Clara clutched her assailant’s forearm before it could compress her throat. She could feel the opponent’s breathing quicken and muscles tense. Clara knew she was outmatched in skill and size. She knew, too, she only had a split second to take advantage of her assailant’s momentary weakness. She hinged forward, as she’d been taught, causing her assailant to double over her back, then she stepped forward, knocking her opponent off balance while simultaneously flipping them over her shoulder. Bella thudded onto the mat and let out a winded ‘oof!’.
‘Crikey, Miss Vale. You’re not taking any prisoners today!’
Clara, breathing heavily, stood with hands on hips, looking down at her ju-jitsu instructor. ‘Sorry, Bella,’ she said, and reached out her hand to help the larger woman to her feet.
Bella grinned and took the hand. ‘No need to apologise, miss. You’ll need every ounce of that aggression if you come up against that fella again. Are you sure you’re not going to report it to the captain?’
‘Quite sure,’ said Clara, as the two women walked to the dressing room of the ship’s gymnasium. They passed half a dozen men lifting weights. The men had appeared to be in varying degrees of shock and disbelief at they watched the two ladies engaging in martial arts. Now they either avoided eye contact or gave Clara and Bella wry smiles as they passed by. Clara and Bella nodded politely but didn’t engage.
As soon as they were out of earshot, they resumed their conversation. ‘If I alert the captain,’ said Clara, ‘then the scoundrel might be alerted, too – and not show himself again. I want him to show himself. I have a suspicion it’s the same fellow who broke into my house in Newcastle.’
‘Pilkerton?’ asked Bella, as she stripped down to cotton cami-knickers and brassiere.
‘He seems the obvious suspect,’ said Clara, removing all her clothes and stepping into the bathing suit she had borrowed from her sister. ‘But the obvious suspect is not always the correct suspect. We will have to keep an eye open to see if Pilkerton is on board the ship. I’ll also try to have a look at the passenger list when it’s finalised. Although I doubt he’ll be here under Pilkerton. He changed his name to George Herbert in York, so he could quite easily change it again. But keep your eyes peeled, Bella.’
‘Aye, miss, I will. And I might just head down to second and third class too. He might be booked in there instead.’ She grinned at her employer. ‘I’ll fit in better there than you will, miss, no offence.’
Clara chuckled. ‘No offence taken, Bella. That’s one of the reasons I hired you in the first place. You can go where I can’t go. Between us we should cover all decks. But let’s wait until we set sail.’
‘When will that be, miss?’ asked Bella, pulling a green cotton dress over her head.
‘After breakfast, I believe,’ said Clara. ‘So I’ll see you there. I just want to do a few lengths of the pool first.’
‘Right you are, miss, I’ll see you at breakfast, then. I don’t have to get dressed up again, do I?’
‘No, Bella, what you’re wearing is just fine. Any of your smart day frocks will be more than adequate. I’ll join you shortly.’ She picked up a towel and headed for the first-class swimming pool and Turkish bath.
Clara was pleased to see the pool had no other swimmers. She doubted it would remain this quiet for the duration of the cruise. But for now, she’d enjoy the solitude and the ability to swim length after length uninterrupted. She forged through the water, relishing the feel of her muscles stretching with each stroke. She realised she would have to keep her session short as she still needed to get changed for breakfast – and then she would go up on deck as the ocean liner set sail. The only ship she had ever been on before was a ferry from Dover to Calais. That had been exciting as they left behind the white cliffs and headed across the English Channel, but that experience, she knew, would pale in the shadow of today’s. She was really looking forward to it.
She turned for the final time and did her customary dive under the water, resurfacing after three yards – and nearly crashed into another swimmer! Clara sputtered water from her eyes and nose. ‘Sorry!’ she said. ‘I didn’t see you.’
‘That’s all right, Clara,’ said a masculine voice. ‘I saw you.’
Clara’s eyes cleared and she saw the bobbing head – only a few inches from her own – was that of Jack Danskin. His black hair was slicked back and water dripped from his moustache. Their chests were all but touching.
‘Jack!’ she yelped and paddled back. ‘What are you doing here?’
He grinned. ‘Same as you. Having a swim.’
