Chapter Twenty-Seven

We keep walking until we have reached the farthest row. It only takes a glance to realize it's Medicine Lane. There's a young Asian man demonstrating acupuncture to a woman with knotted hair and dirt-stained clothing, looking like a medieval herbalist who just wandered in from the woods. At another booth, a Middle Eastern woman rubs something onto the gnarled hands of a tiny elderly man dressed in a bright green suit that screams "leprechaun" and also "arsenic." A third booth has a tent behind it, the flap drawn. I slow, curious, until a muffled gasp from within makes me jump.

"Flagellation," Queen Mab says, still walking.

"Flag…?"

"Whipping."

"Oh, I know what flagellation is, but it seems more appropriate for a brothel than Medicine Lane here."

She glances over with a barely suppressed smirk. "And what would a lovely young woman like you know about such things?"

"I'm not as young as I look."

"Why do I get the feeling that's even more accurate than it might seem?" she murmurs. "In this context, the flagellation is for driving out inner demons, therefore it is medicinal. However, if you look all the way at the end, there's another closed tent specifically for women suffering from nerves and discontent. Do you want me to tell you what they're getting inside?"

"Orgasms?" I say, lowering my voice. When her brows shoot up, I say, "I've heard of that. I'm sure it does make them feel better, though self-medicating is certainly cheaper."

A sputter of laughter that turns into a cough. Only it doesn't come from Queen Mab, who's only smiling. I glance behind me as Mrs. Wallace stops coughing and fixes me with a remarkably blank stare, as if I imagined the laugh.

"You are far too clever for your own good," Queen Mab says. "Admittedly, while I do not begrudge those ladies their treatment, I am saddened to think they need to come here to get it. And saddened to think that it works. Imagine a society that has twisted basic human nature to such a degree that those women do not even recognize their dissatisfaction and longing for what it truly is, and how easily it is remedied. I am glad you do not have that problem. If you do, I would suggest you ask your in-house doctor for the remedy."

I roll my eyes. From behind me comes a sound suspiciously like a growl.

"I know you are teasing," I say to Queen Mab. "But beware Mrs. Wallace. She already believes I have my sights set on the boss's bed."

"Why shouldn't you? If I were ten years younger, I would."

"Only ten?" Mrs. Wallace murmurs.

"Only ten." Queen Mab gives her a look that dares her to challenge that. "Your employer is a handsome and virile man, but more importantly, he is clever and interesting and also considerate, which make him very likely to provide what the ladies entering that tent lack in their own lives."

"Ma'am…" Mrs. Wallace says, her voice laced with warning.

"Oh come now. It is not disrespectful to speak of Dr. Gray like that. If you are concerned that I am putting ideas in Mallory's head, then I would point out that you seem to think she already has those ideas. And I would counter that, even if she does, she has no intention of acting on them, sadly. I thought you a better judge of character than that, Paulina."

"I believe that is the stall you were looking for," Mrs. Wallace says, nodding to her left.

"Ah, it is. And do not think I didn't notice that sudden change of subject. Speak to me later, Paulina, and I believe we ought to make a wager on whether Miss Mallory's goal involves bedding her employer or not."

I decide to end this conversation by taking great interest in the stall. It specializes in herbs, but tiny labels in calligraphic script list things I wouldn't expect to find in Isla's laboratory, and maybe not even in Queen Mab's. Some of them I recognize, like red lotus. Others, such as a "dream herb" from Central America—Calea ternifolia—I don't.

There isn't anyone manning the booth, but after we stop there, a young woman approaches from her own browsing. She's dressed in an off-white gown suitable for a moderrn bride, complete with headpiece and a veil drawn over her face. Raven-black hair falls over her shoulders.

The stall keeper doesn't rush over, as the others did. As she approaches, she dips her chin and says, "Mab." I haven't heard anyone else call Queen Mab that. Even I don't mentally reduce her name. It seems too disrespectful. There's no disrespect in the woman's musically high voice, though, and Queen Mab inclines her own head, murmuring a greeting, as if they are equals.

"I hear you have a shipment of Egyptian blue lotus," Queen Mab says.

Through the veil, I can only make out dark eyes and bright red lips, and those lips curve in a smile.

"I do, and if you did not come this evening, I would have sent my girl around to see whether you wanted any. I admit, half my reason for buying it was in hopes of drawing you out. It has been too long."

"It has indeed. You do not need blue lotus to draw me out. I am always available to you, dear lady, to discuss herbs and medicines. In return for the lotus, I presume you wish the usual?"

"If it is not too much to ask."

