Lord John in New York

by C. N. Williamson; A. M. Williamson

The Head Sister tapped at the door of the room, and then, after a slight pause, when no answer came, opened it. Gently she pushed Maida in ahead of her, and followed on the girl's heels, shutting the door behind them both.

The room was very large and very beautiful. Already the carved cedar-wood blinds inside the windows shut out the light of day. Not a sound in the room—if there should be a sound—could be heard even in the patio or the orange gardens. Two huge Egyptian oil lamps of old, hand-worked brass hung from the painted wooden ceiling. They lit with a flittering, golden light the white arabesquesed walls, the dado of lovely tiling, the marble floor and the fountain pool in the centre where goldfish flashed. There was little furniture: a divan covered with a Persian rug; a low, inlaid table or two; some purple silk cushions piled near the fountain; and Maida's eyes searched vainly for the "hostess" who waited eagerly to tell her the secret. The only conspicuous object in the room was a familiar one—the painted mummy-case, standing upright as it had stood in the shrine, far away in Roger Odell's house in New York. It stood so that Maida, on entering the room, saw it in profile. She was not surprised to see it there, for she knew that it had travelled with them—by John Hasle's wish, she had been told—and certainly with his name on the packing-box in which it was contained. It was easy enough to believe that the mummy had a connection with the "secret" she was to hear, for always it had been for her a mystery as well as a treasure. It was easy, also, to understand why the "hostess" should have had the thing brought into her room and unpacked. But she—the hostess—was not there.

"Patience for a few minutes, my child," said the Head Sister, no doubt reading Maida's thought. "I have been asked to tell you a story. It is a long story, but you must hear it to understand what follows. Sit down with me, and listen quietly. Your questions may come at the end."

Maida would have taken a few steps further, to look into the mummy-case, and see if its occupant were intact after the journey by sea and land: but the elder woman stopped her. With a hand on the girl's arm, she made her sit down on a divan where the mummy-case was visible still only in profile.

"This room was once made ready in honour of a bride," the Head Sister said. "All its beauties were for her: the pool, the rare old tiles, the Persian embroideries and rugs. The bridegroom was an Egyptian of a line which had been royal in the past. I speak of the long ago past, thousands of years ago. He had records which proved his descent without doubt. When I say he was an Egyptian, I don't mean a Turk. I mean a lineage far more ancient than the Turkish invasion in Egypt. The family, however, had intermarried with Turks and had become practically Turkish, except by tradition. This mummy-case and its contents was the dearest treasure of Essain Bey, the man who decorated the room you see for the woman he adored. Immemorable generations ago it had been taken from the Tombs of the Kings—not stolen, mind you, but taken secretly by a descendant who had proofs that the mummied man had been a famous, far-away ancestor of his own. Even so, though this forbear of Essain's had a right to the mummy, he would have let it lie in peace, hidden for ever in the rock-caverns of the tombs if illegal excavations had not been planned. He saved the mummy-case from violation, although he could not save the tomb; and though there was a legend that the body was filled with precious things he vowed that it should not be rifled—vowed for himself and his son and his son's son.

"The legend ran that the last Egyptian king hid the royal treasure inside the mummy of his father, before setting out to fight the invader, and that after his death in battle, the secret descended from one representative of the family to another: but the whereabouts of the tomb was lost, and only found again a century ago through the translation of a papyrus. As I said, the mummy in its case was sacredly preserved, and was considered to keep good fortune in the family so long as it remained intact. When Essain married his beautiful Greek bride he would have given her his soul if she had asked for it. Instead, she asked for the mummy of Hathor Set. It should be hers, he promised, the day she gave him his first boy, and he kept his word. But with the boy came a girl also. The Greek woman, Irene Xanthios, was the mother of twins. The mummy in its case—the luck of the family—was called hers. It was kept in this room, where she felt a pleasure in seeing it under her eyes. She delighted her husband by telling him she loved the dark face because of the likeness to his. He was happy, and believed that she was happy too. Perhaps she would always have remained faithful, had it not been for an Englishman, an officer in the service of Ismail.

"Now, when I speak of Ismail being in power, you will understand that all this happened many years ago; to be precise it was fifty-four years ago to-day that the twin boy and girl were born and the mummy given to their mother, Irene. How she met the Englishman I do not know. I suppose the monotony of harem life bored her, though she had adopted the religion and customs of Essain Bey. She was beautiful, and maybe she let her veil blow aside one day when she looked out of her carriage window at the handsome officer who passed. How long they knew each other in secret I cannot tell either; but the twins were four years old when their mother ran away with the Englishman. She left them behind, as if without regret, but—she took the luck of the family with her—the mummy of King Hathor Set in his painted case. So, you can guess who was the man: your grandfather. His name was Sir Percival Annesley. He was no boy at the time. Already he had been made a Lieutenant in Ismail's army: but he fled from Egypt with the woman he stole—and the booty—and after that they lived quietly in England. They hid from the world: but they could not hide from Essain's revenge.

"In this room—coming back from a council at the Khedivial Palace in Cairo—Essain learned how his wife had profited by his absence of a week. In this room he vowed vengeance, not only upon her and the man who took her from him, but upon that man's descendants, male or female, until the last one had paid the penalty of death. In this room he made his two children swear that, when they grew old enough, they would help exterminate the children of Percival Annesley, and if unfortunately these survived long enough to have children, exterminate them also. In this room he branded the flesh of his young son and daughter with the Eye of Horus, to remind them that their mission was to watch—ever to watch.

"Essain turned his back upon this house when it had become a house of disgrace, but he did not sell or dispose of it. He had made up his mind that, from a house of disgrace it must become a house of revenge. His will was that the place should be kept up; that servants should be ready to do anything they were bidden to do. With his own hands he killed your grandfather, in sight of Irene and her baby boy, your father. Later, Irene died of grief, but your father lived. He too came to Egypt, and served in the army, by that time in the hands of the British. Essain was dead, but Essain's son lived, and had one great aim in his life; to kill Perceval Annesley's son, and retrieve the mummy. Perceval Annesley's son was named Perceval too. He met your mother when she was travelling in Egypt as a girl, and followed her to America. The younger Essain would not have allowed him to leave Egypt, if the mummy had been there, but he had left it at home in England. So far as young Essain had been able to find out, the mummy had never been desecrated: this was the one virtue of the Annesleys: they had left it intact.

"In New York, your father persuaded your mother to run away with him, when she was on the eve of marrying Roger Odell—old Roger who became your guardian. They went together to England, and lived in the Annesley house, which is in Devonshire. Soon, young Essain's chance came. He shot your father dead, in your mother's presence; but in escaping he lost sight of her. She knew the curse which had fallen on the Annesleys. She feared for you, if not for herself. She took you, and the mummy-case, and an Eye of Horus which had been a gift from the elder Essain to Irene, and she contrived to vanish from the knowledge of Essain the younger.