Chapter Twenty-Three

While we're talking, the maid pops her head in to say it will be at least twenty minutes, as the mistress was asleep. She obviously hopes we'll return later, but we promise to wait. That gives us more time to confer.

McCreadie agrees about the letter Muir saw. It isn't proof that Selim took these artifacts or the ones that went missing before. It does, however, mean we need to investigate him. As for Muir pressuring Sir Alastair to oppose the Edinburgh Seven…

"That makes sense of some correspondence I found," McCreadie says. "Before I received your message, I was reading through business correspondence from Sir Alastair's office. There was some rather heated back-and-forth between him and Lord Muir that I put aside to follow up on. It mentioned ‘the young women' and Sir Alastair fretting that Lady Christie and Phoebe might find out. Out of context, I thought it might suggest affairs, though it would seem odd to worry about his young daughter discovering that. This makes far more sense. His wife and daughter were in Egypt while he was speaking against the medical students, but the more he spoke up, the greater the chance they'd hear about it on their return."

"Yeah, they wouldn't have been happy," I say. "My sense is that Lady Christie would be disappointed, and Phoebe would be furious."

"Lord Muir's reply chastised him for such worries. Women under his roof should accept that he knows best."

I snort.

McCreadie smiles. "I agree. We can examine their correspondence later, in this fresh light. For now, I am troubled about Mr. Awad. Are we certain he left of his own accord?"

"We need more information," I say, just as the maid raps on the door and tells us Lady Christie will see us now.

We are led to the garden, where Lady Christie sits by a small pond with the children. Phoebe is leaning against her, and Lady Christie strokes the girl's hair while Michael pokes a stick into the water, his distant expression saying he's barely aware of what he's doing.

The gardens have been cleared and covered for winter, but it's still a pleasant spot, the stone walls blocking the wind. One red ribbon on the ground tells me the bushes had been decorated before someone hastily removed the decor after Sir Alastair's death.

When we appear, Phoebe jumps to her feet and wipes tears from her eyes. Lady Christie lightly touches her back.

"Lady Christie," McCreadie says, removing his hat and dipping his chin. "Again, my sincerest apologies for this intrusion."

"You are conducting an investigation. I understand it is necessary. Please, ask your questions."

I glance at the children. When Phoebe only goes to stand near Michael, I look over at McCreadie and Lady Christie, expecting one of them to tell the kids to go inside.

McCreadie clears his throat. "The children might be more comfortable—"

"With me," Lady Christie says, her voice firm. "They will be more comfortable with me, if that is their wish."

"All right then," McCreadie says. "Let us begin with the theft of the artifacts."

So he's really going to interview their mother with the kids right there?

Gray walks over to Michael and murmurs something. Michael nods and follows Gray to another part of the garden. That leaves me with Phoebe, and I'm going to guess that was also my cue to distract her.

"Shall we walk?" I say.

She nods and joins me as we head in the other direction.

Phoebe doesn't say a word, and I'm shuffling through my options. Leave her to her silence? Ask something distracting? Ask something pertinent to the case despite her being a ten-year-old witness without a parent present?

"Lord Muir thinks one of the medical students killed my father," Phoebe says, when we reach the far corner. "One of the women."

I turn, my shock genuine.

Her gaze is down, and she has Michael's stick in her hand and is dragging it through the dirt as she walks.

She continues, "He says one of them was at the house that night, and she murdered Papa because he opposed their entry into the university."

I open my mouth, but before I can say anything, she continues, "Mimi thinks that is silly, and I said we should speak to you and Dr. Gray, but she says we cannot interfere. We must trust everyone to do their jobs properly. I still think you should know."

"We are aware of Lord Muir's suspicions, and they are being accorded all proper consideration."

She glances over. "I hope that is a fancy way of saying you are ignoring them."

"Ignoring them wouldn't help. If someone is a suspect, they need to be cleared. Otherwise, in a trial, the barristers can say the police overlooked a suspect."

"That makes sense." She walks a few more steps, stick still dragging a line beside her. "It is true, then. That Papa spoke out against the women students, as Lord Muir says."

Shit.

"I'm sorry."

She keeps walking, and then says, "Papa always said he believed girls were just as smart as boys, that Michael and I could both become Egyptologists, if we liked. Or I could be like Mama and help with my husband's work. Or I could be like Mimi and teach children."

Her eyes glisten. "But he only said what we wanted to hear, didn't he? Because Mama and Mimi would not have married him if he believed otherwise. He pretended because it made them happy."

"I think," I say slowly, "that such a thing would require too much pretending. At home, we wish to relax and be ourselves."

"So you think he lied to others. That he pretended to think women shouldn't study medicine when he didn't believe that."

"I don't know what your father did or what he thought, Phoebe. I only believe that he was not lying when he told you that you could be whatever you like, that you are as capable as any boy."

"But Papa must have opposed the women students for a reason." She fingers the needles on an evergreen and then says, "Perhaps he did it because of someone else. Like in a book I read, where a boy at school said mean things because he wanted other boys to like him."

