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me.”
    â€œBoth your parents were English?”
    â€œOh, yes. They met when he was in England to give a lecture on his findings at Knossos. He had been made a Knight of the Bath and was in London to receive the accolade. After a whirlwind courtship, they eloped and returned to Crete together.”
    â€œAnd what of the rest of your family?”
    â€œI…” She hesitated, then said, “My father was an orphan.”
    â€œAnd your mother’s family?”
    Daphne stilled, the brush in her hand pressing against the mosaic so hard that its bristles were nearly flat. The mention of her mother’s family brought back the memory of that horrible day in Tangier and the letter she had received from a London attorney two months after her father’s death.
    Thank you for your inquiry to Lord Durand regarding a certain Lady Wade, whom you have declared to be the wife of Sir Henry Wade and formerly Miss Jane Durand, daughter of his lordship. Your declaration is impossible, for the Honorable Miss Durand remained unmarried until she died at her father’s estate in Durham, in 1805, when she was but twenty years of age. There is no possibility whatsoever that she could be your mother, and Lord Durand regrets that he can be of no assistance to you in this matter. Anyfurther attempts to gain money or protection from his lordship shall be futile.
    Remembering that letter brought back all the fear she had felt then, the sick knot of fear that came with knowing she was all alone, her money running out, no one to help her and nothing of value left to sell. Nothing but a passage to England.
    Daphne shoved memories of that day in Tangier out of her mind. She did not want to discuss her mother’s family or the shame of being unacknowledged and unwanted. “Mama never talked of her relations.”
    â€œShe must have said something to you.”
    Pressed, Daphne admitted, “I know that my grandfather was a baron, but I know almost nothing else. My mother died when I was eight, and my father and I never discussed it.”
    â€œA baron. Do you know his name, at least, or where he lived?”
    â€œNo,” she lied.
    â€œBut this is shocking! What manner of father leaves his daughter without family, means, or protection upon his death, and does not even tell her the names of her connections?”
    â€œMy father was not so harsh as you imply!” Daphne cried, compelled to defend her parent. “He was a vigorous man, and he could not know he was going to die so suddenly. He was the most loving father anyone could have, and you insult me by saying otherwise.”
    Viola fell silent. After a moment, she said, “Youare correct to scold me, Miss Wade. I am quite chastened. My only excuse is that it makes me heated to see a young lady left so unprotected and made to work, but it was not my business to inquire into your affairs. Please accept my apology.”
    She did indeed seem contrite, and Daphne relented. “Of course.”
    â€œDid you remain on Crete after your mother’s death?”
    â€œNo, we left the island only a few months later. Papa could not remain there. Too many memories. He was heartbroken when Mama died.”
    â€œAnd did his grief obsess him?” Viola asked, a strange note of hardness entering her voice. “They were happy, but when she died, did he abandon his duties, ignore his children? Did his grief drive out his sanity?”
    Daphne was astonished by this sudden, strange turn in the conversation. “What odd questions you ask! He grieved, of course, but never so much that he abandoned his duties. He never ignored me, nor lost his sanity.”
    The other woman shook her head as if coming out of a private reverie. “I confess I was thinking of someone else. I am so sorry. Where did you go when you left Crete?”
    â€œPalestine. We have also excavated at Petra, Syria, Mesopotamia, Tunis, and Morocco. Large excavations usually take