Chapter Twelve

McCreadie goes to ask the household our list of questions while Gray takes me to see the body. He's waiting until a more reasonable hour to send for Simon and the hearse. In the modern world, that might horrify us—leaving the body in the house so the hearse driver isn't woken early? But there's a reason Victorian undertakers don't actually deal with the corpses. Embalming isn't a thing yet, and so bodies often remain at the family home until they are ready for burial. The women of the household will handle the bathing and the clothing of the dead. So having a body in the house isn't as distressing for Victorians as it would be for us.

It helps that Sir Alastair isn't exactly lying on the kitchen table. The room where we unwrapped him is shut off, with a constable making sure no one enters. We slip inside and close the door behind us.

One reason for that guard is that Gray has left Sir Alastair partially unclothed. It's just an open shirt, but in this world, that would be scandalous and disrespectful for a man of Sir Alastair's position.

"I thought you would like to take a look before I clothe him for transport," Gray says as we cross the room. "As you already saw, the most obvious injury is to his neck."

I peer down at the bruises and abrasions I'd noted before. Then I check under Sir Alastair's eyelids.

"Strangulation seems to be the cause of death," I say.

"Presumably, yes. The classic sign of petechial hemorrhaging is present. If you'll check the hands next…"

"Signs of defense?" I lift and notice small cuts on the sides of his fingertips. "No, that's—"

I stop short, an image flashing, the memory of the night I crossed into this time. Grabbed from behind by a rope going around my neck. Struggling to pull it away from my throat.

"Yes, defensive wounds," I say quietly. "But defending himself against the rope instead of the attacker." I shiver convulsively. "I remember that."

Gray inhales sharply. "I blithely showed you something that would trigger a past traumatic event. My sincerest apologies, Mallory. Let us stop this. You do not need—"

"No, I'm fine. It was just a flash. I'm tired, and my mind is wandering." I give a quick shake and check the hands again. "The attacker gets the rope around Sir Alastair's neck. Sir Alastair grabs it and tries to pull it away, but his attacker is stronger. Or…" I note the angle of the neck abrasions. "His attacker was above him. Pulling up. Same as…" Another deep breath. "My attacker was taller than me, and he got me up onto my tiptoes, which is why I couldn't fight. I was just dangling there, like a rag doll. All my self-defense training, all my fighting skills, and I couldn't even kick properly without strangling myself… Damn it!"

I take a deep breath. "I really am tired."

I look up, but Gray isn't in front of me anymore. Fingers rest on my arm, the touch tentative, checking whether I'll pull away. When I don't, he squeezes my arm.

"I would offer a hug," he says. "You did that for Jack, when we rescued her, and she seemed to appreciate it."

I smile a bit at the memory. At first, Jack had been appalled. A hug? Certainly not. She wasn't the type, and this wasn't the era of comforting embraces.

"I am offering," he says, "though I doubt you will take me up on it."

"That depends," I say, through eyes suddenly glassy with tears. "If you're only offering to be nice, then I'm fine."

He puts his arms out. "I am never nice. Ask anyone."

That makes me laugh, and I step into his embrace, careful, knowing how the Victorians feel about touching. But when his arms close around me, I let myself lean a little against his chest, and his arms tighten and I fall onto him. I don't mean to. I just do, and before I can think to be horrified, he's holding me and I'm feeling my eyes fill again, not from the memories of the attack but from the sheer relief of being held.

Is "relief" the wrong word? It feels like relief, as if I can finally let go and relax.

I'm still careful, too aware that this might be awkward for him, and I soon pull away, blinking back the tears and making some half joke about staining his jacket.

"If anything, you cleaned away some of the filth," he says. "I am sorry if I rekindled those memories. I was not thinking."

"If I didn't think of it, no one else should be expected to. And if I had thought of it, I would have brushed it off." I dry my eyes. "I've talked to so many victims of violence who blame themselves for not doing anything, and I didn't think I'd feel that way, but I guess, deep down, I do. It happened so fast, and I wasn't prepared."

"Well, I consider myself an excellent pugilist, and yet you have witnessed several occasions where I was caught off guard and soundly trounced. Now, I believe I hear a coach outside, which may be Annis's. We can leave if you would like."

"No, I want to finish the examination." I inhale and look back at Sir Alastair. "What I was saying is that Sir Alastair seems to have been strangled from an upward angle, which would have put him at a disadvantage. But Selim's account suggests we weren't dealing with a particularly tall person. Sir Alastair is above average height himself, and he is in really good shape for a Victorian."

"For a Victorian?"

"You guys aren't exactly going to the gym three times a week."

"Many men do exactly that, Mallory."

"Yeah, for a rousing game of cricket."

"Cricket is not played in the gymnasium."

"You know what I mean. You're swimming and such, not pumping iron."

He frowns at the unfamiliar term.

"Weight lifting," I say.

His brows shoot up. "Why would we do that? We are not sideshow strong men."

