The Cairo Brief

by Fiona Veitch Smith

  “Oh?” said Poppy, remembering what Herr Stein and Miss El Farouk had already told her. “What did they say?”

  Rollo looked towards the fireplace. “That Maddox used to work for them. He apparently used to do the rounds of all the digs before the war. He had no formal qualifications, but he was an enthusiastic self-funded amateur who could be counted on to provide a bit of covering finance in exchange for letting him play archaeologist now and again.”

  “That’s interesting,” chipped in Poppy. “Being an amateur didn’t stop him from being on the board of the Egyptian Exploration Society...”

  Rollo raised a surprised eyebrow.

  “It was in his jazz file,” she said in way of explanation. “Sorry, carry on.”

  “No bother at all, Miz Denby. Glad to hear you’ve been doing your homework. So, where was I? Right, Maddox playing archaeologist. Well, according to Herr Stein, he was helping out on Borchardt’s dig back in 1914. It was a few months before the outbreak of war and the Germans weren’t sure how much longer they would be able to dig there as Egypt – as you know – was at the time a joint British/French protectorate. No one knew for sure there’d be a war, but the signs weren’t good. So, they were trying to get as much done as they could. Hence, they were only too happy to take on an extra hand that didn’t require a salary. That’s when Maddox joined the team. However, items started going missing – just small things, but enough to be troublesome. Typically, the local guides and labourers were blamed, but no evidence was ever found. Herr Stein tells me Borchardt suspected Maddox, but couldn’t prove it.”

  “And now they think he stole the mask too,” added Poppy, in hushed tones, and went on to tell her colleagues what Miss El Farouk had told her.

  When she had finished, both Daniel and Rollo were staring at her wide-eyed. “Golly, that’s far worse than pilfering a few old trinkets,” observed Daniel, lowering his voice to match Poppy’s conspiratorial tone. “Are they suggesting Maddox was involved in the death of the watchman? And then framing the boy?”

  Poppy shook her head. “He might have been, but she didn’t actually say that. However, she more than hinted that he was behind the theft of the mask. What we haven’t heard yet is how he claims the mask came to be in his possession.”

  “Actually I have,” said Rollo. “Yasmin’s brother told me Maddox said he came across it last year in a souk in Cairo. He said it was sold to him by a local dealer. But when Faizal asked for details of the dealer – so the Antiquities Service could follow it up – the man had apparently disappeared and his shop was boarded up.”

  Daniel snorted. “Convenient.”

  “Quite,” agreed Poppy. “However, if it’s clear that the mask was stolen – whether by Maddox or this mysterious Egyptian dealer – then surely the Egyptians have a right to take it back.”

  Rollo nodded. “Yes, that’s what Faizal thinks too. Maddox, though, has a court order declaring him to be the lawful owner of the mask. He apparently produced a receipt and his solicitor presented it to a judge who declared it proof of purchase in good faith.”

  “A British judge?”

  Rollo grinned. “Of course. Naturally, the Egyptians are contesting it, but so far they have been unable to get the case reopened. However, I think they hope to put pressure on the British government to do something about it.”

  Poppy looked over at Marjorie Reynolds, who was in deep conversation with Dr Mortimer. So she had been right: the presence of the Minister to the Home Office did have some significance.

  “So then, let me get this straight,” said Daniel. “This mask is being auctioned tomorrow night but it’s not clear if the auction is even legal?”

  “That about sums it up,” said Rollo. “But as long as Maddox has the court order on his side, there’s nothing the Egyptians can do about it. So, unless something happens between now and tomorrow night, it looks like the mask will soon find a new home in London, Berlin or New York.”

  “Or Cairo,” added Poppy.

  “Possibly,” agreed Rollo, “but I don’t think Faizal and Miss El Farouk will be too keen on paying for something they already believe is theirs.”

  “I don’t blame them,” said Daniel.

  “Me neither,” said Poppy, then chewed her lip.

  Rollo looked at her curiously. “What is it?”

