Theodosia and the Staff of Osiris-Theo 2 (15 page)

"What about the Throckmortons?" Inspector Turnbull pressed on. "Have you noticed anything strange about them?"

"Well, Throckmorton is brilliant, there's no doubt about that. However, sometimes brilliant isn't too large a step from mad, if you know what I mean."

I clenched my fists. Beast.

"Yes, yes. I know exactly what you mean. Do continue."

"He works the oddest hours. Never seems to go home and is always muttering to himself. And that child of his? What's her name? Theodosia? Most unnatural child. Always underfoot and watching me."

With good reason, I might add.

"By the by, did I mention that my greatcoat was stolen?"

"Yes. Three times now."

"Well"—Weems's voice became defensive—"have you found it?"

"Can't say as we have, sir, since we're a little distracted BY ALL THE BLOOMING MUMMIES RUNNING AROUND," the inspector hollered.

There was an awkward silence, and then Weems spoke, much more circumspectly this time. "Well, I thought they might be related, that's all."

"I doubt it. One last thing." There was a rustle of paper as
Turnbull pulled something from one of his pockets. "Have you ever seen this man before?"

"No," Weems said primly. "I haven't."

"Are you sure? You've never seen him hanging around the museum? Or talking to Throckmorton?"

"No, no. I'm quite sure. I'd remember someone as disreputable looking as that. Who is he?"

Inspector Turnbull grunted. "The Grim Nipper. And if you see him, or anything else fishy, let me know. Here's my card."

Weems took the small white card from the inspector. "Thank you. I'll be in touch if I find anything else out."

The rotten little snitch! He was going to blab everything he learned straight to the police!

He continued, "I'm glad to do whatever I can to help. I must say, this isn't nearly as respectable a museum as I'd hoped."

The inspector bid Weems good day, and I flattened myself against one of the columns, hoping he wouldn't see me as he moved on to Edgar Stilton's office. I realized that this would be a good time to get away to see Wigmere. Everybody was busy and no one would notice if I slipped out. Pleased with my plan, I hurried to the west entrance and opened the door.

And immediately spotted the tall man in the undertaker's
coat and battered top hat leaning up against the building across the street. When he saw me, he quickly glanced down at the newspaper he was pretending to read. Then it hit me.
This
must be the Grim Nipper! And he had been skulking around the museum for
days.

My mind whirred with possibilities, as I clearly couldn't exit here. I could try to sneak past Dolge and Sweeny in the loading area, but there was a good chance Turnbull would work his way down there to question them, and I really wished to avoid running into him.

Which left the east entrance. Not to be deterred from my visit to Wigmere, I ran to that side of the museum. Unfortunately I didn't have enough money on me for a cab, which meant I would have to walk—very quickly. I opened the door, my mind full of all that I needed to tell Wigmere, only to run smack into Miss Sharpe, who was standing just outside, trying to catch her breath.

"M
ISS
S
HARPE
!" My heart sank all the way to my toes.

She smiled at me. "That's right. Have you forgotten we're to start our lessons today?"

Of course I had, but I didn't want to say so. "Not at all. In fact, I was coming here so I could greet you when you arrived." How on earth was I going to get word to Wigmere with Miss Sharpe hanging around my neck like an albatross all day?

"That was very kind of you. And I'm sorry I'm late, but I thought we were to meet at your house this morning and do our lessons there, as your grandmother had wanted to get you out of this stuffy old museum."

Well, she was exactly right. Grandmother
had
planned for us to conduct our studies at home, until I'd persuaded her otherwise.

"May I come in?" Miss Sharpe asked.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Of course!" As I stood aside to let her in, a movement in the bushes caught my eye. Surely the Grim Nipper couldn't have made it over here already? But no. I could tell by the reddish brown jersey and waterproof cap it was only a public sweeper. Although what he was sweeping over there in the bushes, I had no idea.

The sweeper caught me watching him and winked.

Embarrassed, I started to turn away, then caught sight of the bright blue eyes hidden under the lip of the cap.

Will. In yet another disguise.

As Miss Sharpe shrugged out of her wrap, I motioned frantically at Will to let him know I had a message for Wigmere. He jerked his head in Miss Sharpe's direction and shrugged.

