Adventures of Grace Quinlan and Lord William Hayden In the Lost City of the Incas (Psyche and Eros Reborn) Volume 3 Read online

  Lord Hayden and Elizabeth helped themselves to the offered repast while discussing the Cenote and the ancient treasures that Talbot had allowed them to glimpse before relocking the small chest and sliding it back under the cot. Their conversation eventually turned back to the armlet. With no conclusions forthcoming, Elizabeth yawned, not from boredom, but from a long hot and humid afternoon, not to mention her near fatal accident with the trap door at the base of the ancient Temple of the Mayan God Kukulcán.

  "I’m for a short nap," she said, eyeing the cot and the coarse grey blanket and equally dull colored air pillow. She removed her hat and tossed it on top of some boxed supplies. "Do you mind?"

  "By all means," Lord Hayden smiled. "Shall I join you?" he asked wickedly.

  "Thank you, No. But stay near." Elizabeth lay back and closed her eyes.

  "You trust me, Grace Quinlan, not to join you regardless."

  "With my life, Lord Hayden. With my very life," Elizabeth replied.

  For a long time Lord Hayden sat in a wood folding chair and contemplated Elizabeth as she slept. After a while, he dozed. He woke with a start and an idea. A rough linen map of the Middle and Southern Americas covered one side of the folding table, along with some writing supplies. Lord Hayden took Elizabeth’s veiled hat and taking a chalk marker on the table he duplicated the lines etched on the inside of the armlet onto the veil. With anticipation, he spread the marked veil over the area leading from Yucatan to the Andean Cordillera. "Yes!" he affirmed excitedly.

  Elizabeth stirred and opened her eyes drowsily. "William," she called, remembering that she was in a tent. She sat up.

  "Grace, you were right. The lines are directions."

  Elizabeth left the cot and moved quickly to Lord Hayden’s side. The woman in her noticed her defaced veil and she said as much. Lord Hayden appealed, "The chalk will wash out. But note your theory was right. These lines are directions, directions to the lost city of Vilcabamba, the last sanctuary of the Incas fleeing from the sword of the Conquistadors."

  Elizabeth pursed her lips and her eyes narrowed in thought, the veil forgotten. "The diagram might be fictional," she said. "One the artist who designed the armband fabricated or reproduced from hearsay."

  "Or," Lord Hayden persisted, "it might be a secret chart the wearer carried with him so he would be able to find his way back to Vilcabamba when he was ready to return."

  At that moment Talbot entered the tent. "Forgive me for taking so long, but there were extra duties that needed my immediate attention. Ah, I see you are still examining the artifact." Talbot peered over Lord Hayden’s shoulder. His eyes lit with recognition as he spotted the veil with the markings laid out carefully over the map. "Can we be certain?" he inquired.

  "No," Hayden replied. "But do you know of any bona fide archaeologist who would not follow up on such a lead? We’re talking about the Lost City of the Incas! About a wealth of past history, priceless relics, and a chance to find conclusively once and for all the ruins of the City, and proof that it actually existed."

  Talbot nodded with full understanding and agreement. "Then I take it you intend following the route disclosed."

  "Most definitely," Lord Hayden said and glanced up at Elizabeth.

  She drew closer and placed her hand on his arm. "Most definitely," she seconded.

  His fingers covered hers. She lifted her gaze to Talbot’s and felt uneasy. What was it about Talbot that disturbed her, she wondered. Was it envy she read in his eyes? Envy of Lord Hayden’s reputation and good fortune? Despite the geniality he displayed toward them, Elizabeth found herself distrusting the man. Something about him, about his smile, his eyes, something that chilled her. Elizabeth shuddered.

  Lord Hayden felt the tremor in her fingers. "What is it, Grace?"

  "Anticipation," she feigned, and smiled at him reassuringly. Talbot watched the intimate exchange between husband and wife. Neither of the two saw the corner of his mouth twist maliciously. By the time they returned their attention to him, he had inquired solicitously, "Would you welcome a third member on your planned expedition?"

  CHAPTER THREE

  A week later, the three began their journey to the Andean Cordillera. Elizabeth remained uneasy about Talbot, but unable to label the uneasiness she felt in his presence, she said nothing to Lord Hayden about it. He appeared to have accepted Talbot as an earnest fellow antiquarian and felt he was in good company. The two men conversed comfortably, with Talbot displaying intelligence and flexibility in his discussions with Lord Hayden. Nonetheless, her sleep was disturbed. The name, Psyche, reverberated through her dreams like bell chimes over the countryside. Would she ever know whether she was indeed Psyche’s reincarnation, and Lord Hayden, Eros? Or had it all been a play of the imagination?

