Lady Bertram, meanwhile, started to fondly catalogue within her thoughts the remaining Egyptian treasures in the household (that included three baboons and a certain crocodile, all intact upstairs, among a host of other variously perilous or benign items), and wondering how soon might she be able to open up, and once more visit, with her previous regularity, that certain room in the attic where it all started. Though her mind was no longer held in the mesmerizing vise of the dead Pharaoh, her heart was bent in that direction by nature—had always been. She, who had released the Mummy into this world under magical duress, was now, of her own accord, very much coming to like it.

Edmund meanwhile, hardly ate at all. He spent most of the dinner staring at Eastwind, and unconsciously reaching for his priestly collar wherein lay, as Fanny knew, his cross. She had no heart to remind him—yet again—that mummies were insensible to the Lord’s holy implements, being several thousand years before His time. Ah, dear sweet Edmund.

The meal was over, and the gentlemen retired to Sir Thomas’s library. Tom was the only one in truly high spirits, and he even winked at Maria as they left the room.

The women, on the other hand, were a much more reserved group. Maria was, from the start, decidedly ignoring Fanny, which pained her cousin somewhat but not enough to venture to draw her out at this time. Susan was introduced and engaged in brief talk, then dismissed as too “Fanny-like” by association. Conversation was superficial and haphazard, with not a mention of Mr. Crawford—which was hardly unexpected. “Play us something, dearest Maria,” nagged Mrs. Norris, and Maria was sent to the pianoforte where she made a regular effort, while Fanny and Susan sat next to Lady Bertram and took turns reading to her.

“Ah how amiable it is to consider Egypt once more!” said Lady Bertram suddenly, coming out of a reverie. Everyone exchanged glances but did not respond, while Mrs. Norris choked, and Maria hit a false note at the instrument. Susan alone looked about them, blissfully unfamiliar with what the subject of Egypt had meant to the family. For Susan, mummies meant drunken sailors and Portsmouth and a dashingly exciting afternoon at the dockyard—indeed, she had no notion of Lord Eastwind’s true connection to it all.

But then, it occurred to Fanny, neither had Maria. For, her cousin had not been a witness to the unholy chaos at that ball.

The gentlemen soon joined them, and Sir Thomas suggested cards. There were no Mr. and Mrs. Grant to share a table with, and he invited his sons and Eastwind. But the raven-haired gentleman skillfully extricated himself, and within moments was found in a chair near Fanny.