Page 33 of The Raven’s Lady

“I’m sure you’d prefer to be in London.” She paused to look out over the ruined town, its ancient roads now grassy paths, and its former buildings, low mounds of rock-studded cement. Sticks and stakes protruded from the old walls and the ground, marking the work of the antiquarians. Overhead the sky was blue and the sun warm.

“What makes you think I’d rather be in London?” Raven asked.

“London is never dull, is it? And it’s quite grand, I suppose, the balls, I mean.”

They reached the bottom of the hill and began to stroll along a grassy lane. “I take it,” Raven said, “that you’d like to go to London.”

“I do wish I could, but Mama says the expense is not to be thought of, and that I must be content with our Wormley assemblies. I’m sure they can’t compare with what you’ve seen.”

“Is there never a grand ball in the neighborhood of Wormley? At one of the manor houses?”

“Not in forever. You mustn’t think I’m fishing for you to give a ball, though.”

He laughed.

“Would you give a ball? Verwood would be a lovely place for one.” She peeped up at him from under the brim of her straw bonnet. “You must invite everyone young and no one dull and old.”

“Are there many old dull people in Wormley?”

“Scores of them,” she said with sudden vehemence. “Mama and Papa know them all. I daresay, you are the youngest gentleman ever to come to one of Mama’s parties. Feebleness is a positive plague in the country.”

Miss Montford’s two brothers stood peering over Lady Cassandra’s shoulder where she knelt to look at something, her blue skirts against the grass. “Your brothers hardly seem old or dull,” he commented.

Miss Montford’s gaze followed his. “But look what happens to people in the country,” she said. “I’m sure Lady Cassandra was young once, but now she gets put in the carriage with the old people. And Mama invites Mr. Duncan for her. Lord, I never want to be that old.”

“Do you regard four and twenty as past all hope then?” Raven kept his voice light. His companion’s view of early onset decrepitude was amusing, but he didn’t like Lady Cassandra being paired with Mr. Duncan. He supposed a man of forty-five could be drawn to a woman half his age, but Raven couldn’t see Duncan as a fit suitor for Lady Cassandra in age or rank. The duchess wouldn’t allow it.

In the center of the old town the sun beat down quite mercilessly. Miss Montford fumbled with her parasol, and Raven offered assistance.

Ahead of them on the grassy path, Henry, the older boy, straightened and held something aloft. “Look what we found,” he shouted. The other members of the party, alerted by his cry, converged on the place where Lady Cassandra knelt. Mr. Montford reached the boys first and held up their find, a small light-colored blue-green bottle, rectangular in shape with a broken handle. Left to herself, Lady Cassandra came to her feet with some effort.

“Is it really old?” Henry asked.

“First or second century,” Ruggles said. “We have found a good bit of glass, but mainly in fragments.”

Henry took the bottle from his father and held it to his nose. “What was in it do you think?” he asked.

“I’m told,” said Ruggles, “that the square shape likely means it was used for shipping, and this”—he gestured to the broad grassy path where they stood—“was likely their Oxford Street if you will, where the Romans did their shopping. So, I’d say, olive oil or fish sauce.”

Henry jerked the bottle away from his nose, and they all laughed.

“Why the blue green?” asked Mr. Duncan.

“Iron oxide in the silica,” Raven said. No one appeared to hear him except Lady Cassandra.

“Can we keep it?” Henry asked.

Mr. Ruggles shook his head. “But I’ll show you how we mark our finds, and you shall be named as a finder.”

Henry hung his head and mumbled something.

“Speak up, my boy,” his father encouraged him.

“Can’t say I found it. It was her.” He pointed to Lady Cassandra.

“Ah,” she said, smiling at Henry. “I saw the hint of blue in the soil, but you and Charlie dug it out with your sticks. You must have the credit.”

“First,” said Mr. Ruggles, “we put a numbered stake in the ground to mark the spot. Then, if you come along, boys, we’ll add your names to our roll of finders.”