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Chapter 9
As Agatha tucked in to a steamy bowl of pottage, Harriet told her all that she knew of Thomas Carter’s wife, Phoebe.
“She is always being portrayed in the society pages of the newspapers as being a 'good time girl'.” said Harriet. “Rumours of her infidelity are of no great surprise in middle-class circles and she is shunned by the local church as being a fallen woman. Although, the Sloane Square contingent are only to happy to have her along to their drinks parties.”
“But is there any evidence of her being unfaithful to Thomas?” said Agatha finishing off her breakfast.
“No-one to my knowledge has actually seen her with another man.” Harriet concluded.
Agatha thought for a moment, just Society gossip being broadcasted about town. No hard evidence, she closed her notebook. Phoebe Carter, for now, was a closed door.
The trail of the murderer was getting colder by the minute, Agatha needed to act fast. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she announced to Harriet. “I think it’s time we had another look at that sarcophagus.”
Courtesy of the maid, Sarah. Harriet and Agatha left 24 Harrington Square dressed as two washer women. Harriet so wanted to hail a cab, but as Agatha pointed out, it would look to suspicious if washer women could afford the fare. So, they decided to walk.
The weather had not improved since the previous night, the streets were still fog-bound but they were less of a danger in the subdued daylight with more people around going about their business.
The imposing structure of the British Museum once again soon dominated their view. This time, however, the black wrought iron gates were open and Harriet and Agatha passed through walking with the London gentry as they made their way to the museum’s entrance.
Harriet had to remind herself and Agatha, that they were dressed as washer women and so their door would be around the back through the tradesman entrance.
When they arrived at the door, a large barrel-shaped man wearing a long black coat stood in the doorway, blocking their entrance.
“You’re late!” he boomed. “You should have been here an hour ago with the rest of them. I’ll have to dock your wages by an hour. Collect them on your way out.”
Without saying another word, the man moved aside to let Harriet and Agatha pass. They were now in one of the service areas of the museum. The vestibule where they stood was narrow and low with a vaulted ceiling. It was painted crudely in white emulsion to help reflect the sparse lighting.
Ahead of the them was a narrow set of winding stairs that led to the upper part of the museum. However, to get to the stairs. Harriet and Agatha had to go past an equally looking stern gentleman who was sitting at a table with an opened ledger upon it and a quill in his hand.
“Dock those two an hour’s wages!” shouted the first doorman.
“Names?” said the seated man.
“Agatha Christie and Nancy Neele.” Agatha blurted the names out before Harriet had time to answer.
The man at the table, wrote the names in the ledger without question. Agatha then saw him write in a column next to their names, ‘minus 1d.’
“Sign!” he barked, then muttered under his breath. “If you can.”
Harriet wrote ‘Nancy Neele’ as scruffily as she could. While, Agatha just put and ‘X’. Both women had the same thought of not wanting to appear too educated.
It worked, the seated man pointed to the stone staircase saying to them, “Go up those stairs, the first door you come to will take you into Room 61. Mr Huntly-Smythe will instruct you want to do.”
Harriet, then nearly blew their cover when she took her role of servitude a little too far, and gave the man seated a curtsy.
This action took him unaware and laughed before yelling at Harriet, “I’m not the bloody Queen!”
Agatha grabbed Harriet by the arm and the two of them ran to climb the stairs as quickly as they could.
Once inside Room 61, the devastation from the time vortex could now clearly be seen in the light of day.
“Whoa!” said Harriet looking around at the smashed display cabinets, upturned caskets and broken pottery “It’s pretty bad!”
Agatha tried to avoid walking on the fallen artefacts.
Mr Huntly-Smythe saw the two women enter through the side door and shouted across to them. “You’re late and watch where you are treading!”
Mr Huntly-Smythe was a tall man in his early thirties and although his short black hair was thinning on top, he made up for it with his ‘pork chop’ sideburns.
Huntly-Smythe liked to dress smart for the museum and on this day, he was wearing a black velvet three-quarter length coat, red waistcoat, white shirt with grey pinstripe trousers. Mr Huntly-Smythe was also the curator of the Ancient Egyptian rooms at the British Museum.
“You two come here!” he barked.
Agatha and Harriet walked over to him, their boots crunching on the broken glass.
“You!” said Huntly-Smythe holding out a broom to Agatha, “Sweep the glass away from around this sarcophagus. “And you,” he said holding out another broom to Harriet. “Sweep up the glass from around those cabinets.” He pointed to the two display cabinets near to where Agatha was standing.
With their instructions given, Huntly-Smythe went over to the far side of the room to see how the other women were doing.
Agatha swept up three piles of glass, then when Huntly-Smythe was looking in the other direction, she got down on her hands and knees and began looking over the sarcophagus.