"Never. I will take the lotus then, and perhaps a few other things. But I come tonight for a secondary reason. You will have noted my young friend here?"

"I have."

"She is on the trail of an ingredient you no longer carry."

The veil turns my way. "If I no longer carry it, then it is not useful."

"It is not useful," Queen Mab says. "She realizes that and has another reason for seeking it out. More specifically, she is interested in knowing where one might sell such an ingredient. To those who still trade in it."

"Ah. That is another thing altogether. Tell me what it is, and I will tell you whether I can help."

"She is looking for those who might purchase the remains of an Egyptian mummy."

"Mummia?" The woman hesitates. Then her veiled face rises sharply. "Is this in regards to the murder of that baronet?"

"I would not bring you anyone involved in a murder, dear lady. Or, perhaps more correctly, I would not bring you anyone involved in the committing of it."

Silence. I feel the veiled woman's gaze on mine, and I keep my expression open and still.

"You wish to know where someone might sell a mummy?" she says finally. "The human remains within, rather than the trappings or the mummy itself."

"Yes," I say. "If someone had those remains, would they be easy to sell? Or would finding a buyer require specific knowledge and connections?"

"It is a rare ingredient, little used these days. For it to be at all valuable, one must indeed know where to sell it. I know where you might find information on that."

"Thank you."

"That information does not come free."

"She has something to trade," Queen Mab says. "Show her, please."

I lift the bag onto the booth front and open it. The woman peers inside. She lifts a gloved hand to open the bag further, but then makes a grumbling noise, as if she still cannot quite see. Very carefully, she moves the veil. She doesn't lift it entirely. In fact, I catch only a glimpse of her neck, and I bite back an inhalation of surprise. From the high voice and the jet-black hair and the white dress, I was certain we were speaking to a woman about Catriona's age. What I see, though, is a neck so lined that she must be older than Queen Mab.

It's a disconcerting dichotomy, with that bridal gown, and my first thought is Miss Havisham, I presume. I bite my tongue before I say it aloud. That's a literary reference that would be understood… and not appreciated. The woman's age does explain why she greeted Queen Mab as an equal, though.

The lifted veil only reveals her neck for a moment before it drops again.

"May I remove the hand from the bag?" she asks.

Queen Mab looks about.

"Back here," the woman says, nodding to the counter behind her. "If I may."

At Queen Mab's nod, I move around the stall and set the bag on the back counter. Then I discreetly remove the hand and set it down on the cloth the woman has laid out. She moves in to block the view of anyone passing, and Queen Mab and I do the same on either side, while Mrs. Wallace stays on the other side of the booth.

The woman pokes and prods the hand with a metal probe, not unlike what Gray and Isla might use. She also employs a magnifying glass.

"I will accept this as genuine," she says. "Where did you obtain such a thing?"

Queen Mab answers for me. "It was found quite by accident, by someone who did not recognize it for what it was, but my friend here did. It has been in her possession, and when I mentioned needing something to trade, she remembered this."

The woman keeps examining it, not raising her veiled head as she says, "You should tell your employer to be more careful, child. He already has a reputation as a ghoul. Being seen purchasing such a thing would not help."

I try not to react and keep my gaze on the hand.

"I do not believe we said she was here on behalf of any employer," Queen Mab says smoothly.

The woman turns to Queen Mab. "Please give me some small credit for intelligence, old friend. I might not be a detective myself, but I can put together simple clues, enough to know I am speaking to an actual detective. Or, at least, the assistant to one."

When we don't answer, a sigh ripples her veil. "You said it was purchased by someone who did not know what it was. How many people do you think see a severed hand in a shop and declare they must have it?"

"More than you might imagine," I murmur.

"Perhaps, but I also know your question is connected to the mummy murder. You are seeking information on selling a mummy but not seeking to actually sell one. That told me I was almost certainly speaking to the young lady from The Mysterious Adventures of the Gray Doctor."

"The what?" Queen Mab says.

"Is everyone reading it?" I mutter.

"I am not," Queen Mab says. "I do not even know what ‘it' is."

"Someone is fictionalizing Dr. Gray's investigations," I say. "And doing a very poor job of it, too."

The woman looks my way. "You mean your role is not to examine imaginary bits of evidence on the floor, as an excuse to put your pretty bum in the air?"

Queen Mab snorts. "Now I do need to read them." She addresses the other woman: "Does it matter who my friend is?"

"It might. While this Hand of Glory gets my attention, I could not use it myself. I would need to trade it, which is too much trouble. Also, it is an unfair trade. That hand is more valuable than my information. What I would like in exchange is what I trade with you, Mab. Except from the good doctor's sister."

