Violet and the Mummy Mystery

by Harriet Whitehorn

  FOR ELLIE - HW

  FOR HARRIET - BM

  This is a story about Violet Remy-Robinson.

  Violet lives with her parents, Camille and Benedict, as well as her cat, Pudding, and her cockatoo, the Maharani. Her home is a flat that backs onto a large garden, called a communal garden, which is shared by all the people who live in the houses around it. Violet’s special friends who live there are Rose and Art and Art’s great-aunt, an eccentric lady called Dee Dee Derota.

  Violet is always on the lookout for a mystery and, together with Rose and Art, she has already solved three crimes – the theft of an expensive jewel that belonged to Dee Dee, the kidnapping of the cockatoo who now lives with her, the Maharani, and last year, when the three friends were on holiday in Venice, they even helped catch a gang of smugglers! In each of these cases, they had a little help from a policeman called PC Green. (Very little, Violet would say, although PC Green may say differently.)

  Now, as you may have guessed from the title, this book is about mummies and all things Ancient Egyptian, so I thought I would introduce you to the main characters in the story by telling you their favourite Ancient Egyptian fact.

  It all began on a miserable, wet and cold January afternoon.

  It was just the sort of weather that makes you want to curl up and eat warm, buttery crumpets and drink hot chocolate, so you will be pleased to hear that is exactly what Violet was doing. She was sitting in her cosy kitchen, after a very dull day at school and a soaking-wet walk home with her best friend, Rose, and she was trying to warm up and cheer up. Pudding, Violet’s cat, was on her knee, hoping a bit of crumpet would miss Violet’s mouth and end up in his. And the Maharani, Violet’s cockatoo, was perched by the window, surveying the wintry weather with disgust.

  ‘Did you see the postcards for you?’ Norma, the Remy-Robinsons’ housekeeper, asked.

  Violet shook her head and Norma handed them to her.

  The first was a picture of a bright red sports car and, when she turned it over, her godfather, Johnny, had written on the back, Your First Car?!

  Violet giggled. At Christmas, she had spent a very jolly week in Dorset with her parents, Benedict and Camille, and Johnny and his wife Elena. They had stayed in a cottage that was at the end of a long dirt track. Much to Camille’s disapproval, Johnny and Benedict had taught Violet how to drive a car. She had loved it, almost as much as playing poker, which Johnny had taught her when she was very little, and they always had a game when they were together.

  The other postcard had a picture of an Egyptian mummy on the front, with the words, ‘Greetings from the Museum of Egyptian Antiquities, Cairo’. As you may know, Cairo is the capital city of Egypt and, although Violet had never been there, she knew all about the museum, because it was where her Aunt Matilde, Camille’s sister, worked as a Professor of Egyptology.

  Matilde was the opposite of Camille – she never wore a skirt or carried a handbag and her pockets were always full of penknives, magnifying glasses and strange ancient objects that she had found. She had crazy, curly black hair and little square glasses that always seemed to be slipping down her nose. Matilde had a daughter named Agnes, who looked exactly like a mini version of Matilde, except she had her father’s dark skin. He was an Egyptian archaeologist named Akhil and, although Matilde and he were divorced, they were still great friends. Akhil lived around the corner from Matilde, and Agnes went between the two houses. Violet and Agnes were almost exactly the same age and, despite the fact that Violet lived in London and Agnes lived in Cairo, they knew each other very well because they often stayed together with Grand-mère in the south of France.

  Agnes and Violet got on brilliantly most of the time, but they did have their quarrels, usually because Agnes was what you would describe as a little, or more accurately a lot, on the naughty side. She particularly loved practical jokes. Sometimes they were great fun and Violet was happy to play along, but sometimes Agnes went too far and got them into lots of trouble. For instance, last time they had all stayed at Grand-mère’s, Agnes had persuaded Violet to hide Agnes’s pet rat, Mr Ratty, in Benedict and Camille’s bed. Agnes adored Mr Ratty and Violet could see that he was rather sweet in a furry, brown, ratty sort of way. He lived in a small bag, called the Ratbag, which Agnes carried everywhere. Anyway, for most people, finding a rat in your bed would be bad enough, but Mr Ratty had a particular fondness for people’s noses and had bitten Benedict’s as Violet’s father had tried to remove the rat from the bed. Benedict had ended up with a large plaster on his nose and had failed to see anything funny about the joke.

