“Are you catching a cold, Grandmother?” I asked.
She drew back as if I had asked what color her garters were, then lifted her monocle from the chain at her neck and peered down at me. She was no doubt trying to see if I was being impudent, but I have spent many hours practicing my most innocent look.
“Hm,” she said. “It is well and good that I shall be able to mold you for the next several weeks.” Her fierce glare let me know I was in for a miserable time of it. Except, I wasn’t. That uplifting secret lay in my heart like the most wonderful of gifts. But I pretended that she had won and looked demurely at the ground.
“Well,” Father said, shuffling his feet like a schoolboy. “We really must be going. We’ve tons of packing to do and last-minute details to see to.”
The coward!
Mother and Father gave me a quick kiss, then escaped out the front door. Grandmother Throckmorton and I were left standing in the hallway, staring at each other. I could hear Father whistling—whistling, I tell you—on his way down the front stairs.
***
I wasn’t able to escape Grandmother Throckmorton until well after teatime. No sooner had Father and Mother left than she started in on me. She forced me over to the piano, wanting to hear how my scales were coming along. She quickly learned that they weren’t. After wincing her way through my recital, she decided I needed music lessons every day while my parents were gone.
Shortly after that, a seamstress showed up and measured me every which way while Grandmother Throckmorton chose several new lacy, frilly frocks she wanted made up for me. Doesn’t she realize how much lace itches?
She prattled on about dancing lessons and comportment (I already know how to carry myself, thank you very much!) and—horrors—the painstaking process of finding a new pudding-faced governess!
Then we had to take tea in her stuffy old drawing room, and she made me pour. And of course I didn’t just pour, I spilled, too. How could I not when she sat there staring, waiting for me to mess up?
It wasn’t my fault. It was those fancy chairs of hers. They are so stiff and slippery and my feet don’t reach the ground. It’s like trying to pour tea while perched on the end of a slide.
Anyway, because of my poor showing at tea, Grandmother decided I needed to take my dinner in my room until I was able to handle the tea to her satisfaction. What a relief.
Only twenty-two more hours till I can make my escape. Since I’ll be asleep for many of them, I think I can make it.
Escape!
I WONDER IF BEADLES EVER SLEEPS. I’m beginning to think not. I’m also beginning to suspect he has eyes in the back of his head. I could go nowhere in Grandmother Throckmorton’s house without him turning up seconds later. Only the knowledge that I’d be escaping soon kept me from despair.
Now, if I could just get through luncheon…
Grandmother Throckmorton was waiting for me in the dining room. She watched me like a hawk while I took my seat (checking for comportment, she said). Soup was served, and I was certain it was a test, so I ate as carefully as I could without making any sipping noises. I only spilled one tiny little drop and she scowled as if I’d upped and put the soup tureen on my head. It was time to put an end to this charade.
“Grandmother, I don’t feel so well.”
She sniffed. “No doubt your poor temperament. I must say I’m not surprised. Well, take to your bed, then. I’ll send someone up with a special tonic. You’re to drink it all up. A nap wouldn’t do you any harm either. You keep appalling hours for a child.”
It was difficult not to gloat at how easily she’d stepped into my plan. I walked out of the room (quite meekly, I might add) and headed for my bedroom. Who should be lurking on the landing by my room but Beadles.
“Miss isn’t feeling well?” His voice sounded polite enough, but you could tell he was sneering underneath it all.
“No, Beadles. I think I must have eaten some of that bad fish you always look like you’ve just smelled.”
He frowned in puzzlement, and I used the opportunity to slip into my room with no more interrogations. Once I heard him head downstairs, I quietly locked my door.
I had packed my stowaway bag last night. Grabbing it, I went over to the window and looked down; there was no one about. I opened the window, then dropped my satchel to the ground, where it landed with a surprisingly loud thump.
