The Mummy Smugglers of Crumblin Castle

by Pamela Rushby

  No footsteps had sounded from inside, but the door swung open at once, very slowly. Golden light spilled out and traced a path across the cobbles. It was the warmest, most welcoming thing Hattie had seen in hours. But there was no one there. Hattie peered in, squinting, looking deeper into the hall beyond. No one. How odd. Then she heard something. A vibration. Almost, Hattie thought, like a cat, purring. She looked down.

  In the doorway sat a cat. An elegant, sinuous, sleek, almost totally hairless black cat with glowing golden eyes. There were gold earrings in her large, pointed ears, and a gold ring in her nose. The cat rose, looked Hattie up and down, then up and down again. She gave a slow nod. If it was possible for a cat to look approving, this one was expressing it. Then she stepped back a little. She seemed to be inviting Hattie in.

  “I’m to come in?” Hattie ventured. The cat gracefully inclined her head, and Hattie stepped over the threshold.

  “Wait! I must – there are papers –” The very young man abandoned Hattie’s trunk and stepped forward hastily to follow her. The cat glanced over her shoulder at him and gave a disdainful hiss. She raised one elegant paw and slammed the door in his face.

  Hattie hesitated, but there was no further knock at the door. Instead, with a rustle, a large envelope of papers was slid underneath it. Hattie assumed that the very young man was already departing. Well, good riddance to him. She could cope on her own. She picked up the envelope and turned to the cat for guidance. The cat nodded again and seemed to indicate that Hattie should follow her.

  Hattie followed the cat across a great, high-ceilinged hall. Shadows lurked above her and in all the corners. At the ends of beams, carved heads of animals and humans stared down with hard, wooden eyes. The walls were hung with pictures, dark portraits of what Hattie assumed were long-gone Lambtons. They seemed to be regarding her with interest. She was relieved to see that there were no stuffed animal heads on the walls, though there were several large, glass-doored wooden cabinets with shelves of small objects displayed inside. There was no time for more than a curious glance at them as Hattie followed the gracefully pacing cat.

  At the far end of the hall the cat paused by a low, wooden door. At once, it swung open. How? thought Hattie. Is there someone inside? Someone who heard us coming? But there was no one inside. They entered a small, cosy sitting room with soft sofas and armchairs and a cheerfully crackling fire. Velvet curtains framed a pointed arched window.

  The cat nodded at a chair by the fire.

  “I’m to wait?” asked Hattie. The cat closed its golden eyes, nodded again, then glided out of the room.

  Hattie stepped over to the window. The view outside was of stone walls standing in the dark water of what she supposed was a moat. Mist-wreathed towers loomed above. It was bleak and cheerless, and darkness was falling. Hattie turned thankfully back to the glowing fire, warmed her hands by it, and sat down.

  And waited.

  A cat, she thought. Welcomed by a cat. Not at all what she had expected. But just what had she expected, after that strange journey from Ely? Crocodiles, hippopotamuses, the cat – whatever might come next? Hattie’s stomach began to churn. Possibly because she was tired, and hungry, but probably, if she was to be honest, due to apprehension. Whatever might happen next?

  A soft scuffle sounded by the door, which had been left slightly ajar. Hattie’s eyes flew to it. Something was watching her – she could feel it. The skin on her arms crawled and raised in goosebumps.

  Several glowing golden eyes appeared in the crack in the doorway. And small, almost-hairless, round black heads with butterfly ears. The golden eyes peeped and peered at her, appeared and disappeared, as small forms tumbled over each other. Hattie smiled, leaned forward, and invited them in. Kittens! How lovely!

  The kittens were timid. They hovered in the doorway but wouldn’t come in, no matter how much Hattie tried to coax them. Then, suddenly, the kittens seemed to hear something that Hattie couldn’t. Their little black heads all snapped around in one direction, then in a second the kittens had melted away. What had disturbed them? Hattie listened.

  Tap. Shuffle. Tap. Shuffle. Tap. Shuffle. Someone, or something, was coming along the hall. Tap. Shuffle. Again, the skin on Hattie’s arms prickled. She pressed herself back against the chair.

  The door swung fully open and the golden-eyed cat walked into the room then stepped aside politely.

  Tap. Shuffle. An elderly man, leaning on a stick and wearing worn, shapeless carpet slippers on his feet shuffled into the room. Tap. Shuffle. He stopped and stared at Hattie over a pair of half-moon spectacles that clung precariously to the end of his nose.

