The Egyptian Coffin (A Lord Ambrose Mystery)

by Jane Jakeman

  And, indeed, I heard a distant thudding, as in some other room nails were driven into shutters.

  The house will be like a blind thing, I thought. I hated the thought of those dark and silent windows, those sheeted sunless rooms.

  The squirrel pursued his course across the lawn. Soon, the house would belong only to the small creatures that hid within its walls and ran heedless about the grounds.

  PART II

  THE GREAT LONDON

  SEVEN - The Further Narrative of Lord Ambrose Malfine

  I write this record of events transpiring aboard the steamship Great London in Alexandria. Here I am preparing for a solitary crossing to Cairo. I do not wish to travel with the other passengers from the Great London; if Casterman is the dangerous fellow whom I suspect him to be, he will be forewarned by my presence on the ship. Let him believe that I have vanished into the sands; I have taken care to make arrangements that will, I trust, ensure Miss Lilian’s safety in Alexandria.

  It was extremely fortunate that I was taken aboard the Great London when she anchored at Falmouth to take on postal packets. This was discreetly accomplished as it was almost dark, so that the identity of the new passenger who now took occupancy of a vacant first-class cabin did not immediately become known. If anyone had been hanging over the rail of the great vessel when I went aboard, all they could have seen were lights flickering in a boat that drew up to the Great London’s side. A few minutes later, a cloaked figure made his way along the deck to the vacant cabin, and a sailing vessel drifted away into the night. All that anyone would have known about the interesting stranger, therefore, was that he was rich enough to secure a vacant first-class cabin, that he was secretive, and that he had damned long lanky legs.

  We had a fearfully stormy passage, and in the Bay of Biscay the ship was tossed by such gales as I have never previously experienced. Almost all the passengers were horribly seasick, except for myself. I suppose that, having nigh killed me outright on several occasions, Neptune does not bother me with such petty torments as mal-de-mer. At any rate, I was immune from the general debacle.

  Miss Lilian Westmorland had embarked in extremely poor health. I had glimpsed her, once or twice, and she seemed increasingly pale and weak, and most distressingly uninterested in the world. It was ironic, therefore, that, a few days later, when the Great London headed valiantly into the storms of the Bay of Biscay, encountering forces that bucked her giant bulk as if she were a tin can, Miss Lilian was almost the only passenger apart from myself who was able to walk on deck.

  Walking was perhaps an euphemism, for in reality it consisted largely of slithering about and hanging on to the ropes with which an anxious crew had surrounded the quarters of the first-class passengers, just in case any of their charges should possess stomachs of sufficient strength to enable their owners to crawl out of their cabins and on to the deck.

  The steward had a theory that it was always the sickliest travellers that did best in such circumstances, so he commented that he was not surprised when we saw the slender red-haired figure of Miss Lilian emerging from her cabin. In fact, he wished he had taken a bet on it.

  In spite of the wind, I could hear Mrs. Jennet’s little shrieks of anxiety as she called after her mistress with numerous injunctions against unnecessary risk-taking. The cries terminated in a pathetic whooping noise that indicated copious use was being made of the deep metal tray that the steamship company had so thoughtfully fitted into a special holder at the side of every cabin-bed. It was quite true that, as the brochure promised, no aspect of the passengers’ needs was neglected.

  From my cabin, I could observe that the first-class steward now made his way along the deck to where Lilian stood, holding on to the brass rail that surrounded the promenade deck.

  I stepped out and started to make my way along the deck towards them. There was more than a hint of admiration in the steward’s tone as he addressed her. Would she like him to bring a chair? One could be fastened to the deck for her, and she would be quite safe in such an arrangement. And oilskins were perhaps advisable.

  Foam was flying all around them as he spoke, and his words needed little reinforcement from nature. Lilian thanked him, and he brought a folding chair which was lashed to stanchions on the deck, and oilskins which were arranged around her with fatherly care and pride.

  “The sun’ll be out, miss, just you watch! She’s a-coming up on the port bow! Never you mind this storm!” The steward left her safely in her chair.

