Deadly Curse (Angus Brodie and Mikaela Forsythe Murder Mystery #11)

Chapter 9

Nine

We rose early of the morning.

I had already decided that I would return to the museum with the hope of being able to find Mr. Hosni’s catalogue for the exhibit, and compare it to what was actually in the exhibit. If anything was missing, that might tell us something.

Brodie was determined to see Howard Carter released from Bow Street. With Mr. Hosni’s murder, it did seem that whoever had attacked and killed Sir Nelson was the very same person.

While I wasn’t certain he would be able to persuade acting C.I. Graham to release him, I was grateful. I liked Howard Carter very much and felt that he had been caught up in this simply by that old saying, in the wrong place at the wrong time.

While Brodie seemed to be convinced that what had taken place was actually a robbery, he also wanted to speak with the illusive Mr. Brown. He had left word for him the day before, but there had been no response.

“I suppose if I told ye not to go, ye’d go anyway.”

I didn’t respond to that. He knew the answer.

“There are things that I am better at, and I will be perfectly safe. There are still constables at the museum posted at the exhibit hall,” I pointed out.

He pulled a face, which in his case was more of a snarl.

“It will all be quite boring,” I told him. “Comparing the catalogue notes with the artifacts in the exhibit. Not exactly something you’re good at. Unless you’re concerned about the curse. Remember, I do have the amulet for protection.”

He scoffed. “’Tis not the curse. There is still a murderer out there.”

He slipped his arms around me and pulled me close.

“Ye are important to me, Mikaela Forsythe.”

“Important. Now there is a word to flatter any woman,” I replied, angling my head back to look at him.

“Who would make notes for our inquiry cases? I suppose that might be important.

“And one can barely read your writing. Even Mr. Dooley complains of it, and he has no doubt had a great deal of experience when you were with the MET.

“Who would see that the electric and the rent is paid, not to mention the coal man?” I added.

His history for paying weekly or monthly bills in the past was usually to who ended up at the door to the office and demanded payment. Or more recently finding oneself suddenly in the dark with no fuel for the stove.

“Ye are a cheeky lass. Ye know well wot I mean,” he replied.

“Of course, it must be most important that I make certain we always have a sufficient supply of coffee, not to mention my great aunt’s whisky.”

“ Spioraid,” he said in Scots, his voice low in that way that always caught my attention.

“And what does it mean?” I asked.

“Spirited. Ye’ve got the devil in yer eye this morning.”

I laid my hand against his cheek, his beard tickling my fingers. I knew where it came from, that need to protect what was his.

Yet, he also knew I would not sit idly by, cooling my heels, waiting for him to return. There were now two murders, and I refused to waste time while finding the person responsible.

“I want very much to find who did this,” I explained. “Sir Nelson dedicated his life learning about Egypt and the Egyptian people, and he was most generous with his knowledge when he didn’t have to be. He deserves to have the truth known, Mr. Hosni as well.”

Brodie brushed the hair back from my cheek.

“The risks ye take.”

“No different than the risks you take,” I pointed out.

He kissed me again.

“Whether I want it or no, ye are part of me, lass, and this curse ...” He brushed my cheek with his fingers.

“It doesna matter whether I believe it or no, but wot others believe. Ye must promise to be careful. Perhaps ye should take the hound with ye to the museum.”

Another surprise there.

It had taken him some time to accept Rupert, as he had never had a dog, or a pet of any kind for that matter.

Admittedly, Rupert was not the usual sort of pet most people had. He lived on the streets, his manners were appalling, and he came and went as he chose, usually with something quite disgusting in his mouth that he’d found.

Yet, he had an engaging smile when he wasn’t gnawing on a bone, was fiercely loyal to Mr. Cavendish, and had proven himself most effective in protecting me on more than one occasion.

“I’m not certain the director of the museum or patrons would appreciate that. He might make off with one of their artifacts or offend one of the guests.”

“Aye, he does have a peculiar appetite for things. But he has a special affection for ye, and I would prefer that ye take him with ye.”

Prefer? To anyone else that might have sounded very much like a suggestion. Yet, I knew better.

Compromise. It was something I had never been good at, nor had Brodie, I had discovered. We were both learning our way around that.

I agreed to take Rupert with the provision there would be no objections from the director nor any of the staff.

“And you will be careful as well, in your meeting with Mr. Brown,” I told him. “I don’t trust the man.”

