Page 17 of Disturbing the Dead
“This is ridiculous,” Phoebe says finally. “Where is Father?”
“I wonder if Mama is still trying to locate him,” Michael says.
Phoebe harrumphs. “Then why are we all packed into this room like a jar of kippers?”
When a man with a cane moves up beside the mummy, I notice him, mostly due to the sheer number of shiny medals on his suit coat.
“Former military?” I whisper to Gray.
He shakes his head. “Those would be medals earned by his grandfather, who was quite a hero in the French revolutionary wars. That is Lord Muir. He sponsors Sir Alastair’s expeditions.”
Lord Muir is perhaps in his late sixties. Stout and bearded, with white whiskers and hair and bright blue eyes. He’s obviously trying to get everyone’s attention, and growing red-faced when he cannot. Finally someone whistles, and that vulgarity has the room dropping to silence.
“Thank you,” Muir says. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I am afraid the demonstration cannot proceed. As many of you have noticed, our esteemed host has been unable to join us.”
Guests look at each other, clearly conveying that they had not noticed. That’s why Lady Christie had been able to take time from her hostess duties to talk to us. Not because people were ignoring the second wife, but because they wouldn’t have noticed whether the host and hostess were present. They’d been too busy enjoying their hospitality.
“We had hoped Sir Alastair would join us soon,” the man continues. “But I fear he continues to be indisposed. I understand this will be a terrible disappointment. Perhaps we can schedule the unwrapping for another day.”
“But we’re here now,” a young man says, chest puffing in a way that suggests a few too many glasses of booze-soaked punch. “We were promised an unwrapping, and I am staying until I get an unwrapping.”
A few murmured voices join in with their support.
“You do the honors then,” an elderly woman says, waving at Lord Muir.
“The honors?” Muir says.
“Unwrap the thing.”
Muir blinks. “I am neither a surgeon nor an Egyptologist.”
“What does that matter?”
Gray seems ready to rock forward in protest, but McCreadie catches his jacket.
“I do not like the looks of this,” McCreadie murmurs. “I have seen too many dangerous mobs.”
I want to laugh. Dangerous mob? This is a party of Edinburgh’s wealthiest and most influential. Yet when I think that, the crowd surges toward the central table.
“We should remove the children,” Isla says.
“Agreed,” McCreadie says.
I expect Phoebe to protest, but she’s looking toward the mummy, her eyes clouded with obvious concern.
“Take the children please,” McCreadie murmurs to Isla and me. “We will do what we can here.”
“You cannot let them unwrap the mummy,” Michael says. “They will rip it apart.”
Someone reaches out and grabs a loose wrapping, and Michael lunges, caught by Gray, who steps forward, saying, “Come now, enough of this.”
“Dr. Gray!” a voice says, rising over the crowd. We turn to see Lady Christie fighting her way through. “Dr. Gray! Yes!” Her voice goes louder. “We do not need to postpone the demonstration. We have a very capable surgeon in our midst.”
Gray stops fast.
“Dr. Gray,” she says, hurrying over to him. Her smile is gentle but her eyes glow with panic. She turns to the mob. “I am sure many of you know Dr. Duncan Gray. He is perfectly suited for this task. Not only does he possess a surgeon’s training, but he is a local undertaker with experience in science of a forensic nature.”
“Cutting up dead bodies, you mean,” says someone I can’t see.