  And presently, although the wind did not abate, the sun came out, and the heavy grey seas changed to a mass of opalescence under the pure and glimmering air.

  It was not my intention to make myself known to her — or to any of her party. But I did not wish her to be left alone on deck, and therefore maintained my position some distance further along. I made no effort to approach my fellow passenger, and perhaps would not have spoken to her at all, if it had not been for an accident.

  Lilian had around her throat a long, loose muffler of grey cashmere wool, and this was suddenly plucked from her as if by an invisible hand, and the gust of wind that had seized it carried the scarf along the deck in the direction of the stranger. Involuntarily, she rose from her chair, and suddenly, as the deck lurched under her feet, found herself propelled along with the speed of light as a mighty sea shook its back and heaved the vessel like a toy ship in a bathtub. She was therefore almost literally flung into my arms, to our mutual surprise.

  “I applaud your courage, young lady. I see there are two of us who brave the elements today. But I am afraid you may experience a few mishaps before you are safely back in your cabin.”

  “Lord Ambrose Malfine!”

  “Why, you remember me? What good fortune! Then I need not introduce myself, though I must beg the pleasure of your acquaintance. I trust we may dispense with some of the formalities, meeting as we do in somewhat unusual circumstances!”

  “Yes, I am Lilian Westmorland, of Westmorland Park. That is ... I ... it was my parents’ home. And you were kind enough to visit after my accident, and you bought my poor old Dobbie! Oh, Lord Ambrose, that was such a generous act!”

  “No, no, it was nothing! Dobbie is in fine fettle, I am glad to assure you, and gives excellent service to my man, Belos. But Miss Westmorland — what a delightful surprise this is, to be sure! Your father and I were companions in boyhood mischief, though I must confess I had not seen him for many a long year and if I judge correctly you have inherited his spirit, for he would have ventured forth exactly as you have done, storm or no storm!”

  I had now got my arm under hers, of necessity, for the violence of the gale renewed, and she seemed too frail to press forward against it alone. “But, my dear Miss Westmorland, let me assist you. The passenger’s saloon is nearby, and I think there must be a member of the crew still upon his legs — if two landlubbers such as you and I can brave the storm, then surely we can be brought some restorative!”

  The safe haven of the first-class saloon was but a few yards further, and I opened the doors with one hand and swung Lilian through them upon my arm, depositing her in the secure cushions of a plush-covered chair which appeared to be nailed safely to the uncertain floor.

  In front of her was a small round mahogany table, its top surrounded with a little brass rail to provide for emergencies such as this. I sank into the chair opposite hers, and beckoned to an attendant, who came forward assiduously with the rapid lurches of one used to travelling in heavy seas. In no time, it seemed, Lilian had been helped off with her heavy oilskins and cloak, and a pot of tea was conjured out of the air and set before us.

  Lilian sipped the hot liquid and it seemed her strength appeared to be reviving. I contemplated her face: pale though it was, it had great attractions. Her eyes were great blue-green orbs, rendered more brilliant by contrast with the pallor of her face. Her hair, which had been cut short during her illness, strayed in red-gold tendrils across her temples. It would have been very easy for me to feel more
than I should have felt in my role as old friend of the family.

  “I congratulate you on your courage, Miss Westmorland, it is the quality I admire above all others. May I ask why you are on board this vessel?”

  “I am going to Egypt, for my health. I believe that you know Dr. Sandys, and he approved of my going recommending a warm climate; I have been very ill this last month, and it was thought a change of atmosphere would aid my recovery.”

  “Yes, indeed, that warm dry air is held to be excellent for invalids. And there will be good riding there, when you are well enough — do I not recall that you are a very considerable horsewoman, Miss Lilian?”

  I regretted that I had mentioned this, for there was a spurt of tears in her eyes, and she began dabbing at her face with her gloved hand.

  “I believed so, Lord Ambrose, indeed, I foolishly thought I was a good horsewoman, but I learned otherwise, for I had an accident that cost me dearly.”

