Chapter Seven

I spend the next ten minutes helping McCreadie clear the room. I don't care if I'm not a cop here. I don't care if I get huffs of indignation. Detective Mallory comes out and orders everyone away from her damn crime scene and pushes them there if they don't move fast enough. Several of the men help, as does Annis. Isla has returned and pulled Lady Christie away.

The clock is striking eleven as McCreadie thanks those who lingered to help and then politely but firmly shoos them out. He calls in one of the male staff and sends him to alert both the police and Dr. Addington.

Then the doors are closed, and it's just Gray, McCreadie, Annis, me, and the dead Sir Alastair.

"Lady Leslie," I say. "I am not going to order you out, but I would appreciate it if you would go and speak to Isla. She's going to need help. Maybe take the children for Lady Christie?"

I expect Annis to argue, especially about being put in charge of children, but she only nods and says she'll see what she can do.

I move up to where Gray is unwrapping the body of a sandy-bearded, average-looking man in his late thirties, with the build and callused hands of someone accustomed to manual labor.

"This is definitely Sir Alastair?" I say.

"It is."

"Then… I don't understand. You substituted for him because he was indisposed. No one could have murdered him and wrapped him that fast." I stop. "Wait. The mummy was already on the table when we got in here. Before we were told Sir Alastair couldn't make it."

"Yes," Gray says, which is not helpful at all, but it's also a fair answer. He's the doctor and the temporary coroner and crime-scene tech. He's not the detective. That would be me… and the guy standing behind us.

I turn to McCreadie.

"We need to discover who said Sir Alastair was indisposed," McCreadie says. "And quickly, before they leave the building."

"I'll help." I turn to Gray. "Is that okay?"

"What I am doing is hardly urgent. That is."

I find Isla in a sitting room with Lady Christie. They're together on a settee, and when I walk in, Lady Christie is saying, "I must go to the children. I know I must, but I need to compose myself first."

"Take a few minutes more," Isla says. "They will not need you until then, but yes, they will need you, and you should not concern yourself with seeming distraught. They will expect that."

Lady Christie nods. Her eyes are red rimmed, her face streaked with tears.

I rap on the wall as I enter. Then I half curtsy, because it feels like the right thing to do.

"My sincerest condolences," I say as I come into the room. "I am so sorry for your loss and also sorry that I need to bother you at such a time. I promise I will be as quick as I can, but Detective McCreadie needs me to ask you something before the guests disperse."

Silent apologies to McCreadie for the blame, but he'd understand that I need his authority here.

"Yes," Isla says quickly. "The police must move swiftly in such situations, as I know from Detective McCreadie, and they must ask uncomfortable questions at the worst possible times. If they could wait, they would."

I send Isla a look of thanks as Lady Christie wipes her eyes and says, "I understand."

Here's my opening, and I must proceed with care, because the person most likely to have started the lie that Sir Alastair was indisposed… is his wife.

"Do you know who last spoke to Sir Alastair?" I ask. "I understand he was feeling poorly."

Her cheeks darken in a flush and her gaze drops. "No, that was a lie."

"A lie that he was indisposed?"

She nods. "I do not wish to lay blame elsewhere, but saying he was indisposed was not my idea. It was an excuse given when we could not find my husband."

"I recall you were looking for him earlier."

"We were, and we could not find him so Lord—someone else—suggested we say he was indisposed."

"Lord Muir?" Isla says. "I understand you do not wish to lay blame, but the police will require a clear order of events and the people involved."

Lady Christie swallows. "Yes, it was Lord Muir. We had been looking for my husband all evening, and it became clear he was not about, and so Lord Muir said we should say he was indisposed, as saying we could not find him would seem odd."

"It would… yet you and Lord Muir did not find it odd that you couldn't find Sir Alastair?"

She flushes again. "This event was Lord Muir's idea, and as he funded the expedition, my husband did not feel he could refuse, but Alastair was not above… That is to say… He could be…" She takes a deep breath. "My husband is—was—a brilliant man, and he did not like intrusions on his studies, and this event was an intrusion."

I recall Phoebe saying something to the same effect—that she could do as she liked as long as she didn't get in her father's way. In the way of his studies and occupations and interests, I presume.

