under the metaphorical cross, only for them there is no salvation. The vampires and werewolves, on the other hand, have chosen their path voluntarily. It is a matter of intention. They have turned their backs on salvation in a way far more reprehensible, because they once had excess soul. They could have ascended into heaven had they only resisted Satan’s temptation. Instead, they traded the bulk of their soul to the devil and became monsters.

They are offensive to God, for only he and his angels are al owed immortality.” He spoke calmly, with no emotion, no inflection, and no doubt.

Alexia felt chil ed. “Which is why you wish to see al supernatural folk dead?”

“It is our eternal crusade.”

Alexia did some calculations. “Over four hundred years or so. Commendably committed of you al .”

“A God-sanctioned purpose, to hunt and kil .” Madame Lefoux’s tone was ful of censure, not unsurprising given her choices in life—she was a creator, an engineer, and a builder.

The preceptor looked from the Frenchwoman to Alexia. “And what do you think her God-given purpose is, Scientist Lefoux—a soul ess creature whose only skil is in neutralizing the supernatural? Do you think she was not placed on this earth as a tool?

We can give her purpose, even if she is only a female.”

“Now, wait just a minute there!” Alexia remembered once complaining to Conal , before their marriage, that she wanted something useful to do with her life. Queen Victoria had made her muhjah, but even with that gone, kil ing vampires and werewolves for a sect of religious fanatics was not precisely what she had been hoping for.

“Have you any idea how rare you are, a female of the species?”

“I am beginning to get the impression that I am more rare than I had thought.” Alexia looked about suddenly, feigning physical discomfort. “Do you think I might visit a convenient bush, before we depart for the long drive back?”

The Templar looked equal y discomforted. “If you insist.”

Alexia tugged at Madame Lefoux’s sleeve and dragged her off behind the tomb and down the side of the hil a little ways to a smal copse of trees.

“It took Angelique this way,” commented Madame Lefoux, referring to her former lover. “During her pregnancy, she always had to… well … you know.”

“Oh, no, that was merely a ruse. I wanted to discuss something with you. That ankh around his neck, did you notice that it had been repaired?”

Madame Lefoux shook her head. “Is that significant, do you think?”