A couple introduced themselves as Mr. and Mrs. Still and sat down at her table. The woman was young and friendly looking, with gold hair in pincurls. Her husband was a little older and was balding. Felicia introduced herself and took a glass of champagne from a servant’s passing tray. There was no harm in keeping her hands busy and her glass of punch was empty.
“How do you know our host?” asked Mrs. Still. She leaned forward eagerly, her curls quivering.
“I’m here with Mr. Connor,” she said. “He is an acquaintance of Mr. McCullen.”
“And how do you know Mr. Connor?”
The woman was fishing for information, Felicia realized. Mrs. Still was trying to place her in her taxonomy of complex social relationships in New Orleans high society. She wanted to know Felicia’s connections and place.
“I’m his distant cousin. From Spain,” she said.
“Oh, did you hear that?” Mrs. Still turned to her husband. “She’s from Spain!” The woman was inordinately delighted with the revelation. “Where in Spain? We were in Spain during a tour of Europe two years ago.”
“Well, my parents are Castillian, but I was raised in the United States.” She hoped she would not be required to have any knowledge of Castille. She spoke Spanish, though anyone actually from Spain would hear the difference immediately.
“Are you as scared as I am to see the mummy?” Mrs. Still hunched her shoulders up and had an expression of dread, as if the mummy might come alive and attack the guests.
“It is frightening,” said Felicia, becoming serious. “But we’ll have to be brave, won’t we?”
Mrs. Still nodded soberly and Mr. Still gave a silent chuckle that his wife did not notice.
A man was approaching them, smiling and saying a few words to guests along the way. He was good looking, in his mid-thirties with sandy brown hair and an air of self-assurance. He was of medium height and strong build, and Felicia noticed a few of the ladies giving him an appraising look. His eyes locked on hers and she stiffened involuntarily when he did not look away. She knew he had been looking for her.
“Miss Sanchez, I presume?” he said once he reached her table. “I would wait for Mr. Connor to introduce us properly, but it appears he has left you all on your lonesome. I am Oren McCullen.”
He took her hand and bowed over it, but thankfully did not kiss it. McCullen’s Irish accent was much fainter than the Professor’s, almost imperceptible. She wondered if he was intentionally trying to lose his accent. He wouldn’t be the first immigrant to do so.
“Pleased to meet you,” she said.
“You look a vision in that dress.”
Felicia gave the man credit for keeping his eyes on her face instead of looking her up and down. She was about to thank him for sending the dress, not wanting to be ungrateful. But something about Mr. and Mrs. Still listening to the two of them prevented her.
A servant at the far end of the room rang a bell.
“Time for the unwrapping,” said McCullen. “There will be a late supper afterward, followed by dancing until very late. Or very early, I suppose. I hope you will allow me the pleasure of one dance?”
How could she refuse? “I would be happy to.”
“As Mr. Connor isn’t here, you must allow me to be your escort for the unwrapping. These things can sometimes be a little much for a lady.”
Felicia had seen far worse things than mummies in the emergency room. And unlike the mummies, which were centuries dead, the people she had seen had still been alive. Most of them anyway.
McCullen offered his arm. She took it, wondering silently if a woman was ever allowed to walk anywhere without a man to hang on to. A door at the far end of the room led to a sitting room. Couches and chairs must have been pulled in from other areas of the house, as the room was filled with enough seating for the guests, some of whom were already finding their seats.
At the front of the room was a sarcophagus. It wasn’t as elaborate as the ones Felicia had seen in museums or on TV. For a sarcophagus, she supposed it was quite ordinary. It was rectangular and carvings of grapevines snaked up the sides, but no three dimensional figure rose from the lid to indicate what the mummy might have looked like in life. She wondered if the sarcophagus was perhaps a modern creation and the mummy had been placed into it by the person who had stolen it from its resting place.
McCullen seated her between Mrs. Still and himself. He left her to speak with some of the guests.
Mrs. Still leaned over. “Do you suppose the mummy is a man or a woman?”
“I couldn’t guess.”
“I think we’ll find out soon!” Mrs. Still whispered.
It wouldn’t be long now. They were going to completely unwrap the mummy and expose the poor naked thing to everyone’s scrutiny. Felicia was not squeamish about either death or nudity, but she did believe that the dead, even the long dead, should have some dignity.
But there was nothing she could do. Seamus and Henry needed as much time as possible to find the plans, and the longer everyone, including the servants, were downstairs, the better. The Professor had been gone for more than twenty minutes, and she wondered how they were faring. Surely, if they had found the plans, Seamus would have returned to her side.
“Ladies, gentlemen.” McCullen stood to one side of the sarcophagus, beaming at the assembly. “Thank you for honoring me by joining me for my little gathering. I hope you are enjoying yourselves.”
The crowd made murmurs of appreciation.
“As you know, Krewe Taranis will be hosting a parade on Mardi Gras. It promises to be quite a grand time. But there’s something more. I am going to share a little secret with you. Do you promise to keep this to yourselves?”
A few heads nodded. Well, if McCullen wanted everyone in New Orleans to be discussing something by the next morning, this was the way to do it. If the guests knew that they were being used, they didn’t seem to mind. A few of them had hungry, eager looks.