I froze, waiting to see if the sound had drawn anyone’s attention, but no one came to investigate. I went to the bed and pulled out all the holey woolen stockings I’d pilfered. Last night, while I was supposed to be asleep, I had tied all the stockings together, rather like a long rope. Now if it would only reach all the way down.
I crossed over to the window and slowly lowered it. It stopped about six feet from the ground. It would have to do.
Next, I tied my end of the woolen stocking rope to the leg of the wardrobe, double-checking that the knot was secure. I glanced at the dresser, where the note I’d left for Grandmother Throckmorton was propped against the mirror. Hopefully they wouldn’t come looking for me too soon and I’d have enough of a head start.
Now there was nothing for it but to lower myself down as quickly as possible and hope no one spotted me.
As I sat on the ledge of the windowsill, I found it difficult to actually push off. I reminded myself that the stockings were firmly tied, and it wasn’t really all that far down. Before I completely lost my nerve, I grabbed the rope with both hands and slipped off the ledge.
Dangling precariously, I used my feet to gently push away from the house so I wouldn’t crash into anything. Slowly, with great concentration and quite a few hasty prayers, I lowered myself to the ground.
When I got to the end of the rope, it was much, much farther a drop to the ground than it had seemed from up above. My arms were quivering under the strain of holding my weight for so long, and there was no possible way I could haul myself back up.
I had to let go.
There was a long sickening second where the ground rushed up at me, then I hit it with a bone-jarring thud, my teeth clanking together. I sat stunned for a moment, then scrambled to my feet. I lifted my hand to my chest, checking to make sure the Heart of Egypt was still securely anchored around my neck. It was. Which meant…
I’d done it—I was free!
PART TWO
The Rosetta Maru
THE ROSETTA MARU WAS ENORMOUS, nearly as big as the Kaiser Wilhelm der Grosse. As I stood staring up at the ship, I saw her lifeboats way up on the very top deck. That was my destination.
It wasn’t nearly as difficult to sneak onboard as you’d think. First of all, the docks are absolute bedlam and it’s all anyone can do to keep track of themselves, let alone anybody else. I was in luck because there were several families traveling. I attached myself to the largest, noisiest one. I think there were seven children, maybe six. It was hard to tell. I trailed at their coattails as they followed their parents up the ramp. As soon as we’d cleared the boarding area, I scooted off to find myself a lifeboat.
And the ship had lifts—lifts! How grand was that? I made my way to one and punched the button to open the door.
The lift attendant did a bit of a double take, but I did my Lady Throckmorton bit, which worked. He took me to the uppermost deck. I waited till the lift’s door had closed, then began working my way forward until I reached the railing.
The entire city of London spread out before me like an enormous map. I stopped to watch all the people moving about, as tiny as ants. The salty breeze picked up, sending a spray of drizzle smack into my face. I looked up at the sky, where clouds like big purple bruises were rolling together. I needed to find cover. And quickly.
I hurried to the lifeboats, giving a small squeak of dismay when I realized they were all up high, like cradles hanging out over the railing. How on earth was I to get up there?
Like a monkey, that’s how. And I’d never be able to lug my bag up there. I’d have to find somewhere to stash it d
own here on the deck where no one would find it.
***
Well, getting into the lifeboat without taking an unplanned swim was quite a challenge, but I made it, safe and sound. It was a little colder than I thought it would be, but I decided to ignore the chill air and pretend I was quite cozy. It helped to think of it as a little cave I’d built for myself, like Henry and I used to do when we were younger. Thinking of Henry made me feel surprisingly lonely, so I pushed that thought aside. (I seem to be doing a lot of that lately.)
Stowaway
SLEEPING IN A LIFEBOAT is a beastly experience, I must say. They are surprisingly less comfortable than sarcophagi. Odd, you’d think wood would be softer than stone.
And one blanket was barely enough to keep me warm. I had intended to wad up my extra coat and use it as a pillow, but I had to keep it on during the night so I didn’t freeze. It’s very difficult to move when one is wearing two coats, let alone an Egyptian amulet. (It chafes!) Also, did you know ocean liner motors are very loud? And they vibrate.