  “I’m just thinking. In Maddox’s jazz file, back at the office, there was a short article from The Times, written in 1914, stating that he had been relieved of his post at the Egyptian Exploration Society because of queries around the procurement of some artefacts. I wonder if that had something to do with all this. It was just a short piece and I thought underwritten. I made a note of it though. I wonder if the journalist who wrote it has any more information.”

  “Do you remember who it was?” asked Rollo.

  Poppy thought for a moment. “It will be in my notes. But I think it was Jenson. Walter Jenson. Or Jensford. I’ll have to check.”

  “There was a Walter Jensford at The Times back in ’14. He’s retired now, but still goes to the Press Club on occasion. Could that be him?” asked Rollo.

  “Quite possibly. Do you know him?”

  “In passing, yes.” Rollo took out a cigarette case and offered it to Daniel, who declined. The editor paused to light his cigarette, breathed in deeply, then exhaled. “I’ll see what I can find out.”

  Poppy nodded her appreciation. “It would be nice if we could stop the sale of the mask, wouldn’t it? If it is stolen, I mean; it just doesn’t seem right.”

  Rollo gave a paternal smile. “Always the crusader, Miz Denby. Realistically, I doubt we’ll find out anything before tomorrow night. No, I think the sale will go ahead. But if evidence is later found that it was stolen, perhaps the sale could eventually be reversed. And if not, well…” he grinned “… either way, it’ll make a damned good story.”

  Suddenly there was a loud, sonorous bong. Lady Ursula stood in the doorway, holding a little brass gong. “Ladies and gentlemen, Madame Minette and I have been going over the guest list and have selected the following people for the séance. I hope those left off the list will not be offended, but there are only twelve seats at the table. The first three seats will be filled by Madame Minette, Sir James, and myself. Sir Arthur would have most definitely been on the list, but Lady Jean has taken a turn for the worse and he thinks he needs to be with her.”

  “My apologies,” said Conan Doyle, bowing to Lady Ursula.

  “Not at all, Sir Arthur. We understand. Hopefully Lady Jean will be better in the morning and be able to join us for the rest of the weekend’s entertainment.”

  “I’m sure she will,” said the famous author, then bowed again and exited the room.

  “So,” said Lady Ursula, after he had left, “we have room for nine more. Would the following people care to join us: Herr Stein, Miss Philpott, Miss El Farouk, Mr Flinton, Miss Marconi, Mr Carter, Mr Saunders, Mr Carnaby, and Miss Denby. If anyone would prefer not to join...” Poppy flashed a look at Rollo. He shook his head. “… no? Everyone happy? Good, then Grimes will put on some gramophone records here in the drawing room, while the rest of us head off to the parlour.” She bonged the gong again. “Let the spirits come!”

  CHAPTER 9

  The gas lights in the parlour were turned down low, and a single votive candle was lit and centred on the round table. A flamboyant woman in a gold and green gown, with hennaed hair caught up in a green silk scarf, its tassels falling down one side of her face, was already seated. Her eyes were closed and her hands splayed on the table in front of her. Each finger had its own ring and on her arms a jangle of bangles. Madame Minette, Poppy presumed.

  Lady Ursula ushered the guests in and, in a hushed voice, instructed everyone as to where they should sit. Ignoring the direction, Delilah took the seat next to Madame Minette, opened her hands as if to receive a blessing, closed her eyes, and released a meditative hum.

  “Not there, Miss Marconi,” hissed Lady Ursula. “That is not y
our seat.”

  Delilah opened her eyes and giggled. Lady Ursula sniffed and pointed sharply at the seat she expected Delilah to move to. “Madame Minette has already sought the counsel of her control spirit and he has indicated you should sit there.” She punctuated her instruction with a further jab of her finger to the seat next to Fox Flinton.

  “Come on, Delilah, don’t throw a spanner in the works. Cousin Ursula knows what she’s doing,” chided the Fox, patting the seat beside him.

  “Thank you, cousin,” said Lady Ursula, nodding at Delilah and flicking her head towards the “correct” chair.

  Delilah threw up her hands in mock contrition: “Whatever the spirits declare.” Then she got up and moved to her allocated seat. No one else dared to challenge “the spirits” and obediently sat where they were told.