"I realize it paints my husband in a poor light, to say that we were not surprised he had made himself scarce this evening, but Alastair was, as I say, brilliant, and with brilliance comes eccentricity."

Yeah, that's not eccentricity. I live with two brilliant people, and neither Gray nor Isla would leave their friends and loved ones scrambling to cover for them because they were pissy that an obligation interfered with their work. But sometimes brilliance and selfishness go hand in hand. Sir Alastair didn't want to do the demonstration, and because he's a singular sort of fellow—baronet, surgeon, and Egyptologist—he shouldn't have to, even if he would humiliate his wife and sponsor by not showing up.

Except he hadn't skipped out, had he? His personality was simply such that no one questioned it when he seemed to be doing exactly that.

"When did you last see him?" I ask.

She fidgets, her gaze dropping. "I… That is to say… My husband and I lead very separate lives, Miss Mitchell. When he and his first wife lived in Cairo, I was the…" She clears her throat. "I was the governess. Penelope—the first Lady Christie—and I went to school together in London. We were friends. That was how she met Sir Alastair—she came to visit me in Cairo." A soft smile lightens her grief. "Penelope was a wonderful woman, so very much like Phoebe. She was my dearest friend and…" She blinks up in mild horror. "And that has nothing to do with this. I am rambling, and I apologize."

"Not at all. It helps me understand."

It helps me understand a great deal. The first Lady Christie dies, and who does Sir Alastair choose for his second wife? His wife's best friend and his daughter's governess. Saved him the bother of trying to figure out who would care for Phoebe. Just give the governess a promotion.

Oh, I know that's not necessarily the case, but it's a possibility that gives me some insight into this marriage.

Lady Christie continues, "When my husband was wrapped up in his work, it was not uncommon for me to go all day without seeing him. He took his meals at the excavation or in his offices, and would often return after the children and I had gone to bed. Now that we are back in Edinburgh, he has been busy cataloguing his finds and meeting with museum officials. All of which is an explanation—an excuse even—for what I am about to admit: that I have not seen him since early this morning. We ate breakfast together, and then I took the children for a walk while he worked. When I returned, Alastair was gone. After that, I was busy making ready for the party. I did not think it odd that Alastair did not come home for lunch or tea—that was the usual way of things, much to our cook's frustration. As for dinner, it was a haphazard affair, as we all had to get ready for the party."

"You did not see him get ready?"

A long pause. Then, her voice gentle, "We do not share bedchambers or dressing rooms, Miss Mallory."

Right. This is an era where the wealthy have their own rooms. The middle class often try to emulate that, separating themselves from the poor, who must—shudder—share a bed with their spouse.

"Of course," I say, with a small smile. "In a house like this, you could easily go the day and not see each other."

"You truly can. My husband had his own chambers, and when he left, he preferred to walk to his destination—he often complained at how sedentary life is here, compared with the excavation site. The staff were endlessly despairing that they never knew whether he was in or out. I tried to explain that it would help if he told them when he was leaving, but that can be difficult for people to understand if they have not been in service themselves. I believe you were a housemaid, yes?"

"Yes, and you are correct. It helps the staff to know whether their employers are at home. So you didn't see Sir Alastair all day, and then when you realized he wasn't simply late to the party, you went looking."

"Lord Muir and I did. We asked the staff, and no one had seen Alastair since morning. Still, we presumed he'd come in and slipped past unnoticed. It was not until after I saw you and Dr. Gray that I realized there was an easy way to determine whether he was at the party—had he dressed yet? He insists on wearing even party attire that does not require assistance, as he does not like his valet to dress him, so I checked whether the clothing his valet laid out was still there. It was. Which meant he was not at home. That was when Lord Muir suggested we say Alastair was indisposed."

She twists her handkerchief. "I hated the deception, but Lord Muir pointed out—rightly—that the alternative would be humiliating to my husband. We could not admit that Alastair was behaving…"

She doesn't fill in the rest. I can. Behaving like a petulant child.

