If you’re just joining this story, you may want to start from the beginning.
This story follows the first in Jenn’s Rediscovered series, Last Assault on Oak Island.
Later that evening, Lauren sat in the bedroom balcony overlooking the Rhine. The clips that had held her hair up were gone and she now pulled a brush slowly through it, watching the water below her glimmer in the moon's light. She tried to sort her thoughts of the past twenty-four hours.
The auction was successful, from Gustalav's point of view. Numerous antiques and treasures had moved at substantial prices. Carlos had acquired the conqueror manuscript and the English abbey papers. Lady Eldicott was pleased with her porcelain. Madame Chatillier had added to her collection of snuff boxes and jewelry.
And Reuben had secured the Celtic sword. She'd heard the last bit of news secondhand from Madame Varlette as they ascended the grand staircase that evening.
She put the brush back in the room and smoothed her silk night slip, then settled deeper into the wicker chair on the balcony, thankful hers was the only one on that side of the chateau angle.
There was more than Reuben's odd shift of expressions consuming her thoughts. Carlos had confided to her a concern she hadn't before considered. The Duke had not mentioned the Amber Chamber, but that didn't necessarily mean it hadn't been quietly sold. Their host had been absent with several guests for stretches of time during the day, adding to the reality of an unseen bargain.
Even if the crates were still in the crypt it wouldn't guarantee they were unsold. It was this wrinkle that kept Lauren from an excursion into the castle's vault.
Well, that and an aching back, she admitted.
After a little debate within herself, she rose from the wicker seat, reluctant to leave the soft breeze that brought the scent of lilacs. She wanted to speak with Carlos about the chamber, but knew he was contemplating how best to approach Gustalav.
And the museum.
She paced the bedroom, wondering what the curator would say to Stends and Cooper. One could not exactly come up with, Well, we bought the manuscript, Howard, and guess what? We can get the Amber Room, too. What do you say?
After a little more consideration she decided to talk to Carlos despite the hour. She dressed and went to his room down the hallway.
There was no answer to her repeated knocking. She was about to try the doorknob when Reuben stepped from the half-lit corridor.
"Dr. Sheldon is with Gustalav at the moment," he told her. "They're in the west parlor."
"Thank you." She didn't move from the door. He made no attempt to leave, either. Under his study she felt a growing discomfort. "Congratulations on the Claddagh sword."
"Thank you. The new owner is pleased." His gaze lost its scrutiny, replaced by a tentative openness. "You know that Carlos Sheldon and I have met before, don't you?" As she deliberated her response, he shook his head. "He told you to keep quiet about it?"
"No." She shrugged, a pain catching her back at the movement. "He mentioned it . . . briefly. I didn't think you recognized him, or recalled the time. I didn't see any reason to bring it up."
"That's why you've been so elusive."
"Not entirely."
"What else has he told you?"
"Only that you've met."
The sharpness came back to his eyes, but his voice was calm. "And to stay away?"
"No."
He sighed, watching her return his steady attention. "My study with Eischmidt is long passed. I was very young then."
"You're not old now, Reuben," she said. "Dr. Sheldon didn't berate you; quite the opposite."
He laughed lowly. "That should be a compliment."
"It is in some ways."
"Dr. Carlos Sheldon was not unlike me at one time. Everyone starts somewhere in this business."
She wasn't about to be prodded into a battle without adequate armor. "I didn't know Dr. Sheldon then," she admitted carefully, "and I don't know what you were with Eischmidt."
He nodded. "I'm not hiding anything scandalous, Lauren." He offered his arm. "Come have coffee with me and I'll answer any question you put. Agreed?"
The cook's maid refused to make them coffee. She said the cook claimed coffee was unhealthy, just short of poisonous after eleven o'clock in the evening without a stout party to go with it. Instead she tapped the elaborate samovar on the oak hutch in the kitchen with an inquisitive glance to Reuben. He smiled and shook his head. The maid shrugged and fixed them a pot of Georgian tea, smiling at Reuben, and brought a plate of ginger thins and almond tarts before leaving them alone at the help's table.
Lauren had watched the exchange with amusement. "An admirer?"
He shook his head. "A misplaced Ukrainian."