“What are you looking for?” whispered Harriet, all the while keeping an eye on Huntly-Smythe.
Agatha now had her head inside the tomb, trying to discern among all the hieroglyphics written there, what was relevant and what was just transcripts from the ‘Book of the Dead’.
“I’m trying to see who this belonged too, originally.” she said.
“If I can find the cartouche of the deceased person then all I need to do is cross-reference the name with a copy of the artefacts log here in the museum to see who excavated it. That person would have been involved in the shipping of it back to Britain and a possible link Thomas’s death.”
“What are you talking about?” whispered Harriet.
“All artefacts excavated in Egypt have to be logged by the Cairo Museum as well as the British Consulate before they can be shipped out, now be quiet I think I have found it!”
Harriet looked over Agatha’s shoulder as Agatha fetched out her notebook from under her skirt. Finding a blank page, she drew the familiar lozenge shape of the cartouche, then above it she drew a circle representing the sun-god Ra.
Inside the lozenge shape Agatha drew two profile men carrying what looked like swords, below later three wavy lines and finally below that a bird which looked like an owl. She now had the name of who was originally entombed in the sarcophagus.
“What are you two doing!” Huntly-Smythe shouted.
Harriet was meant to be on look-out, but screamed at seeing Huntly-Smythe looming face and dropped her broom. Agatha tried to stash away her notebook, but fumbled so letting Huntly-Smythe snatched it away from her.
Looking at her drawing, he asked her the same question. “I said, what are you doing?”
“My son!” Agatha blurted out. “He likes to look at the stick men, no harm in that is it?” she said in her best Cockney accent.
Huntly-Smythe stared at the two of them. Then he quickly glanced back into room. Turning back, he said to them, “I only asked the agency for eight washer women, how come I now have ten?”
Then peering into Harriet’s eye’s, he asked to her, “Haven’t I seen you somewhere before, giving a lecture in the science museum maybe?”
With her notebook now resting on the edge of the sarcophagus, Agatha saw her opportunity and snatched it up!
“Hey!” Huntly-Smythe was taken aback by Agatha’s boldness.
“RUN!” Agatha shouted, as she pushed Harriet towards the side door.
Both women ran back down the flight of stairs, passing the man sitting at the desk, who was now taking a nap. Then the two of them barged by the other man in the black coat, taking him by surprise, before running out of the museum.
With Harriet and Agatha outside, they ran across the lawns that surrounded the museum and once through the double wrought iron gates, they melted back into the foggy streets of London.
To be continued...
© Alice White
“She is always being portrayed in the society pages of the newspapers as being a 'good time girl'.” said Harriet. “Rumours of her infidelity are of no great surprise in middle-class circles and she is shunned by the local church as being a fallen woman. Although, the Sloane Square contingent are only to happy to have her along to their drinks parties.”
“But is there any evidence of her being unfaithful to Thomas?” said Agatha finishing off her breakfast.
“No-one to my knowledge has actually seen her with another man.” Harriet concluded.
Agatha thought for a moment, just Society gossip being broadcasted about town. No hard evidence, she closed her notebook. Phoebe Carter, for now, was a closed door.
The trail of the murderer was getting colder by the minute, Agatha needed to act fast. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she announced to Harriet. “I think it’s time we had another look at that sarcophagus.”
Courtesy of the maid, Sarah. Harriet and Agatha left 24 Harrington Square dressed as two washer women. Harriet so wanted to hail a cab, but as Agatha pointed out, it would look to suspicious if washer women could afford the fare. So, they decided to walk.
The weather had not improved since the previous night, the streets were still fog-bound but they were less of a danger in the subdued daylight with more people around going about their business.
The imposing structure of the British Museum once again soon dominated their view. This time, however, the black wrought iron gates were open and Harriet and Agatha passed through walking with the London gentry as they made their way to the museum’s entrance.
Harriet had to remind herself and Agatha, that they were dressed as washer women and so their door would be around the back through the tradesman entrance.
When they arrived at the door, a large barrel-shaped man wearing a long black coat stood in the doorway, blocking their entrance.
“You’re late!” he boomed. “You should have been here an hour ago with the rest of them. I’ll have to dock your wages by an hour. Collect them on your way out.”
Without saying another word, the man moved aside to let Harriet and Agatha pass. They were now in one of the service areas of the museum. The vestibule where they stood was narrow and low with a vaulted ceiling. It was painted crudely in white emulsion to help reflect the sparse lighting.
Ahead of the them was a narrow set of winding stairs that led to the upper part of the museum. However, to get to the stairs. Harriet and Agatha had to go past an equally looking stern gentleman who was sitting at a table with an opened ledger upon it and a quill in his hand.
“Dock those two an hour’s wages!” shouted the first doorman.
“Names?” said the seated man.
“Agatha Christie and Nancy Neele.” Agatha blurted the names out before Harriet had time to answer.