In addition to being cold and hungry and bored out of my mind, there was far too much time to think. My mind had been playing over this solemn task I’d set for myself (or Wigmere set for me, I can’t quite remember if I volunteered or he volunteered me) like a cat worrying a mouse. I mean really, the more I think about it the more I think it’s a bit much to expect me to save the nation.
It was very difficult to stay hidden in a lifeboat all day. I was all cold and cramped and grubby, but I could hear people wandering about on deck, laughing and talking and having a grand time.
Oh, the conversations! These intriguing bits of “Did you see what that woman did last night at dinner?” or “Has that man no shame?” Just when my curiosity got piqued, they wandered too far out of range and I couldn’t hear another word.
And why on earth didn’t I think to bring something besides jam sandwiches? I am quite sick of them and can’t help but wonder if a person can die from eating too many. That is, if they don’t freeze to death first.
I don’t know why I ever thought this stowing-away business would be a good idea. I was suffering—and I do mean suffering—from the cold and hunger and sleep deprivation. And what would I get when it was all finished? I’d get to take on von Braggenschnott and his lot while trying to put an ancient artifact back where no one can ever find it again. Not to mention that I was trying to outwit Amenemhab, one of the Egyptian New Kingdom’s most brilliant military minds. Honestly. What kind of fool would even attempt such a thing?
***
I couldn’t stand it a moment longer. I had to get out of there or I would go stark raving mad. Not only that, but I was desperate to find the lavatory!
I waited until dark, when it was cold and everyone had gone in to dinner. Then I crawled out and hobbled around, frantically looking for a lav. (Oh, the relief!) After I took care of my business, I allowed myself a brisk stroll around the deck to work out the kinks in my legs.
Just as I began to crawl back into my lifeboat, clinging to the rigging like a young monkey, I heard a voice say, “Hullo.”
I nearly fainted.
I stopped climbing and turned toward the sound of the voice. “Hullo,” I answered back. Croaked, really, as my voice was rusty with salt and disuse. A man stood there, dressed in his dinner jacket and sipping something elegant-looking in an odd-shaped glass. He turned to look out over the ocean, shook his head, then turned to look at me again.
“I say,” he said, peering at me rather closely. “Are you my pink elephant?”
I dropped down to the deck. Pink elephant? What kind of nonsense is that? I would have been horribly insulted except he seemed rather fond of pink elephants.
He decided to walk with me while I stretched my legs. We spent a few minutes chatting about the weather (cold gray drizzle) and where he was headed (crocodile hunting on the Nile) and what our favorite refreshment was (his—gin and tonic, mine—lemon tarts.) He didn’t ask me what I was doing there or if I was a stowaway or anything like that. And he promised to bring me a bit of dessert tomorrow when he came out for his evening walk.
Now that’s the kind of grownup I like!
It was much easier to sleep once I’d taken some exercise. I dreamed of what kind of dessert Mr. Wappingthorne (that was his name) would bring me tomorrow.
***
The next day, Mr. Wappingthorne brought me two buttered rolls that were still warm and a small raspberry tart from the dessert tray. He also snuck me a small pot of tea—such luxury! I savored the tea, letting its warmth fill me up. I was half-tempted to use part of it to bathe with. Did you know sea air makes one all salty and sticky? I have a dreadful layer of salt clinging to my face and hands.
Only two more days until we pass the halfway mark. Then, when it is too late to turn back, I will announce my presence to my parents.
Discovered!
THAT NIGHT, when Mr. Wappingthorne came for a visit, he brought his fiancée, a Miss Pennington. He wanted to prove to her that I was real.
Then the fat really began to fry, let me tell you. “Why, she’s a stowaway!” Miss Pennington said with a sly look, which was very unnerving. I’d hoped all would be well, since Mr. Wappingthorne got her calmed down and swore her to secrecy. Even so, I didn’t relax until they left for the evening. Breathing a sigh of relief, I made myself as comfortable as I could in my little nest. Just as I began to get warm again, I heard a footstep on the deck.