“Krewe Taranis has decided that the theme for this year’s parade will be Enchanted Egypt.” He said the last two words in a low, soft voice and people had to strain to hear him. He waited a few moments for the people near the front to whisper it to people at the back before he continued.
Felicia had heard of the krewes, but not Krewe Taranis. In her day, there had been many krewes. They were groups of people who created the Mardi Gras parade floats. There was always friendly competition between them to see whose floats would be the most beautiful and elaborate. Or the most outrageous. The ideas, of course, did not conflict during Mardi Gras.
Felicia noticed that McCullen hadn’t mentioned the automaton display at the cathedral which would follow the parade. Surely he knew that Seamus had created the automatons with Brother Joe. Did their rivalry run so deep that McCullen would stage a whole parade in order to upstage his former colleague?
McCullen motioned to two servants on either side of the room who both came to stand beside the sarcophagus. They stood motionless while McCullen took a seat beside Felicia. Then they each took hold of the sarcophagus lid and pulled it to one side and propped it against the wall.
The guests gasped as the mummy was revealed. As expected, it was wrapped in cloth strips, though Felicia noted that they were much darker than she had imagined they would be. The two servants used scissors to clip away at the wrappings on the head of the mummy. Once it was loosened, a man from among the guests stepped forward. With hesitation, he pulled at the cloth, exposing the mummy’s face.
Its skin was gray and desiccated and clung tightly over its protruding cheekbones. Its eyelids were slightly parted, though Felicia could see nothing but darkness beneath them. The eyeballs were probably as rotted and dried up as the rest of the poor thing. Its mouth was stretched open in a silent grimace, lips pulled back from grayish teeth.
Aft
er the entire head was revealed, one of the servants removed two small gold hoops from the mummy’s shriveled earlobes and handed them to a female servant. The woman showed them to McCullen, who nodded. She then moved around the room, allowing people to examine the jewelry. Finally, she set the earrings on a lacquered tray and stood to one side with it.
Another male guest stood up, and McCullen gave him a nod. He moved to the front and removed the wrapping from the mummy’s neck and shoulders, revealing a gold circlet, like a long crescent, with blue stones embedded at intervals. The necklace made the same tour of the room that the earrings had, and her stomach turned. The next person would unwrap the mummy’s chest and if her guess was correct, this mummy was female.
A woman rose, smiling with her hand over her mouth and looking repeatedly back at her giggling companions. Once she was face to face with the mummy, she gasped and almost turned away. But she screwed up her courage and pulled at the wrapping with delicate fingers. She allowed a servant with scissors to help her cut away some of the more stubborn pieces of wrapping and the mummy’s rotted clothing to reveal the chest and ribcage. The ribs stuck out, as the surrounding flesh had collapsed inward. Dark nipples, like gray eraser heads, stood out against the small rises of the mummy’s flattened breasts.
The woman turned to the crowd, her cheeks scarlet. A few of the others gave her light applause. A servant removed a thin gold chain from around the mummy’s waist. It made its way around the room.
“Are you not enjoying yourself?” whispered McCullen. He was so close to her that she could smell his cologne, like pine needles. “You look unwell. Do you need some air?” he asked.
Felicia tried to relax and uncrossed her arms. She had been scowling in disgust and knew she ought to be polite and blend in. Mrs. Still touched her hand.
“Amazing, isn’t it?” Mrs. Still said, as if they were making a grand archeological discovery together.
“I have never seen anything like it,” said Felicia.
McCullen leaned in again. “Do you know what will happen to the jewelry?”
“No, what?” Felicia said.
Once the female servant had placed the waist chain on the lacquered tray, McCullen stood and took the tray. He waited until he had everyone’s full attention. “These lovely trinkets, as well as anything else our ancient friend offers us,” here he nodded toward the mummy, “will be worn by the Queen of the Mardi Gras.”
A group of young women exchanged looks of delight with each other.
“The King will ride on a grand float in the parade,” continued McCullen. “On the day of the parade itself, he will select his queen from the many beautiful ladies of our fine city. This lady will have the honor of wearing these invaluable historical artifacts. Or rather, we will all have the honor of seeing her display them to their best advantage.”
The young women immediately put their heads together in discussion, glancing now and then at McCullen.
A door at the side of the room opened, and the servant who entered caught McCullen’s eye. For a moment, Felicia caught a flash of irritation on McCullen’s face, but he quickly recovered the appearance of good humor. He gestured for a volunteer to come and unwrap the next portion of the mummy. He met the servant near the door and listened as the man whispered in his ear. He got a dark look, glanced at Felicia and then left the room.
In the moment the doors opened, she heard a familiar voice.
“Call your men off, Oren, or I’ll take care of them myself.”
The guests turned toward the door. As another guest began his work on the mummy, Felicia wondered if she could leave without anyone noticing. She was near the front, and there was no way she could manage a stealthy exit. She heard muffled voices through the door, and she shot up from her chair. All eyes were on her as she sailed across the room and pulled open the door.
