Page 2 of Disturbing the Dead
“Head injury” is the excuse given for those who don’t know my secret. I crossed over when Catriona and I were both strangled, and she did receive a head injury, one that left her unconscious for days. Gray explains my personality changes—and peccadilloes—as brain trauma. It also lets me use my own name—I feel like a different person, and so I have asked to be called Mallory instead of Catriona.
I sip my tea. “Now, let us return to this rousing game of—”
“You have never left Edinburgh, Mallory.”
“Of course I have. I was in Leith just last week.”
Her eyes narrow. “You did not see a mummy in Leith.”
“Are you certain? One sees all sorts of oddities in Leith. Why, on this last trip—”
“There are no museums in Leith.”
“Perhaps it is a secret museum. I am sorry, Lady Annis, if you have never been invited to tour it, but they have a strict policy against admitting those accused of poisoning their husbands, even if they were found innocent.” At this point, I’m willing to do anything to distract her, including bringing up her recent past.
“I am certain you think that is very amusing.”
“As do you, who finds a way to bring it into most conversations. I do not know where I saw a mummy, Lady Annis. That is part of the damage to my brain. I only recall seeing one. Perhaps I heard someone speaking of it, and I misremember the story as having experienced it myself. The mind is a mysterious thing.”
“As you keep reminding me, whenever I point out that you do not, in any way, behave like a twenty-year-old housemaid.”
“Housemaids behave in all sorts of ways. As Catriona, I was a thief with a clear tendency toward sociopathy. As Mallory, I am, as you put it, rude, disrespectful, and sarcastic. If you prefer sociopathy…”
“I do not know, having never heard the word.”
“My apologies. Again”—I tap my head—“this causes all sorts of problems, including my propensity for inventing new language. I am only lucky to have found such a tolerant family, willing to overlook my foibles.”
“No housemaid should know the word ‘foible.’”
“Have I used it incorrectly?”
She shakes her head. “You have far too much fun teasing me with whatever secrets you hold.”
“I hold none. Not even in this hand of cards, which is wretched. Now, if I may be so bold, Lady Annis, may I ask why you mentioned mummies?”
“Perhaps because I was about to offer an opportunity a girl like you is unlikely to encounter in her lifetime. However, as you insist on needling me most disrespectfully, I am inclined to rescind the offer.”
“You cannot rescind what you did not offer.” I peer at her. “It’s something about mummies?”
“An unwrapping party.”
“A… mummy-unwrapping party?”
She flaps a hand. “They call it a scientific demonstration, but it is a party. An evening get-together at the home of Sir Alastair Christie, newly returned from Egypt with two mummies, one of which he intends to unwrap, in what may well be the event of the season—or the week, at least. The unwrapping will be done by Sir Alastair, who is also a surgeon with the Royal Infirmary. Sir Alastair is quite the bore and will insist on lecturing, too, but it is a small price to pay to see a mummy unwrapped.”
I school my expression. I’ve learned to do that a lot here, just as I’ve learned not to actually speak to outsiders the way I’ve been talking to Annis.
I’m sure at some point, if Annis remains in our lives, she’ll need to know the truth. But no one—particularly me—is rushing to tell her just yet. It does, however, give me the excuse to rumple the composure of Gray and Isla’s unflappable elder sister.
As for a mummy unwrapping, yes, I will fully admit that ten-year-old Mallory would have salivated at the thought. Thirty-year-old Mallory is horrified. It’s like hosting a party to dig up a grave and ogle the corpse within. Except even Victorian Scots would know that was wrong. This is acceptable because the person inside those wrappings is Egyptian. I don’t expect Annis to understand that, even if Gray—her half brother—is a man of color himself.
Does the idea of unwrapping a mummy offend me? Yep. Would it offend everyone in my own time? Nope. Would everyone in this time be okay with it? Nope. I suspect that’s one reason this unwrapping is being swathed in the respectable cloak of science.
“You’re inviting me to this… party?” I say carefully.
“I am inviting Duncan and Isla, who may bring you and that detective friend.”
“Hugh, Lady Annis,” I say. “His name is Hugh McCreadie, and you have known him more than half your life, as he is your brother’s best friend.”