"The point is that Sir Alastair is in really good shape, suggesting he didn't just stand around the digs giving orders. He was in there heaving shovelfuls of earth."

"You keep saying ‘really good' shape, which suggests that this sort of musculature is a positive and even attractive trait."

"Fine, he's in strong physical condition. Better?"

I bite my lip as I see the wheels turning in Gray's mind. Oh, I know what he's thinking. Like I said, the guy has an ego, and he's weighing his own "physical condition" compared to Sir Alastair's. I could tell him he's fine, being more active than most Victorian men, and he also has the kind of physique that naturally fills out with muscle. But I'm going to amuse myself by letting him stew on that.

"The point," I say, "is that the smallish figure Mr. Awad saw doesn't seem like they'd have been able to strangle a man of Sir Alastair's size."

He snaps out of it. "Yes, of course, and I have already solved the answer to that riddle. It's the reason I left him partially unclothed."

He spreads Sir Alastair's shirt farther apart. I wince when I see the man's stomach. An ugly bruise mars his abdomen.

"Punched in the gut." I get a closer look at the bruising. "Looks like two bruises."

"I am postulating a fist and then a boot."

"The attacker hits him in the stomach. Sir Alastair doubles over. A kick to the same spot takes him down and disables him enough for the killer to get the rope around his neck. Sir Alastair is on his knees, and so the angle helps the killer get a grip and pull upward."

"There is also a bruise on his back, suggesting the killer braced a foot against Sir Alastair's back while tightening the rope. That would explain why the rope dug in so deep. It also means that we cannot presume a strong—or male—attacker."

"A punch to the stomach doesn't need to be hard if it catches someone off guard. Add in the kick and then the bracing, and a woman of average strength could do it."

I walk down the length of the body. "Rigor mortis is still active, which aligns with time of death being sometime between midmorning and early afternoon. Midafternoon would be the latest because the killer needed time to unwrap the mummy and wrap the body, and we believe Selim saw them in the tunnel around four. I would say, though, that we're likely looking at death in the late morning, probably before Lady Christie and the children returned, which would make it easier to pull off."

"The children are out, the staff is busy preparing for the evening, and Sir Alastair goes into his artifact room and never comes out."

I nod. "Which no one notices because he's known for coming and going as he pleases."

The door opens. McCreadie pops his head in. "Annis's coach is here."

"And I believe we are ready for it," Gray says. "Come, Mallory. Our evening is finally at an end."

I'm back at the town house and up in my room, getting ready for breakfast. I couldn't sleep even if I tried, and also, if Gray and McCreadie are having breakfast together, I want to be there. They'll be discussing the case, and my position is still precarious enough that I need to stay front and center in the investigation, lest they forget that I no longer have housemaid duties.

When I look in the mirror, the situation is not as dire as I feared. The dress can be salvaged. There is one bit where the lace caught and ripped, but otherwise, a sponging will do the trick. That's the advantage to dark lace—it looks remarkably good even after being dragged through a tunnel.

The biggest mess is me, with a dirt-smeared face and a hairstyle gone haywire. I can see why no one wanted me walking through the New Town. I'd likely be arrested for solicitation. Well, not that anyone would think I'd actually be soliciting looking like this, but they'd presume I was heading back to the Old Town after a night of hard-core carousing—possibly involving mud wrestling.

I'm unpinning my hair when someone raps at my door.

"It's me," Alice says. "Come to see if you need help with that dress."

I check the pocket watch on my dresser. It's a recent splurge purchase. No one else understands why a housemaid—or even a forensic scientist's assistant—needs one. I can't break my modern-day obsession with time. It doesn't matter that there's a clock downstairs, and I can hear the hourly chimes even up here. I need to know exactly what time it is whenever I want.

Right now, it's almost five thirty. Normally Alice would just be starting her shift. Today, though, with the party, Isla and Gray would have been having a late breakfast. Even now that Isla requested it early, Mrs. Wallace would have had Lorna do Alice's duties and allowed her to sleep in. That wouldn't happen in a normal household, but things work differently here, where Alice straddles the line between parlormaid and ward.

I open the door. Alice nearly falls in. At twelve, she's just topped five feet following a growth spurt. No matter how much she eats, she's rail thin, with little sign of puberty. We don't wear uniforms, but her work dress is a simple blue gown, white apron and cap.

She eyes me from top to bottom. "You are a mess. I will bring warm water and help you wash up."

"Uh-huh." I lean against the doorpost. "You're up when you could have slept in. You're offering to help me with my dress. Now you're going to haul warm water all the way up here? You want something. Please don't tell me there's a problem with the new maid."

"Her?" Alice sniffs. "She's barely said two words. She seems very dull."

"Dull is exactly what we need in a housemaid. Just like we need parlormaids who are sweet natured and helpful to their sisters in service, and offer to draw them baths for no reason at all. However, we don't always get what we want, do we?"

