platters of tiny sandwiches and pink-iced cakes. Her light brown hair, untouched by any hint of grey, was crowned with a dainty lace cap matching the filmy fichu tucked into her pale green muslin gown. A pair of antique cameos dangled from her ears.
Once, in a different life, those earrings had been just the sort of thing to tempt Clio to ‘liberate’ them. But she had made promises, so all she said as she greeted Lady Riverton was, ‘Such charming earrings.’
Lady Riverton trilled a light laugh, reaching up to toy with one of the fragile cameos. ‘A gift from my dear late husband. He had such excellent taste! I am honoured you have decided to grace my tea table this afternoon, Miss Chase, Miss Thalia. We see so little of you lately, you always seem to be trailing around the fields with your father.’
Clio nodded at the other guests, Lady Elliott—whose husband helped her father at the villa site—and her daughters, Mrs Darby and her daughter—who had taken Clio on their impromptu Agrigento tour—as she and Thalia took their seats. Lady Riverton’s friend, her ‘cicisbeo’ as Thalia called him, Ronald Frobisher, was not present, which was most unusual. ‘There is certainly a great deal to see in Sicily,’ Clio said, accepting a cup of tea. ‘Much work to be done.’
Lady Riverton laughed again. ‘Oh, certainly I know all about that! Viscount Riverton was one of the first to see the vast potential of this site. It was just a dusty valley when he came here with Nelson! I’m most gratified to see his work being carried on so admirably. But I also know that young ladies must have their share of amusement. Before I married, I had far too much energy and natural merriment to live by digging alone!’
‘That is so true!’ cried Miss Darby. ‘I am always telling Mama—’
Mrs Darby laid a gentle hand on her daughter’s arm, stilling the excited flow of words. ‘And we are very gratified you provide such—amusements, Lady Riverton.’
‘Not at all. I so vastly enjoy entertaining, and my dear husband always said my parties were so very elegant.’ She gave another little laugh. ‘He was so indulgent. But I do hope you will all be at my next gathering! An evening of amateur theatricals, very diverting. You all received your invitations?’
Clio calmly sipped at her tea, silently willing Thalia not to have an excited outburst à la Miss Darby. Lady Riverton hardly needed any fodder for her ‘Gracious Hostess’ act. ‘Indeed we did, Lady Riverton. We will be most happy to attend.’
‘So kind of you to ask us,’ Thalia said coolly. Clio was proud of her. ‘That is one thing I miss so much about London, the theatre.’
‘As do I, Miss Thalia,’ Lady Riverton answered. ‘We are both cultured souls, I see! While I cannot procure the likes of Mrs Siddons, I fear, I do hope to show off some of our local talent, which I suspect is quite great. The Manning-Smythes have agreed to stage a scene from Romeo and Juliet. So appropriate, is it not, since they are on their honeymoon? And Miss Darby here will do Ophelia’s mad scene. It is so important to include Shakespeare! His more appropriate bits, at least.’
‘Oh, yes,’ Clio said. ‘The Bard is always welcome. But, as this is Sicily, would it not be a fine thing to include some classical playwrights? For is this not where Ovid and Aeschylus worked?’
‘But the Greeks and Romans are so very violent, aren’t they?’ Lady Riverton murmured, her lace cap quivering. ‘So much blood and vengeance!’
Unlike Shakespeare, of course, Clio thought wryly. No blood or vengeance there.
‘But always so vastly exciting,’ Lady Elliott said over her sandwiches. ‘You have been working yourself on some Sophocles, have you not, Miss Thalia?’
‘Indeed,’ Thalia answered. ‘Antigone. The amphitheatre here is so wondrous, with superb acoustics, it just seemed to call out to be brought to life again! To be used for its true purpose. Yet I fear Antigone features no blood at all.’
‘Yes. All the death is offstage, is it not?’ Mrs Darby said. ‘Still, very dramatic.’
‘No blood, you say?’ Lady Riverton said. ‘How interesting. Perhaps, Miss Thalia, you might grace us with a monologue at my little theatricals? Add some appropriate classicism to the proceedings.’
Thalia gave her a gracious smile. ‘If you think your guests would enjoy it, Lady Riverton.’
The purpose of their visit now so neatly achieved, Thalia went on to chat with their hostess about the newest fashions in bonnets—feathers or fruit?—while Clio turned to Mrs Darby. They had become friends on that tour of the ‘valley of the temples’ at Agrigento, but did not see each other as often now that Mr Darby had turned his activities from excavating to writing. A novel, everyone heard, about the original destruction of the old Greek town during the Punic Wars.
‘And how is Mr Darby’s book progressing?’ Clio asked.
Mrs Darby laughed. ‘Well enough, I suppose. He hides himself away in his library after breakfast and does not emerge all day, so something is being worked on.’
‘What do you do yourself, then, while he is scribbling away?’
‘Pay calls, as you see. Go on excursions. I fear it’s becoming rather dull for poor Susan.’ Mrs Darby glanced at her daughter, who was nibbling at a cake with a very dreamy look in her eyes. ‘We have been thinking of hiring a yacht to take us out to some of the other islands. Motya, for the Phoenician sites, perhaps. Maybe you would care to join us?’
Clio thought again of the Duke, of their kiss. Now that he was here, he was not likely to go away again any time soon. It was terribly tempting to run away, to sail off and put the endless blue sea between them! But she could not leave her work. Not just yet. ‘That is very kind of you, Mrs Darby. I have heard such enticing things about the necropolis there. But I am not sure I can leave my family just now.’
‘Yes. We have heard you are hard at work on a more remote site while your father explores that villa of his. It is very brave of you, I must say!’
‘Brave? Not at all. Dull is what most people would call it. The site is just an old ruined farmhouse, but I am enjoying finding clues to everyday life here.’
‘Yet it is so remote! I would fear for Susan out there. And, of course, there is the curse.’
Clio felt a tiny cold shiver along her spine. ‘Curse, Mrs Darby? Is your husband by some chance writing a horrid novel?’
Mrs Darby smiled and shook her head. ‘Oh, Miss Clio. I myself do not believe in such nonsense. I simply happened to overhear your cook gossiping with our housemaid, who I think is her daughter. They didn’t seem to know I speak Italian. They were saying how courageous you are to brave the curse.’
Clio laughed, though she still felt inexplicably cold. As if a goose had walked over her grave. ‘How very amusing. I wonder who placed this curse?’
Mrs Darby shrugged. ‘It seems something terribly violent happened at your farmhouse before it was destroyed. Something that deeply angered the gods. Now it is said that anyone unworthy who dares disturb the ground will be terribly punished. That’s why the site has been so undisturbed all these years.’
‘Perhaps the curse has a time limit,’ Clio suggested, ‘for I am still here.’
‘Or maybe
