Chapter 11
Eleven
More than once on the ride to the museum, I caught Brodie watching me with that expression I had seen the night before—thoughtful, with a frown before looking away.
“There is no need to worry,” I assured him. “It was only a bump on the head.”
“Aye,” he replied. “I forgot how hard-headed ye can be.”
Not unlike a stubborn Scot?
“The director and his staff may have already made their inspection … however there are things that we might recognize that could provide a clue.”
We entered through the main entrance and made our way to the Egyptian Exhibit Hall where a constable was positioned outside the entrance.
He greeted Brodie in that familiar way of those who had once worked with him while serving with the Metropolitan Police.
“I will need to let the director know that you are here,” he informed us.
Sir Edward took my hand when he arrived. “I was most distressed after what happened yesterday. You have recovered?”
I thanked him for his concerns. He accompanied us into the exhibit hall.
“The situation has become most untenable. First Sir Nelson, then Mr. Hosni, this latest attack, and now ...” He was quite beside himself.
“You must come to my office afterward. There is something you must know.”
It did seem that he was upset over something else. I assured him that we would.
I had brought the catalogue Mr. Hosni was working on. Once left to ourselves, as the constable was once more positioned outside the entrance, I went followed the steps of my visit the previous day.
“I started here and began verifying the artifacts against the information Mr. Hosni had made in his entries for the catalogue. It took some time, as they are listed separately. I started with the exhibits to the right. That forced me to look each one up separately.”
It was quiet inside the exhibit hall, as to be expected with it closed to visitors. The only sounds were our footsteps as I slowly retraced mine with Brodie a few paces behind as he made his own observations.
When searching a place where a crime had taken place, I had learned that we each saw different things. As for myself, each step I took I looked at each individual artifact or those in cabinets as I had the day before. No small task, in consideration of the number of artifacts that were on display.
I eventually approached the part of the exhibit where the two caskets stood, along with the display of canopic jars that had once surrounded the gold-inlaid box. Brodie was there as I explained what I had found in the display.
“And the casket?”
It was the one nearest the display of jars.
I approached it as I had the day before. And, as the day before, pointed out the lid that had been moved back.
It was then I noticed something I hadn’t noticed before when I was attacked—a familiar scent. The same scent Brodie had noticed in the police holding facility where Sir Nelson’s body was taken—absinthe.
He approached the casket as well. We exchanged a look.
“It would seem there is the possibility that Sir Nelson’s murderer made a return visit.”
But what did that mean? That the murderer had a preference for that scent? The next question was—who? And if the person I had encountered had murdered Sir Nelson and Mr. Hosni, what was the reason?
The obvious answer seemed to be that, whoever it was, the person had a penchant for small carved figures or possibly petrified organs? It was a morbid thought.
Or was there some other reason?
Brodie turned on his hand-held light and shone it down through the opening into the casket.
“It’s empty.”
A casket with no mummified remains?
“And a convenient hiding place when ye returned unexpectedly to verify the catalogue.”
It wasn’t that I doubted him, yet the description Mr. Hosni had written for those stone caskets had specifically mentioned that each contained mummified remains.
“That makes no sense,” I replied as I peered down through the opening into the empty casket.
“The contents might have been taken before it arrived,” Brodie suggested.
I supposed that might be possible. Or possibly after it arrived? That would explain someone being there when I returned the day before—someone I would like to return the favor to, after that blow to the head. I imagined someone fleeing across London, searching for some hiding place with a mummy. Not exactly something that would go unnoticed.
And the question, who would want to steal mummified remains?
I continued my search through the exhibit for anything else that might be missing.
However, it appeared that with the exception of that gold-handled knife Sir Nelson had been killed with and the painted box that was now missing, everything else was as it had been the day before and when Mr. Hosni had inspected the exhibit to verify it for the catalogue he was working on.
I paused before a display of weapons the Egyptians had used that had been among the artifacts discovered by Sir Nelson. I had not had the opportunity the day before to venture this far into the exhibit.
There were spears, shields, swords, bows, and a Khopesh. I had seen one before on my travel to Egypt.
It was a short, sickle-shaped sword. I imagined how one might wield it. The possibilities were quite dreadful. Had one been used to kill Mr. Hosni?
“Wot have ye found?” Brodie asked. “Is something else missing?”
“Not as far as I can tell. It’s this sword. It’s called a Khopesh, adapted from the ancient Greeks. For one who knew how to use it, it was supposedly a fearsome weapon.”
My second tour of the exhibit brought me back around to that imposing statue of Ramses II.
“Yer thinkin’ of the curse?” Brodie asked. “That makes two encounters,” he reminded me.
