After a moment of startled silence, we all raced toward the sound, Turnbull in the lead, trailed closely by Father and myself. That is, until Vicary Weems pushed past me and nearly sent me careening into the wall. Beast.
When we reached the loading area, we found a bald porter lying on the ground, grimacing in pain, his leg twisted at a horrid angle. Dolge was struggling to balance the mummy they'd been carrying between them. Stilton trundled down the stairs to help.
"He tripped," Dolge explained.
"Broken leg, it looks like," Turnbull announced.
"Someone pushed me," the man gasped. "I didn't trip down no ruddy stairs. I was pushed." "Who could have pushed you?" Turnbull asked, looking around. "We all arrived after your fall. There was no one else here."
The man set his jaw. "I don't know, but I was pushed. I felt it."
Turnbull reached up and scratched his head. "Very well. Let's get this man a doctor. Biggs! You and your men go find anyone else here who wasn't in the foyer with the rest of us. We'll want them for questioning."
But of course, I knew they'd find no one. Or no corporeal body, anyway. No. I was very much afraid that the push had been of a supernatural variety.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Miss Chittle
WHILE EVERYONE WAS BUSY SEARCHING for someone who might have pushed the porter, I decided to slip away to the reading room in order to begin my research. But before I could take more than half a dozen steps, there was an imperious rapping at the museum door. Now what? We weren't open for visitation today, and surely we didn't need any more policemen. (Or any more mummies—but I was pretty sure they wouldn't have knocked.)
Since everyone else was still sorting out the mess with the broken-legged porter, I called out, "I'll get it." I straightened my frock and quickly wiped my face in case any errant dirt or cobwebs had found their way there, then opened the door.
Grandmother Throckmorton blinked, her scowl deepening. "What are you doing opening the door? Don't you have studies to attend to?"
"Yes, ma'am." I dropped a quick curtsy. Not Grandmother Throckmorton! This was three days in a row. I wasn't sure I could take much more. "We've had a bit of excitement this morning and everything is off schedule."
"Yes," a cheerful voice boomed from just behind Grandmother. "So we heard! We thought we'd come round and see if there was anything we could do to help."
"Admiral Sopcoate, how lovely to see you again." With any luck, he would temper Grandmother's horridness.
"Well, don't leave us standing out on the stoop like common tradesmen. Let us in!"
I jumped out of the way and they entered, which was when I discovered they had brought a young woman with them. It didn't take an overactive imagination to conclude that she was most likely my newest governess.
"If that's more blasted police, don't let them in, Theodosia!" Father shouted from the far end of the room.
And how was I supposed to keep them out? I started to tell him not to worry, that it was only Grandmother Throckmorton and Admiral Sopcoate come to check on us, but Grandmother interrupted me. "Alistair! Such language!"
"Oh, hello, Mother. Admiral."
"Police?" the young woman with them repeated, her right eye twitching slightly.
"Miss Chittle—" Grandmother's loud voice had the governess flinching, and I wondered if she was related to Edgar Stilton—"this is my granddaughter, Theodosia."
"How d'you do?" I bobbed the most polite curtsy I could muster. It was hard with thoughts of mummies and research running through my head. A governess was the last thing I needed right now. "I'm very pleased to meet you."
She stared down her small, thin nose at me and gave a stiff nod.
The admiral moved forward to shake Father's hand. "Good morning, Throckmorton. We heard you had a dustup this morning."
Father ran his hand through his hair, making it stand up on end. "Yes, a bit of a pickle, I'm afraid. We've no idea how all these mummies got here and the inspector seems determined to find it our fault."
"Mummies?" Miss Chittle's pale white hand flew to her mouth, as if to hold back a scream. Honestly! What did she think was housed in a museum, anyway?
"That is inexcusable," Grandmother snapped. "I will not have the Throckmorton name dragged through the mud. Give me this inspector's name and I will have the admiral look into the situation immediately."
Then the admiral did something quite astonishing. He reached out and patted Grandmother on the arm. "Now, Lavinia. I told you, your name is quite safe. I'll be sure of it."
I watched open mouthed, expecting Grandmother to bean the man with her cane for taking such liberties. But instead, her face softened and she patted him back.
Miss Chittle caught sight of the mummies lined up against the back wall, and she took two small steps backward.
"Don't worry. Father didn't steal them," I reassured her.
"Steal them?" Miss Chittle's gaze fluttered from the mummies to me, then to Grandmother. "You didn't mention anything about the police, ma'am. Or stealing."
Grandmother gave her a withering look. "You told me you had a strong constitution and nerves of iron. I would hope you haven't been lying to me. A woman in my position could make things very difficult for a governess who has lied."
Miss Chittle's throat bobbed as she swallowed once before speaking. "Of course not, madam. I never lie."
Grandmother gave a satisfied nod, then whipped her head around to me, as if she thought I'd been up to something while she wasn't looking. "This isn't your doing, by some chance, is it?"
"Now, Lavinia," the admiral said, "what could a young girl possibly do to create a mess like this?"
Have I mentioned I was growing rather fond of Admiral Sopcoate?
Grandmother relaxed a bit. "Very well. I suppose you're right."
Anxious to change the subject, I turned to my new governess. "What sorts of things will you be teaching me, Miss Chittle?"
"None of your impertinence now," Grandmother interjected. "Miss Chittle has been trained in the classics, so you won't suffer from an inferior education."
"Really?" My hopes grew.
Her eyes still on the mummies, Miss Chittle nodded absently.
"Plus," Grandmother continued, "she'll be teaching you all the things you lack. Etiquette, manners, comportment—"
Knowing better than to interrupt, I raised my hand to let Grandmother know I had a question.
"What?" she barked.
"What exactly is comportment, again?"
Admiral Sopcoate made a strange noise, then began coughing. Grandmother narrowed her eyes. "Comportment is how you behave, how you acquit yourself in public. It is something you are sadly lacking, as the disaster at Lord Chudleigh's illustrated."
I lowered my head. "Yes, ma'am."
Grandmother leaned closer to Miss Chittle. "Don't let her fool you. Butter wouldn't melt in her mouth."
It was quiet while I felt both of them studying me. After a long moment, Miss Chittle spoke. "Although I have no doubt I can teach your granddaughter, I would like to suggest we don't conduct our lessons here." She looked around the foyer, her eyes lingering briefly on the mummies before she continued. "There are far too many distractions, and it is quite unhealthy."
Grandmother thumped her cane. "We are in total agreement on that score."
"But Grandmother," I said, "the museum's reading room has so many scholarly texts for me to study. It's how I've learned Latin and Greek and hierogly—"
"None of which will do you a lick of good if you don't have the sense God gave you."
Did I not have enough sense to save Britain in her hour of need just months ago? I wanted to scream. But of course, I couldn't. I lowered my head and hoped Grandmother would think it was in shame instead of in fury. This would never do. I couldn't allow myself to be removed from the museum! Who would protect everyone from all the wretched curses floating around this place, let alone get to the bottom of this whole mummy fiasco? No. It simply wouldn't do.