Page 27 of Disturbing the Dead
“An illegal network you could sell it to, with buyers on the other end.”
“I am certain there is a market for mummies among the wealthy. But this would be the body within, and it is the bandages that make it a mummy.”
Michael clears his throat. “If I may?”
“Of course,” I say, trying not to smile at how polite he is. That’s a mark of a Victorian upbringing, but I suspect it’s also his nature.
“The corpse could be sold for medical uses.” He makes a face and hurries on. “Fakery, I mean. There is no actual medical use for dried bodies. There was a craze for such medicines in the earlier part of the century, and while it has passed its peak, we must still be cautious. A corpse like that could bring in hundreds of pounds.”
“Right. I had heard of that. People would—” Which isn’t important right now. “We can discuss it later, and we may need to ask for your expertise, Michael.”
He eyes me, as if suspecting I’m humoring him. When he sees that I’m serious, he says gravely, “Certainly.”
“For now, we presume someone took the mummified corpse, and they likely weren’t just getting rid of it. Would they dare remove it from the house during the party preparations? Or stash it and come back later?”
“We will need to see all your hiding spots, Michael,” McCreadie says.
“Yes, but there is something you need to see first.”
We are in the subbasement. For most town houses like this, the basement is extended living quarters rather than storage. In Gray’s town house, the lower level is the kitchen, the staff dining area, and the housekeeper’s quarters. It’s a similar setup here, with the first basement being the kitchen and food storage areas plus staff quarters. Some town houses in the New Town have another level—a subbasement. In this one, it’s being used for storage. And in the far corner of that subbasement?
“A tunnel?” I say.
Michael gives me a smile that, I suspect, under any other circumstance would light up his face. Under the current one, it’s a feeble thing, but he makes the effort.
“Yes, it is a tunnel,” he says. “Phoebe and I do not know what it is for. Few know about it, and that does not include Mama or…” He glances away. “Sir Alastair. We could not ask about the history without telling them we’d found it, and if we said we’d found it, they’d shut it up.”
I can see why the tunnel has gone undetected by all but curious children. To get to it requires taking rickety stairs down and then traversing the whole of the subbasement. At the back is a room filled with moldering crates, as if the staff decided at some point that anything back here wasn’t worth getting out again. The entrance to the tunnel is a thick door behind those crates.
Michael opens the door. “The entrance is small, but the tunnel is bigger.”
I look down at my dress. There’s no way I’m getting in there with a crinoline cage. I’ll need to remove it. I should also wear a wrapper to protect my dress, but I can’t exactly ask the grieving widow if I can borrow one. I’ll just be careful.
I slip into the next room and carefully remove my crinoline cage. The next issue is my slippers. That’s when I remember seeing boots on the next level up. I find several pairs, probably belonging to the maids, and I send up a silent apology as I borrow a pair that fits. I also swipe an apron to go over my dress.
Then it’s back down to join McCreadie and Michael.
McCreadie has brought a lantern, and he goes in first. While I need to squeeze through the small door, the tunnel within soon slants until we can walk upright.
“Where does it lead?” I ask.
“To a garden at the end of the street,” Michael says. “There are side passages, but they are sealed or caved in. Only this main tunnel goes anywhere.” He glances back, the lantern casting his face in shadow. “It ends at a hatch that leads into a shed in a private park, and the shed is in ruins, unused.”
“A secret exit?” I say. “Is the hatch kept locked?”
Michael shakes his head as he walks. “No, and I told Phoebe that is why we ought to mention it, but she argued that the subbasement door is always kept locked, so no one can sneak into the house that way.”
“I noticed it was unlocked when we came in.”
“That is because of the party. The servants would have been going in and out of the storage rooms all day.”
We continue on. I’m behind McCreadie, who has the lantern, meaning I can’t see much more than his back. The floor is earth and silt-covered rock, so it’s no surprise when one of my boots slips. My gloved hand smacks into the wall and McCreadie spins, but I lift my other hand to say I’m all right.
I motion for him to go on but, gentleman that he is, he waits for me to recover. He holds the lantern out for me to watch where I put my feet. After a few steps, he starts to turn around, confident that I have my footing. As the light turns, it catches on something by my foot. Something that looks like a charred piece of wood with a pale stick poking from it.
“Hold up,” I say. “Can I get that light?”
McCreadie turns as I go to bend over, forgetting that’s impossible in an evening-gown laced corset. I inhale sharply, mutter under my breath, and sweep my gown up so I can bend at my knees. As I gather the silk, I’m reminded I’m tramping through a filthy tunnel in a dress worth more than a year’s wages. Damn it.
