The Shaman's Secret by Natasha Narayan Page A

he collapsed.
    â€œAre you quite all right?”
    â€œI’m fine, my dear.”
    â€œFather, are you nervous about the journey?”
    â€œNo. Not at all. I know …” He paused. “I know we arein the best hands with your aunt. Such a brave woman. An explorer, a …”
    He paused again, his thoughts drifting away. Looking at him, I knew he was lying. He was scared. He didn’t want to come with us, but would make himself. Duty was very important to Father. Hadn’t he just said he would never leave me to fend for myself again? At the sight of him crumpled up on the chair like a very old man, my heart flipped over. I didn’t want to play a trick on him, but for his own sake I had to.
    â€œFather, prepare yourself. I have some very bad news.”
    I removed a piece of paper from my coat pocket. “This is an urgent telegram. It has just arrived.”
    â€œWhat? What?”
    â€œIt’s from the museum.”
    â€œWhat museum?”
    â€œYour museum, Father, the Pitt in Oxford. They say the Ancient Egypt section is in turmoil. And they don’t know what to do with the Early Hebrew exhibition. They are in a mess, Father. They beg you to come back. Only you can sort it out, they say.”
    â€œOh dear, oh dear.” He paused. “NO. I cannot do it.”
    â€œThey’re begging you, Papa.”
    â€œMy place is with you, Kit.”
    â€œFather, they say the museum is on the point of collapse. You must save it!”
    He was torn. I could see it. His hands tugged at his hair and he chewed his lips.
    â€œIt’s collapsing?”
    â€œYes, collapsing.”
    â€œBut you’re my … my Kit … How can I leave you?”
    â€œYou mustn’t feel guilty. I will have Aunt Hilda and Waldo. I will be quite safe.”
    I could see the relief in his eyes. After another ten minutes of persuasion I managed to gain his consent to return to Oxford and the stricken museum. Luckily he hadn’t asked to see the telegram. If he had, he would have found it was a list of the items Aunt Hilda had bought for our trip.
    As we embraced and said our tearful goodbyes, Father pressed something into my hand. I opened my palm when I was outside in the corridor and saw something golden glimmering in it. It was a heart-shaped locket on a gold chain. I opened it and inside was a miniature of a young woman. She had a lovely oval face and wild auburn hair. But it wasn’t her beauty that arrested me. It was the fire in her eyes. Usually the faces of ladies in miniatures are placid and a bit dull. But the painter hadn’t been able to hide this woman’s spirit.
    It was my mother. Tabitha. The locket was a beautiful thing, one that I had never seen before. I hurried down to the waiting carriage, my eyes awash with tears.

    I had a job persuading Aunt Hilda that the museum was in trouble and Father couldn’t come with us. But finally she accepted it:
    â€œHe’s such a lily-liver that he was probably glad of the excuse to go home.”
    There was a bit of truth in her words, but that didn’t make me less furious with her for speaking of her brother like that. Father has always had a difficult relationship with his bully of a sister. He is so bruised by years of schoolroom battering that it takes a lot of provocation to make him stand up to her. Leave him alone, I wanted to say to Aunt Hilda. I know she is fond of him, but she is such a stubborn bull-like person that she has no understanding of tact. The journey would be easier without the burden of protecting my father from my aunt.
    I made the carriage stop at the telegraph station so I could send a message to my father’s colleagues in Oxford. Tactfully I told them that Papa was returning for his health, but that I would appreciate it if they pretended they could not manage without him. My father is so dreamy he would probably have forgotten why he was returning by the time his ship docked