I frown at Queen Mab.

Queen Mab sighs and says to me, "I offer my services as a herbalist, mixing her ingredients into concoctions that require my skill and equipment. She would be asking the same from Mrs. Ballantyne."

"I can't agree to that on Mrs. Ballantyne's behalf," I say.

"Understood," the woman says. "I will tell you how to contact me with the answer, and when I have it, I will give you what you need."

"Is there anything I can offer instead?"

"I do not think so, child, as your only skill seems to be picking up imaginary evidence off the floor, and I fear I am the wrong audience for such delights."

I can't see her face, but her tone says she's teasing. Still, I say, "I would really rather not pass on the burden for this to another."

"It will not be onerous," Queen Mab says. "She mostly wants to make Mrs. Ballantyne's acquaintance, to add a chemist to her resources."

I'm not happy about it, but it's obvious that I'm not making any other deal here, and Queen Mab seems satisfied with the one being offered. That means it's as good as I'm getting. Like she said, the hand mostly bought me credibility. It's not actually going to buy what I need.

As we're leaving, Queen Mab says, "I know you do not wish to put this responsibility on Mrs. Ballantyne, but it is not your responsibility to take either. You are trying to solve a murder, one a case for which Dr. Gray isn't even being paid."

I say nothing.

"You are not getting this information for your own use," she says.

"I would still rather pay for it myself."

"Which is admirable. You were reluctant to give away the hand, because it was a gift. You are reluctant to ask Mrs. Ballantyne for her services, because it is not her job. That reflects well on you. But this case is a matter of public good, and you cannot let your personal ethics interfere."

"I know, but I can still sulk over it."

We've walked a few more steps when something catches my eye. We've left the medical section and we're walking down a row with some seriously interesting stuff—like brass knuckles with tiger claws and a tiny gun worn as a ring—but I don't do more than glance at it all. I'm pissed off for good reason, and I'm not going to let any cool bric-a-brac spoil that. But then I see a table of objects that are obviously Egyptian in origin, and that yanks me out of my sulk.

As I walk over, Queen Mab murmurs, "If you are hoping to find another source for that information, I would not recommend it. The White Lady is far more reliable than this fellow."

"Artifacts have been stolen from Sir Alastair's collection," I whisper. "I would not expect them to be on the market so soon, but apparently, they aren't the first thefts."

"Ah. In that case, let us peruse."

I'd made a mental note of all the artifacts reported missing. There's nothing on the man's table that matches the descriptions. My gaze falls on a necklace that looks like the one Lady Christie wore to the party, but then I pick up subtle differences.

"Do you like that, lass?" the man behind the table says. He's not much older than me, with a greasy look that has nothing to do with the actual grease slicking back his hair. "Now that particular piece was found in the tomb of…"

I tune out the rest, recognizing sales-pitch bullshit when I hear it.

"It is very pretty," I say. "But I am more interested in things like paddle dolls."

At his frown, I say, "I do not know what you would call them but they are paddle-shaped pieces of wood, carved to look like stylized women, with beads for hair. They have been found in tombs and are believed to represent dancers of the god Hathor. Have you seen any of those?"

He blinks. His gaze goes from me to Mrs. Wallace, standing dourly a step away, as if guarding me. Then it moves to Queen Mab, and he gives a slight start, as if he'd been so focused on me that he hadn't realized who I was with.

"Your Highness," he says, with a tug on his cap.

Queen Mab regally inclines her chin. "Please answer my friend's questions regarding these objects, and understand that she is here with me, and also that she knows precisely what interests her and has the wherewithal to purchase it."

"Y-yes, ma'am. Of course, ma'am."

The man turns back to me. "I would be most pleased to assist in whatever you might need, lass—my lady. This represents only a small portion of my collections. I have excellent sources. Straight from the source, in fact." He glances around and lowers his voice. "An Egyptian chap who works the excavations."

My brows shoot up. "Truly?"

"Truly."

I let my enthusiasm dim. "I suppose that would be an excellent source for some of the simpler items, more easily obtained, but what I need is more… singular."

"Oh, my contact is no common workman, my lady. His sister is wed to one of the gents who runs the digs."

My heart thumps. Shit.

The man looks again at Queen Mab and fairly licks his lips. She'd said she didn't trust him, which means she doesn't deal with him. Here, he sees not only a potential sale from me, but a way to prove himself to a very powerful member of this community.

The man lowers his voice again. "In fact, I have had word that a new shipment is arriving shortly."