He was right. He couldn't approach me while she was around. This was getting more complicated by the minute.

"Theodosia? What are you doing?"

"Oh, I was just enjoying the feel of the morning air."

"Well, do close the door before one of those hideous newspapermen finds his way over here."

"Of course, Miss Sharpe." I resigned myself to a long, frustrating morning.

"Is there a place for us to begin our lessons?"

There was only one place, really. "Yes. The reading room should be perfect. Hardly anyone ever goes in there."

"Excellent. Will you show me the way? Your grandmother mentioned something about an essay you were writing."

"Yes, but I've only just started it."

"Even so, I look forward to seeing it. I would like to examine a sample of your writing skills and penmanship."

Bother. I'd have to be more careful about tossing Grandmother excuses in the future.

When we reached the reading room, I turned up the lights and stepped aside. Miss Sharpe looked around the room. "I think over in that corner will do nicely," she said.

I followed her over and took a seat. She gave me a quick, fierce perusal, then frowned. "Come here, Theodosia. Let me get a better look at you." She grabbed my hand and pulled me directly into the light, her eyes widening in faint horror. "Oh, my! This will never do. It looks as if you slept in your clothes! Look how wrinkled and mussed they are."

Her eyes moved from my frock up to my face. She shook her head. "You look like a beggar child! Has no one ever taught you to wash in the morning? Or to run a comb
through your hair? I'm afraid your grandmother doesn't understand how dire your manners and behavior truly are."

I was very hot under the collar by this point, and my cheeks were burning. I started to explain that I had indeed slept in my clothes, but something about Miss Sharpe's pursed mouth bade me hold my tongue. She'd already made it clear that she thought my parents were severely lacking, and I'd no wish to give her any additional ammunition on that score.

"Have you nothing to say for yourself, Theodosia?"

"Our maid is ill," I lied, "and the ironing isn't getting done."

"But how does that explain your shocking filth?"

Shocking filth? I'd just forgotten to wash my face, for goodness sake. "I was in a hurry?"

"Lazy is more like it. Well, excellent. This presents us with our first opportunity for a good lesson. Come with me." Once again she grabbed my hand and began pulling me along behind her.

"Where are we going?"

She looked back over her shoulder at me. "Ah, ah, ah! You have not been spoken to." She held up her thumb and index finger as a reminder, and I clamped my mouth shut.

Moments later we reached the lavatory, where Miss
Sharpe dragged me over to the sink. She snatched one of the coarse hand towels from the shelf and thrust it at me. "Now wash."

Resentment at being treated like a four-year-old bubbled inside me. It made it worse that I did indeed need a wash, but when one is woken up by police pounding on the door, one doesn't really have time for such niceties. I glared at Miss Sharpe.

Faster than I could have blinked, her wretched hand darted out and pinched me on the arm. I bit my tongue, refusing to make a sound no matter how much it had hurt.

Miss Sharpe dimpled and shook her head. "I would so hate to have to contact your grandmother about this, Theodosia. I don't think you realize how dire your situation is. If I can't bring you to hand, you will be shipped off to Miss Grimstone's School for Wayward Girls. Is that really what you want?"

I felt all the blood drain from my face. Even I, with my limited knowledge of schools, had heard warnings of that place. Trust Grandmother to have picked the most wretched school available. And she would make sure my parents did it, too. Recognizing defeat—at least for the moment—I wet the towel and scrubbed at my face. As horrid as Miss Sharpe was, it
did
feel good to have a wash.
When I was done, I folded the towel and went to place it on the sink.

"Again," Miss Sharpe said.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Again. You will wash your face twenty times this morning so you will not forget again."

Not believing my ears, I stared at her.

She reached out and delicately straightened one of her cuffs. "I hear at Miss Grimstone's they have to break a layer of ice on their basins before they can wash in the morning."

I gritted my teeth and picked the towel up once more.

When we returned to the reading room half an hour later, my face was red and raw. Miss Sharpe did not realize it yet, but she had just edged Grandmother Throckmorton off the top of my Most Disliked People list.

