The Case of the Missing Mummy

Chapter the Twelveth or Plotting in an Upper Middle Class Household

Cat found herself doing the unskilled labor of scrubbing pots, freeing up the other maid so that she could assist Cook. The caustic lye soap burned Cat's hands, the heat of the water burned her hands too, so Cat was unsurprised with how cheerfully the maid gave up the position. The young woman, who looked to be in her twenties, had hands that were cracked and blistered from the harsh chemicals.

            Cat had washed dishes at Lady MacNeal's before, so she knew how to wash dishes the proper way. Something she had been painstakingly taught since Lady Adeline's cook was so picky. However, the lady gave the housekeeper and Cook ample funds to buy high quality supplies. When Dravan had made a soap that didn't ruin a girl's hands but still cleaned the dishes just as well, they were able to purchase it.

            Cat, trying not to focus on her hands, reflected that Dravan's meeting Sarah was probably one of the best things to happen to poor women as a people in years. Dravan was no philanthropist, but he did care a great deal for his pleasure and comfort. So when he saw Sarah's hands on his body and her knuckles were swollen and cracked, he had enquired to the reason. Upon learning the cause, he sought a cure because "lovely women should have lovely hands".

            When he grew frustrated that she needed to go to the market so often and wasn't there to listen to his ideas, he developed an incantation that would keep food fresh longer. Dravan was a man that overcame obstacles.

            How can I do that here? Cat cast her vision about the kitchen. She badly desired to get out from under Cook's eye. Cutting my hand on a knife badly enough to get me out of the dishes would only get me fired. Out of the kitchen, yes, but out of the mystery as well. Breaking something would ensure a beating before being fired. Cat wracked her brain.

            Cat was staring into the murky water when one of the footmen arrived, "Mr. Bryne said the boy is to assist with the horses tonight. I need him now to get dressed."

            Cook, who had been very focused on berating the maid, whipped around, "What? All you have to do is look handsome and he gives you a helper? I slave in here all day with nothing but this idiot girl, and when I finally get assistance, you take it away?" Her voice was raising with each word she spit. She pointed a knife at Cat who was trying to slip away unnoticed, "Get back to your dishes!"

            Cat bobbed her head, "Thanks for the work mum, but I'm on to the next job!" She slipped out behind the footman.

            With a firm voice and a straight back the footman answered Cook's complaint. "If you have any questions regarding Mr. Bryne's decision, please address him." Then he turned on his heel and left.

            "Thanks." Cat said, trotting at the man's side to keep up.

            A smile broke out from the man's face, making him seem much younger. Sixteen or perhaps eighteen. "My name's John." His livery was sharp and clean. He towered over Cat. He patted her shoulder, practically having to reach down to do so, "Lad, unless you have quite the growth spurt, you'll not want to become a footman."

            Cat had noticed most footmen were tall, "Why?"

            The footman shrugged, "People with money have strange ideas. They claim that a tall man looks better than a short one." He laughed, "Since I'm 6'3", I'm plenty tall. We  get paid an extra pound for every inch over 5'10"." John added that he wished the Pickerings had found a matching man, so that they might both be paid extra.

            That explained a great deal. All of Lady MacNeal's footmen seemed to be giants, even compared to John. Many of them were twins either by birth or luck and acted as such. But then, she could afford paying extra.

            John led Cat into the dorms. The men shared a long dorm with cots set up. Mr. Bryne had his own private room which then led into the wine cellar. Cook also had a room in the basement, adjoined to a cool storage room where she stored her preserves and root vegetables. It certainly wasn't of the same quality as the storage Dravan had made on his river boat, but it was common enough.

            "Lad," John continued, "Here are some clothes to change to. You look pretty clean, so you won't have to bathe, which is a blessing. When you finish, come out front. I'll show you what's needed."

            Cat dressed quickly, though she hesitated at the door. This could be my last chance to look around the house… She shook her head. John seems talkative, maybe I can get some information out of him.

