Will shifted his eyes to the left, then the right. "I reckon so."
Wigmere winked at me, but it was lacking its normal enthusiasm. "We'll use Will here to keep in touch."
I nodded, then hopped out of the carriage and followed Will as he scurried across the street, his eyes darting every
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where. When we reached the museum, he stepped partway into a hedge before opening the door and fairly shoving me inside. Surely he was overdoing this whole lookout bit? Before I could bring it to his attention, he disappeared down the street and I was alone in the museum's hallway.
Everyone was most likely still in the foyer, talking to the police. Hopefully, no one would have noticed my absence. I locked the door, then stepped farther into the hallway.
***
Directly into Clive Fagenbush! And I do mean directly. I bounced off him like an Indian rubber ball, nearly losing my balance and landing on my bum in the process.
"Watch where you're going," he snarled, then brushed off his suit, as if I had dirtied it somehow.
"How was I to know you'd be skulking around down here?" I said, mirroring his gesture by brushing off my pinafore.
"I wasn't skulking. I've come to show Constable Biggs here the east entrance, as he asked me to." That was when I noticed that he did indeed have the constable with him. "What are you doing here?" Fagenbush asked suspiciously.
"I ... came to see if the door had been tampered with." I turned to the constable. "But it hasn't been. It was locked up tight when I found it."
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Before either of them could question me further, I hurried down the hall.
Once I reached the foyer, the familiar sensation of beetles marching down my spine overtook me for a moment. How could I have forgotten? I had work to do.
But as I looked around, I saw that I was nearly too late. Strangers--a small army of them--were swarming everywhere. Unfamiliar porters and workmen toiled side by side with Dolge and Sweeny, lugging the mummies down to Receiving, where I assumed carts were ready to return them to their owners. Weems was trying to direct traffic but just kept getting in the way.
There were a couple of other men, too, although they were younger and dressed in suits. One was talking to Stilton and writing things down on a pad, while another was trying to set up some photography equipment. More policemen, perhaps? I inched closer to overhear their conversation.
"Oh, yes," Stilton was saying. "Tales of mummy curses have been around for ages."
The stranger scribbled something furiously on his notepad. "Yes, go on. What are some of the most common effects of these?"
"Well, there are stories of people dying or having serious accidents, or horrible misfortunes befalling them after they'd disturbed a mummy."
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The man stopped writing and looked up at Stilton. "What exactly do you mean by 'disturb'?"
Stilton's left shoulder jerked. "Move it from its rightful resting place. Or any resting place, I suppose. Or open the seal on its tomb ..."
The fellow began scribbling again. "What can people do to protect themselves?"
"Well, not handle mummies, for one ... and gold is supposed to be a powerful form of protection ...."
I was surprised at how well versed Stilton was in such mythology. I had thought him mostly a clerk.
"Gold?" the man echoed.
"Yes, gold represents the fierce power of the sun god Ra, which is said to drive the mummy away."
"Where on earth have you been?" Vicary Weems snarled.
I jerked as if I'd been burned, then realized he wasn't speaking to me. He was talking to Fagenbush. My enjoyment in watching Fagenbush squirm under Weems's questioning was distracted by a grunt off to my left. Dolge had just wrapped his burly arms around one of the mummies. Oh dear! He and Sweeny might come into contact with that vile curse.
I shoved a hand into the pocket of my pinafore and sauntered over to the mummies, as if wanting another look. When I got close enough to Dolge, I tripped and grabbed on
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to him for support--but of course it was actually so I could slip one of my extra wedjat eyes into his pocket.
"Watch it there, miss," he said. "I'd hate for you to bump up against one o' these mummies and get a curse." He winked, clearly thinking it a fine joke.
If only he knew ...
I moved away to find Sweeny. He wasn't quite as good-natured as Dolge, so I'd have to be a little more clever with him.
While I was still puzzling over how to approach Sweeny, the man with the photographic equipment called out, "Over here, gents!" There was a loud pop! and a blinding flash, then Sweeny yelled out, "Ruddy 'ell! I can't see!"
At the same moment, Inspector Turnbull saw the photographer and began bellowing at the top of his lungs. "What's that reporter doing in here? Get him out! Out!"
I rushed to Sweeny's side while he was still batting the dancing dots away from his vision and patted his arm. "Don't worry. Your sight will come back in just a second." I slipped a wedjat eye into the pocket of his coveralls. "If you close your eyes, it makes the dots go away faster."
By this time two constables had reached the reporter and photographer and were none too gently escorting them out the front door. Weems rushed over to Stilton, clearly a
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appalled. "Were you speaking with that ... that reporter? I've a mind to give you a formal reprimand."
Oh, honestly. What did he call this--an informal reprimand?
"I-I thought he was with the police. I had no idea he was--"
"Just get the mummies back where they belong," Weems scoffed. "I'll deal with you later."
As Stilton ran after Sweeny and another porter, a loud bellow erupted from the back of the museum, followed by a rapid thumping.
After a moment of startled silence, we all raced toward the sound, Turnbull in the lead, trailed closely by Father and myself. That is, until Vicary Weems pushed past me and nearly sent me careening into the wall. Beast.