  “That is why you have been so unwell?”

  “No, not entirely. You see, at Westmorland Park, my mare, Selene — ”

  “Why, what a wonderful name! Goddess of the moon, Selene, who rides across the night sky in her chariot. Have you not seen that wonderful carved marble head of one of the horses of Selene — the sculpture that Lord Elgin brought back from the Parthenon in Greece? Is that why you gave such a name to your mare?”

  “Yes — that is, I have not seen the sculpture, but my mother told me about it, and I called my horse after it. It was a fancy of mine — for my horse had a slender white blaze in the shape of a crescent moon.”

  Lilian had to pause for a moment.

  “The truth is that I took a foolish risk, and rode her too fast, and my poor Selene is now dead — she broke a leg and had to be shot.”

  She pressed her hand to her eyes.

  I leaned forward intently, anxious not to miss a word. Her voice was faint, and I did not want to press her on this point. “And how did that come to happen to an experienced rider such as yourself?”

  “You are too kind in your estimation of me, my lord. I rode Selene along the path towards the clump of beeches in our grounds, not checking or slowing for a moment, and she must have stumbled.”

  “An odd occurrence, on ground so familiar to horse and rider?”

  “I did not see exactly what had occurred. I am not quite sure how it came to happen, but my Uncle Micah said that Selene had to be ... had to be ...”

  “Do not distress yourself, I beg you, Miss Westmorland.

  I am sure your uncle was right to put an end to your horse’s sufferings. You, and your safety, must have been his chief concern.”

  “Oh yes, he was most perturbed. He dismissed the groom who had been accompanying me, and said it was the man’s fault for not preventing me from riding so recklessly. So you see, Lord Ambrose, I have not only caused the death of my beautiful Selene, but poor Adams was turned away on account of my foolishness.”

  “Miss Westmorland, I admire you!”

  She stopped crying in surprise.

  “Yes, indeed I do, for the hardest thing of all, the thing that takes the most courage in life, is to admit to our own follies. You have done so, and faced up to your actions, and that is a courageous step of self knowledge. Let me say to you, that accidents happen always and everywhere; we cannot predict the workings of fate, and we must not blame ourselves for it. You have paid a terrible price for the loss of a moment’s vigilance. I trust you will permit my speaking to you so deeply about the workings of our minds and feelings, for, as a friend of your father, I hope I may be of some support to you.”

  “Indeed, sir, you have very probably stopped me from going overboard today, and if that is not real support, I do not know what is!”

  We looked at each other, and burst out laughing.

  “I did not mean to speak so literally, I assure you, Miss Westmorland! However, it was a great pleasure to be of service to you! Now, I beg you, allow me to assist you back to your cabin. The gale still blows across that treacherous deck!”

  We resumed the paraphernalia of cloaks, scarves, gloves, then rose to our feet. Lilian was pinning her cloak against the wind with a brooch her mother had given her, a gold pin in the form of a horse standing within the silver crescent of a moon. She saw that I noticed it.

  “A gift from my mother, on the day when I got Selene.” She held the brooch out to me, so that I could see the inscription engraved on the silver surface of the moon: “To my darling Lilian, from her loving mother. Many happy moons!”

  “A beautiful gift, and most imaginative!”

  I handed it back to her, and she was re-pinning it when the ship took a sudden lurch and she involuntarily grasped my arm.

  It was at this moment that the doors in front of us burst open, as if with the force of the hurricane, and a figure erupted into the saloon. It was old Overbury’s major-domo, Casterman.

  “Miss Lilian, come with me at once! What do you think you are doing here! And you, whoever you think you are, take your hands off her!”

  Casterman moved threateningly, head lowered like an angry bull, to confront us. For a moment, he and I stood opposite each other; he was a solidly made man, but a good six inches below my height. Before he was quite aware of what was happening, I stretched out my arm and had the luck to grasp him firmly by the throat, my thumb sinking snugly into the carotid artery. This is an old Thuggee stranglehold, the knack of which I have acquired somewhere in my reprobate life. I maintained it for a few moments whilst we conversed — although the conversation was somewhat one-sided, I must admit.

