Page 21 of Disturbing the Dead
“We are at the end.” Gray raises his voice. “We are about to uncover the leg of the mummy. Miss Mitchell will do the honors.”
He offers me the end of the bandage with a little bow, as if handing me a rose. Despite the solemnity of the moment, I have to smile. Apparently, theatrics are indeed allowed.
I take the end between my gloved thumb and forefinger. Then I very gently ease it under the mummy’s leg and out the other side, pulling it up and over the shin to reveal—
I stop.
I’m not seeing dark and wizened flesh. It looks like cloth, as if the mummy was wrapped while still wearing something over its legs.
“What’s that?” someone says. “A trouser leg?”
I let out a light laugh. “It looks like that, doesn’t it? It seems we are not at the mummy yet. Something has been wrapped around its leg. Perhaps the deceased was injured in life, and an assistive device was left on to help in the afterlife.”
Michael turns to frown at me. Right. “Assistive device” isn’t the period-appropriate term.
“A leg binding,” I say. “To aid in mobil—with walking.”
Gray is already beside me, having taken the bandage from my hand and unwrapping the leg as I speak. He has revealed an entire swath of dark fabric.
Dark and whole fabric. Showing no ravages of time. Because of the wrappings? Would cotton hold up that long? I know Egypt had cotton. Only it isn’t cotton. It’s wool. Dark wool—
“Take the children out,” Gray says to the room, as the reality of what I’m seeing hits me.
Dark wool trousers.
Victorian trousers.
“Children out,” he snaps. “Clear the room! Hugh! I need your assistance.” He turns to me and lowers his voice. “Someone—”
“—is inside these wrappings,” I say. “This isn’t a mummy.”
Gray is at the corpse’s head, unwrapping as fast as he can, and I wonder why until I realize what he clearly has figured out already: we might not be dealing with a corpse.
I hurry to the mummy’s head, but McCreadie is already there, helping without needing an explanation. I wildly look around to see a room full of people watching with the same intent interest they’d shown during the final unwrapping.
I bite back the urge to snarl at them to get out. And say what? That someone has been wrapped in mummy bindings? A possibly live person? That this is a crime scene? None of them would leave after that.
I wheel toward where the children were, but Isla is escorting them out, flanked by two members of the staff. Good.
Gray and McCreadie are almost through. I can see the clear outline of a face now. A masculine face with a light tan and a light brown beard. McCreadie is unwrapping a piece around the neck, and when he pulls back the bandages, they’re spotted with blood. Clear ligature lines cut around the base of the neck, below the beard. A ligature pulled so deep it drew blood.
A gasp from the crowd.
“Is he dead?” someone says.
They keep unwrapping. A mouth next, and Gray moves down to check for breath as McCreadie takes over unwrapping the upper part of the face. A nose. Then eyes. Brown eyes that stare lifeless at the ceiling.
“Sir Alastair!” someone shouts.
And Lady Christie begins to scream.
SEVEN
I spend the next ten minutes helping McCreadie clear the room. I don’t care if I’m not a cop here. I don’t care if I get huffs of indignation. Detective Mallory comes out and orders everyone away from her damn crime scene and pushes them there if they don’t move fast enough. Several of the men help, as does Annis. Isla has returned and pulled Lady Christie away.
The clock is striking eleven as McCreadie thanks those who lingered to help and then politely but firmly shoos them out. He calls in one of the male staff and sends him to alert both the police and Dr. Addington.
Then the doors are closed, and it’s just Gray, McCreadie, Annis, me, and the dead Sir Alastair.
