Albert’s cheek with a crooked forefinger. It was a featherlight touch, the gesture so tender that it made Albert catch his breath and close his eyes.
“What is it, Albert? Why do you want to make me the villain of the piece? Do you think so ill of me, after all we’ve shared?”
And it all came tumbling out. His father’s strange behaviour—odd, wild exuberance, followed by self-doubt and sudden accusations of plots against him. His strange words after the explosion—‘What have I done?’ The way he had been so secretive about his papers, when previously he had always been so keen to share his work with his son. And the papers Albert www.total-e-bound.com
had found, about specimens put together from odd bones; old discoveries made to look new and revolutionary.
Henry nodded gravely as Albert spoke, taking his hand and squeezing it reassuringly when he came to his suspicions—unspoken, only half formed until now—that his father had planted a fake discovery at the dig site. That he had manufactured a discovery from whole cloth in order to bolster the reputation he feared lost.
Henry sighed. “I knew I had hurt your father. I knew I had shaken his confidence in himself—though you must believe that was not my intention.”
“I know! Henry, I’m so sorry…”
Tears started in Albert’s eyes, but Henry shushed him and gave him a smile that almost calmed his fears—Henry’s eyes looked so steady and so calm.
“I did not, I confess, understand how badly shaken he was by the experience, nor how desperate he had become to regain his reputation.”
“And now it is lost for good—quite lost!”
“Hush, Albert.” Henry squeezed Albert’s hand again. “Your father’s reputation is safe, if you just hold your peace. The only people who know about this are you, your father and myself. And the evidence is gone—blown to smithereens.”
“But how?” Who had blown up his father’s specimen? Albert’s voice rose and cracked as he continued. “It could not have been Gideon—you saw him, his clothes were immaculate.
Maude”—he shook his head—“she’s funding the dig—why would she sabotage it? And the men have no reason to destroy their very livelihood. So whom should I have suspected?
Who…?”
They both whirled as the tent flap was pushed aside, letting in the sharp, acrid smell of the exhausted fire.
“Me,” said the Reverend Arthur Boundry. “It was me.”
The reverend looked exhausted and frail. He had donned his cracked glasses again and his fine hair was slicked to his head with sweat. But his expression was resolute.
“I wondered,” Henry muttered softly.
The reverend burst into tears.
Albert rushed at once to his side, thinking of nothing but his father’s distress. He held the old man’s head against his shoulder and stroked his back, soothing him, shushing him as though he was a child.
Henry, capable and practical, poured water into a glass, saying nothing, standing solemnly by until the old man’s sobs turned to hiccoughs and then faded away entirely.
He raised his head from Albert’s shoulder, now wet with snot and tears. His eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, but that stubborn, resolute expression was back on his face and he straightened his spine and pulled his shoulders back, looking Henry directly in the eye.
“I don’t know what Dawlish has to gain by lying,” he said. “I don’t know whether he means to hurt me, or to hurt you. But I know he is lying, and I know he can’t be trusted. I know you didn’t sabotage the dig site, my boy…because I did. I was the saboteur.”
Henry nodded. He didn’t seem surprised. “You regretted your decision to plant the false specimen,” he said. His voice was low and calm, with no hint of censure.
“I’m getting old,” the reverend said.
Albert opened his mouth to protest, but his father shook his head, silencing him.
“I’m getting old, and old men get frightened. I owe you an apology, Elkington.” He
“What is it, Albert? Why do you want to make me the villain of the piece? Do you think so ill of me, after all we’ve shared?”
And it all came tumbling out. His father’s strange behaviour—odd, wild exuberance, followed by self-doubt and sudden accusations of plots against him. His strange words after the explosion—‘What have I done?’ The way he had been so secretive about his papers, when previously he had always been so keen to share his work with his son. And the papers Albert www.total-e-bound.com
had found, about specimens put together from odd bones; old discoveries made to look new and revolutionary.
Henry nodded gravely as Albert spoke, taking his hand and squeezing it reassuringly when he came to his suspicions—unspoken, only half formed until now—that his father had planted a fake discovery at the dig site. That he had manufactured a discovery from whole cloth in order to bolster the reputation he feared lost.
Henry sighed. “I knew I had hurt your father. I knew I had shaken his confidence in himself—though you must believe that was not my intention.”
“I know! Henry, I’m so sorry…”
Tears started in Albert’s eyes, but Henry shushed him and gave him a smile that almost calmed his fears—Henry’s eyes looked so steady and so calm.
“I did not, I confess, understand how badly shaken he was by the experience, nor how desperate he had become to regain his reputation.”
“And now it is lost for good—quite lost!”
“Hush, Albert.” Henry squeezed Albert’s hand again. “Your father’s reputation is safe, if you just hold your peace. The only people who know about this are you, your father and myself. And the evidence is gone—blown to smithereens.”
“But how?” Who had blown up his father’s specimen? Albert’s voice rose and cracked as he continued. “It could not have been Gideon—you saw him, his clothes were immaculate.
Maude”—he shook his head—“she’s funding the dig—why would she sabotage it? And the men have no reason to destroy their very livelihood. So whom should I have suspected?
Who…?”
They both whirled as the tent flap was pushed aside, letting in the sharp, acrid smell of the exhausted fire.
“Me,” said the Reverend Arthur Boundry. “It was me.”
The reverend looked exhausted and frail. He had donned his cracked glasses again and his fine hair was slicked to his head with sweat. But his expression was resolute.
“I wondered,” Henry muttered softly.
The reverend burst into tears.
Albert rushed at once to his side, thinking of nothing but his father’s distress. He held the old man’s head against his shoulder and stroked his back, soothing him, shushing him as though he was a child.
Henry, capable and practical, poured water into a glass, saying nothing, standing solemnly by until the old man’s sobs turned to hiccoughs and then faded away entirely.
He raised his head from Albert’s shoulder, now wet with snot and tears. His eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, but that stubborn, resolute expression was back on his face and he straightened his spine and pulled his shoulders back, looking Henry directly in the eye.
“I don’t know what Dawlish has to gain by lying,” he said. “I don’t know whether he means to hurt me, or to hurt you. But I know he is lying, and I know he can’t be trusted. I know you didn’t sabotage the dig site, my boy…because I did. I was the saboteur.”
Henry nodded. He didn’t seem surprised. “You regretted your decision to plant the false specimen,” he said. His voice was low and calm, with no hint of censure.
“I’m getting old,” the reverend said.
Albert opened his mouth to protest, but his father shook his head, silencing him.
“I’m getting old, and old men get frightened. I owe you an apology, Elkington.” He
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