Trying to hide how shaken I was, I looked around at the others. Their faces were all pale and wide-eyed.
"Blimey, mate! Look at that." Sparky pointed at Henry.
My brother was rigid with shock, and his hair had turned white. Not all of it, but his cowlick was now white. Blimey indeed.
"Henry," I said rather sharply, since I was nearly out of my mind with fear. Jerkily, his head swung around to look at me. "Are you all right?" I asked, more gently this time.
"I-I think so," he said, but his voice sounded a bit hollow and far away.
"Can we eat now?" Snuffles asked.
"Er, no. Just one more thing: May the food we are about to eat bless your body and give it strength in the afterlife. Amen."
"Now?" Snuffles said.
"Now," I said.
As Will and his brothers fell upon the picnic basket, I hurried over to Henry's side. I felt his forehead, which seemed the right temperature. He slapped my hand away, which was a good sign, but the faraway look in his eyes wasn't. I leaned in closer and whispered, "Henry? Are you sure you're okay?"
He turned his head in the direction of my voice and nodded.
"Do you want to come have something to eat?" I asked.
He shook his head no, and I took advantage of his stunned state to administer a firm warning. "I told you you needed to be careful about the magic around here. I'd actually hoped you'd never have occasion to believe me, that you'd stay blissfully ignorant. I'm sorry this had to happen."
"'S okay," he said, then frowned. "What exactly did happen?"
I looked into his eyes and saw the fear and unease lurking there. "Nothing much. The smell of the oils just made you lightheaded, that's all."
He stared at me a moment, then nodded and went to sit with the other boys.
I felt sick about this, even worse than I'd felt when Isis had been struck by a curse. I could only hope it would have no lasting effects.
Just as we were packing up the last of the funereal feast, Stilton came looking for me. "Miss Theo?" he asked, looking surprised to see so many of us.
"Oh, hullo, Stilton," I said. "Thank you so much for your help. We're done, so you can take the, er, coffin back now."
That's when he saw the mummy formerly known as Tetley in the coffin. Slowly he advanced on it, a strange look on his face. He glanced from Tetley, to me, then back to Tetley. "You're seeing that he gets a Christian burial, aren't you, miss?"
"Yes, Stilton. It's the least we can do for him."
A resolved look appeared on Stilton's face as he quietly closed the coffin. "That's right decent of you, miss. I'll take him back now."
Before I'd even ventured down to breakfast the next morning, I heard Mother shriek, "Henry! Your hair!"
I yanked my frock over my head and ran downstairs to the dining room. Henry stood behind his chair as Mother stared at him in concern. Father was talking, and he didn't sound too happy. "What on earth have you done, young man?"
Being called young anything always boded ill.
"I-I," Henry stammered and then threw me a pleading look. That, at least, was a good sign. It meant he wasn't going to hang me out to dry.
"He got lemon juice in it," I said as I stepped into the room. "After you left the kitchen yesterday, Mum, we began playing at being ... alchemists. And, as alchemists, we pretended we were creating a formula that would turn lead into gold."
"And what was in this alchemical formula of yours?" Father asked.
"Lemon juice. And vinegar. And a bunch of other things I can't remember," I said. "Maybe oils. I think we used some of the oils from the pantry." It seemed smart to add that last bit, just in case anyone ever noticed that all the various oils in the house had been moved. The truth was, by the time we got home last night, it was so late and I was so tired, I couldn't remember where I'd gotten which sacred oil.
Father's mustache twitched, and I couldn't tell if it was in frustration or in amusement. "I guess we should just be grateful your hair didn't turn white. Or fall out." He turned a stern eye on Henry. "I hope you've learned your lesson about meddling in unsupervised scientific experiments."
Henry hung his head. "Yes, sir."
"Very good. Now, let's enjoy this wonderful Easter breakfast Cook has prepared for us."
Other than that incident, Easter Sunday was lovely. We all got dressed up in our best finery, Mum and I wore our Easter bonnets, and we went to church. Being inside a church feels a lot like being inside a museum; the air feels heavier, more important somehow, as if the weight of all that spiritual worship were somehow physical. Henry fidgeted a bit until I gave him a piece of wax I found in one of my dress pockets. He played with that until the service was over.
After church we had a special luncheon. Mum had even invited Uncle Andrew, which was a wonderful balance to Grandmother Throckmorton, who showed up in her black mourning clothes, a beady-eyed crow to the rest of us cheerful spring bluebirds. I did my best to ignore her and re minded myself that she had no idea the man she was mourning was neither dead nor a hero.
After we ate, we collected the baskets we had decorated and hunted for the eggs Mum had hidden. It would have been an absolutely perfect day if not for the small lump of dread and nerves sitting in my stomach. Although I was thrilled to have Henry back to normal—if a bit peaked and subdued—I was terrified that it might all go to pieces at the funeral if our ruse was discovered. Polite society had been most put out when they'd found a fake mummy at one of their receptions; I could only imagine how they'd react if they came across one at a solemn occasion like a memorial service.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Sopcoate's Memorial Service
THE CHURCH GRANDMOTHER HAD FOUND was very grand, even if it wasn't Westminster Abbey. It had enormously high ceilings with stained glass windows that cast pools of green, red, and gold light down on everyone. Rows of columns lined the aisles of the church, and organ music filled the empty spaces high above.
To my great relief, the casket was already in place up near the altar. Henry and I exchanged a glance, his lock of white hair a comforting reminder of why I'd had to do what I'd done.
For Grandmother's sake, I was pleased to see that the church was nearly full. There were many men in naval uni forms, including a number of rough-looking sailors in the very back. The crowd fell silent as a long, sorrowful note came from the organ, and the service began.
The reverend talked about ashes to ashes, dust to dust (which doesn't make much sense when you're speaking of someone who'd been lost at sea), and the bombazine of my mourning dress itched horribly. The black gloves I'd been handed by the page were far too big and made my hands look large and misshapen. I tried to tug them tighter. Next to me, Henry fidgeted, but I said nothing as I was half certain that tugging at one's gloves and sleeves also qualified as fidgeting. Then I caught Father looking at me out of the corner of his eye and did my best to hold absolutely still.
Just as the reverend got to the part about leaving all our worldly desires behind, I had the distinct sensation that I was being watched. Moving slowly so as not to attract Father's attention, I turned to look behind me. The sea of faces were all staring intently at the minister.
"Quit fidgeting," Father hissed.
I pulled my gaze from the back of the church and stared dutifully forward, vowing to at least look as if I were paying attention, if not for Sopcoate's sake, then for Grandmother's. I occupied myself by coming up with a plan just in case anyone opened the casket or noticed how heavy it was.
Just when I'd decided that a fainting spell would be the only way to halt a disaster, the fine hairs at the nape of my neck stirred again. I reached up and rubbed them, hoping it was just the stiff, wretched fabric of my collar. But no. The sensation increased until my shoulders positively itched with it. Someone was definitely watching me. I could feel their ka focused on me, and I did not like it one bit.