The Green Mummy

Twice already Lucy had called on Mrs. Jasher after the commotion caused by the crime, as she wished to speak to her about the same; but on each occasion the widow proved to be absent in London. However, the third visit proved to be more lucky, for Mrs. Jasher was at home, and expressed herself happy to see the girl.

“So good of you to come and see me in my little wooden hut,” said the widow, kissing her guest.

And Mrs. Jasher’s cottage really was a little wooden hut, being what was left of an old-fashioned farmhouse, built before the stone age. It lay on the verge of the marshes in an isolated position and was placed in the middle of a square garden, protected from the winter floods by a low stone wall solidly built, but of no great height. The road to the Fort ran past the front part of the garden, but behind the marshes spread towards the embankment, which cut off the view of the Thames. The situation was not an ideal one, nor was the cottage, but money was scarce with Mrs. Jasher, and she had obtained the whole place at a surprisingly small rental. The house and grounds were dry enough in summer, but decidedly damp in winter. Therefore, the widow went to a flat in London, as a rule, for the season of fogs. But this winter she had made up her mind – so she told Lucy – to remain in her own little castle and brave the watery humors of the marshes.

“I can always keep fires burning in every room,” said Mrs. Jasher, when she had removed her guest’s hat and had settled her for a confidential talk on the sofa. “And after all, my dear, there is no place like home.”

The room was small, and Mrs. Jasher was small, so she suited her surroundings excellently. Also, the widow had the good taste to furnish it sparsely, instead of crowding it with furniture; but what furniture there was could not be improved upon. There were Chippendale chairs, a Louis Quinze table, a Sheridan cabinet, and a satin-wood desk, hand-painted, which was said to have been the property of the unhappy Marie Antoinette. Oil-paintings adorned the rose-tinted walls, chiefly landscapes, although one or two were portraits. Also, there were water-colored pictures, framed and signed caricatures, many plates of old china, and rice-paper adornments from Canton. The room was essentially feminine, being filled with Indian stuffs, with silver oddments, with flowers, and with other trifles. The walls, the carpet, the hangings, and the upholstery of the arm-chairs were all of a rosy hue, so that Mrs. Jasher looked as young as Dame Holda in the Venusberg. A very pretty room and a very charming hostess, was the verdict of the young gentlemen from the Fort, who came here to flirt when they were not serving their country.

Mrs. Jasher in a tea-rose tea-gown for afternoon tea – she always liked to be in keeping – rang for that beverage dear to the feminine heart, and lighted a rose-shaded lamp. When a glow as of dawn spread through the dainty room, she settled Lucy on the sofa near the fire, and drew up an arm-chair on the other side of the hearth-rug. Outside it was cold and foggy, but the rose-hued curtains shut out all that was disagreeable in the weather, and in the absence of male society, the two women talked more or less confidentially. Lucy did not dislike Mrs. Jasher, even though she fancied that the lively widow was planning to become the mistress of the Pyramids.

“Well, my dear girl,” said Mrs. Jasher, shading her face from the fire with a large fan, “and how is your dear father after his late terrible experiences?”

“He is perfectly well, and rather cross,” replied Lucy, smiling.

“Cross?”

“Of course. He has lost that wretched mummy.”

“And poor Sidney Bolton.”

“Oh, I don’t think he cares for poor Sidney’s death beyond the fact that he misses his services. But the mummy cost nine hundred pounds, and father is much annoyed, especially as Peruvian mummies are somewhat hard to obtain. You see, Mrs. Jasher, father wishes to see the difference between the Peruvian and Egyptian modes of embalming.”

“Ugh! How gruesome!” Mrs. Jasher shuddered. “But has anything been discovered likely to show who killed this poor lad?”

“No, the whole thing is a mystery.”

Mrs. Jasher looked into the fire over the top of the fan.

“I have read the papers,” she said slowly, “and have gathered what I could from what the reporters explained. But I intend to call on the Professor and hear all that evidence which did not get into the papers.”

“I think that everything has been made public. The police have no clue to the murderer. Why do you want to know?”

Mrs. Jasher made a movement of surprise.

“Why, I am the Professor’s friend, of course, my dear, and naturally I want to help him to solve this mystery.”

“There is no chance, so far as I can see, of it ever being solved,” said Lucy. “It’s very sweet of you, of course, but were I you I should not talk about it to my father.”