  It was then that Poppy noticed a camera had been set up on a tripod in the corner of the room and behind it was Harry Gibson, the Courier photographer. She sniffed. Yes, there was a smell of magnesium in the air.

  “Are you going to document the séance?” asked Poppy.

  “No,” said Lady Ursula, “the spirits will be alarmed by the bright lights. But Mr Gibson and Mr Saunders asked if they could have a photograph of the circle before we begin.”

  Lionel Saunders smirked at Poppy, suggesting he believed he’d scooped his rival. Poppy shrugged. It was no skin off her nose. Without the Conan Doyles there the photograph had already lost much of its newsworthiness. Although... come to think of it... she wasn’t that keen on appearing in a photograph showing she had been at a séance. Her parents would be appalled – if by chance they ever saw it. But here she was, despite her misgivings. I suppose pretending I’m not would just compound the sin, she thought unhappily.

  “Do you have a problem with that, Miss Denby?” asked Lionel.

  “No, not at all,” she answered, crossing her fingers under the table, then uncrossing them quickly when she realized she was indulging in yet another unchristian act. She swallowed her guilt and crossed her legs instead.

  “Is everyone comfortable?” asked Lady Ursula, taking her seat to the right of Madame Minette, while her husband sat to the medium’s left.

  Is she ever going to open her eyes? thought Poppy.

  “Good. Now, let’s get this photograph taken, and then I’ll explain to the uninitiated how the séance will operate. Mr Gibson, you may proceed.”

  Gibson grunted and then in a monotone voice said: “All right then. Do something séancy.”

  This brought chuckles from around the table.

  “Come on folks, let’s do something séancy,” chirped Howard Carter. “Prepare for the table to levitate…” He took hold of the edge and began to rock it.

  Two bangled arms slammed down on the table, bringing it to a stop. Madame Minette’s eyes – as yellow as a snake’s – flashed open and bored into Carter’s. “King hunter, desssissst,” she whispered, “you are upsssetting the ssspiritsss,” then she closed her eyes again.

  The medium’s hiss hung in the air with the smoke from the spluttering candle. Silence fell on the circle. It was eventually broken by the photographer: “So, are you going to do something séancy or not?”

  There were no giggles this time. Everyone looked at one another, then at Madame Minette. Her eyes were still closed. Silence.

  “Well, all right then,” said Lady Ursula. “Perhaps we should all place our hands on the table, like Madame’s, making sure our fingertips all touch. Can we do that?”

  Poppy looked at Howard Carter; he had a twinkle in his eye. Was he going to rock the table again? To her disappointment, he didn’t, and simply complied with the request.

  Lady Ursula looked around and nodded with approval. “Good, then perhaps we can all bow our heads. Will that work, Mr Gibson?”

  “It’ll do,” said Gibson.

  Oh good, thought Poppy, if our heads are bowed people might not recognize me. Hmm, but I bet Saunders will put my name in the caption… She sighed quietly and then bowed her head.

  “Right, hold that pose...” Poppy heard the clicks and creaks of a camera lens being focused as the mechanical bellows expanded, then, after a “One, two, three...” from Gibson, there was a small explosive flash, the smell of magnesium burning, and a final “Thanks folks, that’ll do.”

  Everyone opened their eyes, blinking away the smoke from the flash, even Madame Minette. For a moment she and Poppy locked eyes. Ah, they’re more amber than yellow, thought Poppy. Still, they gave her chills. Poppy looked away.

  Lady Ursula was now standing. “Thank you, Mr Gibson. You may leave now. You can collect your camera later.”

  Gibson looked to object but was dismissed with a slightly slurred: “See you later, Harry. I’ll keep an eye on the equipment,” from Lionel.

  Gibson shrugged, picked up a whisky tumbler from the sideboard behind him, took a sip, and left the room, closing the door behind him.

  Lady Ursula clapped her hands three times. “Good, now we can begin. How many of you have sat in a séance circle before?”

  Six hands went up: Fox Flinton, Delilah Marconi, Lionel Saunders, Howard Carter, Albert Carnaby, and Sir James Maddox. Lady Ursula smiled and raised her hand too. “So that leaves Miss El Farouk, Miss Denby, Miss Philpott, and Herr Stein who are first-timers. Is that correct?”