She found herself in a wide carpeted hallway with sculptures and vases in small alcoves along the walls. Two servants held each of Seamus’s arms while McCullen stood up close to him. Henry was nowhere to be seen.
“I offer you a good position in my company, and this is how you repay me? With theft?” said McCullen.
“I didn’t take anything.” Seamus was not struggling against the two men who held him.
“No?” McCullen looked to one of the servants who shook his head. “So you didn’t take anything. But you were rummaging around in my office. What was it that you were looking for?”
McCullen knew exactly what Seamus had been searching for, Felicia thought.
“Ah, Miss Sanchez,” said McCullen, as if he and Seamus were having a pleasant chitchat. “I apologize that my former associate has been so rude as to leave a lady without her escort.”
“I’m fine on my own.”
A roar went up from the guests behind the door, and Felicia imagined that the mummy’s genitals must have just been exposed. So much for the idea of prudish Victorians.
“I know you wanted to take something. Just tell me what it is,” McCullen said to Seamus.
“Unlike you, old friend, I am not a thief.”
“Yes, yes. Not a thief. But you are a murderer.” His last word was so low that Felicia almost didn’t hear it. But it hung in the air as Seamus glared at McCullen. Then he looked down.
“I will never understand you, Seamus. You still let yourself be tortured by it. After everything.”
The door to the mummy unwrapping opened, and a few people came out to see what the commotion in the hallway was about. The door was held open long enough for Seamus to see the gray figure propped up inside the sarcophagus. He took in the naked mummy with a look of disgust. He said something in another language. Felicia guessed it was Irish.
McCullen spun around. “You address me in English in this house.”
“You are what you are,” Seamus said and paused, “but why did you bring that thing here? It’s disgraceful.”
“Offended by a nude woman? Now, that’s not the Seamus I know.” McCullen smirked.
“Not by the nudity or the rotted nature of the thing. But with what you’ve done to it.”
“But that’s not all you said, brother.”
“The rest I cannot repeat with a lady present,” Seamus said.
“Ah yes, your lady friend. Well, after being left alone with strangers, she will have the pleasure of watching you be loaded into the police wagon. They should be here in a few minutes.”
McCullen joined his guests while servants herded the remaining people back into the room with the tables, leaving Seamus with the two servants and Felicia.
“What can I do?” she said. Seamus’s eyes were narrowed in thought, and she wondered if he had a plan. “Can I call a lawyer? How does it work here?”
“Tell Mrs. Washington. And see to Henry.”
The police came quickly and quietly, taking Seamus outside and loading him into the back of a square horse-drawn police wagon. Felicia had heard of paddy wagons, but never thought to see one, let alone one with an actual “paddy” inside. Seamus sat on a bench on one side, and an officer closed the double doors and locked them. A servant came and spoke with the police, presumably giving them the details of Seamus’s crime. Felicia wondered if he was the butler, but she had no way of knowing. Felicia remembered that Seamus had admitted to nothing, so perhaps there were no charges that could stick. She could hope.
As the horses pulled the wagon down the curved stone drive, she shivered and rubbed her arms. Seamus was a good liar, she remembered. He might be able to lie his way out of this. Unless this was just another way for McCullen to assert his dominance over Seamus by humiliating him. In that case, it was all for show, and Seamus soon would be home. Luckily, none of the other guests were outside to witness anything. McCullen had enough propriety to keep the upper crust of New Orleans society inside, eating and dancing. W
ord would spread soon enough, she had no doubt.
“Ma’am, the master asks that you come back inside,” said a servant at the door.
The master could shove it, for all she was concerned. “Could you call me a carriage instead? I am not feeling well and I need to go home.” She did her best to look miserable, which, under the circumstances was not hard to do. The servant nodded.
A murderer. That’s what McCullen had called the Professor. Seamus was a good liar, and could have denied it. She would have believed him over McCullen in an instant. But he hadn’t. Which meant one of two things. Either he was careless, which was a possibility, or he might have wanted Felicia to know. The Professor was eccentric, but he would never be careless about confirming something so serious, especially in front of servants. He would only do so for a good reason, and the only one that made sense was that he wanted her to hear it. That meant that he was in more trouble than a simple trespassing violation. He could be wanted for murder.
Chapter 16
Hazel crouched down behind a plant with thick arching stems and enormous, fanlike leaves. If she made herself small and sat near the main stem of the plant, its leaves and those of its brethren would conceal her. It wouldn’t work in daylight, of course, but the only illumination in the conservatory was the diffused light of the crescent moon. Unless someone looked closely, she would not be seen.
There were people in the yard behind the McCullen house, and Hazel could not risk a run for the fence. Her heart was still beating hard. The Professor had insisted that she leave at the first sign of trouble. He was very stern about it and had made her give her word.
The two of them had been in McCullen’s office, as the man did not have a desk in his bedroom, as the Professor had predicted. The office was the complete opposite of the Professor’s, with neatly labeled file drawers, a tidy desk and bookshelves filled in an organized fashion. They had been wrong to assume the tidiness of the room would make it easy to locate plans for the engine.
The Time Corps Chronicles (Complete Series) Page 12