            Just as she was leaving, she ran into the tall and weasley man from the garden. "Watch yourself, boy!" The footman gave her a shove before going into the dorms where he went to the furthest bed from the door and began searching for something under the bed.

            Cat was curious and wanted to spy on the man, but she knew she couldn't. She had no business loitering inside. She hurried out front and looked for John, who was very easy to spot. She described the situation and asked the other footman's name.

            "Oh, him? Rather surly man isn't he? He was hired for the party. I believe his name is James Canton." John straightened Cat's collar, "I don't know how he came on as a footman. He isn't tall in the slightest."

            This wasn't true. James Canton was tall, perhaps taller than John. But it was clear that John didn't like the other man and that went along with how Cat felt as well.

            Scorn dripped from his lips, "If he is down in the dorms at this time of day, then he spilled something on his clothes. Amateur."

            Cat had thought that it had to be some nefarious purpose that sent James into the dorms, but that was a perfectly reasonable one she hadn't thought of. "Maybe he's never been in service before?" If he hadn't it could make tracking him down after the theft more difficult.

            John was very forthcoming. Apparently, Cook hadn't always been a horrible, fat hag. She had gained the weight over the last year, having started as a plump but jovial and comely woman. Last month, on her half day off, she had come back late. Mr. Bryne had already locked up and so left her outside. John asserted that if Mr. Bryne had known it was her, he probably would have left Cook in, but either way, he didn't. When Cook was seen the next day, she looked wretched. Not only unkempt, but hung over and with an eye blackened.

            Cook had never, in all her years at this house or any other, behaved so. After that she had grown surly. Dr. and Mrs. Pickering may not have been generous, but they were fair in what they gave for sustenance. What Cook made for the servants had suffered in quality and quantity.

            Such penny pinching meant that she owed someone money, of course. Given what Cat had overheard, Cook had to owe a great deal of money to be helping in a heist. If she was caught she had to know she would go to prison and never trusted in service again. Of course, that was if she didn't go to the gallows.

            What really confused Cat was that if a behemoth like Cook, let alone a female one, were down at the gambling dens she would have heard about it through her connections. There was no way Cook could do what Cat was and hide her gender, not with the breasts she had. Who is she in debited to?

            When the carriages began arriving, Cat sprang forward to hold the horses heads while John assisted the guests from the carriage. As the driver pulled off to have a few hours peace or to wait along the road, John would tell Cat the identities of the guests and a few tidbits of gossip.

            The first man to arrive was a shorter, fatter man who was quite hairy. His body drooped. According to John he was Mister George Bernerdson. Who was generally harmless. "A bit of a cad and perhaps too willing to notice a maid. But really, given some of the lovely women in service, what man could blame him?" John turned away from Cat, looking out to where the next carriage was already coming in, he murmured under his breath, "I wouldn't let one of my sisters work for him though."

            Mr. Gerald Tweddle, a gnome, was the next guest to arrive. John described him with some irritation as "perfectly boring". "No one knows anything of consequence about him. He practically lives in the museum. It makes a man suspicious when there is no gossip to be had."

            Cat noted that Mr. Tweddle was wearing an expensive tweed suit common for academics who needed to look presentable. It was the kind of suit that dissuaded pickpockets since is screamed to the world, "I carry nothing of value to you". The key, Cat knew, was the "to you" part, since academics often carried ancient artifacts with them, but the market was limited on such items and they were almost always traceable. It was a shame really. It had taken a few nicks before Cat had realized that, which meant that her lair had a surprising collection of world artifacts.

            When John handed Captain Reginald Carrington out of his hansom, Cat could smell the stink of whiskey standing by the horses head. Even in the growing fog, Cat could see his highly polished metals gleaming on the breast of his uniform. There were a few, but not half as many as on Lord MacNeal's uniform. His clothes were the model of the British Army and could have passed inspection. The man however had been drinking too much for decades and lacked the physique. Had he been of dwarven blood, it probably wouldn't have shown, since they could tolerate alcohol better than humans, but he was not.