  I could go on, but we need to get back to the postcard. On it, written in Agnes’s large, loopy handwriting, were the words, J’ARRIVE!!! which means I’M COMING!!! in French. Violet was baffled. Her mother hadn’t mentioned that her aunt and cousin were coming to stay, and when she asked Norma she had no idea either. Oh well, Violet thought, I’ll ask Mama later.

  Six o’clock was the magical hour for the Remy-Robinsons, when Violet’s mother and father, having finished work, would drink a cocktail and discuss their day with Violet. That evening, as her parents sipped hot rum punch, Violet showed them the postcard. Camille was as puzzled as Violet, and was about to say so, when the telephone rang. Benedict picked it up, while Camille and Violet listened.

  ‘Hello? Hello, Matilde, how are you? We were just talking about you . . . You have some exciting news? . . . Shall I pass you to Camille? . . . No, okay . . .’ There was a long pause. ‘Well, that does sound exciting. Queen Nefertiti? Really? And the mummy is here in the British Museum? . . . So you’re coming to London next week . . . and Agnes? She’s coming too . . . How . . . er . . . marvellous . . . Here’s Camille . . . she’s desperate to talk to you . . .’

  Camille took the receiver and immediately started gabbling in French to her sister.

  ‘Matilde thinks that there’s a link between Queen Nefertiti and a mummy in the British Museum. She’s coming over to investigate further. She thinks the mummy may lead to Nefertiti’s long-lost tomb!’ Benedict explained to Violet.

  ‘Wow! That would be amazing!’ Violet gasped. ‘It would be as incredible as when Tutankhamun was found.’ As far as Violet was concerned, Ancient Egypt was the most interesting thing that she had ever studied at school.

  ‘I agree that is very exciting, but Akhil is away on a dig, so it does mean that Agnes is coming with Matilde,’ Benedict said rather unenthusiastically, taking a large slurp of rum punch.

  ‘Oh, it’s going to be such fun!’ Camille exclaimed, having said goodbye to her sister.

  ‘I’m just saying this now so there’s absolutely no confusion,’ Benedict said, stroking his nose protectively. ‘I am not having that rat in our flat under any circumstances.’

  Camille swung immediately into action and over the next week she had arranged for Matilde and Agnes to rent a teeny flat across the garden, in the building next to Violet’s great friends, Dee Dee and Art. And, because they might be spending some time in England, Camille had persuaded Violet’s headmistress, Mrs Rumperbottom, to allow Agnes to attend St Catherine’s for the rest of the term.

  ‘Are you sure that’s a good idea?’ Benedict had asked, when he thought Violet wasn’t listening. ‘Agnes can be quite . . . boisterous.’

  ‘I’m aware of that but Matilde assures me that she is much calmer, and has hardly been in trouble at all recently, so I’m sure it will work out perfectly,’ Camille replied with a dismissive wave of her hand.

  8.30 a.m.: Mrs Register, the form teacher

  ‘Well, girls, I’d like you all to welcome Violet’s cousin, Agnes. She lives in Cairo in Egypt normally, but she’s going to spend the rest of the term with us here, whi
ch is nice. So I’d like you all to be kind to Agnes while she settles in. It can be very scary starting a new school.’

  10.30 a.m.: Mr Comma, the English teacher

  ‘I know it’s your first day, Agnes, but I would appreciate it if you would stop talking. And Violet and Rose, stop listening. Thank you.’

  10.35 a.m.

  ‘Agnes!’

  10.40 a.m.

  ‘I’m sorry to do this on your first day, Agnes, but I am going to have to warn you properly. At St Catherine’s, if you talk in class, you get something called a debit. If you say another word, you are going to get one. If you get three debits in a week then you have to go and see the headmistress.’

  10.45 a.m.

  ‘I’m sorry, but I am going to give you all – Violet, Rose and Agnes – a debit.’

  11 a.m.: Agnes and Violet, breaktime

  ‘I cannot believe, Violet, that you have a best friend who cries when she gets told off.’