‘Not the pool!’ she gasped. ‘On this ship!’
He moved closer to her, his arms gently stroking the water. ‘The board wanted me to keep an eye on you – for your own protection, of course.’
‘I don’t need your protection!’
He laughed. ‘Just as well I’m not offering it, then. But when I told them you were going to Egypt –’
‘How did you know I was going to Egypt?’
He cocked his head to the side. ‘Your Bella mentioned it to the Newcastle police. And I have an informant at the station.’
Clara’s eyes widened in surprise.
He chuckled. ‘Don’t look so shocked. I’ve been doing this job for many years. Now, I believe you’ve had a break-in. Do you think they were looking for the jewels from the sarcophagus? Has Daphne got them at the British Museum?’
Clara pursed her lips.
It was Jack’s turn to widen his eyes in surprise. ‘Oh, I see, so that’s why you’re going to Egypt.’
Clara’s brows furrowed. ‘Have you mentioned the jewels to the board?’
Jack shrugged. ‘I might have.’
‘Oh, Jack! You promised Daphne you wouldn’t!’
‘I promised the person paying my bill. At the time it was Daphne. But now it’s Simon Wright, chairman of the board. My allegiance is to my current client.’
‘You’re a cad, Jack,’ she said and swam away. As she climbed out of the pool she was aware of his eyes on her body, feeling his gaze on every inch of her exposed flesh. His laughter echoed through the chamber. ‘Bon voyage, Clara!’
She growled under her breath but carried herself with dignity. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing that she was disgruntled. Yes, Jack, you’re a cad. In more ways than one.
Clara and Bella were shown to the same table as the previous evening for breakfast. The same guests were at the table, but not Dr Jonathan Davies. ‘He told me he didn’t sleep well last night,’ explained Miss Philpott.
‘Is he poorly?’ asked Bella.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Miss Philpott. ‘I believe he’s just tired. We’ve had a very busy few days. I expect he’ll be right as rain after a lie-in.’
At that moment Jack Danskin entered the dining room. He was met by the head steward. Jack looked over to Clara and then nodded to the empty chair at her table.
Oh dear Lord, no … thought Clara.
Fortunately, the stickling steward would not be deterred from his scheduled plan and led Danskin to another table.
Clara exchanged a relieved glance with Bella. She’d already told her assistant about the surprise encounter in the swimming pool. Clara had been hoping that Jack would be travelling third class, as he had on the train, so she wouldn’t have to worry about bumping into him too often, but it looked like the Hancock Museum board were going to be billed for first-class travel all the way to Egypt.
She was furious that he had broken his promise to Daphne about not telling anyone about the jewels. She wondered if Daphne knew that the cat was out of the bag with that one. If not, she would soon. And it wouldn’t be long until the news got back to the Egyptian Department of Antiquities. The sooner the ship set sail the better. She needed to get those jewels to Daphne’s contact in Egypt before an international incident was fanned into flame.
After last night’s intrusion to her cabin, this morning she had taken the jewels from her safe and asked for them to instead be put in the captain’s safe on the bridge – just in case the villain had the skills to decipher a safe combination. Why, though, had he waited until she and Bella were in their cabins? Surely the opportunity to break in would have been when they were at dinner last night? Unless it wasn’t the jewels he was after … Clara shuddered. Might this instead have been an attempted assault on her person?
Clara was shaken from her musings by a ‘Gott im Himmel! ’ from Dr Stein, who was reading a copy of the morning Times. Everyone looked to the German archaeologist.
‘What is it, Heinrich?’ asked Larry Winter.
Stein lowered the paper and pointed to an article on page two: there was a photograph of a mummy in an open sarcophagus under the headline: MUMMY MYSTERY – MUMMY NOT VERY OLD, SAYS BRITISH MUSEUM.
‘Is that the wrong mummy that got sent to Newcastle?’ asked Jennifer Philpott.
‘It is,’ said Stein, and proceeded to read the article out loud.