“Why?” asked Mrs. Jasher quickly.

“Because he thinks of nothing else, and both Archie and I are trying to get him off the subject. The mummy is lost and poor Sidney is buried. There is no more to be said.”

“Still, if a reward was offered – ”

“My father is too poor to offer a reward, and the Government will not do so. And as people will not work without money, why – ” Lucy completed her sentence with a shrug.

“I might offer a reward if the dear Professor will let me,” said the widow unexpectedly.

“You! But I thought that you were poor, as we are.”

“I was, and I am not very rich now. All the same, I have come in for some thousands of pounds.”

“I congratulate you. A legacy?”

“Yes. You remember how I told you about my brother who was a Pekin merchant. He is dead.”

“Oh, I am so sorry.”

“My dear, what is the use of being sorry. I never cry over spilt milk, or assume a virtue which I have not. My brother and I were almost strangers, as we lived apart for so many years. However, he came home to die at Brighton, and a few weeks ago – just after this murder took place, in fact – I was summoned to his death-bed. He lingered on until last week and died in my arms. He left me nearly all his money, so I will be able to help the Professor.”

“I don’t see why you should,” said Lucy, wondering why Mrs. Jasher did not wear mourning for the dead.

“Oh yes, you do see,” remarked the widow, raising her eyes and rubbing her plump hands together. “I want to marry your father.”

Lucy did not express astonishment, as she had understood this for a long time.

“I guessed as much.”

“And what do you say?”

Miss Kendal shrugged her shoulders.

“If my step-father,” she emphasized the word – “if my step-father consents, why should I mind? I am going to marry Archie, and no doubt the Professor will be lonely.”

“Then you do not disapprove of me as a mother.”

“My dear Mrs. Jasher,” said Lucy, coldly, “there is no relationship between me and my step-father beyond the fact that he married my mother. Therefore you can never be my mother. Were I stopping on at the Pyramids, that question might arise, but as I become Mrs. Hope in six months, we can be friends – nothing more.”

“I am quite content with that,” said Mrs. Jasher in a businesslike way. “After all, I am no sentimentalist. But I am glad that you do not mind my marrying the Professor, as I don’t want you to prevent the match, my dear.”

Lucy laughed.

“I assure you that I have no influence with my father, Mrs. Jasher. He will marry you if he thinks fit and without consulting me. But,” added the girl with emphasis, “I do not see what you gain in becoming Mrs. Braddock.”

“I may become Lady Braddock,” said the widow, dryly. Then, in answer to the open astonishment on Lucy’s face, she hastened to remark: “Do you mean to say that you don’t know your father is heir to a baronetcy?”

“Oh, I know that,” rejoined Miss Kendal. “The Professor’s brother, Sir Donald Braddock, is an old man and unmarried. If he dies without heirs, as it seems likely, the Professor will certainly take the title.”

“Well, then, there you are!” cried Mrs. Jasher, in her liveliest tone. “I want to give my legacy for the title and preside over a scientific salon in London.”

“I understand. But you will never get my father to live in London.”

“Wait until I marry him,” said the little woman shrewdly. “I’ll make a man of him. I know, of course, that mummies and sepulchral ornaments and those sort of horrid things are dull, but the Professor will become Sir Julian Braddock, and that is enough for me. I don’t love him, of course, as love between two elderly people is absurd, but I shall make him a good wife, and with my money he can take his proper position in the scientific world, which he doesn’t occupy at present. I would rather he had been artistic, as science is so dull. However, I am getting on in years and wish to have some amusement before I die, so I must take what I can get. What do you say?”

“I am quite agreeable, as, when I leave, someone must look after my father, else he will be shamefully robbed by everyone in household matters. We are good friends, so why not you as well as another.”

“You are a dear girl,” said Mrs. Jasher with a sigh of relief, and kissed Lucy fondly. “I am sure we shall get on excellently.”

“At a distance. The artistic world doesn’t touch on the scientific, you know. And you forget, Mrs. Jasher, that my father wishes to go to Egypt to explore this mysterious tomb.”

Mrs. Jasher nodded.

“Yes, I promised, when I came in for my brother’s money, to help the Professor to fit out his expedition. But it seems to me that the money will be better spent in offering a reward so that the mummy can be found.”

“Well,” said Lucy, laughing, “you can give the Professor his choice.”