She continues quickly, as if reading my mind, "I thought it could easily have been a mistake. We did not even discuss the party at breakfast. I knew it made him ill-tempered. He could have left and forgotten all about it." She stops, her face twisting with grief. "Or that was what I had hoped, and now it seems…" She looks at me. "Is it possible he never left? That we have spent the day presuming he is at work, and he was right here, being… being…"

She breaks off in a sob, and maybe I should feel terrible for coldly analyzing that sob, but that's my job. I look for signs of actual tears. I look for signs of actual grief. I look for any hint that she's putting on a show. I liked what I've seen of Miriam Christie—and I certainly like her children. But I've met too many killers who—on first and even second and third meeting—I liked very well.

Her grief seems genuine, but even that isn't proof she couldn't have killed her husband. Not everyone who commits murder is a cold-blooded sociopath. An argument. A shove and an accidental death, and then the ligature marks and the mummy trappings to disguise it as murder by persons unknown.

If I must remain impartial, though, that helps me wait out the sob and then push on with my questions.

"Do you know when the mummy was placed on the table?" I ask.

"When the…? Oh!" Her hand flies to her mouth. "Oh!"

I give her a moment to work through the horror of that, while Isla pats her arm in the sympathy I can't show. Yes, Lady Christie has just realized that her husband's dead body had been on display for God knows how long, but knowing exactly how long that was will be vital for the investigation.

"Is there someone else I can get that information from?" I say finally. "Whoever was in charge of the mummy?"

"That was supposed to be Selim," she says. "My younger brother, who has not yet arrived. The plan was for the mummy to be in place this afternoon. Selim was going to arrange it and ensure it was guarded until the demonstration. During the party, he intended to be there, along with Michael and Phoebe, to answer questions but…"

She throws up her hands. "He telegraphed yesterday that his ship was delayed, but he was still supposed to be here by noon, and we spent the afternoon expecting him. When the party started and there was still no sign of him, I had two of the men carry the mummy into the demonstration room. We then kept the door closed, so that no one…"

Her gaze shoots to mine. "Selim." She inhales sharply. "Alastair was missing, and now he is dead, and Selim has not arrived and… Oh!"

Lady Christie turns to Isla. "I must speak to the children immediately, but I also need someone to look for my brother. I know which ship he came in on, and we were going to all meet him at the harbor, but with the delay, we did not know when he would arrive."

"Is your brother familiar with Edinburgh?" I ask. "We bumped into someone who mistook Dr. Gray for him, and he seemed to expect Selim would only know Arabic."

Her hands flutter in annoyance. "That is the way of things. Everyone presumes we are exotic and foreign creatures. My brother went to school in London, just as I did. Our father is a government official who recognized the importance of learning the English language and customs, for children who may one day find themselves subjects of the British Empire." She pauses and winces. "I did not mean to sound quite so tart."

"No need to apologize. I've seen how often people don't expect Dr. Gray to know English. It is frustrating."

Isla makes a tiny noise of agreement. "As someone who has seen him endure that all of his life, I must wholeheartedly agree. It is exceptionally frustrating."

Lady Christie relaxes a little. "Thank you for understanding. As for Selim, he is my younger brother, and younger brothers can be somewhat… unmanageable in their way."

Isla murmurs, "Once younger brothers decide they are men, they mistakenly believe they no longer need the guidance of an older sister."

"Yes. Selim is reckless and most unmanageable, and while I could rely on him to supervise the mummy, I could not rely on him to come straight here instead of stopping at a public house first. That is why I did not worry when he was late."

"But you didn't need to worry that he might be lost in a foreign city?" I say.

Lady Christie smiles. "Selim knows Edinburgh well enough, and he is at home wherever he goes, which is why…" The smile evaporates as she pushes to her feet. "Someone must discover what has happened to him. I said that I was not surprised my husband seemed to be avoiding his own party, but I was surprised that Selim was not yet here. That isn't like him. I would have been more concerned about Selim if my attention hadn't been on Alastair."

"If someone can give us his ship information," I say, "we will have it investigated while you speak to the children."

"Yes, thank you. I must…" She sways a little, hand going to her mouth. "The children. Phoebe. Oh, my poor Phoebe. First her mother and now…"

"She has you," Isla says, rising and taking Lady Christie's arm.

"Yes, of course." Lady Christie straightens. "Whatever has happened, Phoebe will always have me. Let me go and speak to them."

"Would you like me to accompany you?" Isla asks.

A wan smile. "Please. I could use an arm to hold, so that I do not break down in front of them."

Isla holds out her arm, and I open the door for them.