  “Hatshepsut?”

  Hattie knew her manners. She got up and bobbed a curtsey. “Great-uncle Sisyphus?”

  They regarded each other with curiosity.

  Great-uncle Sisyphus was a thin, elderly man in a shabby dressing gown, with a great puff of soft, white hair around his head. Rather like a bent-over dandelion, Hattie thought. He had faded blue eyes and pink cheeks. He looked a little like Uncle Heracles, or at least, how Uncle Heracles might have looked in about twenty years, if the crocodile hadn’t got him. There was definitely a family connection. But best of all, he looked kind. He exuded a gentle benevolence. Hattie relaxed. She felt at once that he was someone she could trust.

  The elderly man folded his hands on the top of his walking stick and stared at Hattie. Hattie wished she was more interesting to stare at. She felt so – average. Just a girl in a travelling cloak, with a bonnet on her head and buttoned boots. Neither short nor tall, neither plump nor overly thin. Brown haired, blue eyed. A very average-looking girl. But at least she knew she looked like a Lambton. The portraits in the great hall she had passed through had told her that. She waited for his reaction.

  “Well now,” Great-uncle Sisyphus said. “Well, then.”

  There was a pause. Hattie waited. Was he displeased? Unimpressed?

  “I regret you had to wait,” Great-uncle Sisyphus said. “You were not expected today, you see.”

  Hattie was surprised and suddenly anxious. “Wasn’t I? The solicitors sent letters. They said they sent letters . . .” her voice trailed off. Wasn’t she meant to have come?

  “Ah. Letters.” Great-uncle Sisyphus looked grave. “That explains it. We seldom get letters.”

  “Why not?” asked Hattie.

  “Well, it’s the marshes, you see,” said Great-uncle Sisyphus. “We lose more postmen in the marshes . . .”

  Hattie, remembering what she had seen in the marshes, wasn’t surprised.

  There was a pause. The golden-eyed cat looked at Great-uncle Sisyphus meaningfully, and ran her pink tongue around her whiskers.

  “Ah yes, of course, tea!” exclaimed Great-uncle Sisyphus. “Indeed, tea! You must be hungry?”

  Starving, thought Hattie, but etiquette wouldn’t permit her to say so. “A little,” she admitted, trying not to look too eager.

  The golden-eyed cat nodded at Great-uncle Sisyphus and left the room.

  “If you’d be so kind as to go to the corner of the room,” said Great-uncle Sisyphus, “behind the screen you’ll find a dumb waiter.”

  A dumb waiter? Hattie didn’t think much could surprise her in this house now, but she certainly hadn’t noticed a silent servant in the room. She hesitated. “A – a dumb waiter?”

  “A cupboard in the wall,” explained Great-uncle Sisyphus. “It’s a lift, an elevator. It brings food up from the kitchens.”

  Oh. A cupboard. Hattie did as she was directed. Inside the dumb waiter was a tray with a steaming teapot, crumpets in a folded napkin to keep them warm, jam, honey and cream. Hattie sighed in appreciation. Tea!

  Great-uncle Sisyphus had placed a small table in front of the fire and Hattie set the tea tray down on it.

  “May I take off my outdoor things?” she asked.

  “Why, but of course,” said Great-uncle Sisyphus. “You’re at home now.”

  Home, thought Hattie. Home. That sou
nded good. It sounded – hopeful. Right. She’d think about that soon. But first, she badly needed a crumpet.

  Great-uncle Sisyphus, crumbling a crumpet and sipping at a cup of tea, watched Hattie eat. “How much do you know about your family?” he asked.

  Hattie swallowed her mouthful and started to lick her fingers, then checked herself and used a napkin instead. “Not very much. I thought Uncle Heracles and I were the very last of the Lambtons. He never told me about you. Or your sister. But then, I didn’t see Uncle Heracles much. He was always travelling.”

  Great-uncle Sisyphus sighed. “Perhaps he just forgot about us. He certainly never visited. Never sent as much as a Christmas card. However, there is certainly me, and my sister, your Great-aunt Iphigenia. She is an Egyptologist. It’s her work that keeps this household running – and the castle in repair.”

  Not too much in repair, thought Hattie, remembering the tower falling into the moat.