  ‘Don’t be mean. Rose has just never had a debit before.’

  11.30 a.m.: Miss Sums, the maths teacher

  ‘Is that a note in your hand, Violet? Bring it up here immediately! Well, I can see it’s not your writing, but you know we don’t pass notes here. I’m giving you a debit for setting such a bad example to your cousin. And whoever wrote this, I’m sorry you felt the need to be rude about the size of my bottom.’

  1 p.m.: Rose, lunchtime

  ‘No, really, Violet, you must sit with Agnes – she’s your cousin and it’s her first day. I’m quite happy sitting with Lydia.’

  2 p.m.: Mr Paint, the art teacher

  ‘Is that a RAT in here? How revolting! Up on your chairs while I try and catch it! How did it get in here? What did you say, Agnes? I see. Kindly get your rat then and, since it’s your first day, as long as you don’t ever, ever bring it back into school, we won’t say anything else about it.’

  3.45 p.m.: Violet, Rose and Agnes, on the way home from school

  A frosty silence, broken by Agnes.

  ‘So, Violet, can we play in the garden when we get back?’

  ‘I’ve got a climbing lesson and then a chess lesson, but maybe quickly after that.’

  ‘Would you like to play?’ Agnes asked Rose half-heartedly.

  ‘No thank you,’ Rose replied briskly. ‘I’ve got my ballet class.’

  ‘Ballet?’ Agnes sneered. ‘What – do you waltz around in a tutu – all la-la-la? Don’t you find that SO boring?’

  ‘No, not at all,’ Rose replied coldly.

  ‘You should try kung fu, it’s so much more fun!’ And Agnes did a few moves for Rose. ‘Did I tell you I’m a black belt? Which is, like, the best. I am a lethal weapon.’

  ‘Yes, I think you did mention it on the way to school, and then at breaktime, and then again at lunchtime,’ Rose said.

  5.45 p.m.: the communal garden

  By coincidence, Violet and Rose wandered out into the garden at the same moment that evening, having finished their homework and activities. It was practically dark and Art and some other children were finishing a game of football. Both girls saw Agnes tackle Stanley, Rose’s older brother, and then kick the ball effortlessly through the goal. Everyone cheered and slapped her on the back.

  ‘She’s cool, your cousin,’ Art said to Violet, who, like Rose, gave him a small, tight smile.

  7 p.m.: supper at the Remy-Robinson house

  ‘Do you all have what you want?’ Camille asked, as everyone sprinkled cheese over their pasta. ‘Violet, fetch some more water, please. Cheers! Now, I want to hear all about your first days. Agnes, how was school?’

  Agnes smiled angelically at Camille. ‘It was fun, but nothing much happened; I don’t think that the teachers even noticed me. And Rose is so sweet. I love how she does ballet the whole time.’

  Violet shot Agnes a look, but she ignored it.

  ‘Excellent. I’m glad it went well,’ Camille said. ‘And how was the museum, Matilde?’

  ‘It was good too, but more eventful,’ Matilde replied, and she began to drink, eat her pasta and talk all at the same time. ‘I met the famous Archie Fitzherbert.’

  ‘Who’s he?’ Violet asked.

  ‘He’s the new Head of the British Museum. Everyone was amazed when he got the job, as he’s only bought and sold artefacts for his rich clients before.’

  ‘What’s an artefact?’ Violet asked.

  Agnes jumped in. ‘An artefact is an object, often of archaeological importance.’

  ‘It’s a fancy word for thing,’ Benedict said. ‘Usually an old thing.’

  Matilde laughed. ‘It’s true. Professor Fitzherbert told me how unrewarding he found his old job, and how delighted he was to work in a museum where everyone could visit. Anyway, he was very welcoming and couldn’t have been more charming. In fact, I was having a lovely time until I saw you-know-who.’

  Camille laughed.

  Benedict and Violet looked mystified so Agnes explained.

  ‘Professor Petit works at the British Museum too and is Mama’s great rival. He is obsessed with finding Nefertiti’s tomb.’

