Phantoms of the Pharaoh Read online

  "You had the opportunity and you had the means," said Frances, not wanting to add motive, because she wasn't sure what the motive was.

  "I... Good Lord, you can't be serious."

  Lady Pompress looked at the three of them with incredulity.

  "Here's what I think, Abigail," said Frances. "You used two of your sleeping draughts to murder Ms. Beckles so that you could steal her artifacts. You then complained to your fiancé that two had gone missing to try and place doubt on the fact that you had taken them to kill that poor woman. What I don't understand, Abigail, is why you are so greedy and heartless that you needed to steal from those who have so little."

  Frances knew she was being sharp and pointed, but she wanted to get beyond the severe façade that Lady Pompress wore, and to her inner vulnerability where the truth lay hidden.

  Lady Pompress, was vigorously fanning herself as she listened in outrage to what Frances was alleging.

  "So because I have sleeping draughts, I'm now the suspect," she said.

  "You're only the suspect until I have the evidence required to convict you in court. It is apparent that you didn't like Abigail. You greatly disdain anyone who you think is of lower class than you. You go to great lengths to be spiteful to those around you. You are, in other words, Abigail, a horrid woman."

  Frances wasn't enjoying this anymore, and she wondered if she'd gone too far. Lady Pompress started to tear up. She was fanning herself faster and faster as her anger turned towards hatred and then into a deep sadness. Florence glanced over at Frances in concern. As did Fowler. She ignored them both, she kept her eyes on Lady Pompress.

  "You don't know what it's like," said Lady Pompress, as tears rolled down her cheeks. "I was a widow at forty six. The man I loved with all my heart, who had cared for me for over twenty-five years left me with nothing except this title and a modest inheritance. I am still grieving, and now I have a second chance with Captain Wainscott, and I fear he will leave me just like my dear Stanley did."

  Lady Pompress choked on a sob.

  "I was a lowly charwoman when Stanley fell in love with me, and he changed my life for the better. You might think I'm a mean-spirited woman, but everything I've loved has been taken from me and this is the only way I know of to protect myself. I'm sorry if my social etiquette isn't up to your fine standards Lady Marmalade. You who has not known a day of sadness in your many years."

  That last bit was untrue, but Frances had pushed her hard and now was the time to back away.

  "You might as well put me in jail and throw away the key. Timmy will have nothing to do with me now, I'm sure. Even though I'm innocent of this atrocity you sully me with."

  Fowler offered her his clean handkerchief. She took it and dabbed at her eyes.

  "Captain Wainscott loves you a great deal Lady Pompress," said Florence.

  Lady Pompress looked up at Florence but couldn't afford a smile.

  "I can tell. He is just as fearful as you that you might leave him."

  Lady Pompress shook her head.

  "I couldn't bear to lose him. He's my only chance at love. My only hope of coming to grips with the sadness that has plagued me this last year."

  Frances looked at Lady Pompress and recognized the sincerity in her eyes.

  "My grandmother used to say that you'll attract more bees with honey than with... well I think you get the gist of it," Frances said, smiling. "You've shared a great deal with us, and for that I'm grateful, but I fear that if you continue to act hardened and acerbic towards others, that will only alienate you further and bring about that which you fear most."

  Lady Pompress dabbed at her eyes again, and handed Fowler his handkerchief back.

  "Thank you," she said to him.

  "I hope you'll forgive me, Abigail, for my direct and perhaps blunt manner with you just now. You must understand that time is of the essence in finding out who committed this awful murder, and I was afraid that we didn't have the time beating around the bush with you while we tried to dance around the issues that are right at hand."

  Lady Pompress nodded her head. She was fanning her face at a much more moderate pace.

  "I understand."

  "Now yesterday evening, Timothy told me that the two of you got into quite a row about your missing sleeping draughts. Is that correct?"

  Lady Pompress nodded her head.

