The Mystery Woman (Ladies of Lantern Str - By Amanda Quick Page 0,46

now he wondered.

Don’t think about curses and tombs. Think about the money.

The plan was simple. He would conceal himself among the clutter of artifacts and wait for Hannah Trafford’s companion to deliver the payment. She had been instructed to leave it inside the stone box that sat at the foot of the sarcophagus. As soon as she left the chamber he would take the money and disappear.

He saw the box at the foot of the sarcophagus. The flaring light of the lamp illuminated the figure of a cat surrounded by a hunting scene carved into the quartz. He’d overheard someone say that the box was actually a miniature sarcophagus designed to hold the mummified body of a cat, but he did not believe that. He could not imagine anyone going to all that trouble just to bury a cat.

Not that he cared about the original purpose of the box. All that mattered tonight was the money that would be placed inside.

As soon as he had collected the payment he would return to his room downstairs. Tomorrow he would disappear. No one would take any notice of him. No one ever did. His disguise was perfect. He was just one more servant among the many who had accompanied their employers to the country-house party for the weekend.

The lantern light splashed across the great sarcophagus as he went past. He averted his eyes and tried not to think about the nonsensical legends and stories with which Lord Alverstoke had regaled his guests that evening. But it was difficult to put aside the fantastical images that his lordship had conjured when he had enthusiastically described the embalming practices of the ancient Egyptians. “. . . Brain and other vital organs removed with special tools, bodies packed in natron to dry, magical spells chanted . . .”

He must stop thinking about death and focus on his future as a wealthy man.

He saw a massive stone altar. It would make an ideal hiding place. From that vantage point he could watch Trafford’s companion deliver the blackmail money without being seen.

The scent of incense was growing stronger now. The faint smoke was making him dizzy. For the first time he wondered about the source. One of the servants must have indulged in a cigarette before locking up for the night.

But if that was the case, why was the incense growing stronger?

It dawned on him that he might not be alone in the chamber. A cold chill slithered through him. He held the lantern aloft, searching the shadows.

“Who’s there?” he said, trying to sound authoritative, like the valet he was impersonating. “Come out, whoever you are. No one is allowed in this room at this time of night.”

Someone or something stirred in the deep shadows between two of the tall statues. A figure moved toward him. In the yellow glare of the lantern he saw with horror that one of the gods had come to life. It had the body of a man and the head of a jackal.

The blackmailer remembered Alverstoke’s description of the god associated with death and embalming. Anubis.

“No.” The blackmailer struggled for breath. The single word came out as a hoarse whisper.

Anubis raised a dagger.

“Put the lantern on the altar,” Anubis ordered.

The god spoke with a thick Russian accent.

“You,” the blackmailer whispered.

“The lantern.”

Brass clanged on granite when the blackmailer set the lantern on top of the altar.

“What’s this all about?” he demanded. “Why are you wearing that ridiculous mask?”

“That is none of your concern.”

“See here, we had an arrangement.”

“Your services are no longer required.”

The blackmailer floundered backward and came up hard against the granite altar. He tried to scream but fear tightened a fist around his lungs.

He saw the dagger flash in the hellish glare, felt the cold shock when it struck, and then he knew no more.

Nineteen

The electrifying shock of the embrace made Beatrice go very still. She thought she had grown accustomed to the little jolts of intimate awareness that sparked through her every time Joshua touched her. But she was wholly unprepared for the breathtaking thrill of his kiss.

Frantically she reminded herself that this was not the first time she had been kissed. Furthermore, this was a staged kiss, done for the sake of deceiving the couple in the hall. It was not a real kiss.

But it felt far more real than the kisses she had enjoyed with Gerald before he had run off with the séance practitioner. At the time she had been rather disappointed with kissing in general