Theodosia and the Staff of Osiris-Theo 2 (8 page)

W
HILE 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.

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 could 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!"

"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.
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?"

"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
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
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
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 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.
Although the priest's mummy wasn't one of the ones downstairs. It wasn't in the sarcophagus when Mum found it."

Miss Chittle swallowed nervously, then glanced at me. "It wasn't?"

"No." I pointed to the empty wall behind her. "That's where the mummies normally go."

Miss Chittle put her hand to her mouth and stepped back. It was hard to tell in the flickering light, but she looked a bit pale. "H-how do you think they got downstairs?"

I shrugged. "We're not sure. Someone probably carried them down. They don't weigh much, you know. Nothing but dried-up husks. All the important parts were taken out. Some through their noses."

She looked at me with an expression of horror. I stepped closer. "Did you know that the embalmers removed the deceased's internal organs, including their brains, during the embalming process?"

She shook her head, stirring up a faint cloud of sherry fumes.

I warmed to my subject. "They inserted long hooks up their noses and pulled the brains out through the nostrils." I flared mine at her, just for emphasis.

Miss Chittle placed her hand briefly on her stomach, then turned her back to me. Craning my neck, I watched her remove a small silver flask from her purse. She lifted it to her lips and took a few swallows, daintily dabbing at the corner of her mouth when she was done. She slipped the flask back into her purse, then faced me again. "Medicine," she explained briskly, not meeting my eyes. "For my nerves."

I refrained from snorting, but just barely. "Over here," I continued, "are Canopic jars. They're where they stored the deceased's liver, lungs, intestines, and stomach."

Miss Chittle moved away sharply and bumped into the sarcophagus.

"Careful there," I said cheerfully.

A faint hint of panic sprang into her eyes. She whirled around and headed toward the wall on her left. "Oh." Her voice was unnaturally high. "Here's a charming statue. A cat."

"Uh, no. That's not a statue. That's my cat, and she doesn't like to be—"

My words were cut off as Isis arched her back, hissed, then took a vicious swipe at Miss Chittle's gloved hand.

"—touched by strangers," I finished.

Miss Chittle squealed and jerked her hand back. Without another word, she lifted her skirts and ran from the room.

I looked back at Isis, who now sat as calmly as you please, licking her paw. "You didn't like her either, I take it?"

Ignoring me, Isis leaped off the column and streaked toward a floorboard in the far corner. Another mouse, probably. Well, she'd done her good turn for the day. I supposed she'd earned a hunting break.

Before I had a chance to dwell on my victory, Father's voice cut through the museum. "Theodosia Elizabeth Throckmorton! Get down here this instant!"

Oh dear. Time to face the music.

Reluctantly, I headed for the stairs. I wasn't dawdling. Not exactly. Just giving Father a bit of time to calm down.

T
HERE WAS A SMALL CROWD IN THE FOYER
—all waiting for me, apparently. Admiral Sopcoate was holding Miss Chittle's coat for her and she was trying to shove her arm into the sleeve—only, she was shaking so badly, she kept missing. "You didn't tell me the girl was mad as a hatter!" she said, making a final stab with her arm and managing to get it into the sleeve this time.

"Really, she's not mad, just very high spirited," Father said. I was heartened by his loyal support of me.

"Nonsense," Grandmother harrumphed. "The girl has far too much freedom, and her head has been stuffed with so much ridiculous learning as to make her useless."

Before Grandmother could get on a roll cataloging all of my faults, I interrupted her.