Atherton was arrogant, ignorant, and thought his opinion was the most important in the crowd, but at least he didn’t ignore Evie or belittle her. He was rude to Jamie, but that was because he wanted to be the top rooster of the flock, a common enough response to a stranger in their midst.
Jamie was being generous to the man, he observed to himself. But he’d firmed his conviction that Atherton did not deserve a beautiful and vibrant woman like Evie.
“You don’t like him.” Iris Georgiou, who walked close to Jamie, said in a low voice. Iris was a lovely young woman, apparently unattached, and Jamie ought to turn his attentions to her. So why didn’t he?
He politely offered his arm. “Atherton?” he asked as though he had no idea who she meant.
Iris slid her fingers to the crook of his elbow, but Jamie’s heart didn’t pump like mad as it did whenever Evie touched him. “You are polite, but you don’t like him,” she said.
Jamie shrugged. “I can see how he’d appeal to some.” Gentlemen of like temperament, perhaps. He was a bit baffled by what Evie saw in him, though Atherton might have been a paragon of good manners while he courted her.
“I suppose,” Iris answered doubtfully. “His father is a model of respectability and rather shoves this onto everyone. Mr. Atherton is a touch rebellious for that, and bandies his opinions about.” Iris watched Atherton trot around the corner after Evie, her mouth turning down.
“You don’t like him either,” Jamie stated.
Iris shook her head. “I don’t think he’s right for our Evie.”
“You’ve known her a long time?”
“Since university. Though I haven’t seen her for a long while. She met Mr. Atherton, oh, a year ago now. She told me about him in her letters. He’s at a loose end—he has a place in his father’s business but he doesn’t want to be tied to it for the rest of his life. Except he doesn’t know how to do anything else. He won’t try anything new, because he’s afraid of being poor. Evie hasn’t said this outright, but I can see that in him.”
Jamie had some understanding about living in a father’s shadow. He had not only a brilliant father but uncles who were all geniuses at something. Jamie was trying to be a genius, but whatever his particular talent was, it eluded him. Except for getting myself smashed up, arrested, or in trouble, he amended.
“Who do you think would be good enough for our Evie?” Jamie asked Iris as they turned up a narrow street that ended in Bedford Square.
Iris’s eyes twinkled. “I’m not sure. Perhaps I haven’t met him yet.”
She laughed, and Jamie wondered if she’d seen right through him.
The teashop where Evie waited with Atherton was full of middle-aged, middle-class ladies, who looked up with interest at the four young people entering. Jamie saw them easily discern that Evie was with Atherton—Atherton bounded to the table and made a show of settling Evie. They also decided that Jamie was with Iris, which Iris found highly amusing. Jamie politely held her chair and made sure she was comfortable, deciding not to be a boor.
Iris grew quiet, though with an air of purpose, as the waitress brought tea and a large platter of scones and cakes. Evie became more agitated, splashing tea as she poured out. Atherton was the only one unbothered, shoving half a scone into his mouth before anyone else had reached for the food.
“Have you got a flask on you?” Atherton asked across the table to Jamie as he chewed. “Full of the best Scots whisky?”
Jamie did, in fact, but he saw no reason to upset the matrons in the tearoom by dolloping it into his and Atherton’s cups.
Evie sank back into her chair, clenching her teacup, when Iris turned determinedly to Jamie. “The truth is, we want your help, Mr. Mackenzie,” Iris said quietly.
Evie clearly did not want Jamie’s help, but Iris launched into a tale that had Jamie forgetting about the whisky and his annoyance at Atherton. Atherton added to the narrative from time to time, though Evie sat like a stone.
Jamie leaned back when Iris and Atherton had finished. The teashop had begun to empty as the ladies finished their repasts, and soon the four were relatively alone.
“Have I got this right?” Jamie asked in amazement. “You want to nip down to the basement of the British Museum, nick an ancient jar, wrap it in paper, and decamp with it back to Athens?”
From the nods around the table, they did.
“It is very important, Mr. Mackenzie,” Iris said. “My father stands to be shamed.”
“Which is why you agreed so adamantly about antiquities staying in their own country,” Jamie realized. “Your father gave this jar away when he shouldn’t have? That is the gist of the matter?”
“He meant well.” Iris sat in misery. “He was trying to bring about a treaty between Britain and Greece, and one of the ministers who had been sent to Athens admired the pottery. Father decided to gift him an alabastron.”
“Without permission.” Jamie chewed his lower lip. “Unwise.”
“No one would have known,” Iris said. “My father thought it an unimportant piece, sitting in dust on a basement shelf, but the British minister was impressed. So he should have been. An Athenian journalist traced a red-figure alabastron by Kontos, one of the few artisans who signed his pieces, to a storage room in the department of antiquities. When the journalist went to see the jar, it had gone. The department thinks it has only been misplaced, but when they realize they don’t have it at all …”
“There will be a hue and cry,” Jamie finished. “Your poor dad.”
“If anyone discovers my father simply handed it over to a British official, he is done for,” Iris said unhappily. “He wanted to confess all, but I convinced him to come to London with me and try to get the jar back. The minister, unfortunately, was no help. He said he’d donated the jar to the British Museum, and that was the end of the matter. The museum hasn’t even put it on display that we’ve seen, and so far have made no indication they know what it is. I fear to tell the museum curators outright what has happened and ask for the alabastron back, because the story will get out, and my father ruined all the same. They likely won’t part with it anyway.” She finished, dejected.
Jamie switched his gaze to Evie. “And what do you have to do with all this, McKnight?”
Atherton answered before Evie could. “Miss Georgiou thought Evie could help. So they arranged to meet once Evie returned from New York. Evie has the mad idea that we should steal it back.” Atherton lifted his teacup, his eyes dancing. “What fun.”
Jamie observed the three of them—Iris hopeful, Atherton entertained, and Evie distressed. Evie had not wanted them to tell him, Jamie recognized. Hence her irritation and long strides along the street.
“Why exactly did you confide in me?” Jamie asked. “What do you expect me to do?”
Atherton smirked. “Help us steal it, of course.”
Chapter 10
Jamie regarded the three of them in disbelief. “Why do you believe I can help?”
His resistance was a token one. As soon as he’d understood what they had in mind, he’d decided he’d be in it right next to Evie. It was a daft idea, but the hell he’d let her risk the attempt without him beside her.