  When they reached the jungles of Copan, Talbot expressed a desire to spend a few days examining the Stelae prevalent in this area. Elizabeth followed behind the two men. Behind her, the Mestizos carried the party’s gear and camping supplies.

  "Yes, we should be coming upon the figure any moment now," Talbot was saying to Lord Hayden. "In fact, I think I can see the top of its headdress." Within minutes they came upon the stone figure.

  Elizabeth studied the elaborate costume and the tall, squarish, highly ornamental headgear. Her alter ego had seen pictures of this particular Stele. As Professor Elizabeth Eldridge, she had passed on to her students at Layton Hall pertinent information about the statue. It dated back to 782 A.D. and the face carved in high relief under the headdress was that of a bearded, mustached Mayan sovereign, expressing solemnity and sternness, traits well suited to draw fear.

  Lord Hayden and Talbot circled the Stele, attempting to decipher the symbols etched into its sides. Lord Hayden turned abruptly as Elizabeth’s panic-stricken voice called to him. "What’s wrong?" he asked, assessing the situation and finding nothing amiss, except for the fear on her semblance as she stared wide-eyed at the Stele’s face. "Anyone you know?" he inquired. Elizabeth continued to stare at the image as though mesmerized. Lord Hayden placed an arm about her and drew her close. "Grace… Grace. What is it?" Receiving no response, he turned her toward him.

  Forced to look away, Elizabeth blinked, aware once again of her present whereabouts. She shook her head to clear it. "Oh, I’m sorry... I-I’m all right." She swayed in Hayden’s arms and he tightened his hold.

  "Are you sure?" he said skeptically, noting her growing paleness and confusion.

  He led her to the shade of a mimosa tree. "Sit down," he said, removing her backpack.

  "I’m all right," Elizabeth insisted.

  "Be quiet and sit down," he told her. He was too worried about her to put up with her usual obstinacy and Elizabeth recognized this. She sat and allowed him to minister to her, accepting the water from his canteen, and the touch of his warm comforting hand across her brow as he felt for fever. Finding none, he sighed with relief. Too much, too soon, Lord Hayden thought, for one feisty journalist, who also happened to be the woman he adored. He cupped her chin gently. "Something has been bothering you since we left the Cenote. I’m not sure that it relates to what just happened, but I think you should tell me what’s going on in your mind."

  To tell him that the face on the Stele had suddenly appeared very familiar, and with that familiarity had come a sense of terror, the reason for which she had no explanation, might cause Lord Hayden to believe she was not up to accompanying him on this expedition. And there was nothing more she wanted to do, but be at his side while rediscovering the past. "Nothing is wrong, William. I’m fine," she reassured him. "It’s the heat."

  "No," Lord Hayden insisted. "I know you better than that. Something is bothering you." Why wouldn’t she confide in him?

  Talbot, who had been observing the pair, urged, "If your wife is feeling better, I think we should press on. We have several other monuments to visit before nightfall." Elizabeth agreed, "Talbot is right. We ought to move on."

  "All right," Lord Hayden relented. "But stay close to
me," he told her.

  Over the next few days they encountered several other Stelae, but none that elicited from her a similar distraught reaction. Lord Hayden appreciated that she had not remonstrated about his sudden apparent abandonment of their original search of the relic hinted in Agnes’ message. She was as interested in finding the final Inca stronghold as he, himself. Loyal and steadfast this woman he yearned to make his own. And she trusted him. He had, of course, every intention of continuing his original search, but neither did he intend passing up a chance to find Vilcabamba. Yet another possibility existed, that all that had befallen them thus far... the Cenote, their meeting with Talbot, the armlet that might hold the answer to the location of the Lost City, all these might be the very clues to Agnes’ find. She might be leading him via a roundabout route to a precious relic.