“Before marriage, not after. He needs to be managed, like all men.”

“You will not find him easy to manage,” said Lucy dryly. “He is a very obstinate man, and quite feminine in his persistency.”

“H’m! I recognize that he is a difficult character, and between you and me dear, I should not marry him but for the title. It sounds rather like an adventuress talking in this way, but, after all, if he makes me Lady Braddock I can give him enough money to let him realize his desire of getting the mummy back. It’s six of one and half a dozen of the other. And I’ll be good to him: you need not fear.”

“I am quite sure that, good or bad, the Professor will have his own way. It is not his happiness I am thinking of so much as yours.”

“Really. Here is the tea. Put the table near the fire, Jane, between Miss Kendal and myself. Thank you. The muffins on the fender. Thank you. No, there is nothing more. Close the door when you go out.”

The tea equippage having been arranged, Mrs. Jasher poured out a cup of Souchong, and handed it to her guest, resuming the subject of her proposed marriage meanwhile.

“I don’t see why you should be anxious about me, dear. I am quite able to look after myself. And the Professor seems to be kind-hearted enough.”

“Oh, he is kind-hearted when he gets his own way. Give him his hobby and he will never bother you. But he won’t live in London, and he will not consent to this salon you wish to institute.”

“Why not? It means fame to him. I shall gather round me all the scientists of London and make my house a centre of interest. The Professor can stop in his laboratory if he likes. As his wife, I can do all that is necessary. Well, my dear” – Mrs. Jasher took a cup of tea – “we need not talk the subject threadbare. You do not disapprove of my marriage with your step-father, so you can leave the rest to me. If you can give me a hint of how to proceed to bring about this marriage, of course I am not above taking it.”

Lucy glanced at the tea-gown.

“As you will have to tell the Professor that your brother is dead to account for possessing the money,” she said pointedly, “I should advise you to go into mourning. Professor Braddock will be shocked otherwise.”

“Dear me, what a tender heart he must have!” said Mrs. Jasher flippantly. “My brother was very little to me, poor man, so he cannot be anything to the Professor. However, I shall adopt your advice, and, after all, black suits me very well. There” – she swept her hands across the tea-table – “that is settled. Now about yourself?”

“Archie and I marry in the springtime.”

“And your other admirer, who has come back?”

“Sir Frank Random?” said Lucy, coloring.

“Of course. He called to see me a day or so ago, and seems less broken-hearted than he should be.”

Lucy nodded and colored still deeper.

“I suppose some other woman has consoled him.”

“Of course. Catch a modern man wearing the willow for any girl, however dear. Are you angry?”

“Oh no, no.”

“Oh yes, yes, I think,” said the widow, laughing, “else you are no woman, my dear. I know I should be angry to see a man get over his rejection so rapidly.”

“Who is she?” asked Lucy abruptly.

“Donna Inez de Gayangos.”

“A Spaniard?”

“I believe so – a colonial Spaniard, at least – from Lima. Her father, Don Pedro de Gayangos, met Sir Frank in Genoa by chance.”

“Well?” demanded Lucy impatiently.

Mrs. Jasher shrugged her plump shoulders.

“Well, my dear, can’t you put two and two together. Of course Sir Frank fell in love with this dark-hued angel.”

“Dark-hued! and I am light-haired. What a compliment!”

“Perhaps Sir Frank wanted a change. He played on white and lost, and therefore stakes his money on black to win. That’s the result of having been at Monte Carlo. Besides, this young lady is rich, I understand, and Sir Frank – so he told me – lost much more money at Monte Carlo than he could afford. Well, you don’t look pleased.”

Lucy roused herself from a fit of abstraction.

“Oh yes, I am pleased, of course. I suppose, as any woman would, I felt rather hurt for the moment in being forgotten so soon. But, after all, I can’t blame Sir Frank for consoling himself. If I am married first, he shall dance at my wedding: if he is married first, I shall dance at his.”

“And you shall both dance at mine,” said Mrs. Jasher. “Why, there is quite an epidemic of matrimony. Well, Donna Inez arrives here with her father in a day, or so. They stop at the Warrior Inn, I believe.”

“That horrid place?”

“Oh, it is clean and respectable. Besides, Sir Frank can hardly ask them to stop in the Fort, and I have no room in this bandbox of mine. However, the two of them – Donna Inez and Frank, I mean – can come here and flirt; so can you and Archie if you like.”