When we reached the loading area, we found a bald porter lying on the ground, grimacing in pain, his leg twisted at a horrid angle. Dolge was struggling to balance the mummy they'd been carrying between them. Stilton trundled down the stairs to help.
"He tripped," Dolge explained.
"Broken leg, it looks like," Turnbull announced.
"Someone pushed me," the man gasped. "I didn't trip down no ruddy stairs. I was pushed."
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"Who could have pushed you?" Turnbull asked, looking around. "We all arrived after your fall. There was no one else here."
The man set his jaw. "I don't know, but I was pushed. I felt it."
Turnbull reached up and scratched his head. "Very well. Let's get this man a doctor. Biggs! You and your men go find anyone else here who wasn't in the foyer with the rest of us. We'll want them for questioning."
But of course, I knew they'd find no one. Or no corporeal body, anyway. No. I was very much afraid that the push had been of a supernatural variety.
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CHAPTER SEVEN MISS CHITTLE
***
WHILE EVERYONE WAS BUSY SEARCHING for someone who might have pushed the porter, I decided to slip away to the reading room in order to begin my research. But before I could take more than half a dozen steps, there was an imperious rapping at the museum door. Now what? We weren't open for visitation today, and surely we didn't need any more policemen. (Or any more mummies--but I was pretty sure they wouldn't have knocked.)
Since everyone else was still sorting out the mess with the broken-legged porter, I called out, "I'll get it." I straightened my frock and quickly wiped my face in case any errant dirt or cobwebs had found their way there, then opened the door.
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Grandmother Throckmorton blinked, her scowl deepening. "What are you doing opening the door? Don't you have studies to attend to?"
"Yes, ma'am." I dropped a quick curtsy. Not Grandmother Throckmorton! This was three days in a row. I wasn't sure I co
uld take much more. "We've had a bit of excitement this morning and everything is off schedule."
"Yes," a cheerful voice boomed from just behind Grandmother. "So we heard! We thought we'd come round and see if there was anything we could do to help."
"Admiral Sopcoate, how lovely to see you again." With any luck, he would temper Grandmother's horridness.
"Well, don't leave us standing out on the stoop like common tradesmen. Let us in!"
I jumped out of the way and they entered, which was when I discovered they had brought a young woman with them. It didn't take an overactive imagination to conclude that she was most likely my newest governess.
"If that's more blasted police, don't let them in, Theodosia!" Father shouted from the far end of the room.
And how was I supposed to keep them out? I started to tell him not to worry, that it was only Grandmother Throckmorton and Admiral Sopcoate come to check on us, but Grandmother interrupted me. "Alistair! Such language!"
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"Oh, hello, Mother. Admiral."
"Police?" the young woman with them repeated, her right eye twitching slightly.
"Miss Chittle--" Grandmother's loud voice had the governess flinching, and I wondered if she was related to Edgar Stilton--"this is my granddaughter, Theodosia."
"How d'you do?" I bobbed the most polite curtsy I could muster. It was hard with thoughts of mummies and research running through my head. A governess was the last thing I needed right now. "I'm very pleased to meet you."
She stared down her small, thin nose at me and gave a stiff nod.
The admiral moved forward to shake Father's hand. "Good morning, Throckmorton. We heard you had a dustup this morning."
Father ran his hand through his hair, making it stand up on end. "Yes, a bit of a pickle, I'm afraid. We've no idea how all these mummies got here and the inspector seems determined to find it our fault."
"Mummies?" Miss Chittle's pale white hand flew to her mouth, as if to hold back a scream. Honestly! What did she think was housed in a museum, anyway?
"That is inexcusable," Grandmother snapped. "I will not have the Throckmorton name dragged through the mud.
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Give me this inspector's name and I will have the admiral look into the situation immediately."
Then the admiral did something quite astonishing. He reached out and patted Grandmother on the arm. "Now, Lavinia. I told you, your name is quite safe. I'll be sure of it."
I watched open mouthed, expecting Grandmother to bean the man with her cane for taking such liberties. But instead, her face softened and she patted him back.
Miss Chittle caught sight of the mummies lined up against the back wall, and she took two small steps backward.
"Don't worry. Father didn't steal them," I reassured her.
"Steal them?" Miss Chittle's gaze fluttered from the mummies to me, then to Grandmother. "You didn't mention anything about the police, ma'am. Or stealing."
Grandmother gave her a withering look. "You told me you had a strong constitution and nerves of iron. I would hope you haven't been lying to me. A woman in my position could make things very difficult for a governess who has lied."
Miss Chittle's throat bobbed as she swallowed once before speaking. "Of course not, madam. I never lie."
Grandmother gave a satisfied nod, then whipped her head around to me, as if she thought I'd been up to something while she wasn't looking. "This isn't your doing, by some chance, is it?"
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"Now, Lavinia," the admiral said, "what could a young girl possibly do to create a mess like this?"
Have I mentioned I was growing rather fond of Admiral Sopcoate?
Grandmother relaxed a bit. "Very well. I suppose you're right."
Anxious to change the subject, I turned to my new governess. "What sorts of things will you be teaching me, Miss Chittle?"