  “I will tell you who I am! I am this young lady’s neighbour; I had the honour to be a friend of her father. I am, sir, as you may perceive, a gentleman, but that does not disqualify me from being able to kill men with my own hands if I perceive the desirability of so doing! And I do not take kindly to threats and insults, I assure you!”

  Casterman was choking satisfactorily now, and I dropped him into a convenient chair where he slumped gasping like a stranded fish.

  Lilian rushed forward, exclaiming, “Oh, pray, Lord Ambrose, do not kill him! Perhaps you do not recall that Mr. Casterman is my uncles man of business — I do not think he can have meant to insult you intentionally.”

  “Yes, we have met on a previous occasion. I beg pardon, Miss Lilian. I did not wish to alarm you. I shall overlook this flunkey’s behaviour. You are, I take it, entrusted to his care by your legal guardian, but I hope you also have friends who will assist you. If you wish at any time to turn to me, I trust that you will do so.”

  I left them; it was unfortunate that my presence on board had been revealed to Casterman, but as long as I travelled separately once we had disembarked, he need not be suspicious of me.

  And, outwardly, he could not be said to be in the wrong. He had encountered his young mistress arm in arm with myself, a man of doubtful repute who might be threatening her virtue — or at any rate, compromising her good name — and he had acted accordingly, exactly as befitted a good steward of his master’s property.

  Besides, there might be some truth in his fears for Miss Westmorland’s virtue. In my juvenile days, I might well have laid siege to it. Yes, in my young days — and perhaps not so young!

  I loathed the fellow, but he might be in the right.

  EIGHT - The Further Narrative of Miss Lilian Westmorland

  Here, before I get any further with my recollections, I must make a confession. I had seen Lord Ambrose once before — from a distance — and yes, I had written it into my diary!

  I was out taking a country walk with Jennet one day, in that happy time before all the unhappiness and disaster befell us, when we saw a rider approaching in the distance; he seemed to halt and watch us.

  “But, Jennet,” I whispered, as I was tugged protestingly along the path, “do you not think that gentleman was taking some particular interest in us?”

  “Come away this instant!” hissed Jennet, dragging me along.

 
“That is not a suitable gentleman for you to meet — no, not at all! That is Lord Ambrose Malfine! He who owns that mansion, the great house that is also called Malfine, near Westmorland Park!”

  “But then he is a neighbour, of sorts. Should we not stop and speak to him? After all, we are met here by chance, yet we live within ten miles of each other. Would it not be mere politeness to greet him?”

  “No, it would not! The man has a most strange reputation!”

  “Oh, tell me, tell me, Jennet!”

  “He lives all alone, apart from some governess, a boy who’s not his, and a manservant, in that great house, with half its rooms boarded up. And what’s more, the governess is French — or leastways, brought up in France! And they say he never receives company — does not show his face in public, since he was nigh half killed in some war or other — he ran away from home when he was seventeen!”

  “Exactly my age!”

  “Yes, Miss Lilian, and would have been given up for dead, only that valet of his, Mr. Belos or whatever he calls himself, he brought his lordship home, covered in wounds, a year or two back. Dr. Sandys says it was a miracle he survived. But now he’s recovered, he doesn’t see a Christian soul for months on end — he never goes out in society, though they say he’s the richest catch for hundreds of miles, for Malfine is the biggest estate in the county, and his grandfather left a fortune in the stocks and shares, as well. But he’s a strange one, Lord Ambrose — why, he never goes hunting even, won’t have the hunt on his land! D’you know what he told the Master of Hounds? ‘I’ll not have the Malfine foxes disturbed, and if they need culling, I’ll shoot them myself!’ Shoot foxes! Old Sir Anderton near died of apoplexy when he heard that! And the parson’s given up trying to call at Malfine — it’s always, ‘His lordship is not at home today,’ when parson says he can look through the doorway and see his lordship’s boots steaming on the chimneypiece, and his lordship’s long lanky legs inside them!”