She moved to a stack of books on a windowsill and had looked through nearly all of them when she picked up a small leather volume. “I think this might be it,” Esme said.
Fielding came and stood beside her as she flipped through the book.
“I think this is actually papyrus,” she said, fingering the pages. “He must have specially ordered it.” Her voice was filled with wonderment.
Biedermann’s handwriting was tight and small and completely illegible in the dim lighting.
“What do we do?” Esme asked. “We can’t very well read it in here without turning on the lights and thus alerting the guards to our presence. Nor does it appear to be the sort of book one can quickly flip through in hopes of landing on the right page.” She fanned through the bulk of pages to prove her point.
“Take it with us,” he suggested.
“Steal?” She pressed the book against her chest. “From the museum?”
“Do you have any better ideas? As you’ve pointed out, our options for reading it here are grossly limited.”
She eyed him, then the book, looking unconvinced.
Fielding pointed to the pile of materials from which the diary had been uncovered. “It doesn’t appear to be on their list of most valuable items.”
She chewed at her lip.
Damn, but she was attractive and seductive in a way that only innocent women could be.
“Esme, I’ll take it; you’ll be nothing more than my accomplice. They’ll likely never miss it, provided we get it back to them before the new translator arrives.”
She took a deep breath. “I suppose we don’t have a choice. I’m really rather desperate to get this cursed thing off my arm.”
“Indeed. Otherwise you might continue to act the brazen woman and take advantage of my weaknesses.” He gave her a toothy grin.
She frowned. “That’s not funny.” The clock chimed the hour.
“We are out of time,” he said.
CHAPTER 15
Two hours later, safe from the museum guards, Esme and Fielding sat huddled over the diary back in their study room at the marquess’s, reading through the handwritten pages—which included drawings and diagrams Mr. Biedermann had evidently thought important—but so far they had found nothing of use.
Fielding stood to stretch his legs. It seemed as if they’d been looking through Biedermann’s diary forever, and all they’d read was a retelling of the mythological structure of Mount Olympus.
“This is all quite fascinating, but it doesn’t help in the least,” Esme said as she flipped through another few pages. Her brow furrowed in concentration. “We must keep reading. I know we shall find something.”
Fielding leaned against the hearth and watched as she read a page, then turned to the next. Again and again, finding nothing. “We don’t have to read through the entire thing tonight.”
She waved her hand dismissively. “That journal specifically mentioned this diary,” she said as she turned yet another page. “And Mr. Nichols knew of it as well.” Another page. “Where is it?”
“Esme, go to bed. We can continue in the morning.”
She fanned the book’s pages and placed her hand randomly inside the diary, then perused that page. “Nothing.”
“Esme,” Fielding tried again.
Her right index finger landed on another page and followed the text to the bottom and then to the top of the next page. She sat taller in her chair and looked up at him with a smile. “I do believe I might have found something.”
“Finally.” He shoved off from the fireplace and walked toward her.
She began reading: “‘The vices will appear as golden bands encircling the flesh of those bold enough to breach the box.’” She looked up at him. “The Greek text was obviously right about that.”
“Obviously.”