  The newbies all said it was.

  “Well then, for your sake, I shall explain what will happen. Unless...” she said, turning to the medium whose eyes were still open “...you would prefer to.”

  The medium twitched her lips into what Poppy assumed was an attempt at a smile. “No, Lady Ursssula, you can explain. Although much is beyond explanation.”

  Lady Ursula nodded her head. “That’s very true, Madame, and something we should not forget. Tonight, ladies and gentlemen, you might see and hear things that have no apparent explanation. Do not… I repeat, do not… try to apply a scientific mind to them. I know Sir Arthur Conan Doyle – who sadly is not with us – has tried to marry science and spiritualism, but it takes a rare mind like his to be able to do so. There are some things that you need to take on faith. The metaphysical world is one of them – although there is much scientific evidence to support it,” she hastened to add.

  Poppy shook her head. Either one was to use science or one was not. Lady Ursula could not have it both ways. But “faith” was something Poppy understood. But not in this, she said to herself. She looked to the door, wondering if it was too late to leave. But then, she caught Howard Carter’s eye. There was that twinkle again. And she remembered what Rollo and Daniel had said about the whole thing being a hoax. No, she would see it through. Then, afterwards, try to figure out scientifically how it was all done.

  “Righteo,” continued Lady Ursula. “The aim of a séance is to connect the living with those who have passed on. We – those of us experienced in spiritualism – know that many of the spirits want to communicate with us. Sometimes there are spirits of people long dead, with no living relatives. Other times, they are people recently passed on who know they are still missed and loved. Those spirits often have unfinished business here on earth. You’ll be surprised at how many of our brave boys who sacrificed their lives in the Great War are still with us. In fact, that’s how I became involved in this. I was not blessed with children, but counted the children of my sister as my own. Sadly, though,” she lowered her head for a moment then raised it again, “both of them were taken from us too soon. Dear Victoria was only thirteen when she died of consumption in 1912. Walter died five years later on the Western Front – he was twenty.”

  She sighed deeply and looked slowly around the circle, taking each guest in. “I’m sure most of you have lost someone. And you know how heart-wrenching it is.”

  There were murmurs of assent from around the table. Yes, Poppy knew exactly how that felt. Lady Ursula smiled gently. “So I don’t have to explain to you what a joy it was when I went to my first séance and the spirit of dear Walter spoke to me. He assured
me he was happy and at peace.”

  Before she could stop herself, Poppy raised her hand. Lady Ursula frowned. “Miss Denby, now is not the appropriate time to interview me for an article. I’m sure we can find time later –”

  “No, no,” Poppy assured her. “I’m not interviewing you. I just want to ask a question – for myself – so I can understand what’s going to happen tonight. Just one. I promise.”

  Lady Ursula looked at Madame Minette. The medium nodded.

  “All right, just one,” said Lady Ursula, in a tone reminiscent of a school ma’am putting a precocious child in its place.

  The rest of the guests were looking at Poppy expectantly; all except Lionel, who was rolling his eyes in irritation. Poppy ignored him as she usually did. “Well, I was wondering how you knew it was your nephew. That it was really him. Not someone pretending to be him –”

  Lady Ursula took a sharp intake of breath.

  “Either someone living or someone dead,” Poppy hastened to add. This seemed to soothe ruffled feathers and Lady Ursula relaxed.

  “A fair question, Miss Denby. And one that is easy to answer. The spirit knew something that only Walter would know. Like you, I too was sceptical, but when I heard that he remembered the colour of the dress I wore to his eighteenth birthday party, I knew it was him. Now, if you don’t mind, I will quickly finish explaining the mechanics of the evening and then I will hand over to Madame Minette.”

  Poppy nodded her thanks while filing away the bit of information to ponder upon later.

  “So, very quickly then,” continued Lady Ursula, “all mediums work differently. Lady Jean – who is sadly not with us tonight – is an automatic writer. She sees which spirits arrive and then writes down messages from them. Other mediums use a Ouija board, which the spirits themselves will move to spell out their messages letter by letter. Madame Minette here receives the messages and speaks them out as the spirits take turns to possess her body.”