  The nights were cool and filled with animal sounds. Lynx, bears, deer coexisted with monkeys and wolves and coyotes. Jaguar, puma, and ocelot roamed this plateau of broad fertile plains broken by deep valleys and mountains. Inside their tent, the pair of archaeologists lounged, he, in a chair, and she, on the cot, continuing their masquerade of a recently married couple. The tent flaps hung loose, stirring gently in the breeze. Each time the flaps separated, the couple glimpsed the full moon illumining the dark blue, star-speckled sky. Earth and firmament dominated this part of the world.

  Neither Lord Hayden, nor Elizabeth had spoken for a while, content in their closeness and in the silence that allowed them to think and reflect. They were teachers and learners, adventurers and archaeologists. Safe in this bubble of warmth and contemplative peace, Elizabeth forgot for the time the face on the Stele that had terrified her. Instead, she allowed herself to imagine she and Lord Hayden were truly a couple, he temporarily lying beside her, his arms about her lulling her to sleep as she snuggled closer to him. But later—the nightmare began. One moment she lay asleep under the thick muslin sheet; the next, she stood before the Stele at Copan. First the body, then the face dislodged from the rest of the sculpture. The stone image started toward her, alive yet frozen, a gray caricature of resilient flesh. Elizabeth screamed.

  Lord Hayden careened off the chair as her cry rattled in his ears. She was asleep, tossing and crying out for him. He grasped her shoulders, calling her name until her eyes opened, "Grace... Grace." Drenched with sweat and trembling from head to toe, she looked wildly about her, and then back at him, then flung herself in his arms. "He’s after me!" she wailed. "He’s after me."

  "Who is after you?" Lord Hayden entreated.

  He listened, dark eyebrows knitting, mouth somber, as she related her dream midst shuddering and gulping air, and near to hyperventilating. "That’s enough. I understand. Calm yourself. It was only a dream," he consoled, his voice gentle. He drew her down with him, cradling her.

  "Yes, only a dream," she repeated, burying her face in his side, vividly aware of the warmth of his arms and the strong beat of his heart.

  "Sleep my love," Lord Hayden whispered. "I’ll protect you, dearest." His warm breath caressed her hair and she felt the fear dissipating, the trembling easing. She turned her head to view his face. What she saw there was more than she could bear at this moment. This man loved her, truly. She must tell him the truth. It was not fair to evoke such love and deceive him. Yet revealing her true identity might destroy that love. Not hers, of course. She would love him forever, even if he turned from her in contempt.

  "William..."

  "Lord Hayden, is everything all right," Talbot called from outside. "I heard someone scream."

  "It’s nothing," Lord Hayden responded. "A bad dream. Everything is fine now."

  "Well, goodnight, then." There followed retreating footsteps, some voices mumbling in local Spanish, and donkeys braying restlessly. Slowly the camp grew silent again. But the interruption had served to bring Elizabeth to her senses. This was not the time to reveal her identity and possibly destroy their camaraderie and muddle their expedition. The time to tell him would be when they returned to the college. Dr. Elizabeth Eldridge must tell him the truth. She loathed giving up these precious moments in his arms. Elizabeth did not move from his embrace.

  "Sleep," Lord Hayden advised. "We have a long trek ahead of us."

  Elizabeth closed her eyes. She did not see Lord Hayden frown as he worried that she was not a woman given to unnecessary fears. He had learned from their two previous expeditions that occasionally her dreams tended to be prophetic and that her intuition was usually right. It was almost dawn before he finally fell asleep.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Elizabeth did not like the effect Talbot was having on Lord Hayden. But neither did she wish to spoil Lord Hayden’s excitement at the prospect of discovering the Lost City of the Incas and the possibility of that city turning out to be Vilcabamba. In 1911, an American Explorer, Hiram Bingham, had rediscovered Machu Picchu in the Andes. Yet Bingham, himself, as many other archaeologists, including Lord Hayden, was never certain that what he had found was Vilcabamba, the last stronghold of the Incas. Hundreds of Incan ruins filigreed the Andean Cordillera in Peru, and accounts of ambitious antiquarians unveiling the remains of a city or stronghold among these ruins filled archaeological journals. Talbot and Lord Hayden were of the same mind with regard to Machu Picchu.

  Thus far, Elizabeth had managed to keep her ill feelings about Talbot hooded, until that evening.

  The three sat about a card table, tin cups filled with coffee. Behind them, a phonograph played Latin music. Without preamble, Talbot asked, "Lady Hayden, with your husband’s permission, may I have this dance?"

