Consideration for Scoundrels

FIVE

Selena stared into the unblinking black gaze of a face carved into metal. It was an ornately decorated helm, as majestic as a crown, yet it was terrifying to imagine the helm as it must have been, worn in the heat of battle. The Sutton Hoo helm had been built into a reconstruction, covered with panels of tinned copper alloy sheeting, those same sheets stamped with various patterns and battle motifs. In the display case directly behind the helmet was a shield, with two swords laid before it.

One could wander the collections for days without seeing everything, weeks maybe. Her mother used to take her here nearly every day when she was small. They'd started at the ground floor, past the sweeping columns to the left of the entry to where the Egyptian wing lay, working their way through the galleries one by one.

"If only we could hear their voices." Her mother used to lament. "What we could learn."

"You're not afraid of them?" Selena asked once. The dead were safely behind the glass and she safely behind her mother, only peeking.

"Not anymore." Evy told her.

"Why not?"

Evy had grinned wide and whispered; "I know too many secret spells to stop bad ones. I'll teach you them too."

It had been enough of an answer for a six year old. Of course, the whole truth, the truth they'd told her much later, had only reaffirmed her mother's bold claim. And true to her word, Evy had taught her daughter the secret incantations and spells and charms. Sometimes it seemed Selena had learned her first hieroglyphics before she could spell her own name.

But today Selena was standing in the Sir Paul and Lady Ruddock Gallery, waiting patiently as her eleven o'clock appointment approached. Alex had been right about one thing, her name was enough to arrange such a meeting, but she feared that still wouldn't be enough to get her answers.

"Ms. O'Connell?"

Selena blinked and for the hundredth time the Sutton Hoo helmet came away from their silent contest victorious.

The curator of the Anglo-Saxon wing of the British Museum was near eighty years old; certainly old enough to have retired nearly a decade ago, but to the chagrin of his younger colleagues seemed determined to cling to his post until he dropped dead. What hair he had was thinned and all but translucent, his back still ramrod straight, but Selena noted his use of his cane as he favored his left side.

Selena found the Bembridge Scholars to be little more than a fossilized collection of old men, and she was glad her mother had long abandoned the youthful ambition to join their ranks. Men like this didn't deserve her mother, or her father or her brother. But today, Selena needed them. So she did her best to play the part.

"Curator." She greeted brightly.

"I hope I haven't kept you long."

"Of course not." She inclined her head towards the display. "I arrived early to give myself time with the artifacts."

"Indeed. Come come, we can continue this in my office." He ferried her from the galley.

His office was dominated primarily by the large oak desk that sat center of the room. Behind his seat were rows of inlaid bookshelves, all fit to bursting. The air was heavily perfumed by old cigar smoke but burned the inside of Selena's nose.

"Have a seat my dear. Tea?"

"That would be lovely, thank you." She took a seat opposite the Curator.

"I was quite shocked when my secretary told me you had called. Your mother has told us you've been off at school."

"A brief holiday only."

The secretary appeared and places two steaming cup of tea on the desk between them.

"And your parents?" The curator passed her a cup. "Your brother?"

"They're keeping busy, as usual." She'd be damned if she told them she'd been left behind while the others were in Greece. "But I will give them your warm regards."

"Well Ms. O'Connell, whatever can I do for you today?"

"I'll keep myself brief; Professor Wolfe, one of Alexander's contacts from Oxford, had mentioned to my brother the possibility of a passage tomb being excavated within the city."

"Oh?" He set down his tea.

"The Shallows, or so I believe. I must admit, a passage tomb is, as my father would say my White Whale." She took a sip of her tea. I'd be...quite interested if that were true. If perhaps any of the Scholars..."

"Ms. O'Connell." The curator's manner told Selena all she needed to know. The condescending, idiotic look, masked behind the perfectly British need for propriety.

She wouldn't find help, not here.

"If you are anything like your dear mother, I can imagine what you're about to ask me. But unfortunately an archaeological dig is quite a dangerous business," The old man sighed, as if the decision had been at all difficult; "and perhaps, The Shallows, Lord forbid of all places, is not the proper place for a young lady such as yourself. A white whale maybe, but lest we forget the fate of Ahab."

Selena felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She was Evelyn Carrahan's daughter sure, but she WASNT Evelyn Carrahan. Maybe if she'd been a man, her brother certainly would have found a way to get what he wanted...but to the curator, to the world, she was only a girl sticking her nose where it did not belong. She'd been entertained because of her name, and that was as far as it would get her here.

The Bembridge Scholars weren't going to help her. Not that she'd ever expected them to.

"Curator." She stood, careful to keep her voice bright, her eyes empty. As pretty and porcelain as a doll; "I understand. Thank you for your time."

The curator rose from his chair, the decrepit old man fiddling at the cufflinks at the end of his sleeve. "May I walk you out?" The curator inquired.

"Oh no bother, I'm familiar with the way. And I've already taken too much of your time."

Downstairs Selena sat in the museum cafe sipping her third cup of tea, seething with a rage so palpable it was a wonder the table linen hadn't caught fire.

"Mind your face Lena." Her father would have told her. "You don't warn a man you're going to hit him before you take a swing."

Outside the sky was its typical overcast, clouds bruised and swollen over the river, threatening to spill open at any moment. But if a Londoner feared the rain they'd never venture outside. But it was enough to send the tourists flocking indoors, urging Selena elsewhere.

Selena made her way down the wide stone steps, wrapping a scarf round her neck and tugging on a set of black gloves. She was reluctant to go home; tomorrow she'd be on a train back to Bristol, and she wouldn't return for another month at least. Rarely did she have the run of London. So she didn't go home.

Instead Selena spent the afternoon walking the length of the city. With no where in particular in mind, wherever her feet seemed to lead her. The tower looked every bit the part of gloomy fortress as the fog made a mirage of the high walls, Westminster just as foreboding. This was where she belonged, not in the country, but in the beating heart of the world. But the city, old and proud, was noisily shifting, preparing to usher in its new, modern monarch. As if there were anything modern about a monarchy. But it had seemed to charge the country, even as far as Ms. Porters the girls had discussed it. First female monarch since Victoria...how long would Elizabeth Regina last on her fathers throne? Was this new modern London quite ready for a queen?

Selena walked on, taking time in the gardens at Hyde Park, watching the crowds mill about Piccadilly Circus. When she grew restless with one place, she simply moved on to another.

And long after the sun slipped below the skyline and the world was bathed in night, Selena found herself standing outside the great iron gates of The Shallows.