"If you don't wish my assistance…"

"I want to know the conditions that come with it."

"No conditions. I simply hoped for conversation. Unlike the new maid, you are very good at talking. I will help with your gown, and you will tell me all about your evening."

"Ah, the truth comes out. You wish to hear about the lovely party, all the pretty dresses and delicious food and delightful music."

She rolls her brown eyes. "I want to hear about the murder. Obviously."

I'm opening my mouth to answer when Alice stiffens and turns to the hall.

"What do you want?" she snaps.

Lorna's soft voice barely carries to me. "I came to see if Miss Mitchell needed help."

"She does not."

"Might I bring her a cup of tea? I heard she had a terrible night."

"If she needs tea, I shall bring it. You should be tending to Dr. Gray and Detective McCreadie."

Through narrowed eyes, Alice watches Lorna depart. I resist the urge to comment. Catriona had bullied Alice, and it took months—and a shared adventure—to convince her I was no longer that Catriona. She finally trusts me, and if she's marking her territory with the new girl, then I won't argue. I don't have time to get to know Lorna right now anyway. That will need to come later.

To Alice, I say, "I would appreciate that bowl of hot water for washing. I need to have breakfast with Dr. Gray and Detective McCreadie."

"Need or want?"

"Sometimes, it is the same thing."

I've taken off the dress, which Alice moved down to the basement for spot cleaning. As I scrubbed up, I told Alice what we'd found. She made me go over the mummy unwrapping twice, grumbling that I was skimming over important parts. By skimming, she seems to mean "not providing sufficiently lurid detail." She also wants to see the finger.

"I've never seen a mummy," she says. "They had one at the museum, but you needed to be a scholar to see it."

"Mrs. Ballantyne or Dr. Gray would have taken you."

She shrugs and doesn't answer. That would be a boundary she isn't ready to cross. They are her employers, and when they are too kind, it makes her nervous. That is not the proper way of things.

"You say the children grew up in Egypt?" she says.

I smile at that. "Children? They are only a year or two younger than you."

"If their father is a baronet, they are much younger than me. Like helpless kittens who would starve without someone to bring them their dinner."

Pride sharpens her voice. She has a point. As intelligent and mature as Phoebe and Michael seem, it's hard to believe they could be of an age with Alice, already working for a living.

I take down my usual dress.

"You cannot wear that," she says, taking it from me. "You aren't a maid anymore."

I hesitate. She's right about this, too. While the dress isn't a uniform per se, Isla buys our work clothes so that we don't need to, and they are work appropriate, which means it's meant for scrubbing floors, not interviewing witnesses.

"I'm going to need more appropriate clothes," I say as I take down one of my two nonwork dresses.

"You can buy them with your increased pay," Alice says as she takes the dress and brushes off a bit of lint. "For being Dr. Gray's assistant now."

"Hmm."

She glances over. "He is paying you more, is he not? If he hasn't mentioned it, then you must ask. He may forget that you are entitled to a higher wage now, as his assistant."

Gray has already increased my pay, supposedly to acknowledge the extra work I do as his assistant, but mostly, I think, because the situation is equally awkward for them. I'm not a housemaid or an assistant. I'm a police detective. But it isn't their fault I can't do that job, so I want to be paid for my actual work, not slipped extra money like a relation who's fallen on hard times.

I put on the dress and open my door to see Lorna right outside it, frozen in the horror of being caught.

Finding her there suggests she was coming to speak to me. While that's hardly a crime, I can see why she might be nervous, after Alice snapped at her.

Now Alice snaps again, with, "What are you doing up here?"

"I—I was coming to say that breakfast is ready and the gentlemen… They, uh, seem to expect Miss Mitchell to join them."

Her expression says she's baffled by this, maybe thinking she misunderstood. I might be Gray's assistant, but I'm still staff, which means I should not be joining the family for meals. Yep, things are different here, as she'll figure out.

"It's Mallory, not Miss Mitchell," I say gently. "And they will be expecting me to take notes."

She relaxes at that. This is not yet a world with female secretaries, but at least it makes more sense than me joining them as an equal.

"Do you need anything then, miss?" she says. "Paper, pen?"

I smile. "I have both, thank you."

"Do you prefer tea or coffee? I will have it ready for you."

"She's going downstairs right now," Alice says. "And I will be serving the breakfast."

Again, Lorna looks confused. There are very clear rules about which staff members do what. Those overlap more with a relatively small staff, but still, the parlormaid doesn't serve meals unless the housemaid isn't around.

I know why Alice wants to serve. It's not so much about being territorial as about wanting to eavesdrop on chatter about the case.

"Alice will do it this morning," I say. "I fear the case is a disturbing one, and we do not wish to scare you off quite so soon."

"Yes," Alice says quickly, straightening. "I am accustomed to these things. You are not."

With that, Alice sweeps from the room, herding me downstairs to my breakfast.