I doubted that was Mr. Brown’s real name, considering the profession he was in—noted smuggler, and leader of a somewhat notorious band of thieves that controlled certain enterprises on the streets of the East End.

“Aye, true enough, but we have an understanding,” Brodie replied with a gleam in that dark gaze.

“What sort of understanding?” I inquired. I was certain it was something far more nefarious than merely information, as Brodie would have me believe.

He kissed me again in parting.

“Ye might say that I know where the bodies are buried.”

Bodies?

Then he was gone.

I placed a call to Mr. Dooley and explained the purpose for another visit to the museum. He agreed to contact the director to make him aware so that I would have no difficulty.

I didn’t bother to mention Rupert. There was a possibility that he might not have returned from his usual morning tour of the Strand. However ...

It was midmorning when I arrived at the museum. I checked in at the desk at the main entrance and explained the reason I was there as a consultant to the investigation.

“We don’t usually allow animals in the museum ...” the attendant politely informed me.

“Oh dear, of course,” I replied. “You may remove him.”

He gave the hound a long look. “I suppose there is no harm, as long as he doesn’t disturb any of the displays.”

I thanked him and we continued to the office Mr. Hosni had shared with Sir Nelson.

A constable was stationed outside. He nodded congenially.

“I’ve heard about yer work, and about that fellow,” he gestured to the hound. “Is he on the case as well?”

Cheeky fellow.

There were no further comments as the constable opened the door and I stepped inside. Rupert followed, fascinated with new scents to be investigated.

Inside the office, I easily found the catalogue, still open on the desk where Mr. Hosni had obviously been working on it.

It did seem odd that he hadn’t taken it with him to the exhibit hall where his body was found. Perhaps he had gone to the hall to verify one of the artifacts once more.

I sat at the desk while Rupert explored the office. There were three pages of entries with descriptions neatly printed for each one, with those check marks in the column beside it. Except for one, described as a Khopesh sword made of bronze.

I had seen pictures of such a sword in sketchings from inside Egyptian tombs. They were far different from English swords, much shorter, with a crescent-shaped blade for slashing and an outside edge for hacking. A formidable weapon indeed.

The drawings I had seen when I was in Egypt were from paintings on walls over three thousand years old, according to what Sir Nelson had described at the time.

It seemed that there had been a Khopesh in the collection he had brought back, except the absence of a check mark indicated something far different and had perhaps caused Mr. Hosni to return to the exhibit.

I searched the office for anything else that might seem unusual or out of place. I had previously noticed that Mr. Hosni was meticulous in his appearance and manner, and as I had observed, in his notes in the catalogue.

Yet there were items on the desk that seemed to have been moved, perhaps carelessly put back in place, along with a drawer that had not been completely closed by whoever had last been there.

I had worn gloves, something Brodie had once suggested as a precaution against disturbing anything in our searches. I eased the drawer open and carefully searched the files I found there. Once more, I recognized Mr. Hosni’s precise printing on each file tab.

He had most certainly kept everything orderly here as well. I did notice that one of the files, marked as ‘bills of lading,’ was slightly askew as if it had been removed and quickly returned.

What might those tell me? I tucked the file under the tablet with those catalog entries.

It was possible that Mr. Hosni had found some discrepancy. And had then left the office with some urgency when he returned to the exhibit hall?

Or had someone else searched the office, forced to quickly leave when someone—perhaps one of the constables—had returned when they came on duty?

I had made a note about the missing sword in my notebook, along with a question about the disarray at the desk, something only someone who had previously met Mr. Hosni might have noticed. I gathered the file and the catalogue.

It seemed the only way to learn if anything was missing was to verify the catalogue against the artifacts on display, as Mr. Hosni had.

I thanked the constable outside the office, and made my way to the exhibit hall with the hound trotting alongside.

We received a few curious stares from guests, including one extremely alarmed patron. It might have been the tiny, fluffy dog she carried who set up a considerable fuss. The hound stopped, stared, and eventually followed me, with much persuasion and a somewhat stale biscuit left from our supper that night that I had thought to put into my bag before leaving the office.

The constable stationed outside the exhibit hall merely gave us a curious look. I informed him that I might be there a while.

He went off his shift at four in the afternoon and would let the man coming on know if I needed to remain longer. I thanked him and entered the hall and set to work.