  "Yes, I'm embarrassed to admit it now, but we did. I don't know why I blamed him, I guess because there was no one else to blame. He couldn't have taken them anyway, he's such a heavy sleeper, I've never known him to need any help sleeping. It gives me great comfort too, if I'm to be honest. He falls asleep within minutes, and when I'm having the devil of a time in sleeping, I'll watch his chest rise and fall. I find it soothing."

  Lady Pompress was looking off in the distance in a sort of reverie, as if she were right at that moment, watching Timothy's chest fall and rise as he breathed slowly and deeply, like the peaceful sleep that only babies seem to enjoy.

  "How many sleeping draughts were missing?"

  "Two. I know it doesn't seem like many, but you must understand, I was in quite the state last night. You see, I only brought enough with me to last the trip. I'm very careful that way. I knew that when we arrived on Wednesday in Alexandria that I had thirty sleeping draughts with me. You see," said Lady Pompress, biting her lip as she thought carefully for a moment, "that the holiday is twenty-eight days long, additionally Timmy and I will spend a night in Naples before we head back home to London. That means twenty-nine nights abroad. I put an extra one in just for good measure. And then last night, with two of them gone, I feared I'd be one short at the end of the trip. You can't imagine the fright that gave me. I can't sleep a wink without them. Now of course I suppose it doesn't matter."

  "How so?" asked Florence.

  "Well, the poor dear is dead isn't she, so we'll be leaving here within the next day or two."

  Florence nodded.

  "Timothy tells me that you also saw Simon by your cabin yesterday evening before dinner," said Frances.

  Lady Pompress nodded her head vigorously.

  "That's right, I found it quite odd. Timmy and I had gone upstairs for dinner, but I realized I had forgotten my purse so I went back downstairs to fetch it when I saw Simon standing by my cabin with his hand on the door knob."

  "What did you say to him?"

  "I told him that was my cabin, his was across the way. He looked up at me quite puzzled. Then he blushed and apologized profusely and disappeared into his own cabin."

  "Do you think he had gone inside?" asked Florence.

  "No, I don't think so. If he did, he didn't disturb anything. I made a thorough look just to be sure."

  "Do you know if your sleeping draughts were missing at that time?" asked Frances.

  Lady Pompress shook her head.

  "No, I didn't think to look at those at the time. Only when I got back and before bed did I need one, and that's when I check."

  Frances nodded.

  "That's understandable," she said. "Did you notice anything else unusual yesterday evening after you retired?"

  "Well, Simon came down the hall and stared into my cabin when he did so. I find him quite unsettling to be honest."

  "Did he say anything to you when you saw him looking into your cabin?"

  "No, I noticed him, so I went to the door and closed it. I asked him why a woman couldn't get any privacy, but he didn't say anything."

  "Could you hear if he went into his cabin right away?"

  "Yes I think he did. I heard his cabin door shortly after I closed mind."

  "Your cabin is right next to Albert's and Abigail's on the starboard side..."

  "I don't understand all this port and starboard nonsense, but we are next to them, that's true."

  "Did you hear anyone coming and going from their room?"

  "Twice," said Lady Pompress.

  "You mean when Albert and Abigail came down to bed?" asked Frances.

  "We
ll no, I meant before that. Once after I had just arrived, then a few minutes later again. And then after Timmy came into the cabin I heard their cabin door open and close a couple more times in rather close succession."

  "How do you know it wasn't Albert and Abigail coming to bed?"

  "Timmy told me who was still upstairs when he had left."

  Frances nodded.

  "Is that helpful?" asked Lady Pompress.

  "Quite helpful," said Frances.

  "Who do you think did it?" she asked.

  "I have yet to determine that, but I feel that I am getting closer. Who do you think murdered her?"

  "I don't know, it seems quite obvious to me that it must have been the brother though."

  "Most of you pointing a finger at Albert. Why would you choose him?"

  "He just seems closest to her than any of the rest of us."

  "Do you know why he might have wanted to kill her?"

  "No, not really."