I spent the next several hours studying grammar and being told my handwriting was atrocious. This agony was made worse by the fact that there seemed to be an unusual amount of activity in the reading room that morning. Every single one of the curators managed to make an appearance. I found myself hoping they would think my face was red from exertion—or even embarrassment—rather than guessing it had been scrubbed to death.

Miss Sharpe pointedly ignored both Stilton and Fagenbush but simpered sweetly at Vicary Weems. The attention from her caused him to puff up so thoroughly that he could hardly fit through the door on his way out.

At long last, Miss Sharpe checked the watch pinned to her dress and announced it was time for a lunch break. Excellent news—I hadn't had time for breakfast and I was starving.

"Where do you normally eat your lunch?" Miss Sharpe asked.

"On the fly" was the truthful answer, but I'd learned not to tell Miss Sharpe the truth if I could help it. "In the family sitting room."

"Very well. You'll have to show me the way." She picked up her small satchel and followed me down the hall.

So much for my hope of slipping away to pass a message to Will.

When we reached the sitting room, she sat at the table and began unpacking her lunch. She pulled out an apple, some cold roast chicken, and a piece of cake. My mouth watered and my stomach grumbled loudly. I hurried over to the cupboard, took down a new jar of jam, and unwrapped the day-old loaf of bread. With the smell of roast chicken filling my nose, I resolutely made myself two jam sandwiches, then went to sit down at the table across from Miss Sharpe.

Watching someone else eat lovely food when one is
making do is horrid. Especially when one wants to smash one's jam sandwich into the self-satisfied face of that person. Miss Sharpe ate her lunch in silence. I inhaled my two sandwiches before she even finished her chicken, so then I was forced to just wait. The cake smelled of butter and vanilla and looked very moist, and Miss Sharpe managed to eat it without leaving so much as a crumb behind. She carefully rewrapped her napkins, then returned them to her satchel. She looked up at me and smiled. "Time to get back to our lessons."

Once back in the reading room, Miss Sharpe instructed me to work on my essay concerning the visit to the
Dreadnought.
It was very hard to concentrate on a boat when my mind kept reminding me that I simply had to get a message to Wigmere as soon as possible.

Miss Sharpe sat nearby, serenely reading her copy of
Mrs. Primbottom's Guide to Raising Perfect Children.
Every once in a while, she would share a choice little tidbit with me.

"Ah, here we go. 'A lack of cleanliness must be discouraged as soon as possible, as it is impossible to properly love filthy children.'"

I did my best to ignore her and tried to determine if a turban engine was spelled the same way as the turban one wore on one's head.

"'Penmanship is a sign of virtue, and sloppy penmanship reveals a disorderly soul.'"

I gritted my teeth and bore down on my pen nib. I really had to do something about her. And soon.

A short while later, Miss Sharpe put aside
Mrs. Primbottom's Guide to Raising Perfect Children
and picked up a copy of
The Staff of Duty: A Governess's Tales from the Trenches.
Fortunately, she did not appear to be inclined to share these tales with me, for which I was eternally grateful.

Mum stuck her head inside the reading room. "Excuse me."

Miss Sharpe turned a cool glance her way. "Yes?"

Mother raised an eyebrow. "Actually, I was speaking to my daughter."

Miss Sharpe sniffed. "Very well, but I normally prefer to have no interruptions when working with my pupils."

Mother glanced pointedly at the book Miss Sharpe had been reading. "It won't take but a moment. Theodosia, I just wanted to let you know that Father and I have been called to an emergency board of directors meeting at Lord Tumsley's." In spite of the strong face she was putting on for Miss Sharpe, I could tell she was worried. "We won't be back until five o'clock."

"Very well, ma'am," Miss Sharpe said, even though Mother
had been talking to me. When she looked back down at her book, Mum blew me a quick kiss, which lifted my spirits a small bit. I loathed the idea of Mother and Father being grilled by a bunch of stuffed shirts who clearly had no true knowledge of anything important.

Two long, painful hours later, Miss Sharpe looked at her watch, an expression of disapproval on her face. "Your parents aren't back yet. They did say five o'clock, didn't they?"