Mr. Hosni had thankfully catalogued the display according to placement in the hall, beginning at one end of the large room. Otherwise, I might have been there for days going back and forth searching out individual pieces. I looked at the hound.

“Make yourself comfortable,” I told him. “We will be here for a while.”

‘A while’ turned out to be several hours in spite of the logical, methodical manner that the catalogue was set up. I had toured other exhibits previously.

Most catalogues in the case of ancient artifacts were often set up in time periods covered by the exhibit. However, this particular exhibit specifically covered the time period of Ramses II rule as Pharoah of Egypt, and it was limited to what Sir Nelson had discovered at the time.

Mr. Hosni had then created the catalogue to follow the flow of artifacts with signage from the early part of Ramses’ reign, and in such a way to take the visitor through different parts of that early reign that included four sarcophagi and two stone caskets of those of high rank in society who had served the Pharoah.

There were tall clay jars painted with figures, gold utensils and jewelry, along with canopic jars, statues of important gods and goddesses, free-standing as well as in cabinets, hand-painted figures and boxes, and that sandstone carving of Sekhmet.

It was a bit daunting as I began with the catalogue in one hand and my pen in the other, while Rupert groaned as he stretched out on the floor and promptly went to sleep.

I had been at it for some time when I stopped to stretch against the stiffness in my back. I looked around for Rupert. He was still laid out just inside the entrance to the exhibit. I smiled.

“Worthless beast,” I told him.

I glanced down at the watch pinned to my blouse. It was just after four o’clock in the afternoon. There was only a small section of artifacts left to verify, and I was determined to finish what Mr. Hosni had begun.

He had found a discrepancy between the shipping manifests and artifacts in that room, and I was determined to find it as well.

The section that was left contained those sarcophagi as well as the elaborately carved sandstone caskets, six canopic jars, and a hand-painted gold-inlaid box.

Everything was accounted for so far as I set off across the room for that last section of artifacts that also included that imposing statue of Ramses II.

There were fewer, if larger, artifacts in this part of the exhibit. It should take only a short amount of time to finish, even with the smaller statues and gold figures displayed that gave a visual impression of what the individuals in those sarcophagi might have looked like when alive.

There were two priests and two women depicted in the figures and on the sarcophagi. Possibly family members?

From Sir Nelson I had learned that members of royal families were often entombed together in those burial tombs in Egypt when each one died. It held with the belief that they would be reunited in the afterlife.

The carvings and paintings on the sarcophagi were fascinating, depicting scenes from that person’s life, their position in the Pharoah’s kingdom, as well as an oval cartouche on one that might have signified a royal relative.

I made notes in my notebook as well as verifying each artifact. There had to be something that would tell me more, I thought. Then I discovered that it appeared that the painted box with gold inlay was missing.

Was that what Mr. Hosni had discovered?

I went back through the hall, looking for the box that might have been placed elsewhere, but failed to find it. I returned to the location of the jars.

The exhibit had first arrived weeks earlier, and work had begun on the displays very soon after. No one else might have found the evidence, even if they were looking for it. Yet, I knew from pieces of china, vases, furniture, and swords in the sword room at Sussex Square, they had a tendency to collect dust if not cleaned or used regularly. Or stored away.

I learned that quite young, exploring my great aunt’s residence that had stood for several hundred years. Admittedly, a few hundred years didn’t compare with a few thousand, as in the case of the Egyptians.

By carefully moving first one jar aside, then another, I discovered the faint outline where the box had been.

It had been discovered some years before that hand-painted boxes often contained cosmetics, jewelry, and small figures of gods to accompany the dead person into the afterlife. It hardly seemed that it might be something worth stealing, let alone murder.

A sound came from where those ornately carved stone caskets were displayed. Massive in size, it had undoubtedly taken several men to maneuver them into place.

The figures that decorated them celebrated the person’s life, the position that person held, and depicted the final journey.

They were beautiful, and I could imagine the weeks, months, perhaps years it had taken to carve those scenes.

It appeared that the lid of one had been pushed back.

Had it been jarred loose when it was moved into place for the exhibit? I tried to remember if I had seen that when I was there previously.

Was it possible that someone had moved it afterward ...?

The blow caught me at the back of my head in an explosion of light and pain, and then I was falling, a figure bending over me.

The last thing I was aware of was vicious snarling and someone screaming ...