            "I suppose you smelled that, eh?" He chuckled holding up two shillings, one of which he tossed to Cat. "He's an alright character. He always tips but you can't never tell what kind you'll get. Sometimes he's so drunk he'll slip you a pound, other times he's so drunk he'll give you a half penny."

            "Lord Jonathan and Lady Scarlet Longfellow are always in vogue." John held up two pound coins, "And not because they tip you a pound on purpose." the footman looked guilty for a moment before handing slowly reaching out to hand one of the coins to Cat, "The Lady Longfellow was a courtesan before she married Lord Longfellow."

            Cat raised an eyebrow, "That can't be true. A lord marry a prostitute?" Cat gazed up at the house where the Lady Longfellow was entering in a red dress so fashionable it was almost scandalous.

            "She's not a common whore, she was a courtesan I've heard they are excellent conversationalists and are trained in all manner of bedroom skills…" He trailed off for a moment. "Anyway, you're probably too young to understand the appeal of that."

            John blushed, his eyes lingering on the door until the next carriage arrived and he assisted the graceful, elven and lovely Miss Millet. She wore a black dress that matched elegantly with her long black hair and contrasted her skin, which was so pale it seemed illuminescent. "They say Miss Susanna Millett is crazy and anyone who has heard her speak can attest to that." John nodded as if agreeing with himself.

            Lord Farcical was also wearing his uniform and it too was so clean and polished that it could pass inspection. The difference was that Lord Farcical was a man who could pass inspection. In spite of his advancing years, the early fifties made the adventures of youth more difficult for humans, he was still very active and it showed. His uniform was filled out nicely and there was no paunch that commonly grows about middle-aged men. His medals were polished and there were many of them.

            Lord Farcical, whose golden hair was perhaps a little bit long for regulation length, did not look his age. He maintained a face that held few if any wrinkles and carried even less grey in his whiskers and hair. His left hand twitched in a stiff and unfamiliar way, as if it were disconnected from the rest of his body. Cat was surprised she had not noticed the strange movements before.

            "Lord John Farcical was Lord MacNeal's Lieutenant Colonel. It's said that he was trusted with everything, some people think that Lord MacNeal even gave his blessing for his lady to marry Lord Farcical after his death."

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            Cat shook her head, "That's impossible. Lord MacNeal didn't know he was going to be in a steamer accident. Anyway, it's been three years, if Lord Farcical was going to marry Lady MacNeal, don't you think she would have consented by now?"

            John looked thoughtful, "I suppose that's true."

            Cat wasn't shocked to hear rumors that Lord Farcical and Lady MacNeal were supposed to be married. Lord Farcical had been like a little brother to Lord MacNeal. They had, according to Lady MacNeal, grown up together in Scotland before they bought their commissions and left to see the world.

            John smiled before schooling his face upon seeing the next carriage, "Lord Sexton is a proper Englishman." He said with pride in his voice.

            Cat did not understand John's comment regarding Lord Sexton. The man was dapper, but he seemed ordinary in everyway. He was of average height, he would make a poor footman, his blond hair and blue eyes were unremarkable, and he lacked an presence that would draw people in to him.

            "Lady Adeline MacNeal… well, I told you the rumor with Lord Farcical, but aside from that, she seems to be a strange one. Very concerned for the poor. I've heard she owns many orphanages and homes for women." He was quick to add, "And not the ones that beat the children or sell the women either. Proper homes where she tries to find them good homes or good wages." He added at a low whisper, "I've heard she even tests the children for magic and any found with it she gives a scholarship to the academy."

            Cat nodded. She knew all that first hand. She had even gone with Lady Adeline to look over some of the houses and make sure they were running according to her wishes. What surprised her was John's reaction. Does he not approve of her dealings with the poor?

            "Now, that Miss Anya O'Mally on the other hand…" John spat on the ground, "Uppity she is, doesn't know her place. I've heard, from her house maid no less, that she beats the poor girl. Pays her poor wages and then finds every opportunity to take the money back. The only reason the girl stays is so she can get a good recommendation when she leaves, but who knows if that can even be done?"