"I cannot speculate on that, Phoebe, and I am not sure it helps you to do so."

"But would that not be worse?" she says. "It is bad enough to think women should not study at university. Is it not worse to think they should… and yet try to stop them? At least if you believe in an idea, you think you are doing the right thing. Like Lord Muir. He believes women should not be in university. That is terrible, but it is also sad, because he believes something that is wrong."

She stops short, stick swinging up. "Was Lord Muir the one pushing Papa to say those things?"

"The police are investigating every angle."

"I do not trust the police," she says tartly, sounding more herself at last. "There are no women among them, and so they cannot be trusted to truly understand cases that involve women. That is what Mama always said. You must have women in a group if the group is supposed to be for everyone. Just like you need Egyptians on a job that is in Egypt. You must have them in positions of influence, Mama said, and Papa agreed." Her voice cracks a little. "Or he said he did. Did he hire Egyptians just to make Mama happy?"

"I cannot see a man molding his hiring practices to appease his wife."

She worries her bottom lip with her teeth and then blurts, "I did not want Papa harmed."

I frown at her. "All right…"

"I know I said he should be cursed for unwrapping a mummy for entertainment, but I did not mean it."

I lay a careful hand on her arm. "You were clearly teasing, and even then, you said you would only hex him with boils. What happened has nothing to do with you. Curses aren't real."

"I know," she says, her voice dropping. "He was a good papa. He would complain if we were underfoot or making too much noise, but he took us to the excavations and he talked to us and listened to us as if we were grown-ups. Michael liked that. I did, too."

"Then that is the part you remember," I say. "That is the part that counts."

She resumes walking. Now she's tapping the stick ahead of her, the movement almost agitated. When she stops, it's so abrupt that I nearly crash into her.

She turns sharply and looks up at me. "If Uncle Selim took the artifacts, he had a good reason."

I go still.

Her chin lifts. "He did, no matter what Lord Muir might say."

Damn it. In the modern world, I'd be obligated to let this drop—or at least take her to Lady Christie before she went further. But whatever she's saying, she's not going to say it in front of Selim's sister.

"All right," I say carefully.

"He is not a thief."

"All right."

"If he took them, he has a reason and it is a good one."

I speak with as much care as I can. "Do you have cause to suspect he might have… removed artifacts from the house?"

Silence. Shit. If she was merely defending him, she'd have been startled by the question, rushed to say no, of course not.

Her chin lifts again. "Uncle Selim is not a thief. You cannot steal what is, rightfully, already yours. The history of Egypt belongs to the Egyptians."

I exhale. Okay, then. Well, that puts a very different spin on this.

Egypt is not yet part of the British Empire, although I think it will be in a decade or so. Right now, it's under the Ottomans, in a relationship known as a suzerainty, similar to Puerto Rico's relationship with the United States. The British are moving in, though, and they're taking whatever artifacts they can.

I want to press more, to ask whether Selim has ever protested the removal of the artifacts from Egypt. I can't ask, of course, because she's a ten-year-old girl who would be offering evidence against an uncle she obviously adores, and she would be telling me in hopes of helping him, not condemning him.

Phoebe is too young to realize what she's doing, so I need to back off and only note that we cannot, unfortunately, dismiss Selim as quickly as we hoped.

We're walking in a garden. Not the one at the Christie house, but one of the not-public gardens near Gray's town house. These gardens have been private since they were created about fifty years ago for the exclusive use of neighboring homeowners. Gray has a key, and he lets us in and then shuts the gate behind him.

There's no one else in the garden, with the flowers put to bed and no winter decorations to entice anyone. Without snow, it's closed flower beds and bare trees and bushes of dead leaves, nothing like the Christie yard, where even in November, the gardens felt like a pleasant place to spend some quiet time. At least we get the quiet part.

"I believe I may know who took the artifacts."

I'm not the one saying that sentence. McCreadie is. I tense, ready for him to say Lady Christie fears her brother is involved. Instead, he says, "It seems there was a dispute regarding the artifacts between Sir Alastair and Lord Muir."

"Dispute?" I say.

"As Lord Muir told you, he is entitled to a portion of the findings. But that is done under very strict restrictions imposed by Sir Alastair, to protect the historical and scientific value of his finds. While Lord Muir takes half the finds, Sir Alastair is allowed to remove up to twenty percent before Lord Muir makes his choices."

"Twenty percent that Sir Alastair deemed notable."

"Yes."

I move aside an untrimmed branch. "Twenty percent that Sir Alastair promises he will donate."

"He does donate them. Lady Christie was clear on that and says Lord Muir will not attempt to claim otherwise. Sir Alastair donated the artifacts he said were of significant historical value."

"But I'm presuming that's still where the dispute arose. Sir Alastair was removing artifacts Lord Muir wanted."

"Yes. They had come to this agreement at the start of their working relationship, and Sir Alastair was choosing twenty percent to donate, as they agreed. But Lord Muir had come to realize that ‘valuable' in a historical context could also mean ‘valuable' in a monetary one."