  "I believe that it had something to do with the theft of the jewels from Menkaure's pyramid back in the late 1890s."

  "Interesting."

  "You didn't see what was in Abigail's bag when it fell open as we were all boarding the bus?"

  "No," she said, "but Timmy told me he thought he saw some sort of trinkets or valuables inside."

  "He did. What if I told you that Abigail and Albert were going to return the stolen artifacts to the pyramid yesterday?"

  "I'd ask you how they got them in the first place," said Lady Pompress.

  "That my dear, is at the heart of this matter. Once I've sorted that out, I'm sure the culprit will come into much sharper focus. I have a suspicion that Albert wasn't onboard the returning of said stolen artifacts."

  "Then he's the perfect candidate for it, isn't he!" exclaimed Lady Pompress.

  "He certainly does look like one."

  "Do you have any other information that might be of help?"

  Lady Pompress stopped fanning herself for a moment and thought about it.

  "I'm afraid not. I think I've been quite selfishly self-involved all this time, and I obviously couldn't have been bothered in anyone else."

  Frances nodded.

  "Well, thank you for your honesty, dear."

  Lady Pompress stood up and looked back at them.

  "I do hope I've been helpful," she said quite eagerly.

  "You have Abigail, don't worry about that, you have."

  Lady Pompress walked away from the group at the table and magically disappeared after being swallowed up by the staircase. Florence looked over at her friend.

  "I was going to say I thought you were a bit hard on her at first. But then you seemed to have changed her, how shall I put it, for the better."

  Frances nodded.

  "I've found there's often a reason for the prickly exterior of most people like her. We uncovered it, and from there we were able to move that much quicker to the important things at hand. Whether she's able to maintain her softer side has yet to be determined, but we've given her a chance and we were kind to her with it. I hope she gives it a good go."

  Florence nodded.

  "It will make things so much better for her and Timothy. I do hope she can open up to him more."

  "If you don't mind me changing the subject back to the matter at hand," said Fowler, grinning. "But what about this comment of hers that she heard the next door's cabin open not just twice, but four times."

  "That is very interesting," said Frances.

  "Just interesting?" asked Fowler.

  Frances smiled at him.

  "The pieces are coming together rather nicely as I knew they would."

  "Could you be less cryptic and more clear?" asked Fowler. "I'm new at this."

  Frances nodded and chuckled.

  "Yes of course, my dear Perry, of course. What it means in the simplest terms, is that without knowing directly, Lady Pompress heard the killer enter and leave Albert's and Abigail's room."

  "I don't understand. She said she heard the cabin door open four times. Albert and Abigail use up two of those. Why would the killer need to enter twice?" asked Fowler.

  "He or she didn't," said Frances, "I believe the first time was the delivery of Abigail's warm milk. The second time was the killer who then placed the sleeping draught into it and likely looked for the stolen goods."

  "That means," said Florence, "that the killer must have been one of the first six who left the top deck for the cabin quarters."

  "Quite right, Flo, and that narrows it down nicely."

  "I don't see how narrowing it down to six is all that helpful," said Fowler. "We have Samuel, Maurice, Orpha, Mahulda, Simon and Nigel then. Now that I think about it perhaps it is helpful, I can't see Orpha or Mahulda doing it, so that leaves four."

  "And you've always liked Samuel or Maurice for it," said Frances, grinning at him.

  "Yes, and I still do."

  "And let's not forget that we don't know what Simon did after he dropped Mahulda off and then got to his cabin."

  "Are you suggesting that he went straight into Albert's cabin to doctor the milk before going to bed?"

  "I don't want to suggest anything at the moment, but let's not discount anybody yet. He was found at Lady Pompress' door earlier in the evening. He could have just exited it with two sleeping draughts in his hand."

  Fowler thought about that for a moment, then he scratched at his chin. He didn't have an answer for her, and he realized he might not be cut out for sleuthing after all.

  "So you mean it couldn't have been Albert?" asked Florence.