“I fear four people in this room would not do,” laughed Lucy, rising to take her leave. “Well, I hope Sir Frank will marry this lady and that you will become Mrs. Braddock. Only one thing I should like to know.”

“And that is?”

“Why was the mummy stolen. It was not valuable save to a scientist.”

“By that argument a scientist must be the murderer and thief,” said Mrs. Jasher. “However, we shall see. Meanwhile, live every moment of love’s golden hours: they never return.”

“That is good advice; I shall take it and my leave,” said Lucy, and departed in a very happy frame of mind.

CHAPTER X. THE DON AND HIS DAUGHTER

Professor Braddock was usually the most methodical of men, and timed his life by the clock and the almanac. He rose at seven, summer and winter, to partake of a hearty breakfast, which served him until dinner came at five thirty. Braddock dined at this unusual hour – save when there was company – as he did not eat any luncheon and scorned the very idea of afternoon tea. Two meals a day, he maintained, was enough for any man who led a sedentary life, as too much food was apt to clog the wheels of the intellect. He usually worked in his museum – if the indulgence of his hobby could be called work – from nine until four, after which hour he took a short walk in the garden or through the village. On finishing his dinner he would glance over some scientific publication, or perhaps, by way of recreation, play a game or two of patience; but at seven he invariably retired into his own rooms to renew work. Retirement to bed took place at midnight, so it can be guessed that the Professor got through an enormous quantity of work during the year. A more methodical man, or a more industrious man did not exist.

But on occasions even this enthusiast wearied of his hobby, and of the year’s routine. A longing to see brother scientists of his own way of thinking would seize him, and he would abruptly depart for London, to occupy quiet lodgings, and indulge in intercourse with his fellow-men. Braddock rarely gave early intimation of his urban nostalgia. At breakfast he would suddenly announce that the fit took him to go to London, and he would drive to Jessum along with Cockatoo to catch the ten o’clock train to London. Sometimes he sent the Kanaka back; at other times he would take him to town; but whether Cockatoo remained or departed, the museum was always locked up lest it should be profaned by the servants of the house. As a matter of fact, Braddock need not have been afraid, for Lucy – knowing her step-father’s whims and violent temper – took care that the sanctity of the place should remain inviolate.

Sometimes the Professor came back in a couple of days; at times his absence would extend to a week; and on two or three occasions he remained absent for a fortnight. But whenever he returned, he said very little about his doings to Lucy, perhaps deeming that dry scientific details would not appeal to a lively young lady. As soon as he was established in his museum again, life at the Pyramids would resume its usual routine, until Braddock again felt the want of a change. The wonder was, considering the nature of his work, and the closeness of his application, that he did not more often indulge in these Bohemian wanderings.

Lucy, therefore, was not astonished when, on the morning after her visit to Mrs. Jasher, the Professor announced in his usual abrupt way that he intended to go to London, but would leave Cockatoo in charge of his precious collection. She was somewhat disturbed, however, as, wishing to forward the widow’s matrimonial aims, she had invited her to dinner for the ensuing night. This she told her step-father, and, rather to her surprise, he expressed himself sorry that he could not remain.

“Mrs. Jasher,” said Braddock hastily, drinking his coffee, “is a very sensible woman, who knows when to be silent.”

“She is also a good housekeeper, I believe,” hinted Miss Kendal demurely.

“Eh, what? Well? Why do you say that?” snapped Braddock sharply.

Lucy fenced.

“Mrs. Jasher admires you, father.”

Braddock grunted, but did not seem displeased, since even a scientist possessing the usual vanity of the male is not inaccessible to flattery.

“Did Mrs. Jasher tell you this?” he inquired, smiling complacently.

“Not in so many words. Still, I am a woman, and can guess how much another woman leaves unsaid.” Lucy paused, then added significantly: “I do not think that she is so very old, and you must admit that she is wonderfully well preserved.”

“Like a mummy,” remarked the Professor absently; then pushed back his chair to add briskly: “What does all this mean, you minx? I know that the woman is all right so far as a woman can be: but her confounded age and her looks and her unexpressed admiration. What are these to an old man like myself?”

“Father,” said Lucy earnestly, “when I marry Archie I shall, in all probability, leave Gartley for London.”