            This was news to Cat. I suppose I've never checked on her house… maybe I should look into that. If that's the kind of scoundrel Miss Anya is… then the lady should stay far from her!

            John nodded at the next carriage, already able to identify its inhabitant, "Mr. Algernon Woodhead is truly a man after my own heart. He understands the problem we have with foreigners and is working to put a stop to them coming into the country."

            "'Lady' Susan isn't a lady as far as anyone can tell, but there is something strange about her." John smiled, "Robert Clamp, now there is a right entertaining fellow."

            Cat knew about 'Lady' Susan. She had a great deal of money, which it was assumed by the lower class came from 'independent' means. She throws secret parties and has funded many young artists. Her style, however, is often in opposition to the young and lively nature of her companions. Her dress for the evening, for example, was an elegant and charming green and gray but it was in an old fashioned style. Not outdated, per say, but her clothes bespoke age and mystery.

            Professor Omar's scent of foreign spices lingered on John's arm long after he was assisted out of the carriage. John gave his arm a look of disgust, "I don't trust foreigners myself." He looked sideways at Cat, "Now, I've met a few proper Englishmen with dark skin, I don't mean them. But Professor Kassam Omar, he's from Egypt or some other North African country. Can't tell 'em apart and I don't care too." He snorted disdainfully, "Can't even be bothered to dress like a proper man." John was, of course, referring to the fez Professor Omar was wearing.

            "I've heard" he mentioned conspiratorially, "Mr. Oswald will roll any girl as long as she's tall. His maids complain about his antics non-stop while all claiming he's never touched them." John shrugged, "Though they would have to. It could ruin them if he had. While Mrs. Eleanor Robert is a worse gossip than a fishwife."

            Cat gazed after the flashy and threadbare doctor, there was something familiar about him. She was certain she had seen him before… somewhere.

            "Now, that Dr. Francis goes out on outings and comes home with blood on his clothes. Mrs. Ann Tweeden goes out on occasion too, but wherever she goes, she doesn't want even her coachman to know."

            Cat needed no introduction to the giant polar bear that came next. He, to her surprise, noticed her and gave her a long slow wink. "Dr. Alexi Tolstoy is a bloody Russian." Fury made his face red as he spoke, "They say he was a great surgeon in his homeland, but who cares about that? We're still fighting them, it pains me to no end that we are entertaining one tonight."

            When an especially lavish coach approached John cautioned Cat in a whisper, "Mind your hands, the Lady Elizabeth Dubshire and her son Lord Henry Dubshire's horses will take your fingers off. And careful with your pockets, servants of good repute have been known to catch a trinket around them."

            His warning was senseless. How could anyone's pocket "catch" a trinket? But when she reached for the bridle she saw how the horses eyes rolled wildly. On closer inspection, the color was off. Not just that, it was wrong. Glassy and dead looking, though the horse's breath was still frightfully hot as it tried to take her hand.

            Though she was busy trying to keep her hand in working order, this made her consider John's warning again. When the Dubshires were safely inside Cat asked, "Shall we do a pocket check, sir?"

            "Pocket check? Are you accusing me of theft?" Given John's previous warning, Cat was shocked by his response.

            "No, sir. But you did say that things can fall into one's pocket around them. I'd rather have you here as a witness to say I stole nothing than be surprised later."

            Suspicion arose for a moment before being quenched, "Very well."

            They both turned out their pockets one at a time. In John's breeches was a gold ring, obviously of high quality, set with emeralds. He recoiled in horror and threw it into the street. "I… I didn't!"

            Cat waved her hand, "Relax. You would hardly warn me and then steal in front of me. Besides, I saw the lady put it there."

            Fear had not faded from his face. He reminded Cat of a frightened horse. "She… put it there?"

            Cat nodded solemnly. It amazed her how people could still be surprised at the evil in humans. Especially after commenting on it being there. Although, he was probably just repeating what he had heard. Most likely, he didn't believe that those servants were framed. "Yes."

            John shook his head, "Why? Why would anyone do that? Doesn't she understand that would destroy me? Not only me, but I send money back home to help with my brothers and sisters. If I were ruined for theft, they would starve and my whole family's reputation would be tarnished."