  "Not if he were acting alone. But I have a hunch that the relationships between many of the guests are not all that they seem."

  "How can you know that?" exclaimed Florence.

  "The lies, Flo. The lies make up the veil of truth if you look closely enough. And everyone has been lying to us. It started with Samuel and carried on up to Simon. Most of the guests are hiding something from us."

  "How will you find out what?" asked Fowler.

  "Once I've received the answers to my telegraphs all will fall into place, I'm sure. In the meantime, I think that we should wrap this up before dinner and interview, who up until this point, was the prime suspect and the victim's sister. Anton," said Frances, turning to face him, "could you bring Albert down to us please?"

  Anton got up and left them for the top deck. Florence turned to Frances.

  "My dear Fran, you say there are only six suspects now, but what about Lady Pompress, surely she could have lied about what she heard. She might have done it herself," said Florence.

  "I think that's a slim chance," said Frances.

  "What makes you so sure?" asked Florence.

  "Well, my dear Flo, part of trying to unnerve her and unmask her was to put her on the defensive. At least that was the goal. Instead she folded like a flower in this dessert heat. She opened up and became quite transparent. I don't see any reason to doubt her testimony she gave today. I mean, if you really think about it, do you feel she was hiding something from us like the others were?"

  Florence thought for a moment, putting her index finger to her lip.

  "No, I suppose you're right, she was rather forthcoming. I must say, having been with you on a few of these murder investigations, I am constantly amazed at the things you see that I continually miss."

  Frances smiled at her friend.

  "Perhaps I have a gift."

  "I think you do," said Florence, smiling at her.

  "Additionally, my dear Flo," said Frances, "tomorrow morning, or perhaps even later this evening if I'm lucky, Scotland Yard will send the details I'll be requesting, and I'm certain that will bring this whole terrible affair into clear focus."

  Twenty-Three

  Anton followed Albert into the dining room. Albert was clutching his rucksack in front of him like a swaddled baby. He wore khaki shorts and a khaki short sleeved shirt. He had on khaki colored knee high socks and his feet were tucked into brown leather
walking boots. He looked like the stereotypical British safari explorer, though he was not as confident. In fact, he looked scared. Very, very scared. He looked around the room nervously before he sat down, clutching his rucksack as if someone wanted to snatch it away from him.

  His receding brown hair, badly colored, was slicked back, and he had a brown comb stuck in his shirt pocket. He sat bolt upright, and his nose seemed to throb an almost glowing red. His face was clammy, and his small beady eyes rolled around in their sockets like the last pickled eggs in a pickling jar.

  "You know I didn't do it," he blurted out. "I didn't kill my sister, even though you think I did."

  "Why do you think we believe you killed her?" asked Frances.

  "Well, that's easy. I'm her brother, I ordered her milk for her, and I was the last person to see her alive."

  He looked at them and swallowed hard.

  "Why would you kill her, Albert? Why would you kill your sister?" asked Frances.

  "I wouldn't. I didn't. I loved my sister, and now I think someone is out to get me."

  Florence and Fowler looked at Frances. She returned their gaze and then looked at Albert.

  "You are a primary suspect," said Frances, lying to him.

  "But I didn't do it!" he exclaimed.

  "Then you must help us in proving that you're innocent. You have to be terribly honest with us."

  Albert nodded his head vigorously and some of his hair started to flop forward over his forehead. He didn't seem to notice.

  "Right, right. That's why I brought this," he said, hugging the rucksack ever closer as if it were his last chance at holding it.

  "That contains the stolen artifacts from the Pyramid of Menkaure. Doesn't it?" asked Frances.

  Albert nodded his head more vigorously. More hair fell across his forehead.

  "How did you know?"

  "I saw them. Most of us saw them when Abigail's bag fell open at the bus yesterday morning."

  "Oh God," he said. "I knew, that's why they must have known, that's why they killed her."

  "Who killed her?" asked Frances.

  "I don't know," he said, his voice trembling, "but someone here must have done it."