"None of your impertinence now," Grandmother interjected. "Miss Chittle has been trained in the classics, so you won't suffer from an inferior education."
"Really?" My hopes grew.
Her eyes still on the mummies, Miss Chittle nodded absently.
"Plus," Grandmother continued, "she'll be teaching you all the things you lack. Etiquette, manners, comportment--"
Knowing better than to interrupt, I raised my hand to let Grandmother know I had a question.
"What?" she barked.
"What exactly is comportment, again?"
Admiral Sopcoate made a strange noise, then began coughing. Grandmother narrowed her eyes. "Comportment is how you behave, how you acquit yourself in public. It is
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something you are sadly lacking, as the disaster at Lord Chudleigh's illustrated."
I lowered my head. "Yes, ma'am."
Grandmother leaned closer to Miss Chittle. "Don't let her fool you. Butter wouldn't melt in her mouth."
It was quiet while I felt both of them studying me. After a long moment, Miss Chittle spoke. "Although I have no doubt I can teach your granddaughter, I would like to suggest we don't conduct our lessons here." She looked around the foyer, her eyes lingering briefly on the mummies before she continued. "There are far too many distractions, and it is quite unhealthy."
Grandmother thumped her cane. "We are in total agreement on that score."
"But Grandmother," I said, "the museum's reading room has so many scholarly texts for me to study. It's how I've learned Latin and Greek and hierogly--"
"None of which will do you a lick of good if you don't have the sense God gave you."
Did I not have enough sense to save Britain in her hour of need just months ago? I wanted to scream. But of course, I couldn't. I lowered my head and hoped Grandmother would think it was in shame instead of in fury. This would never do. I couldn't allow myself to be removed from the
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museum! Who would protect everyone from all the wretched curses floating around this place, let alone get to the bottom of this whole mummy fiasco? No. It simply wouldn't do.
Resolved, I lifted my gaze. "Very well. But don't you think it would be a good idea for me to show Miss Chittle around the museum so I can explain to her what I have been learning? That way, in addition to comportment and such, she'll know where to pick up in my studies?"
"I'm sure that's not necessary," Miss Chittle said quickly;
Grandmother waved her hand. "It can't hurt, and the admiral is still speaking with my son. So run along, but don't be too long."
I bobbed a curtsy at Grandmother, then turned to my new governess. "This way, Miss Chittle."
The woman sniffed, as if she really hadn't the time, but at least she followed. As we headed away from the front hall, my mind raced, trying to decide which of the exhibits I could use to shock her the most.
The answer was obvious: the ancient Egyptian exhibit, of course. Especially because the mummies already had her on edge. The Egyptian exhibit held many more gruesome delights to be explored. Plus, with any luck at all, she might be sensitive to the heavy, oppressive magic in the air.
I began outlining my education to date. "While I've spent
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most of my time on ancient Egypt," I said, "I have also done quite a bit with the classics: Rome and Greece, as well as a smattering of ancient Babylonia, Assyria, and Sumer."
"Hm," was all she said as her eyes skittered from here to there, trying to take in all the corners and shadows of the hallway.
I paused at the doorway to the ancient Greek and Roman exhibit. "Would you like to take a look at our classical collection?"
"Very well," she said primly.
I stood back so she could go into the room first. Her gaze fell immediately on a life-size statue of Adonis, who wasn't wearing so much as a fig leaf. She jerked back from the doorway, her cheeks flushed bright pink. "I think I've seen quite enough," she said.
Honestly. Just how silly can a grown woman be? Without meeting my eyes, she continued. "Do you have a ladies' withdrawing room here?"
"You
mean a lavatory?"
"There's no need to be vulgar, but yes, that is what I mean."
"Of course. This way, please." She didn't say a word as I led her to the restroom on the main floor. Since she was so prim and proper, I decided to wait for her outside.
It takes a surprisingly long time for an overly proper
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Governess to visit the lavatory. When she finally emerged, her cheeks were still pink (was she embarrassed, perhaps?) and her eyes looked a little bright. I caught a whiff of something. Careful to be discreet, I sniffed again. It smelled like ... sherry? But where would she have got hold of sherry? And at this hour! I knew for a fact there was none in the lavatory. Watching her more closely now, I asked, "May I show you the ancient Egyptian exhibit?"
"Yes, but only that. Then I think it will be time to go."
"Very well. This way, please." I led her from the main floor up to the third. On either side of us, statues of ancient Egyptian gods and pharaohs loomed. Isis emerged from behind one of the statues and began following us. I wondered how Miss Chittle felt about cats?
"Here," I said in my best museum-tour-guide voice, "is our most popular collection, ancient Egypt."
Miss Chittle stepped past me into the room. The electric lights flickered, and she flinched a bit. Of course, the lights did that all the time, but today the timing was perfect.
I led her to the large stone sarcophagus in the middle of the room. "This is the sarcophagus of an unknown priest from the Old Kingdom."
"A sarcophagus?" she repeated hollowly.
"Yes. A stone tomb. Where they placed dead bodies.
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Although the priest's mummy wasn't one of the ones downstairs. It wasn't in the sarcophagus when Mum found it."
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