The man at the table, wrote the names in the ledger without question. Agatha then saw him write in a column next to their names, ‘minus 1d.’
“Sign!” he barked, then muttered under his breath. “If you can.”
Harriet wrote ‘Nancy Neele’ as scruffily as she could. While, Agatha just put and ‘X’. Both women had the same thought of not wanting to appear too educated.
It worked, the seated man pointed to the stone staircase saying to them, “Go up those stairs, the first door you come to will take you into Room 61. Mr Huntly-Smythe will instruct you want to do.”
Harriet, then nearly blew their cover when she took her role of servitude a little too far, and gave the man seated a curtsy.
This action took him unaware and laughed before yelling at Harriet, “I’m not the bloody Queen!”
Agatha grabbed Harriet by the arm and the two of them ran to climb the stairs as quickly as they could.
Once inside Room 61, the devastation from the time vortex could now clearly be seen in the light of day.
“Whoa!” said Harriet looking around at the smashed display cabinets, upturned caskets and broken pottery “It’s pretty bad!”
Agatha tried to avoid walking on the fallen artefacts.
Mr Huntly-Smythe saw the two women enter through the side door and shouted across to them. “You’re late and watch where you are treading!”
Mr Huntly-Smythe was a tall man in his early thirties and although his short black hair was thinning on top, he made up for it with his ‘pork chop’ sideburns.
Huntly-Smythe liked to dress smart for the museum and on this day, he was wearing a black velvet three-quarter length coat, red waistcoat, white shirt with grey pinstripe trousers. Mr Huntly-Smythe was also the curator of the Ancient Egyptian rooms at the British Museum.
“You two come here!” he barked.
Agatha and Harriet walked over to him, their boots crunching on the broken glass.
“You!” said Huntly-Smythe holding out a broom to Agatha, “Sweep the glass away from around this sarcophagus. “And you,” he said holding out another broom to Harriet. “Sweep up the glass from around those cabinets.” He pointed to the two display cabinets near to where Agatha was standing.
With their instructions given, Huntly-Smythe went over to the far side of the room to see how the other women were doing.
Agatha swept up three piles of glass, then when Huntly-Smythe was looking in the other direction, she got down on her hands and knees and began looking over the sarcophagus.
“What are you looking for?” whispered Harriet, all the while keeping an eye on Huntly-Smythe.
Agatha now had her head inside the tomb, trying to discern among all the hieroglyphics written there, what was relevant and what was just transcripts from the ‘Book of the Dead’.
“I’m trying to see who this belonged too, originally.” she said.
“If I can find the cartouche of the deceased person then all I need to do is cross-reference the name with a copy of the artefacts log here in the museum to see who excavated it. That person would have been involved in the shipping of it back to Britain and a possible link Thomas’s death.”
“What are you talking about?” whispered Harriet.
“All artefacts excavated in Egypt have to be logged by the Cairo Museum as well as the British Consulate before they can be shipped out, now be quiet I think I have found it!”
Harriet looked over Agatha’s shoulder as Agatha fetched out her notebook from under her skirt. Finding a blank page, she drew the familiar lozenge shape of the cartouche, then above it she drew a circle representing the sun-god Ra.
Inside the lozenge shape Agatha drew two profile men carrying what looked like swords, below later three wavy lines and finally below that a bird which looked like an owl. She now had the name of who was originally entombed in the sarcophagus.
“What are you two doing!” Huntly-Smythe shouted.
Harriet was meant to be on look-out, but screamed at seeing Huntly-Smythe looming face and dropped her broom. Agatha tried to stash away her notebook, but fumbled so letting Huntly-Smythe snatched it away from her.
Looking at her drawing, he asked her the same question. “I said, what are you doing?”
“My son!” Agatha blurted out. “He likes to look at the stick men, no harm in that is it?” she said in her best Cockney accent.
Huntly-Smythe stared at the two of them. Then he quickly glanced back into room. Turning back, he said to them, “I only asked the agency for eight washer women, how come I now have ten?”
Then peering into Harriet’s eye’s, he asked to her, “Haven’t I seen you somewhere before, giving a lecture in the science museum maybe?”
With her notebook now resting on the edge of the sarcophagus, Agatha saw her opportunity and snatched it up!
“Hey!” Huntly-Smythe was taken aback by Agatha’s boldness.
“RUN!” Agatha shouted, as she pushed Harriet towards the side door.
Both women ran back down the flight of stairs, passing the man sitting at the desk, who was now taking a nap. Then the two of them barged by the other man in the black coat, taking him by surprise, before running out of the museum.
With Harriet and Agatha outside, they ran across the lawns that surrounded the museum and once through the double wrought iron gates, they melted back into the foggy streets of London.
To be continued...
© Alice White