‘“Scotland Yard was called to the British Museum earlier this week after it was discovered a mummy in their collection may, in fact, not be an ancient relic, but a recently deceased corpse. Dr Giles Mortimer, Director of the Egyptian Collection, told The Times that the discovery had been made when a mummy had been sent on loan to the Hancock Museum in Newcastle. He said: ‘When the sarcophagus was opened, it was discovered that a different mummy than expected was in the case. Dr Daphne Coleman, the resident Egyptologist in Newcastle, brought the mummy back to London where we performed tests. It was revealed that the mummy could not have been dead for more than fifteen years. In addition to that, there are signs of unnatural death. Because of that, we felt compelled to call the police.’ DCI Jasper Martin of the Metropolitan Police told The Times that no further details could be released to the press for now. We will keep readers abreast of further developments.”’
‘Gott im Himmel! ’ echoed Rudy Werner.
Professor Petit turned to Clara. ‘Did you know about this, Miss Vale?’
Clara’s first instinct was denial, but she doubted she could get away with it for long. Instead, she opted for a modicum of truth. ‘I knew Daphne had her suspicions about the mummy, yes. But I wasn’t aware they had confirmed anything. As I am not an Egyptologist or archaeologist there was very little I could contribute to their investigation, so I left Daphne and Dr Mortimer to it while I prepared for this cruise.’
Petit’s eyes narrowed. ‘Miss Vale, you are too modest. We are all aware of your scientific credentials. And I am personally aware that you spent some time with Daphne examining the mummy in Newcastle. I think perhaps you know more than you are saying.’
‘I beg your pardon, Professor, but are you calling me a liar?’
An awkward silence fell over the table, interrupted by the smiling waiters arriving with bacon and eggs.
After the waiters retreated, Larry Winter chipped in with: ‘I’m sure that was the last thing Professor Petit was suggesting, Miss Vale. Just a Gallic turn of phrase.’
Petit, buttering his toast, was not mollified. ‘Thank you, Winter, but that is not the case. I am seriously questioning Miss Vale’s knowledge of this situation and would seriously like an answer.’
Bella stared goggle-eyed at Clara. Miss Philpott cleared her throat. Dr Stein and Herr Werner leaned in, eager to hear her answer.
‘Well,’ said Clara, realising she could avoid the question no longer. ‘Yes, I do know a bit about it. But I was sworn to confidentiality. And I am sure you will respect me when I say I was duty bound to adhere to Daphne’s wishes. She did not want any of this made public before it was confirmed. As you can see, it’s something that could run wild in the press. Remember all the hoo-hah about the curse of the pharaohs after Carnarvon’s death? So, she asked me to be as discreet as possible. I’m sure you can forgive me for doing so.’
Jennifer Philpott nodded vigorously. ‘And rightly so. You were just complying with Daphne’s request.’
‘Hear, hear,’ said Larry Winter.
Werner nodded in agreement, but Stein and Petit looked unimpressed. ‘So, Miss Vale,’ said Stein, ‘who is this mummy? Fifteen years, says The Times. How accurate is that?’
Clara was relieved that they were still at arm’s length with the estimation of death. So Daphne had – so far – kept the little brooch which dated the demise far more recently a secret. She felt she could be more honest with what she did know. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘all I know is that rayon was found in the mummy’s wrappings.’
A gasp went around the table. ‘Rayon?’ asked Miss Philpott. ‘So 1914 at the latest.’
‘That is the assumption,’ said Clara.
Petit, still homing in, said: ‘And you were the one who discovered that, were you not? That would have had to be scientifically determined. That’s why Daphne called you in. So why are you pretending otherwise?’
Clara’s eyes narrowed as she stared at the Frenchman. But the tension was broken by Larry Winter as he said: ‘Come now, Petit, are you chastising Miss Vale for modesty? I think it is admirable!’ He turned to Clara and his blue eyes mirrored his words. ‘We have an accomplished scientist in our midst, a lady at that, and she is not boasting about her accomplishments. That is something to be applauded, not derided, don’t you think?’
‘Hear, hear!’ said Miss Philpott.
Rudy Werner, perhaps prompted by Bella, joined in. Eventually Dr Stein conceded. ‘You are right, Winter. I apologise, Miss Vale. It was just that this article was such a shock. Let us take stock here a moment. It appears that someone was mummified, at the most fifteen years ago, and that mummy was placed in the sarcophagus of a known ancient mummy. And the whereabouts of that ancient mummy are so far unknown. Is that correct, Miss Vale?’