She nodded, looking around the enormous kitchen. Gustalav had kept much the same. Wooden floors, marble surfaces, bricked pit which was no longer in use except for storage, with copper and black iron pots and pans hanging from the beamed ceiling. It wasn't the sterile kitchen that compete modernization would have produced.
"I don't think Dr. Sheldon would want me to get too nosey," she said bluntly, trying to establish boundaries for her questionnaire.
"I don't think Dr. Sheldon would care what you ask," he said wryly. "This isn't a deposition."
"Right."
He watched her guardedly.
"You weren't waiting on the sword exclusively. What else was it?" There. She had said it. The ball is in his court. Even if he admitted to knowing of the amber, she would not. It was that simple.
"Truthfully, the Faberge Eggs weren't a surprise," he said, measuring her response. "I heard a rumor that the Duke had a few of them. I had a buyer for the Danish Silver Jubilee Egg from 1888. I was hoping it was here. I was wrong."
"You were looking for eggs in the vault? That's how you found all the tunnels?" She refused to bite her lip at the query. She raised the cup of hot tea to blow on it.
He looked guilty, frowning slightly. "That was sheer nosiness. These auctions don't always display their best treasures. I thought Gustalav may be hiding something special."
She set the hot tea down without tasting it and took a tart. "Is he?"
For a moment his gaze wavered. She kept on her most innocent face.
"Not that I found. A few antiques Claiborne or that gentleman from Geneva may have wanted, but not me," he said.
I'll have to remember what a smooth liar he is, she thought. She sampled the tart.
"What were you doing in the vault, Lauren, besides causing collapses?"
"You said I could ask the questions."
He chuckled. "All of them?"
"Just most. Who are you with?" He frowned and she continued. "You aren't retained by a museum or university."
"No. Nothing like that." He sat back. "I buy for a few individuals, but not exclusively."
"I free agent."
"I like that term."
She allowed a crooked smile. "I'll bet you do."
He gave her a knowing look. "Not every transaction must go through an institution to be legal, Miss Gates," he said, a hint of mock rebuke in his tone. "Is that in the true sense of the use Miss?"
"Of course. The common legal use. That brings up another issue. What—?"
"Eischmidt." He grinned at her mild surprise. "You thought I'd try to avoid that subject. What did Dr. Sheldon make it out to be? A gun around every corner? Counter-agents with the KGB?"
She swallowed the bite of tart quickly and gave him a sour look. "He wasn't quite that imaginative."
He shrugged, sitting closer to the table, leaning one forearm on it. "I was ambitious. I wanted a name—a reputation, I should say—in the trade. I latched onto people who'd been through the black markets—the only market in much of the old Union. The means of procurement were always so civilized.
"That does not necessarily translate as felonious," he emphasized, watching her carefully. "As eager as I was, I still recognized Eischmidt as crude. Lacking in several basic graces. I wasn't exactly a faceted gemstone myself, but we did disagree on many procedures. We parted company shortly after the Berlin exchange Dr. Sheldon witnessed."
"That doesn't sound very incriminating."
He sighed. "It isn't. Dr. Sheldon may have exaggerated, or maybe he thought I was thick with the illegal markets. I can't blame him for coming to such a conclusion." His voice took on a graver tone. "You can learn much from him, Lauren. A position in the museum is a fine choice."
"I hope I make it." She sighed shallowly and drank half of her tea before glancing at her watch. "I didn't realize how late it was." She stood and he did, too. "Are you leaving tomorrow?"
"Yes."
They went into the empty hall, devoid of even Madame Chatillier's clatter.
"You didn't let me ask my questions," he said, offering his arm.
She took it. "That wasn't part of the deal."
They climbed the staircase to the second floor.
"Where do you go after this? Back to the States?"
"No," she lied. "We have a conference on paleography in London."
He nodded as they found her corridor and reached the door to her room. He studied her face as her fingers slipped from his arm, reading the slight smile in her eyes. "Since I'm not the fiend Dr. Sheldon made me out to be—"
"Reuben—"
"—will you meet me for breakfast tomorrow? You can bring the Doctor, too, if you like," he added.
Now the smile touched her lips. "You insist on his company?"
"Not at all."
She opened the door to her room. "Yes. I'll be there."
"Good. Nine o'clock."
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