I remember Muir's words, breezily acknowledging that the most valuable of artifacts might not be the most historically valuable. Except they can be, to a discerning buyer.

I'm turning a corner when my heel catches on a loose cobblestone. Gray's hand shoots out to steady me before I can do more than wobble. I glance over with a grateful smile. He's been silent so far, listening and assimilating.

I say, "Is Muir keeping his share of the artifacts or selling them?"

"An earl does not dirty his hands by selling anything, my dear Mallory. He has people for that. But, yes, while Lord Muir chooses a few for his own collection, most are sold."

"And he's come to realize that savvy collectors don't just want a pretty jeweled scarab. They also want artifacts they can brag about, like saying they have a rare scroll taken from the tomb of a pharaoh."

"Precisely. Lord Muir wanted to renegotiate their arrangement so that he could take half of his allotment off the top. Lady Christie believes her husband was conducting a negotiation of his own. Mollifying Muir in other ways."

"Like speaking out against the female medical students. Throwing them under the bus to preserve his artifacts."

McCreadie nods. "Likely so. Lord Muir apparently accepted such conciliatory efforts as his due and the matter seemed closed."

"Hmm." I realize we're heading for the exit and take the next turn to loop us through the garden again. "Were any of the previously missing items among the disputed artifacts?"

McCreadie smiles. "You were a detective for a reason, I see."

"No, I know you're a very good detective, which means you wouldn't consider Muir a feasible suspect for the thefts unless you had more evidence, such as the missing artifacts being ones he wanted."

"Of the four items taken the last time, two were ones they had argued over."

"Because only taking the ones he wanted would be too obvious. Now you think Muir hadn't dropped the matter. He used the chaos after Sir Alastair's murder to make off with more artifacts, which is easy because he'd have been in and out of the house. When Lady Christie messages him about the theft, he races over and takes charge, summoning us, pointing the finger at Selim, and even making a point of suggesting the missing artifacts weren't the most valuable."

We continue down a row of hedges.

McCreadie looks over. "You lay out a solid argument, but I have the feeling you are merely repeating what you believe my argument to be… and that you disagree."

"No, I don't disagree. I'm just struggling with extra information."

I tell him what Phoebe said about her uncle.

"Ah," McCreadie says. "That does add a complication."

"It doesn't mean Selim did anything. Phoebe might only have heard Muir blame him, so she's leaping to his defense. Perhaps she fears he may have done it to reclaim his country's treasures. That he objects to the plunder and therefore, by logical extension, could have taken them."

"Yes."

I glance at Gray. He continues walking, but his gaze is sharp enough that I know he's thinking it through.

"That does make sense," Gray says. "Lord Muir makes off with the artifacts and blames Mr. Awad as a convenient suspect, who is also conveniently unavailable. However, that leads to the question of where Mr. Awad is. Michael says they do not know."

McCreadie nods. "That is what Lady Christie said as well. He was not in his rooms this morning, and at first… Well, you remember when we would do the same thing as young men. Isla would discover your room empty, and likely heave a great sigh of exasperation before covering for your absence with your parents. Lady Christie found the room empty, rolled her eyes at her brother's youthful ways, shut the door and told the children he was still abed."

"Expecting him to sneak back in after a night of carousing," I say.

"Then Lord Muir arrived and wanted to question Selim, and she had to admit he was not at home."

"But not being at home wasn't initially a cause for surprise. Suggesting it wasn't unexpected behavior."

"Lady Christie was most circumspect." McCreadie nudges a stone from the path with his boot. "But she did suggest he has… a friend he meets while in Edinburgh."

"Got it. Any chance we can check in with this nighttime friend?"

McCreadie shakes his head. "Lady Christie, being a proper lady, has no idea who he was seeing. However, she did say that he always returned home before dawn. She presumed, with the tumult over her husband's death, Selim thought he could linger longer."

I check my pocket watch. "Linger past noon?"

"Yes, that is concerning."

"Lord Muir mentioned something about ‘youthful troubles' in Selim's past.…"

McCreadie waves a hand. "He was exaggerating, it seems. There was trouble with a few boys at his London school, who mocked Selim's accent. He claimed to have put an ancient Egyptian curse on them, which caused some commotion."

I smile. "Good. But yes, that's hardly what I'd consider youthful troubles."

"Agreed. I told Lady Christie I would return to the house. I will need to search Selim's room." He catches my look. "No, I did not warn her that I would be coming back to search, giving her time to remove anything she considers private, which might include information on his ‘night friend.' I only said that I need to return to speak to the staff."

I'm about to ask whether he wants our help, but a look from Gray stops me. McCreadie has already had two people contact us instead of him. Better not to say anything that might suggest he needs help. If he wants it, he'll ask.

"Mallory and I shall return home," Gray says.

"Get some rest," McCreadie says, and then adds with a sly smile, "I have left you some reading material."