“I don’t believe in them.” I thought of the amulet Mr. Hosni had given me. He obviously believed in such things, yet he had given it to me.
“Or someone wants ye to believe in it,” he pointed out.
Which raised another question—perhaps to deter Brodie and me off the case? That raised another question. Who would have known that Mr. Hosni gave the amulet to me?
Satisfied that the other artifacts in the exhibit were undisturbed, Brodie and I signed out with the constable who had been placed on duty at the entrance to the exhibit hall.
We made our way to the director’s office. He had seemed extremely upset when we first arrived.
“Come in, come in,” he greeted us with that same sense of urgency and motioned for Brodie to close the door after.
“There has been a most disturbing development regarding the exhibit.” Sir Edward paced the office. He picked up a piece of stationary from his desk and handed it to Brodie.
“A claim on the exhibit?” Brodie asked.
I had glimpsed the seal of the office of the French Ambassador as he read the official letter.
He nodded. “A letter regarding the exhibit has also been received from the French Foreign Secretary requesting that we release the artifacts to Dr. Duvalier.”
“Edmund Duvalier?” I replied with more than a little surprise.
“Under the present circumstances,” he continued, quite beside himself. “I have contacted the Home Secretary to request more time to respond so that you might be able to resolve this dreadful situation. This is a very delicate issue. I have patrons who supported the museum financially. Lady Antonia Montgomery is one of them. If they thought that the artifacts were stolen ...”
I saw his point. It could be devastating for the museum.
“There must have been paperwork that accompanied the artifacts,” I commented.
“Yes, of course. Sir Nelson provided all the necessary paperwork from the Ministry of Antiquities in Cairo. Everything is in order.”
Apparently not everything, if a claim was being made.
He shook his head. “There has never been anything like this before. I trusted Sir Nelson, and yet ... I don’t understand how any of this has happened.”
Now two people were dead, and there was a missing artifact, not to mention I had been attacked.
There was even more urgency to solve the case, with the rightful ownership of the Egyptian collection in question.
We left the museum and directed the driver to Sussex Square.
Brodie wanted to meet with Munro regarding the information Mr. Brown had given him.
Munro was manager of my great aunt’s estates. He also oversaw all shipments of whisky that was distilled at Old Lodge in the north of Scotland. It appeared that he had connections into all sort of enterprises, much like Brodie.
Be that as it may, he had proven himself loyal to my great aunt and Lily on more than one occasion. And he had a keen mind for numbers, people, and how to deal with them.
My great aunt had rewarded him with the position of manager of her estates after he discovered her former manager stealing several cases of wine from her estate in France, that he then sold and made a substantial profit.
“You know the man, Duvalier?” Brodie asked as we left the museum.
“By reputation through Sir William Flinders-Petrie, and a chance encounter in Lisbon when I was there on travel. The man is quite despicable. He is French, however he owes no loyalty to any person, or country for that matter. He will sell his services to anyone.”
“Ye have just described a thief.”
It seems that I had. “He considers himself the ultimate authority on Egyptian antiquities ... and women,” I added.
“Ye had an experience with the man?”
“I will only say that he ended up on his backside.”
“Taking liberties, was he?”
I could have sworn he found it all quite amusing.
“My other choice was to use the knife Munro had me carry when I traveled. However, I did not want to stain my gown.”
“So, the man has a reputation for being a thief, a womanizer, and owes loyalty to no one but himself. Ye have described the perfect criminal.”
And now he had managed to persuade the French Ambassador to lay claim to the artifacts in the Egyptian Museum. No doubt, for a fee.
The traffic across the city was congested, and I thought of the underground rail system that the city had planned. There were already short-run rail connections between a half dozen rail stations, but expansion had been delayed by rivalries.
I had read what was being called a ‘tube railway network’ was not practical until electric power was available throughout. And there were the usual financial difficulties with cautious investors. It would be quite marvelous, if it actually came about.
Aunt Antonia was in the game room with Lily in a most serious game of billiards when we arrived. A quick study no matter what she took on, Lily had apparently won the last game. And possibly more.
My great aunt looked up as we arrived. “She’s won another round,” she said with some pique.
“I’m a bit off my game. It is undoubtedly due to a sore muscle in my shoulder.”
Undoubtedly, I thought as I noticed Brodie’s amused expression. She handed me her stick.
“How are you, my dear?” she asked. I exchanged a glance with Brodie. How was it possible that she knew about the incident the day before?
“You are quite well, it seems. I refuse to worry, and now that you’re here, you can play the next game.”
Lily had what could only be described as a devious grin.
“Her Ladyship told me that ye beat Mr. Munro two rounds out of three,” she said with a sly smile. “I beat him the last time.”