Had Mr. Wappingthorne returned? Or the annoying Miss Pennington?
I heard another creak, and then my lifeboat swayed. Someone was climbing up!
Before I could even think what to do, the canvas cover was ripped off the lifeboat and I found myself blinking into the glow of an oil lamp.
“Well, well, what have we here?” a very pompous voice asked.
Bother. The gig was up. Father was going to be furious.
I clambered out of the lifeboat (quite awkward, really, with people watching you). As soon as my feet touched the deck, an ensign, or something—I wasn’t sure what his title was but he had a few fancy things dangling about his shoulders and a terse look on his face—stood over me, glowering.
He started to grab me by the ear, until Mr. Wappingthorne called out, “Now see here, that’s not really necessary, is it?”
The man grabbed my elbow instead, which I much preferred to my ear, and, holding it at a high, painful angle, he began marching me forward.
To the dining room.
“Shouldn’t we wait for your captain in his quarters or on the bridge?” I suggested. “He won’t want to interrupt his dinner for this, I’m sure.”
The fellow glanced down at me. “He’ll want to talk to you right away. Don’t think we’re going to hide your sins for you. Ship’s policy.”
Saw right through that, he did.
My stomach grew queasy at the thought of being discovered so publicly. “You’re hurting my arm, could you please not twist it so?” I asked.
He looked down at me, threw open a door, and thrust me into the salon, nearly wrenching my arm out of its socket.
All conversation dribbled to a stop as I stumbled into the room. Everyone had finished their dinner and they were enjoying after-dinner drinks and quiet conversation. I wanted to cringe and hide behind this beastly ensign, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. I stood tall and proud, as if I were a Luxury First Class passenger and not a grubby little stowaway. (If Grandmother Throckmorton could ever have got her mind past the stowaway part, she would have been very proud of me.)
The fellow marched me straight up to the captain.
“Look what I found, Captain, lurking about in one of the lifeboats. A stowaway.”
The captain turned from his conversation and stared at the ensign before turning his attention to me. He had a face that looked like a leather map, all lines and valleys and ravines across his deeply tanned skin. His iron gray mustaches matched his hair and put me in mind of a walrus.
My arm wa
s screaming in agony from its unnatural position, making my eyes water. I was keeping my eyes open as wide as possible so it wouldn’t look like I was crying, but I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep it up.
“May I please have my arm back, now, sir? I’m really not going to run away. I give you my word.”
“The word of a thieving stowaway!” the ensign said. “And how much would that be worth? About the same as you paid for your ticket, I would imagine.”
“May I have permission to speak, sir?” I addressed the captain directly, and the formality took him by surprise.
He blinked. “Yes.”
“First of all, I have paid for my ticket. I put the funds in an envelope and if you send someone back to the lifeboat, you will see that it is all there.” (My life savings, as it were.)
One of the captain’s eyebrows quirked up. “Indeed.” He nodded once at the ensign, who released my arm and took off in search of the envelope.
“Why didn’t you just pay for your ticket first, like most passengers?” the captain asked.
That’s when I heard the familiar bellow “Theodosia Elizabeth Throckmorton!” This was quickly followed by a muttered “Bloody hell.”
Bother. I wrinkled my nose. “Well, that’s why, sir,” I said, nodding my head at my parents, who were hurrying over to us. “My parents didn’t want me to come, but I had to. Really.”
Mother reached me first. She clamped her hands on my shoulders. “Theodosia darling, are you all right?” She knelt down so she could see my face.
“Yes, Mother. I’m perfectly fine. Just a bit dirty, is all. And hungry,” I added, just in case they hadn’t cleared all the dinner dishes away. I risked a glance up at Father, who was glaring down at me.
R. L. Lafevers Page 17
