Mischief Read Free Page A

was late. It was raining. My horse was exhausted. I saw no point wasting time in an attempt to locate a small cottage, when I had this vast house at my disposal.”
    “I see.” Imogen gave him a determined smile. “I must say, you appear remarkably unruffled by a night spent in a sarcophagus. My aunt and I have often remarked that Uncle Selwyn’s notion of a proper bed was certainly not to everyone’s taste.”
    “I have slept in worse places.” Matthias helped himself to the last of the ham and surveyed his surroundings with a considering expression. “I had heard tales of Selwyn Waterstone’s collection. The reality is even more unexpected than the rumors implied.”
    Briefly distracted, Horatia peered at him over the rims of her spectacles. “I expect you are aware that mybrother had an abiding interest in sepulchral art and tomb antiquities, sir.”
    Matthias’s arresting eyes lingered thoughtfully on an Egyptian mummy case propped in the corner. “Yes.”
    “It is all mine now,” Imogen told him proudly. “Uncle Selwyn left his entire collection to me along with the house.”
    Matthias gave her a speculative glance. “You are interested in sepulchral art?”
    “Only that which is Zamarian,” she said. “Uncle Selwyn claimed that he owned a few Zamarian artifacts and I have every hope that he did. But it will take time to find them.” She gestured to indicate the heap of antiquities and funereal oddities that littered the library. “As you can see, my uncle had no sense of organization. He never bothered to catalogue the items in his collection. There may be any number of rare treasures waiting to be unearthed in this house.”
    “It will certainly take a great deal of work to find them,” Matthias said.
    “Yes, it will. As I said, I plan to keep any antiquities that I can positively identify as Zamarian in origin. I shall offer the remainder to other collectors or perhaps give them to a museum.”
    “I see.” Matthias sipped tea and studied the library more closely.
    Imogen followed his gaze. There was no denying that her eccentric uncle had possessed a very strange taste for artifacts associated with death.
    Ancient swords and armor taken from Roman and Etruscan burial chambers were strewn about in a careless fashion. Sphinxes, chimeras, and crocodile motifs copied from Egyptian tombs adorned the furniture. Bits of statuary and cloudy glass bottles that had been discovered in antique sepulchral monuments reposed in the cupboards. Grim death masks stared down from walls.
    The bookcases were stuffed with dozens of worn volumes that dealt with ancient entombment practices andthe embalming arts. Several large crates were stacked on the far side of the room. Imogen had not yet opened them. She had no idea what was inside.
    The situation was no better in the upstairs chambers, all of which were crammed with the tomb antiquities that Selwyn Waterstone had spent his life acquiring.
    Matthias finished his brief survey and looked at Imogen. “What you choose to do with Waterstone’s oddities is your affair, of course. Let us return to the business at hand. Would you mind telling me why you sent for me?”
    Horatia uttered a small, faint gasp. She whirled to confront Imogen. “I cannot believe that you have done this. Why on earth didn’t you tell me?”
    Imogen gave her a placating smile. “The thing is, I sent for his lordship a few days before you arrived here in Upper Stickleford. I was not entirely certain he would put in an appearance, so I saw no reason to mention it.”
    “This is folly,” Horatia snapped. Now that the initial shock had passed, she was apparently regaining her usual spirits. “Do you realize who this is, Imogen?”
    “Of course I know who he is.” Imogen lowered her voice to a properly reverential tone. “He is Colchester of Zamar.”
    Matthias raised his brows but made no comment.
    “As you said, my lord,” Imogen continued, “it is time to get to the heart of the