"How shortly?" I ask.

"I cannot say exactly. The objects were delayed between him and me. A bit of a family tragedy, with the police sniffing around and all that. But they are in a safe place, and will be retrieved soon."

"Do you know what is coming?" I ask.

"There are several objects, and I will likely receive one or two. I cannot say exactly what—I will not know until they arrive—but I can guarantee they will be far rarer than what you see here. Crowning jewels for any collection of Egyptian antiquities. If you tell me how to contact you, I can do that as soon as I have them."

Queen Mab cuts in. "Excellent. Please let us know where we might find you, and we shall reach out in a few days."

I barely notice that we're leaving the market. My brain is spinning. It seems that Selim Awad did take the artifacts, and that we've found one of his buyers. The guy said receipt had been delayed by what I presume is the police investigation. I thought the culprit had used the murder to hide the theft, and he probably did, but clearly all the police searches of the premises caused problems. Selim couldn't get them out. So where would he leave them?

In the tunnels.

That might not be the only answer, but it's the most likely one. We'll need to investigate the tunnels again in hopes of finding those artifacts before Selim can whisk them away. Wherever they are, he's not going to leave them there for long. He might even have removed them by now.

We rejoin Gustav and walk to where Queen Mab's coach is hidden. Her town house is closer than Gray's, and she apparently has another task for her driver after we've been dropped off, so she has him stop at her house first, and she takes her leave of us.

"Let me know Mrs. Ballantyne's answer, and I will act as your intermediary there," she says before she leaves.

"Thank you."

"As for that other fellow, if you need to contact him, I would do so with care, but I suspect you already have what you want."

"I likely have as much as I can get from him. Thank you, again."

We say our goodbyes, and she takes Gustav and leaves. Then the coach rolls forward again, and it's barely pulled from the curb before Mrs. Wallace says, "You think you know where those Egyptian items are hidden, don't you?"

I give a start. "Hmm?"

"The stolen goods from the Christie house. You think those are the items that lad was referring to, and you think you know where they have been stashed."

When I don't answer, she snaps, "Do not ask how I know antiquities were stolen from the Christie house. I have ears, girl, and none of you discuss your investigations in hushed tones. Half the time, I can hear you from the kitchen."

"Yes," I say. "I believe they may be the same goods, and I have an idea where they might be held."

"And now you are going to drag Dr. Gray off on a wild chase in the middle of the night."

"No," I say evenly. "I am going to convey my theory to him, and he will decide what we should do."

She snorts. "You know what he will decide. That he should go haring off with you at this ungodly hour. You think nothing of waking him in the night. You think nothing of dragging him into it."

I struggle to keep my tone calm. "I am not asking him to join me for a drink, Mrs. Wallace. This is an investigation. I have been out investigating, and I very much doubt he will have retired yet, given that he said he'd come after us if we weren't back by two. If these stolen goods are hidden, the thief will seize his first chance to recover them. Which will be tonight, after everyone has gone to bed."

"Then I will go with you."

When I open my mouth to protest, she says, "If this is truly about recovering the goods or catching the thief, you will accept me as your companion. Otherwise, it has little to do with that and everything to do with Dr. Gray."

My fingers white-knuckle the carpetbag. She's goading me. There's a perfectly good reason why I'd speak to Dr. Gray, rather than take her along. He's my damn partner on this investigation. Hell, as far as she knows, he's my boss. The lead detective.

If I say that, she'll only find fresh arguments. The truth is that I could take her. She'd be adequate backup, and if we don't stop at the town house, we stand a greater chance of beating the thief to the tunnels.

Do I trust Mrs. Wallace to watch my back? Not really. Do I trust her to watch the back of Gray's assistant? Yes. She'll do this for him.

"Fine," I snap. "Do you have a weapon?"

She produces a knife from her boot. Then she reaches into the pocket of her wool coat and takes out a derringer. I bite back a surge of envy. I want a gun. I've joked about it, but I'm not really joking. I know McCreadie would help me find one, but then I'd also need to learn how to use it, as I'm sure it's nothing like what I'm used to.

"Fine," I say. "I believe the thief is, unfortunately, Lady Christie's brother, who is from Egypt and worked with Sir Alastair on the digs. There are tunnels under the Christie house, and Mr. Awad definitely knows them—that's where he was knocked out the other night. He uses them to sneak in and out of the house. There are places in there where he could hide the artifacts. They were thoroughly searched yesterday, so he wouldn't expect the police to look in there. Does that make sense given what you heard?"

"It does."

"Then I guess we're giving the driver a new destination."