"Those were not the question. What year did—"
"Wait! Aren't you going to tell me the capital of Burma so I'll know it next time?"
"Of course not! You'll need to look it up yourself. That is how you learn."
This was highly suspicious. "Do you know what the capital of Burma is?"
The ruler cracked down on the table again. "Impertinence!"
Grandmother was no doubt pleased with all this ruler slapping, whereas I found it quite tiresome. "Would you like me to share the answer with you once I find it?" I offered.
"I don't need you to tell me the answer." Miss Sneath pressed her lips together so tightly, they almost disappeared.
"Now then," she said after a long moment. "What year did Charles I dissolve Parliament, and how long was it before it met again?"
"Er, I'm not sure ... but I know that the current Kaiser Wilhelm is Queen Victoria's grandson and King Edward's nephew." Which you'd think would make them just that much friendlier to each other, but apparently not.
The ruler cracked down on the table yet again. "That's not what I asked."
"Well, I know that, but don't you think it's more important to understand today's relationships in politics rather than those of two hundred years ago?"
Miss Sneath turned to Grandmother. "Not only is this girl markedly ignorant, but she's impudent."
Grandmother shifted in her chair. "I did warn you."
"So you did." Miss Sneath looked down at her book. "What is seven times eight?"
Ooh! I love multiplication tables. "Fifty-six."
Miss Sneath scowled. "Nine times nine?"
"Eighty-one!"
Her scowl deepened. "Eleven times eleven!" It felt as if she were pelting me with small, hard pebbles.
"One hundred and twenty-one!"
She began furiously turning the pages in her book. "What are the four principal sources of heat?" she barked out.
"Well, there's the sun, of course. That would be one. The gas in lamps. Oh, and electricity!" But that was only three. "What about steam? Is that the fourth?"
"Wrong," Miss Sneath trilled, sounding triumphant. She looked back down at her book. "The four principles of heat are the sun, electricity, mechanical actions, and chemical actions."
"Almost had it," I said under my breath. Besides, she had to look at the book. It wasn't as if she knew them by heart, either.
"Well, there you have it," she announced, obviously enjoying my wrong answers far too much. "This child is woefully ignorant," she told Grandmother Throckmorton. "You have contacted me none too soon."
My cheeks grew hot. "Don't you think 'woefully ignorant' is overstating it just a bit? I knew much of what—"
"Enough! I am a professional, and there is no question your parents have neglected your education horribly."
"Nonsense!" The word burst from me before I could stop it. "You know all that stuff only because you're reading it from the book! And memorizing isn't the same thing as learning at all!"
Miss Sneath stood, her chin jutting forward. She opened her mouth to say something, but I rushed ahead. "I know lots of things. I know some of the classics and a little Latin. I know Greek and hieroglyphic writing. And I know all about Egyptology, the New Kingdom, and the Middle Kingdom, although admittedly I'm not as familiar with the Old Kingdom as I should be. And I'm very good at long division."
"Silence!" Miss Sneath thundered, a bright red spot appearing on either cheek. She turned to Grandmother. "Her lack of a proper environment has ruined her temperament."
The silence grew thick in the room.
"Do you know the capital of Burma?"
We all jumped at Mother's voice. She stood in the doorway with her head held high, indignation snapping in her eyes. I wondered how much she'd heard. Enough, that was for certain.
Miss Sneath's eyes slid down to her book, but she'd already turned the page. "One doesn't need to know the answers in order to properly teach," she said stiffly.
While defiantly glaring at Grandmother, Mother said, "I rather think that in this case one does. The one thing I do insist on is a superior education."
The two of them had a staring contest for a few tense seconds before Grandmother looked away. "You're dismissed," she told Miss Sneath.
The governess's mouth opened and closed, but her sense of propriety (or self-preservation) overrode her sense of outrage. She quickly packed her book and her ruler back into her satchel, closed it with a firm snap, then took her leave.
When she was gone, Grandmother spoke. "While this will be much harder than I originally thought, don't think you've had the last word." I wasn't sure if she was talking to me or Mother. "I will find you a governess, and she will teach you your place."
Just then, Father poked his head back into the room. "What happened? I just saw the governess go storming out the front door. Henrietta! I thought you'd left."
"I had," Mother said. "But I forgot the paper I wanted to present to the Royal Archaeological Society."
And it was a very good thing she had!
She hurried over to retrieve her presentation, then quickly departed again.
When she had left, Grandmother thumped her cane. "You have come very close to creating a monster, Alistair."
"Oh really, Mother..."
I tuned out Grandmother's tirade. (It was the only way to handle them—they were just too upsetting otherwise.) As I let my gaze wander away, it landed on a fellow standing next to Father. I hadn't seen him at first, as he'd been mostly in the hallway, but as Grandmother raged on, he'd sidled into the room. My cheeks grew hot as I realized I was being scolded in front of a complete stranger.
Especially this prig. He'd scrubbed his face so hard that it shone, and his dark hair was pasted flat on his head. It was a shame he hadn't thought to use the same paste on his ears, as they stuck out rather dreadfully. His mouth was pressed into a thin line. It was probably why he had a small fuzzy caterpillar of a mustache—so people would be sure to realize he had a mouth. I have observed that people with small, tight mouths are rarely friendly or good tempered.
Needless to say, I disliked him instantly. Not because of his ears or even his mouth, but because he stood listening to Grandmother, nodding his head in agreement the whole time. He clearly had the makings of a toady of the first water.
By the time Grandmother had finished her lecture and left, Father's own mouth was looking a little thin and there was a slight tic in his jaw.
"Ahem." The man next to Father cleared his throat.
"Oh, Weems! I'm sorry. I'd completely forgotten about you. Theodosia, this is our new First Assistant Curator, Vicary Weems. Weems, this is my daughter, Theodosia."
"How do you do?" I said, bobbing a curtsy.
Weems sent a curt little nod in my direction, as if he wasn't about to smile at someone who'd just been so thoroughly scolded. A prig, just like I thought.
There was an awkward silence before Father realized Weems wouldn't be responding. "Yes, well, as you see, we're looking for a governess. Now, let's go meet the other curators, shall we? Theodosia, you have something to do, I believe?"
"Yes, Father." Honestly, I never would have thought the catacombs would look so appealing!
Isis refused to return to long-term storage with me. While she was perfectly willing to brave vile magic, evil curses, and the dangerous, restless dead, she'd clearly drawn the line at dogs and doglike creatures.
Once again I descended the stairs feeling as though I were venturing into the very pit of the Underworld itself. I couldn't decide if I should have felt safer; surely the worst had happened, with that statue of Anubis? Or perhaps I should have been even more scared, as the statue was just the beginning? That was the rub of Egyptian magic—one never really knew if one was coming or going.