Grandmother waved him away. "Very well. I'll see myself out once Theodosia and I have finished. Come, gel. I don't want to stand in this mess. Let's go to the withdrawing room. I only have a few minutes before I must leave for the admiralty."
Thank heaven for small favors, I thought as I meekly followed her into the room our family used as a refuge from museum business.
"Sit down," she said, taking a seat on the small red-velvet settee.
I perched myself on the edge of a chair. It doesn't do to get too comfortable around Grandmother.
"So." She glanced at me briefly, then turned to study the clock on the mantel. "There's been no more word on Admiral Sopcoate."
"I'm very sorry, Grandmother," I murmured.
"Yes, well. It can't be helped. However, I've decided that something must be done to commemorate his courage and patriotism." She speared me with a gaze. "It's the least we can do, don't you think?"
"Er, yes, Grandmother."
She gave a small satisfied nod, pleased that, for once, she and I were in accord. If only she knew! But I'd been forbidden to tell her. Not to mention, I wasn't certain how she'd take the news. She was a devout Conservative and it might do her in if she realized she'd been consorting with an enemy, however unknowingly. "What did you have in mind?"
She stood up and went over to the fireplace. "Something grand, I should think. With lots of pomp and ceremony. A big brass band and dress uniforms. Maybe even a forty-one-gun salute. It seems appropriate for a hero such as Sopcoate."
"But Grandmother..."I had to step carefully here. "There are many heroes who don't receive a forty-one-gun salute, aren't there? Otherwise, we'd hear the guns going off constantly. I imagine there must be regulations for who gets that sort of fanfare, don't you think?"
She scowled at me. "You sound just like the admiralty."
"I beg your pardon?"
She sighed and turned back to the fireplace. "The admiralty has finally agreed to allow me to hold a memorial service for Sopcoate. However, they stopped short of letting me use Westminster Abbey or have his coffin paraded through London on a gun carriage. They were strangely reluctant to honor him in the proper manner, which made me just that much more determined. I will not have him snubbed or forgotten."
How Grandmother had managed to convince the admiralty to allow a memorial service, I'd never know. I could only assume it was approved by someone who wasn't cleared to know the true reason for Sopcoate's disappearance. Since I had vowed to be tactful, all I said was "Perhaps it had less to do with his status as a hero and more to do with the fact that there isn't a body?"
"Either way, it is unforgivable. Now, I have selected a mahogany coffin, lined with a tufted mattress made of silk. I decided Sopcoate would not want ruffles. I've ordered an inscribed brass plate and brass handles, and, for the pall, I've chosen silk, not velvet, since it is nearly spring. Don't you agree?"
It seemed pointless to mention—yet again—that there was no body to put in this fancy coffin, so I merely nodded my head.
"I've also hired a carriage with six horses. They tried to talk me into only four, but I think Sopcoate deserves at least six. I've also arranged for black crepe scarves, black gloves, and black hatbands to be distributed to all those attending the service. Oh, and black ostrich plumes as well. I do think they add so much dignity to a funeral, don't you?"
"Actually, Grandmother, I've never been to a funeral," I pointed out.
She turned around to face me. "But of course! You weren't even born yet when my dear husband passed on." She paused for a moment, dreamy-eyed. "Now that was a funeral." Grandmother clucked her tongue. "If you've never attended a funeral before, you'll need to be fitted for proper mourning clothes."
"Mourning clothes?"
"Of course. You cannot attend in anything but unrelieved black." She thumped her cane. "I'll be back in a day or two with a seamstress so we can get you fitted." Before she could elaborate, the sound of the front door crashing against the wall made us both jump.
"What on earth—" Grandmother began.
"Is anybody in this moldy old place?"
I leaped to my feet. "Henry?" Horrified, I ran to the front door. There my brother stood, hands on his hips, glaring into the foyer.
"I say, what's all that racket?" Father appeared on the top step.
"It's Henry, Father," I told him. "He's home for Easter holidays."
"I would have been here loads sooner," Henry said, fixing his glare on me, "if someone hadn't neglected to come fetch me. Which reminds me. I need cab fare to pay for the hansom."
Father came down the stairs in a hurry. "Why didn't you tell us, Theodosia? We would have gone to pick him up ourselves."
I squelched a bubble of irritation. While it was true that I was usually the one to remember such things, it didn't seem fair that I should get in trouble when I forgot.
The cabby stuck his head in the door. "Where's me blunt, mate? You said someone 'ere would pay me. You'd best not be messin' wif ol' Bert here."
"I'm not," Henry said, then turned to me. "I need cab fare," he repeated.
"Well, I certainly don't have it," I told him. "Father? We need to pay for Henry's cab."
"A young child taking a cab, all by himself?" Grandmother sounded scandalized. She had followed me into the foyer and now stood in the doorway looking down her long nose at us.
Father stepped outside to pay the cabby. As Grandmother made a path through the crates and artifacts in our direction, Henry sidled up to me. "I had thought things were different between us, but I can see that I was wrong. You're still up to your old ways."
"No, Henry. Honestly. I just simply forgot—"
"You? Miss Know-it-all? Forget? Ha. You've always threatened to forget to remind Mum and Dad, but why this time?"
"No, really. I did. You see—" How was I to explain it to him? Where to even begin?
"See? It's like I said. You forgot."
I hate it when Henry is right. I especially hate it when he is right and I am wrong. The truth is, I would not have remembered even if Grandmother hadn't been waiting. Or even if the wretched scorpions hadn't ambushed me.
Before we could continue our conversation, Grandmother reached us and began fussing over Henry, who lapped it up like Isis with a bowl of cream. At least now I could make my escape.
I edged toward one of the pillars, hoping to slip out of sight unnoticed. I wanted to head for the reading room and research the oracle ritual Awi Bubu and Trawley had used. Maybe there were clues that might explain how both Ratsy and I had managed to have the same prediction.
I had nearly made it to the hall when I had to hop out of the way as Vicary Weems strode by. He held his nose so high in the air he didn't even realize he'd nearly bowled me over. Beast. I waited to see what he was up to.
Father had returned, and Weems pranced toward him, throwing a glance at Henry as if he were something nasty my cat had dragged in. Weems cleared his throat. "Excuse me, sir?"
Father, who had just managed to get Grandmother out the door, looked annoyed. "What is it, Weems?"
He cleared his throat again and tried to look as if what he was about to say pained him. However, the relish in his eyes belied that. "We've had a note from Lord Chudleigh, sir. He reminds us that the board of directors is still waiting for the museum's inventory, which was due Friday."
After the recent fiasco with all of London's mummies ending up on our doorstep and suspicion landing, however briefly, on Father, the museum directors had decided they wanted a detailed inventory of all our artifacts, something that hadn't been done in years—if ever. Presumably, the board members wanted a head count in case one of our artifacts decided to wander off. They completely missed the point that all the other artifacts had migrated here.