  ‘We all grew up together,’ Camille said. ‘I remember Pierre Petit chasing us down the beach near Grand-mère’s, swearing he’d get his revenge on you one day after you pushed him in the water.’

  ‘And he never has,’ Matilde replied with satisfaction. ‘And now he’s furious because he has spent the last twenty years searching for Nefertiti’s tomb and he cannot bear the thought that I might find it.’

  ‘Rude as he is, I would like to see him again,’ Camille said. ‘I think I’ll throw a little welcome party for you and Agnes. You can invite some people from the museum and I’ll invite some of our friends so you can meet them properly.’

  ‘Thank you, that sounds fun,’ Matilde replied.

  ‘Oh, my goodness me!’ Benedict exclaimed. ‘I nearly forgot to tell you! Look what I saw in the newspaper today.’ And he pulled a sheet of newsprint from his pocket and unfolded it, handing it to Violet.

  The article was called Celebrity Cop and there was a large photo of Violet’s friend, PC Green, grinning at the camera in his uniform.

  ‘He’s written a book,’ Benedict went on, ‘called Solving Crime: The Green Method, which is an international bestseller. He’s a superstar among police officers apparently.’

  Violet’s mouth dropped open. Thankfully, it was empty and not full of spaghetti bolognese.

  ‘Well, let’s invite him to our party,’ Camille said. ‘It’s always nice to have someone famous.’

  The party was arranged for the following Saturday. Norma didn’t work at the weekend so Benedict spent the whole day cooking, while Violet and Camille were in charge of drinks and getting the flat ready, which involved a lot of shopping and moving furniture. At last it was done and at six o’clock, when the doorbell rang, the flat looked immaculate, the Remy-Robinsons were dressed in their party clothes and the smell of deliciously yummy food filled the air.

  Dee Dee and Art were the first to arrive. Dee Dee looked rather fabulous in a lime-green kaftan and a sort of jewelled headdress. She was clutching a large rubber plant as a present, which she thrust at a surprised Camille. Art was wearing a shirt and trousers, and looking slightly sheepish, as he always did when Dee Dee made him smarten up. Rose and her parents arrived moments later, Stanley was busy playing football which he said was much more fun than a boring old party.

  ‘Welcome, everyone! Let me get you all a drink,’ Benedict said. ‘I could do with some help, you three.’ He turned to Violet, Rose and Art. They looked pleased, because it’s always fun to help at parties, isn’t it? Benedict handed Rose a tray of drinks and Art a plate of sausage rolls. ‘Violet, please can you be in charge of answering the door?’ he said.

  The doorbell rang again and Violet opened the front door to reveal a very small, very wide man. He had black hair, a neat little beard and he was wearing a pinstriped suit with a waistcoat and a bow tie. He carried an umbrella, although it wasn’t ra
ining, and a large packet of dog biscuits.

  ‘Who are you?’ he asked Violet in a cross way, as if she had rung on his doorbell, not the other way round. He spoke English with a very strong French accent.

  ‘I’m Violet. And you are?’

  ‘Ah yes, Camille’s daughter.’ He bent down and peered at her. ‘You look nothing like her,’ he said in the same grumpy way. ‘I am Professor Pierre Petit,’ he announced grandly.

  Violet longed to be rude back to him, but she knew two wrongs don’t make a right, so she replied politely. ‘Please come in. May I take your coat?’

  ‘No, but please will you put my umbrella somewhere VERY SAFE, so no one steals it? These are a present for your dog.’ He held out the dog biscuits.

  ‘Er, thank you,’ Violet replied. ‘Actually, we don’t have a dog, but my cockatoo might like them.’

  ‘You don’t have a dog? How very peculiar!’

  ‘We have a cat, Pudding,’ Violet replied. ‘Unfortunately, he hates parties so he’s hiding under my bed. Our cockatoo, the Maharani, is in her cage in the sitting room . . .’ But Professor Petit wasn’t listening as his attention was now firmly on Camille who had just come into the hallway with Benedict.

  ‘Goodness me, how time passes! I barely recognise you, Camille.’

  ‘Or I you, Pierre,’ Camille replied, arching an eyebrow at him. ‘But I can see that your personality is just the same. This is my husband, Benedict.’