Lucinda leaned over. She was so embarrassed—it would be terribly rude of her! And yet she had to do this. “Mrs. Poole,” she whispered. “I’m afraid… that is, I am most grateful for your kind hospitality, but I cannot drink tea. I cannot drink anything but—”
“Of course!” said Mrs. Poole in a low voice, with a look of consternation. “I’m so sorry, miss; Mary did tell me all about you. A little later, I’ll go out and—”
“I want to see the Trelawny Exhibit,” said Ayesha, ignoring their whispered conversation. She put down her empty teacup, which Mrs. Poole immediately offered to refill. “No, thank you, Mrs. Poole. No more for me. I want to make it to the museum in time before it closes. There are things about this situation I do not understand. Why were all the ritual implements in the tomb? Clearly because Tera expected to be resurrected, and not two thousand years after her death. There was an inner circle of priestesses—the most senior of them, all personally loyal to Tera herself. They must have planned to resurrect her in case she was killed, either by Cleopatra’s henchmen if she prevailed against the Romans, or by the forces of Augustus. And then for some reason their plan went awry. Most of the senior priestesses were killed in the assault against the temple, and those who were not killed were forced to flee for their lives. When Heduana instructed us not to use our powers against the Roman soldiers—well, I do not know whether she was right or not. Perhaps if we had fought, we might have held the temple, at least for a while—but more of us would have died. At any rate, the ritual was not enacted when it was meant to be, and Tera had to wait two thousand years. I need to know more, to read what is written on the tomb artifacts. Mrs. Poole, I will accept your kind offer and spend the night here. I have no doubt it will be more comfortable than even the Savoy. I should be back in time for supper.”
“Very good, madam,” said Mrs. Poole. “But as for being more comfortable than the Savoy, well, I don’t know about that!”
“I’ll go with you,” said Laura, drinking her tea a little more quickly than is usually advisable with hot beverages. “I want to see these artifacts for myself, and I can tell Bertha to send our bags over here. They’re still in her trunk—The Times is putting her up at Claridge’s in return for an exclusive. I can’t read hieroglyphs, but I want to know more about this situation as well. However, Lucinda needs to rest. Don’t you, my dear?”
Lucinda nodded. She was feeling light-headed and weak. She just wanted to lie down somewhere and sleep for a very long time.
“Then so you shall, miss,” said Mrs. Poole. “I’ll put Madam Ayesha in Miss Justine’s room, since the bed is longer, and Miss Jennings in Miss Mary’s. I think Miss Catherine’s room would be just right for you. It was a bit of a mess when she left, and in general I do expect the young ladies to straighten their own rooms, seeing as it’s just me and Alice nowadays, although we used to have any number of servants when Mrs. Jekyll was still alive. But I picked up in there myself this morning. I think you’ll find it most comfortable, and I’ll talk to Mr. Byles myself about what he has that would be suitable for your supper. I hope you don’t mind sleeping in Miss Catherine’s room for tonight—as a member of the club, you should have your own room, of course. The old governess’s room, which Nurse Adams used for a while, is empty except for Miss Catherine’s typewriter, and she said she could move that down to Mr. Jekyll’s office whenever you decide to join us. I’ll have a room fixed up for you by the time you return from Cornwall. I do hope the girls are all right.… I worry about them so, when they’re on one of these exploits of theirs!”
Lucinda was so tired that she just nodded. But when she was lying in Catherine’s bed, in the room that had once belonged to Mrs. Jekyll, she thought, This is the Athena Club, and I am a member. I can come live here if I wish. There is, after all, a place for me in this world.
DIANA: No, she didn’t. Lucinda thinks in Dutch. I asked her.
CATHERINE: If you want me to write that in Dutch, you’ll have to translate it yourself.
DIANA: Why don’t you ask Lucinda?
CATHERINE: Because she’s gone out hunting, and honestly I wish I’d gone with her! At least you wouldn’t keep coming in here all the time and interrupting. This is the problem with being in the office—or the library, since we’re calling it that now. Some days, it’s like trying to write in Piccadilly Circus!
DIANA: But I’m bored. I want to play a game.
CATHERINE: Why don’t you go into Beatrice’s greenhouse and see how long you can stand her poison without fainting? I bet you won’t last five minutes!
DIANA: Bet I will! You’ll see.…
CATHERINE: Wait! Di, I didn’t meant that. I was just joking. Come back here, you dratted child!
After her mother’s death, Lucinda had assumed there would never be a place for her in the world again. And yet there was a place for her here in England, as well as in Styria. She would go back there—she still had a lot to learn about being a vampire from Carmilla and Magda. But eventually she would come back to London, to live with Mary and the others. She could already feel this house welcoming her, as though it knew she belonged. As she drifted off to sleep, she thought—in Dutch, Diana—It is good to be a member of the Athena Club.
CHAPTER XIV
Helen’s Story
Lydia, what is this?” asked Margaret Trelawny. She had the bag of candy in one hand and a pendant of some sort in the other.
“I don’t know,” said Alice, trying to keep a tremor from her voice. She must remain calm and collected. “I’ve never seen it before. I swear.”
“How could the girl know, ma’am?” asked Mrs. Polgarth. They were all standing in Professor Trelawny’s study, where Margaret had summoned them—Alice next to her mother, and Tera by the professor’s desk, looking at them impassively. “I bought those sweets at Mrs. Turnbull’s shop in Marazion. Someone must have dropped that—whatever it is—in the bag by mistake. It looks like an expensive piece—perhaps it fell off a chain or bracelet into the bag? And the lemon and pear drops, humbugs, licorice—those were supposed to be for Miss Lydia, not the Egyptian lady, if you’ll pardon my saying so. While I understand that she might not have tasted English sweets before, it’s impolite to open a bag not meant for you, and here in England, proper ladies don’t usually go into the kitchen in search of food. They ring the bell and wait to be served. I don’t know how it’s done in Egypt, but that’s how it’s done in an English household.”
“Lydia,” said Margaret, ignoring Mrs. Polgarth, “Are you absolutely sure you don’t recognize it? Look at this pendant—it’s engraved, as though it were intended to function as a seal. An owl, an olive branch, the letters ΑΘΕ. What do those mean to you? I’m not accusing you of wrongdoing… yet. But you must be honest with me.”
“She’s told you that she doesn’t know what it is,” said Helen. “Why do you assume this was meant for Lydia? Who could have known that the bag of sweets was meant for her?”