            Cat shrugged. "Maybe she's wicked. Maybe she hates all people or just servants, or maybe she was looking for a way to discredit the hosts. Put something in your pocket and shame the Pickerings." Cat tapped her chin thinking in a way Dravan often did, "I bet there is magic in the game. Magic so you won't notice, magic so she can find it."

            John, though still shaken was trying to pull himself together, "How do you know so much about magic? I thought all magic users had to register with the academy?"

            "Lady MacNeal's older brother is a professor at the academy. When he thinks on a problem he forgets who is around and talks a lot." Cat stretched, "He's said once that noble women rarely register with the academy. Their families don't want them going to university, wanting them to go to finishing school or to have tutors instead. So we really don't know how many women can cast."

            John eyed the ring with trepidation, "Should we bring it inside?"

            Cat shook her head, "No. It's probably going to make you forget, like it made you not want to check your pocket. Either way, it's a trap. Let it stay in the road and then it can be said that it simply fell off her finger."

            John nodded.

            The next carriage arrived quickly enough and John attempted to continue the same gossip he had before. After Mr. Bryne had shown Miss Margaret Longbottom inside the house, he said, "Ugly girl, that one. Poor thing doesn't have to be either. I have it on good authority that under all that make up and time she was a handsome lass. She had suitors, still does even with her face as it is. Her father has money enough that her disposition doesn't matter as much as it could." John shook his head, "I can't fathom how a girl like her, with no thoughts in her head, not even those put there, could put her foot down when it comes to marriage."

            John, though he had done an admirable job trying to regain control, was still shaken after the Miss Longbottom's carriage arrived. He went inside through the servants door. For a moment Cat considered following. Certainly, she wanted to see the lavish spread, but she didn't want to be pressed into service again.

            She looked up and saw an open window on the second floor. I can make that, no problem. She went around to the side of the house where she wouldn't be seen from the street and began climbing.

            It was easy going. Ivy grew up the side of the house on a sturdy trellis. Cat had scaled taller buildings with less handholds. She slipped onto the balcony, crawling over the stone ledge. Cat crept in through the window. The room was eloquent, expensive and feminine. If she had been here on her own initiative, she would have lingered, women always kept expensive jewelry that could be fenced. But I can't. I need to find the good doctor's room.

            She opened the door and slipped down the hall, taking quick peeks in the other rooms while looking for Dr. Pickering. She had assumed they would be right next to each other, but that was not the chase. Immediately next to Sophie Pickering's room was a very strange room. It was a nursery.

            I didn't think they had children. Cat turned to leave but couldn't. Something odd drew her in. The nursery was set assuming that a child would be brought in tomorrow. There was a silver rattle by the crib. It had no teeth marks on it, but was worn on the handle from someone holding in repeatedly. Strange for an item that should have seen no use. Perhaps Mrs. Pickering visits the room? It must be quite often to have the rattle that worn.

            The room was filled with toys that had never been played with, children's clothes that had never been used… It was weird. Cat backed out of the room. The ghosts of children never born made her unwilling to turn her back on the room.

            She was headed down the hall to Dr. Pickering's room when the sound of glass breaking shattered the still air. Screams rose from the downstairs.

            I've got to get out of here! Cat hurried back into the mistress' room and looked over the balcony. Mr. Taurus lay in the street, unconscious or dead. A wagon stood still before the house. Cat climbed over the balcony and began scaling her way down. She could hear fighting coming from inside the house.

            Cat ran over to the wagon and began to lift the tarp that covered it. Over the chaos, she heard a faint hissing sound. Cat jerked her hand back, dropping the tarp in the process. Snakes in the wagon? She shook her head, It'll be unpleasant riding in the undercarriage, but better than riding with whatever is in there. Hopefully, we don't hit too many bumps and puddles. She thought with a grimace as she climbed under the wagon instead, wedging herself underneath. She would find out where they were taking their spoils and tell Lady MacNeal where the scoundrels went.