Page 28 of Disturbing the Dead
With all my fussing, though, I lose the chance to retrieve what’s on the ground. McCreadie has spotted it and—not being in a corset—easily bends to pick it up.
“What the devil?” he murmurs.
He moves the object in front of the lantern. It’s maybe an inch long, blackened and dried, with bone protruding from the end.
“A finger,” I say. “From the mummy.”
Michael has ducked under McCreadie’s arm, and he peers at it. “Yes, that’s what it is. A finger broke off. The tip, at least.”
“So we are on the right track,” I say.
“I am going to put this into my pocket,” McCreadie says. “I know how much you hate it when we treat evidence so cavalierly but—not expecting a murder tonight—I didn’t come prepared.”
“Yes, yes,” I say. “Just be careful with it.”
As we’ve walked, we’ve passed a couple of those side passages Michael mentioned—the ones that no longer lead anywhere. Once we continue, we almost immediately reach another one and—
Michael lets out a yelp and dives into the side passage. I resist the urge to shove past McCreadie, though I may give him a less-than-gentle nudge.
Michael is in that side passage, bent beside the fallen figure of a man, and on seeing that figure, my heart does a little jump. In the shadows, all I can make out is brown skin on a smooth-shaven cheek and dark wavy hair falling over a strong nose. It only takes a moment to realize it is not Gray, and in the next moment, Michael is saying, “Uncle Selim!” and shaking the man’s shoulder.
I hurry past McCreadie. The man—Lady Christie’s brother, Selim—lies on his side, his eyes closed. Blood trickles down the side of his neck. I touch my fingers to his throat and feel a pulse.
“Duncan,” I say to McCreadie. “Get Duncan.”
We have Selim upstairs in the kitchen. That was as far as Gray wanted the young man’s unconscious body carried before a proper examination. During that examination, Selim wakes, and Gray declares he’s fit to be taken to his guest bedroom. We’re in there now, with Selim slowly rousing as Gray tends to a gash on the back of his head. That gash is presumably what knocked him unconscious.
While Gray tends to Selim, I switch back to my slippers and remove the apron I borrowed. I don’t bother with the crinoline cage and extra skirts. I’m sure I’m a mess, but under the circumstances, no one cares.
Michael has been playing messenger, telling his mother that Selim is here and was hurt but is fine. Naturally, she wants to see her brother, but we need to speak to him first. McCreadie handles that by saying Selim is groggy and needs rest, and that is the best thing for him, along with broth and perhaps a bit of brandy. Getting that keeps Lady Christie occupied while we question her brother.
Once Selim is alert and sitting in a well-lit bedroom, there’s no chance I could mistake him for Gray. It’s only the clean-shaven brown skin and the wavy dark hair and a bit of his profile that resembles Gray. The young man is leaner and a few inches shorter, with lighter eyes and a face that seems more given to laughter than somber contemplation… or it would be when he isn’t recovering from a blow to the head. Even then, his mouth curves in a wry twist when he explains.
“I wanted to surprise the children,” he says, in an accent that matches his sister’s: upper-crust English with a melodic undercurrent of what I presume is an Egyptian accent in this period. “I know of their secret tunnel, and so I came in that way. As I was walking, I heard someone. I presumed it was the children. With the party preparations, I knew Phoebe would try to slip away for a bit of fun. I tucked myself into a side passage to surprise them. Yet the figure that passed was neither Michael nor Phoebe. It was someone carrying a bundle of what looked like firewood. I shrank back, intending to slip out after them and see what they were up to. Only it seems the person heard me. I was creeping down the tunnel, thinking they were up ahead, when they leapt out of a side passage and clubbed me on the back of the head. Then I woke here.”
“This fellow,” McCreadie says. “What did he look like?”
That smile twists more. “I cannot even say it was a fellow. I saw only a cloak and that bundle. The bundle is what caught my attention, as the stick I saw poking out looked already burned, which struck me as odd. I could describe the stick better than the person. I know they were smaller than me. Shorter and slighter of build. Definitely larger than the children, though. And the cloak—or coat—was dark. I fear that is all I can say.”
“The sticks you saw,” I say. “Could they have been parts of a mummy? The corpse within, that is.”
Selim glances my way, as if seeing me for the first time. His brows furrow, as if I do not look like the person who would ask such a question.
“Miss Mitchell is my confederate’s assistant,” McCreadie says gently. “Please answer her questions as if they were my own.”
“Yes, of course.” Selim dips his chin. “I did not mean any offense, miss. You asked whether the sticks could have been—” He stops, eyes widening. “Part of a mummified corpse. Yes. That would make sense. I was not aware that Sir Alastair brought back parts, in addition to the mummies. That is…” He clears his throat. “I hope he did not. Perhaps they were from a mummified cat or dog?”
I glance at McCreadie and pull back to let him take this next part. He tells Selim that his brother-in-law is dead, his body having been wrapped in the mummy cloths.
“Miriam,” Selim says, rising swiftly. “I must see Miriam. And the children. They will be—”
McCreadie stops the younger man from getting up. “As Sir Alastair was murdered and you were discovered in a secret tunnel, I’m afraid I need to speak to you first. Your sister and the children are well, and you will get to them soon.”
Selim’s mouth sets before he rubs it away. When he says, “Yes, of course,” the words are curt. He doesn’t like being kept from his grieving sister, but he won’t fight us on it.
I say, “Whoever killed Sir Alastair also took the mummified remains. We suspected they went down that tunnel, and that’s how we found you. Could what you saw have been a bundled corpse?”
“A whole corpse? No,” Selim says sharply. “It would have been pieces. They… they broke it up like kindling.” Anger sizzles through his voice. “They took a human body and snapped it into pieces for easier transport.”