Clara, relieved at the softening of tone from the German camp, but aware that Petit was still staring daggers at her, felt she needed to solidify her alliances. ‘It is, Dr Stein. We have no idea who this unfortunate victim is or why they were put in this sarcophagus. Nor do we know where Amentukah is. But hopefully, now that Scotland Yard is involved, and Daphne and the British Museum are advising them, they will soon get to the bottom of it.’
Petit snorted. ‘I very much doubt that.’
Stein turned to the Frenchman. ‘So, what do you propose to do, Jacques? Will you get involved?’
Petit gave a Gallic shrug. ‘If this was yesterday, perhaps. But if I am not mistaken, I think we are just about to leave port.’
And to confirm it the head steward announced: ‘Ladies and gentlemen, as soon as breakfast has finished, you may make your way up to the deck. We are about set to sail!’
Clara and Bella, wrapped up against the February cold, stood on the bridge with the other first-class passengers as the Olympic eased from its moorings. Family and friends of the passengers, heading off on their grand adventure, waved enthusiastically from the dock as the ship blasted its horn in celebration. Clara and Bella had no one to wave to. Instead, Clara scanned the crowd on deck, wondering if she would be able to identify the man who had tried to break into her cabin last night. She had seen very little in the dimly lit corridor as the scoundrel ran into the stairwell. A man. A man fit enough to run. But she had not been able to determine more than that. In the split second she had not noticed if he was particularly tall or short, well-built or slight. It could have been any able-bodied man on board. Or, she thought, as she surveilled the well-wishers on land, someone who had got off. They had been moored at the time. People were still getting on – and off – the boat. Pilkerton was the primary suspect, but she had not seen him among the first-class passengers. He might, of course, be in either second or third class, under yet another name. Bella’s suggestion that she go down to the lower decks to look for him was still a good option.
Jack Danskin, on the other hand, was making himself quite visible. After breakfast he had managed to ingratiate himself with the archaeologist crowd as they came up to the bridge and he was currently talking to Flight Lieutenant Winter about aeroplanes. Dr Davies, the other American, had now joined them, with apologies for missing them at breakfast. He was looking pale and peaky. Clara wondered if he might have a touch of seasickness – although they’d barely moved! He was now in earnest, whispered conversation with Dr Stein and in between the squall of seagulls and the groan of the hull, she heard the occasional word that suggested Stein was telling him all about the discovery of the youthful mummy. So far, fortunately, it seemed the existence of the jewels was not common knowledge. She cast a furtive glance at Danskin – now discussing engine capacity of the cruise ship with an enthusiastic Winter – and hoped he would not tell anyone about it. She sighed to herself. She would now have to ‘play nicely’ with Jack and impress upon him the importance of not talking about the jewels.
She wondered for a moment if Jack was the man who had tried to break in last night, but quickly discounted it. She had been down that road too many times before. On previous cases she had suspected him of various things and each time he had proved to be not guilty. Even though his tactics and ethics were questionable, and she knew he would try to trounce her at every opportunity, she had to accept they were on the same side. No, she thought, scanning the rest of the passengers, it has to be someone else. Perhaps one of the archaeologists. It had to be someone who had been in Newcastle, if it was the same person who broke into her house there. Davies? What if he wasn’t poorly and just exhausted from not getting much sleep after attempting to break into her cabin? He was in his sixties but showed no physical impairment other than being a bit pasty. Stein? He was around seventy and carried a fair bit of weight. She doubted he could run at speed, but you never know … His assistant, though, was young and fit – as Bella had noticed. As, of course, was Larry Winter; although he had not been in Newcastle and seemed more interested in machines than artefacts. Petit was a man in his fifties. Despite his name, he was not slightly built and showed on the dance floor last night that he was fleet of foot. Clara momentarily caught his eye. There was a hard glint there. She realised that despite his lustful moves when they were dancing, he didn’t like her as a person. And she didn’t like him. But that didn’t make him guilty of anything … nor did it make him innocent. Miss Philpott, waving enthusiastically to someone on shore, was the only one she could rule out. Clara needed to be careful. Very careful indeed.