  Great-uncle Sisyphus went on. “I translate manuscripts, myself, for various museums. It’s not very lucrative work, unfortunately. No, it’s dear Iphigenia who keeps us going. She has two assistants to help her. They also live here.”

  “Does anyone else live here?” asked Hattie. Someone had made these delicious crumpets. “Servants? A cook?”

  “Oh, no, no servants, nothing like that,” said Great-uncle Sisyphus serenely. “We have Sekhmet, who you’ve already met. And the kittens, of course.”

  Hattie, wondering if taking a fourth crumpet would be considered excessive, looked up. “Sekhmet? I haven’t met a Sekhmet.”

  “But indeed you have.” Great-uncle Sisyphus blinked at her. “She showed you in.”

  “The – er – you mean, the cat? Sekhmet is the cat?” Hattie regarded the tea tray. “You mean –” Surely he didn’t mean a cat had prepared the tea?

  No. She didn’t want to know. Not yet. But she had other questions.

  “Great-aunt Iphigenia is an Egyptologist? You mean she studies ancient Egypt? But what work is it that she does? To keep the household running?”

  “Oh,” said Great-uncle Sisyphus cheerfully. “She unwraps mummies, of course.”

  Hattie’s mouth fell open. She put down the crumpet she had just selected. “What?” She remembered her manners. “Um, I mean, I beg your pardon.”

  “Great-aunt Iphigenia unwraps mummies?” Hattie’s mouth was still open. Realising that it was full of crumpet and honey, she quickly closed it again. “Mummies? But how? Why?”

  “Oh, there’s a great interest in Egyptology,” said Great-uncle Sisyphus. “Been going on for years, ever since Napoleon visited Egypt, really. Travellers have been bringing mummies back to Europe ever since. Souvenirs, so to speak. There’ve been exhibitions, auction sales. Very popular subject, Egypt is.”

  “But why unwrap the mummies?” Hattie persisted.

  “In the spirit of scientific enquiry,” came an amused voice from the doorway.

  Hattie swung around. A woman stood there, tall, thin, not as old as Great-uncle Sisyphus, but with the same puff of white dandelion hair. And the same warm, welcoming expression.

  “Hello, my dear,” the woman said. “You must be Hattie. I’m your Great-aunt Iphigenia.”

  Hattie rose at once and bobbed a curtsey. “How do you do, ma’am?” she managed.

  “Very well indeed, thank you.” Great-aunt Iphigenia glanced at the tea tray. “Early tea today I see, Sisyphus.”

  “Yes indeed. Sekhmet felt that Hattie would be hungry after her journey. There are crumpets.”

  Hattie glanced guiltily at the tray. There were very few crumpets left. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I seem to have eaten most of them.”

  “Oh, Sekhmet will soon send more,” said Great-aunt Iphigenia easily. “She saw I was on my way here. As are Edgar and Edwina.”

  Hattie looked up. More people?

  “Edgar and Edwina Raven are my valued assistants,” said Great-aunt Iphigenia. “They are the son and daughter of an old colleague from our Egypt days. Now they work for me. They arrange and take bookings for my mummy unwrapping parties, and handle all those tedious financial details. They are quite invaluable to me.”

  She held out a hand to Hattie. “Now sit down again, my dear. We are delighted to have you here. Quite delighted. We rarely saw your dear parents, of course, and they wrote very infrequently, but then, they too were always travelling. A Lambton tendency, I fear. Such a pity we have no portraits of them. I’m afraid we are not a close-knit family. It was very sad to hear of Heracles, of course, though we hadn’t seen him for many years, and it always seemed too inconvenient for him to let us meet you. Such a busy person.”

  They all thought of Uncle Heracles for a moment. Busy shooting innocent animals, thought Hattie uncharitably, and sticking their heads up on walls.

  “However, now we have you here, and I’m sure we’ll all be very happy together,” Great-aunt Iphigenia went on.

  Hattie hoped so too. It certainly seemed promising. Very promising. They all smiled shyly at each other.

  Then two things happened. The dumb waiter pinged!, indicating the arrival of more tea and crumpets. And two more people walked into the room.

  “My assistants, Edgar and Edwina Raven,” introduced Great-aunt Iphigenia. “Our great-niece, Miss Hatshepsut Lambton.”

  Hattie rose and bobbed another curtsey.

  The two newcomers stood quite still and stared at her.