That did sound like a challenge. How could I possibly resist, even though it had been some time since I last picked up a stick?
“Prepare to lose, young lady,” I told her, taking off my jacket and laying it over a nearby chair as Brodie inquired where he might find Munro.
“He was off to the stables, the last I spoke with him,” my great aunt replied. “You must join me for a bit of refreshment. I do believe Mikaela and Lily will be at it for some time.”
Unless I was mistaken, ‘refreshment’ referred to a bit of Old Lodge single malt whisky.
brODIE
Munro was in the stables that also contained Lady Antonia’s motor carriage.
‘A dangerous development,’ Mikaela called it. Not necessarily for her great aunt, but anyone who happened to get in her way when she decided to take herself off on an excursion.
Much like someone else he knew.
“Smuggling?” Munro replied when he had explained the case he and Mikaela had taken after Sir Nelson’s murder. And shared the information Otis Brown had given them.
His friend spat on the ground when Brodie mentioned he had spoken with Brown.
“Ye know well enough the man canna be trusted. He’s no better than the ones yer lookin’ for, might even be part of it.”
Brodie had thought about that, an ‘arrangement’ that Brown and his people had been cheated out of, and the possibility that he and Mikaela were being used to find the ones Brown was also looking for.
“He claims there are goods out of Portsmouth that have been directed to other places.”
“Ye want to send someone to verify shipments.”
“Not just ‘someone,’” Brodie clarified.
Munro nodded. “It would be faster to go there by rail, faster still if there were two to make inquiries.”
Brodie agreed. “Two days with travel would be sufficient. If ye can arrange it.”
“I can. What about the stolen artifacts?”
“It seems a claim has been made on them through the French ambassador. Mikaela will make inquiries through people she knows in that regard.”
“And a way to keep her here in London?”
Brodie nodded.
“Yer playin’ a dangerous game if she learns of it.”
She did have a fierce temper. He would cross that bridge if it happened.
They agreed to meet at the rail station for the early train south from London in the morning.”
“Bring yer work clothes,” Brodie added. “We dinna want to raise suspicion from those we encounter.”
The arrangements made, he returned to the parlor adjacent to the gaming room.
“Most refreshing,” Lady Antonia announced as he poured her another dram, since the first one was quickly consumed.
They sat together before the fire that one of the servants had lit in the fireplace against a chill that had set in as they watched the billiards game.
“You’ve spoken with Mr. Munro?”
“Aye.”
She followed the direction of his gaze on the game that was in progress in the adjacent room and noticed the frown.
“Regarding the man Hosni’s murder at the museum, I presume. And now the encounter Mikaela had at the museum. Such a tragic affair.”
Details of the second murder had not been put out on the street or in the dailies.
“Ye seem to be well informed.”
She waved off his surprise. “You are not the only one who has their sources, Mr. Brodie. Mine are usually quite reliable.” She raised her glass in a toast and smiled again.
“You should know that I have dismissed Lily’s latest tutor,” she said. “Or rather he tendered his resignation. It seems there is nothing more that he can teach her. She has excelled at her letters and numbers.
“Of course, her climbing out the second-story window after declaring herself quite through, may have had something to do with it,” she added, quite amused.
“Much like another?” Brodie commented. He had heard of some of Mikaela’s exploits at very near the same age.
“And myself perhaps,” she confessed.
He frowned.
“There does seem to be concern there regarding Lily,” she keenly observed as she watched him.
“And do not look at me that way, Mr. Brodie,” she admonished him. “I do know my way around the male of the species. I should at my age, and I suppose marriage can be a devilish proposition. Most fortunate that she had Rupert with her or the situation might have ended differently,” she added.
“It is only natural for you to be concerned for her.” She was certain she had struck upon his concern.
“An unusual relationship to be certain,” she commented, then smiled at the memory.
“There was a man when I was quite young. He was not acceptable, as far as my father was concerned. He wanted someone more ... appropriate for someone of my station. Not to mention the scandal it would have caused.” She brushed that off.
“Particularly considering the man’s ... vocation.”
“I canna imagine,” Brodie commented. Her smile deepened.
“It was the fire, and oh how we burned.” She angled a look over at him. “I do believe, Mr. Brodie, that we must seize the fire from time to time, even if it means we may get burned.”
She held out her glass for another dram.
“And I assure you, all these years later, if I had it to do all over again, I would not choose otherwise.”
She smiled as he poured her glass. “You cannot change her. Therefore, the question you must ask yourself, can you live without her? If not, you must accept what you cannot change.” She lifted her glass in a toast.
“Pour yourself another and enjoy the fire.”
