Grayling glanced up as I joined them, then pulled out his journal to review his notes. “She stopped to do some shopping after the wheel of her cab broke and needed repair, and then she got lost. Miss Corteville thought someone was following her, tried to elude them, and in the process became further lost in an unpleasant area of London, near St. Paul’s. Then three men abducted her, keeping her captive in the slums of Whitechapel for nearly four weeks. It’s quite a sad story,” he said, flipping the book closed.
“She was lying,” I could hardly wait to inform them. “There were several—”
“Of course she was lying.” Grayling gave me a disgruntled look. “It’s obvious to anyone that Miss Corteville has had a horrific experience, and one wonders if she will ever fully recover. But her story is riddled with untruths. She claims she saw several cabs on Vergrand-street that she tried to hail, but as it happened, on that day, that particular street was closed due to a flooded sewer canal. There was no traffic on that street at any level.”
I sniffed. “I knew she was lying the moment she mentioned a lace shop on Mayfair. There’s no such shop on Mayfair, or even in the blocks surrounding it. Aside from that, she claimed the moon was over the rooftops and gave off hardly any light, but on April 25, it was—”
“A full moon in an unusually clear sky,” Grayling said.
“Not only that, but the moon rose high in the west that night, so it would have been behind her and very far above the rooftops, if she were walking away from St. Paul’s on Vergrand—as she claimed.”
We stared at each other, I with my lips flat and determined and Grayling looking down at me with that supercilious air. I found it aggravating that he was so much taller than me and could look down like that.
Luckworth, who’d been watching us volley back and forth, spoke at last. “Why is the gel lying?”
“I have my theories,” I said before Grayling could speak.
“Please feel free to keep them to yourself,” the Scot suggested.
“And I’ll be investigating this case with them in mind. Good day, inspectors.”
“Miss Holmes,” Grayling said before I could slip back into the parlor, “I’d like to remind you that this is a very dangerous situation. Two girls have been found dead, and a third one . . . she’s had a very harrowing experience. You’re a civilian and not at all equipped to handle—”
“Thank you for your concern, Inspector Grayling. I’ll take it under advisement. I’d like to examine her clothing when you’ve finished with it.” Luckworth opened his mouth, and I added, “Please recall that I am here and investigating this case at the request of Her—er, in conjunction with Miss Adler. As she works under the auspices of the Crown, you have no authority to impede my work. Good day, inspectors.”
I imagined I could hear the sound of Grayling’s teeth grinding as I stalked back down the corridor, and it made me want to smile. Now I had to create an opportunity to speak with Lilly Corteville alone. If only I could find a way to get her out of the parlor, or to get her mother and her mother’s friends out of the room. I suspected Lilly didn’t want to talk about the Society of Sekhmet, which was why she’d made up the fanciful story about how she came to be in Whitechapel.
But why would she be so determined to keep it a secret? Did she fear retaliation from the Society members themselves—including the Ankh—if she divulged their existence? Or did she want to keep the group a secret for another reason? That made sense in the event my suspicions were correct that the Ankh was trying to harness the Power of Sekhmet.
As luck would have it, when I came back into the parlor, I found Lady Cosgrove-Pitt and Lady Veness preparing to leave. Lady Fauntley was seeing them out (presumably to have her own moment of privacy with them), which left me the chance to speak with Lilly alone. I wasted no time reclaiming my seat next to her chaise, and she opened her eyes when I sat down.
“Lilly,” I said, “I’m here to help you, but I need the truth. You can trust me. I know about the Society of Sekhmet, and I need to know what really happened to you. We can speak before anyone else returns.”
Her eyelids fluttered, and for a moment, I thought she was going to ignore my plea. But then she focused a clear gaze on me. “It tried to kill me.”
“What tried to kill you? When?”
“The Ankh. It tried to kill me. It’s trying to resurrect Sekhmet. It’s going to come after me, I know it. It’s going to try and kill me again.”
“Lilly, I’m here because the princess has asked me to help you. You can trust me, so please tell me everything about the Society of Sekhmet and the Ankh. Quickly, before the others return.”
“The Society of Sekhmet started out being just what I said—a salon where we discussed Egyptology. We used cognogged beetle medallions to identify those of us who belonged to the group because the membership is secret. It was an excuse to get out of the house, to go somewhere without our mothers, without having to be perfect and on show for a possible husband. Then it became more. Exciting adventures and nighttime excursions . . . things we could never do if our parents knew about them.”
I found myself nodding. It was just as the Ankh had said in the speech last week, and I understood how attractive it would be for young women who had no freedom.
“As time went on, the Ankh began drawing attention to how restricted we were, and talking about how if women ran Parliament, things would be different.”
“Like a suffragette movement?”
“No. The Ankh didn’t talk about women voting or women’s rights. It spoke about taking control of Parliament and returning to the days of Cleopatra or Queen Elizabeth, when the governing forces were controlled by a strong female monarch. It spoke of how there were ways to get the husbands we wanted, not the ones our parents wanted us to have. How to attract the man we wanted, how to make him notice us. That was . . . that was what I wanted. I didn’t care about the power. I . . . just want . . . him.” Her voice ended on a little choked sob.
She closed her eyes and for a moment I could empathize with her, even though I could never imagine myself in her position. A beautiful young woman like Lilly Corteville, the wealthy daughter of a viscount, could have her pick of young men. And she was engaged to Sir Rodney Greebles. Why would she need the help of the Ankh? Did she want to marry someone other than Sir Rodney?
“And now he’s not going to want me anymore,” Lilly whispered, a pale hand curving around her white throat.
“Who?” What young man had she wanted so badly that she’d get herself involved in such a cult? Whoever it was, she fancied herself in love with him. What fools women can be over love! That was precisely the reason a Holmes would never descend to such base and irrational emotions.
The girl shook her head at my question, and I could see a tear glistening at the corner of her eye. “Jemmy. My darling Jemmy. He works for the Society, but he loves me. He wants to be with me, but the Ankh won’t let him leave. We were planning an escape, to elope.”
The women were still talking in the front hall; I could hear their voices. But it would only be another moment. “Lilly, can you tell me more about the Ankh?”
She swallowed, and I could hear the sounds of her dry throat working. I helped her sit up and sip from a cup of tea, all the while chafing at the delay.
She collected herself. “As the society expanded to more members, some of us were invited to prove our loyalty to the Ankh.”
“And the Ankh is trying to resurrect Sekhmet,” I said to direct her speech to the information I wanted. “How? Does it have something to do with the Instruments of Sekhmet?”
“How do you know about them?”
“I was an uninvited guest at a Society of Sekhmet meeting last week, so I’ve learned a little about them. I must urge you to continue, Lilly. I can hear the front door opening. Your mother will return momentarily.”
“Those of us who proved our loyalty were brought into the Inner Circle. There were four of us.” At last her voice was urgent. “Each of us was assigned to one of the instruments. Mine was the cuff.”
“Mayellen Hodgeworth and Allison Martindale were two of the Inner Circle members,” I deduced. “Plus you. Who was the fourth?”
Lilly nodded and thus confirmed my conclusions. “Yes. The fourth one of us, she died in a carriage accident with her parents before she was sent to retrieve her instrument. Her name was Gertrude Beyinger. As far as I know, she hasn’t been replaced.”
“How were you meant to acquire the instrument to which you were assigned? From what I have been able to discern, those items were the product of legend, and if they did exist, they would likely be buried or otherwise hidden in the sands of Egypt.”