  The room had been pleasantly warm before, but now a chill draught swept in from the shadowy hall, stirring the velvet curtains and nipping at Hattie’s ankles. It seemed to swirl around and around the Ravens, swishing skirts and ruffling hair.

  Hattie stared back at them. Edgar and Edwina Raven might have been brother and sister, but they were as alike as if they’d been twins. And they were . . . beautiful. Tall. Slim. White skin. The blackest of hair. The darkest of eyes. They were dressed entirely in black.

  They were the most stunning people Hattie had ever seen. And she took an immediate and intense dislike to them. Beautiful as they were, they looked, somehow, hungry. Although, she struggled to be fair, that might only be because they hadn’t had any crumpets yet.

  “Sit down, sit down,” urged Great-uncle Sisyphus. “Close the door, Miss Edwina, keep the draughts out.” He turned to Hattie. “It’s a very windy place, Crumblin Castle.”

  Great-aunt Iphigenia looked hurt. “We are repairing as fast as we can,” she said. “The roof, you know.” She sighed. “So expensive.”

  “Of course, of course,” said Great-uncle Sisyphus hastily. “And it’s your efforts that are making it possible, my dear – assisted by Mr Edgar and Miss Edwina, of course, most ably.”

  The Ravens had taken seats on a sofa together, a tray of tea before them. They looked over at Hattie, inspecting her, rather as if she was a beetle that had crawled out of the basket of wood beside the fire, Hattie thought indignantly.

  “Your great-niece, you say, Miss Lambton?” said Edgar Raven. “I don’t think –”

  “No, you wouldn’t have heard of Hatshepsut,” said Great-aunt Iphigenia. “Until recently she was under the guardianship of our nephew, Heracles. But his circumstances changed unexpectedly –”

  An interesting way of referring to being eaten by a crocodile, thought Hattie.

  “– so dear Hatshepsut has come to us,” finished Great-uncle Sisyphus.

  There was a silence. The Ravens inspected Hattie again. Hattie stared back. She straightened her shoulders. Who were these people to look at her in this disapproving way?

  “And may I enquire if this is to be on a permanent basis?” asked Edwina.

  “We do indeed trust so,” said Great-aunt Iphigenia. She smiled gently at Hattie.

  The Ravens regarded Hattie with disfavour. “There are, of course, excellent boarding schools,” murmured Edwina Raven.

  “Oh, we’re not considering boarding schools,” said Great-uncle Sisyphus. “No, no, no. The things they teach girls at boarding schools! Quite
unsuitable. Do you know –” He leaned forward and fixed the Ravens with a horrified gaze. “Hatshepsut has studied very little history. And no Latin or Greek whatsoever. Why, the gel can’t even read hieroglyphs! Imagine it!”

  The Ravens subsided. They glanced at each other, then turned their eyes onto Hattie again. Hattie felt a little like an insect on a pin.

  “No,” Great-uncle Sisyphus went on, “I will be taking charge of Hatshepsut’s neglected education myself.” He smiled at Hattie. “I’m sure we’ll both enjoy it, my dear.”

  Hattie rather thought she might. She had not had a great deal of success with geography and mathematics. History, Latin, Greek and ancient Egyptian might well prove far more interesting. She was prepared to work hard – if only to please Great-uncle Sisyphus. Crumblin Castle seemed a rather strange place, but she already knew she definitely wanted to stay.

  Thinking of ancient Egypt reminded her. “Please,” she said to Great-aunt Iphigenia, “could you tell me about your mummy unwrapping parties? Who comes to them?”

  “Two kinds of people,” said Great-aunt Iphigenia. “First, those who are truly interested in the science of the mummification process – of discovering, by unwrapping a mummy, the method that was used to mummify it, to preserve the body for thousands of years, and to add to our knowledge of ancient diseases and medical treatments. Then there are the others, who are there for curiosity, amusement and, frankly, the thrill of seeing a long-dead body. But,” she hastened to add, “that is perfectly all right, because I aim, if I can, to arouse in such people a true interest, that may lead them to further study.”

  Edgar Raven leaned forward. “And perhaps to donate funds to further your great-aunt’s studies in this valuable field,” he added.

  “Yes, that too, of course,” said Great-aunt Iphigenia, somewhat disapprovingly. “But education is the main aim, the key.”

  The Ravens did not appear entirely convinced.