“I know – I know. Bless me, child, do you think that I have not thought of that? If you were only wise, which you are not, you would marry Random and remain at the Fort.”

“Sir Frank has other fish to fry, father. And even if I did remain at the Fort as his wife, I still could not look after you.”

“Humph! I am beginning to see what you are driving at. But I can’t forget your mother, my dear. She was a good wife to me.”

“Still,” said Lucy coaxingly, and becoming more and more the champion of Mrs. Jasher, “you cannot manage this large house by yourself. I do not like to leave you in the hands of servants when I marry. Mrs. Jasher is very domesticated and – ”

“And would make a good housekeeper. No, no, I don’t want to give you another mother, child.”

“There is no danger of that, even if I did not marry,” rejoined Lucy stiffly. “A girl can have only one mother.”

“And a man apparently can have two wives,” said Braddock with dry humor. “Humph!” – he pinched his plump chin – “it’s not a bad idea. But of course I can’t fall in love at my age.”

“I don’t think that Mrs. Jasher asks for impossibilities.”

The Professor rose briskly.

“I’ll think over it,” said he. “Meanwhile, I am going to London.”

“When will you be back, father?”

“I can’t say. Don’t ask silly questions. I dislike being bound to time. I may be a week, and I may be only a few days. Things can go on here as usual, but if Hope comes to see you, ask Mrs. Jasher in, to play chaperon.”

Lucy consented to this suggestion, and Braddock went away to prepare for his departure. To get him off the premises was like launching a ship, as the entire household was at his swift heels, packing boxes, strapping rugs, cutting sandwiches, helping him on with his overcoat and assisting him into the trap, which had been hastily sent for to the Warrior Inn. All the time Braddock talked and scolded and gave directions and left instructions, until every one was quite bewildered. Lucy and the servants all sighed with relief when they saw the trap disappear round the end of the road in the direction of Jessum. In addition to being a famous archaeologist, the Professor was assuredly a great nuisance to those who had to do with his whims and fancies.

For the next two or three days Lucy enjoyed herself in a quiet way with Archie. In spite of the lateness of the season, the weather was still fine, and the artist took the opportunity of the pale sunshine to sketch a great deal of the marsh scenery. Lucy attended him as a rule when he went abroad, and sometimes Mrs. Jasher, voluble and merry, would come along with them to play the part of chaperon. But the girl noticed that Mrs. Jasher’s merriment was forced at times, and in the searching morning light she appeared to be quite old. Wrinkles showed themselves on her plump face and weary lines appeared round her mouth. Also, she was absent-minded while the lovers chattered, and, when spoken to, would return to the present moment with a start. As the widow was now well off as regards money, and as her scheme to marry Braddock was well on the way to success – for Lucy had duly reported the Professor’s attitude – it was difficult to understand why Mrs. Jasher should look so worried. One day Lucy spoke to her on the subject. Random had strolled across the marshes to look at Hope sketch, and the two men chatted together, while Miss Kendal led the little widow to one side.

“There is nothing the matter, I hope,” said Lucy gently.

“No. Why do you say that?” asked Mrs. Jasher, flushing.

“You have been looking worried for the last few days.”

“I have a few troubles,” sighed the widow – “troubles connected with the estate of my late brother. The lawyers are very disagreeable and make all sorts of difficulties to swell their costs. Then, strangely enough, I am beginning to feel my brother’s death more than I thought I should have done. You see that I am in mourning, dear. After what you said the other day I felt that it was wrong for me not to wear mourning. Of course my poor brother and I were almost strangers. All the same, as he has left me money and was my only relative, I think it right to show some grief. I am a lonely woman, my dear.”

“When my father comes back you will no longer be lonely,” said Lucy.

“I hope not. I feel that I want a man to look after me. I told you that I desired to marry the Professor for his possible title and in order to form a salon and have some amusement and power. But also I want a companion for my old age. There is no denying,” added Mrs. Jasher with another sigh, “that I am growing old in spite of all the care I take. I am grateful for your friendship, dear. At one time I thought that you did not like me.”

“Oh, I think we get on very well together,” said Lucy somewhat evasively, for she did not want to say that she would make the widow an intimate friend, “and, as you know, I am quite pleased that you should marry my step-father.”

“So pleasant to think that you look at my ambition in that light,” said Mrs. Jasher, patting the girl’s arm. “When does the Professor return?”