MIKAELA
I won the third game and declined ‘just one more’ at Lily’s protest.
“Ye have to let me have a chance to beat ye,” she replied, obviously disappointed.
Aunt Antonia had invited us to remain for supper; however, I wanted to return to the office on the Strand to make my latest notes in our inquiry case that had taken yet another turn.
Two people were dead, I had been attacked by someone who managed to hide himself in the exhibit, and an artifact was now missing.
Howard Carter had originally been detained under suspicion, since he was the last to see Sir Nelson alive. However, it was obvious that he could not have killed Mr. Hosni while detained at the Yard. Unless, of course, he was a magician who performed a disappearing act, which he was not.
We had discovered that there was a great deal of enmity on the part of Sir Nelson’s nephew, who was not the least distraught over his uncle’s death. There was a curse to deal with, and now a claim by the French government that the artifacts belonged to them.
Not to mention that unusual scent of absinthe that had been present upon the examination of Sir Nelson’s body, and then again when Brodie and I returned to the museum after my encounter with whoever was in that casket—most certainly not a mummified body.
Taken altogether, there was potential motive from the French, opportunity aplenty, and the means was quite obvious as well in someone who had a penchant for knives and ancient swords.
Brodie sat across from me in the coach as we returned across London to the office on the Strand, that dark gaze watching me.
“It’s been a long day. How are ye?”
I confessed to a bit of a headache.
“I’ll be going to Portsmouth with Munro on the morning train to make inquiries about any unusual shipments. “While ye make yer inquiries with the French Ambassador, since ye have met the man.
“He might be more forthcoming with ye, considerin’ yer family connections. And a seaport is no place for a woman. It might raise suspicion over the information we’ll be trying to learn. Two pair of hands, as ye like to tell me. Or three in this case.”
I knew what he was doing. He was using my words against me to persuade me that it was better that I remain in London. I reminded myself that he could be such a devil.
Nevertheless, as much as I hated to admit the logic of it, even if it was a bit underhanded, he was right that the French Ambassador might very well be more likely to speak with me about the claim that was being made on the artifacts in the exhibit.
“Of course, dear.”
We traveled the rest of the way back to the Strand in silence except for the occasional creak of the coach or when Mr. Hastings called out to the team.
“Good evenin’, miss.” Mr. Cavendish greeted me when we arrived. He inquired about my encounter the day before.
I assured him that I was quite all right.
“The hound is no worse for it,” he commented. “He’d like to have another go at the man who attacked you.”
I, for one, hoped there would not be another encounter such as that one. I inquired if supper was still being served at the Public House in spite of the late hour.
He grinned up at me. “Chicken pie is on the menu. It’s a favorite with those after they leave work for the day. The hound and I will see what is left.”
Brodie followed me up the stairs.
I had removed my jacket and hung it on the coat stand, then retrieved my notebook and went to the chalkboard to make my notes there while we waited for supper to arrive.
I heard the usual sounds as Brodie moved about the office. He hung his coat on the coat stand, went to the desk, and removed the revolver he usually carried and slipped it into the drawer.
He stoked up the fire in the fire box, and crossed to the side table. There was the distinctive clink of glass. Then he was there, and handed me one of the tumblers with a dram of my great aunt’s very fine whisky.
I had added Edmund Duvalier’s name to the list of those who were connected to the artifacts, or at least claimed to be.
“Ye do not like the man,” Brodie commented.
I took a sip of whisky.
“He not an explorer. He has more the reputation of a broker in antiquities, to the highest bidder. In this case that would seem to be the French government.”
“Yer not certain?”
“I learned from Sir Nelson that there are those who will go to any length to possess what they want, if they have enough money.”
“Aye, collectors with too much money,” he added. “When it could be used to help others.”
I nodded.
“A man like that could be dangerous,” he commented.
“He’s more like an irritating insect. Somehow I don’t see him as a murderer.”
“Your conversation with Aunt Antonia seemed quite serious,” I commented.
He took the glass from my hand and set it on the table.
“She reminded me that I canna change ye.”
“Did she now? The pot calling the kettle black? She is not without her adventures.”
“Ay, she told me. The devil of it is, that I love ye,” he said.
He had told me before that I was important to him, at Old Lodge when he asked me to marry him. But he had never said those three words. He was not a man who spoke of his feelings, and I could only imagine what it took for him to say it now.
He slipped his hands back through my hair, and leaned his forehead against mine. “And when I saw ye yesterday afterward ...” He had gone quiet for a moment.
“She said that I have a choice, since I canna change ye.” He kissed me.
“I’ll take the fire,” he whispered against my lips as the pins in my hair scattered to the floor.