  Elizabeth started, a cold shiver running up her spine. She glanced at Lord Hayden entreatingly. Say no, please say no.

  "A dance might lift your spirits," Lord Hayden said. "Go on, Grace." Elizabeth forced herself to smile. To refuse would be rude. For Lord Hayden’s sake, she nodded. Talbot rose slowly and offered his hand. Elizabeth met his gaze, dark and sinister, and quite uncaringly aware of her reluctance. A rush of abhorrence of the man nearly choked her.

  "Shall we?" Talbot took her hand. His fingers were hot and moist. He pulled her to her feet. "Your husband is a generous man. I would never allow you to dance with any other man—if you were mine."

  The touch of that sweaty claw suddenly became unbearable. She jerked her hand free and snarled, "I’d rather be damned!" Before either of the two men could react, Elizabeth spun away furiously and ran into the tent she shared with Lord Hayden. She sat on the cot, simultaneously angry, scared and confused. She did not expect Lord Hayden to understand, when she, herself did not.

  Lord Hayden remained seated, but for the first time since meeting up with Talbot, he felt a sense of misgiving. Talbot’s remark had chilled him. Not the words themselves, but the tone of delivery—cold and calculated, as though the man had accidentally let slip a false veneer of respectability. Was Talbot the cause of Grace’s despondency? After a few minutes to give her time to compose herself, Lord Hayden excused himself and strode into the tent. The woman he loved lay on her side on the cot, curled in a fetal position, hugging herself as if shivering. Her eyes were closed and her breathing steady. She had fallen asleep like a frightened child retreating into slumber to escape her fears. She seemed so small and helpless that he wanted very much to hold and comfort her. Nevertheless, waking her at this moment might serve only to bring back the fears. Instead, he took off his jacket and placed it over her shoulders, careful not to disturb her rest. In the morning would be time enough to discover what truly ailed her.

  The next morning Lord Hayden requested that breakfast be brought to their tent. Over coffee he confronted her. "I want to know what’s wrong, what has been bothering you. You haven’t been yourself for days now."

  "I’m fine. There’s nothing wrong."

  He riveted her gaze with adamant disbelief. "Is it Talbot?" he asked bluntly.

  Elizabeth pursed her lips in that defiant gesture that so intrigued him, but a moment later her shoulders sagged. "I don’t
like him. He frightens me. Makes my skin crawl."

  "Why?" Lord Hayden asked.

  Elizabeth yearned to tell him that the face on the stele that had come to life in her nightmare was Talbot’s. But Lord Hayden would certainly think her daft and her fears unfounded. Again her lips pursed, but this time she did not relent. "I don’t know," she said. "I just don’t like him. Nothing to worry yourself about. Please don’t question me further. My feelings won’t interfere with our business association."

  Lord Hayden’s posture tensed. Business association is that all their relationship meant to her. He chided himself. Had he forgotten how she had left him twice without a proper goodbye, and scoffed at his proposal, telling him to address his advances instead to Professor Elizabeth Eldridge. Hayden gritted his teeth. "Very well. I won’t pry. Tomorrow we should reach the outskirts of Peru. I’ve suggested to Talbot a few days rest at a quality hotel, after which we can search the northern part of the Cordillera, an area strewn with ruins."

  "Thank you, William," Elizabeth said, earnestly.

  Her humble tone, so abruptly a contrast to her coldness a moment ago, made him twitch in discomfort. Why did he love her desperately when she could discard him easily when not needed? He clapped his hat on and left the tent, failing to see the misery on her visage and the hopeless love in her eyes. Nor did he see Talbot lurking a few feet away, hidden in the shadows cast by the mimosa trees. If he had noticed him, he might have caught the sinister grin.

  Later that week they registered at a comfortable hotel in La Pequena, a nondescript, unchartered, but neat little town on the northwestern outskirts of Peru. That evening in his room, furnished sparsely in white wicker, Talbot closed the shutters and reached for his backpack. From it, he withdrew a short cape threaded with silver and gold in geometrical patterns. He placed the cape over his shoulders. Next, he withdrew a slender stone figure measuring about a foot high with carved snakes aureoling its stylized head. To the Incas the figure represented Lanzon, a dark lord, and a symbol of death. Talbot placed the figure on top of a white wicker dressing table. He prostrated himself full length before it. Then he rose to his knees and softly chanted some prayers in an unidentifiable language.