Amelia Peabody Omnibus 1-4 (128 page)

Nemo had not moved or spoken. ‘You had better eat something,’ I said.

‘I am well enough as I am.’

I would have continued the discussion, but a hand gripped me and drew me back into the house. It was Emerson, fully dressed and alert; in his other hand he held a piece of scorched bread, which he was chewing.

‘Leave him alone,’ he said, after swallowing the nasty morsel and making a face. ‘He is obviously regretting his bargain and struggling with the desire to succumb to the temptation of the drug. He must fight it out by himself.’

‘If that is the case, Emerson, his need for nourishment is all the greater. The use of opium and hashish when carried to excess–’

‘He has not carried it to excess.’ Emerson handed me the toasting fork. I took the hint, and the fork; as I busied myself with the preparation of a fresh slice of bread, Emerson went on, ‘In fact, I am certain he is not physically addicted to either opium or hashish. He indulges as some men drink to excess, in order to forget his troubles, and because drugs seem to the young and foolish a romantic form of escape from reality. His physical condition makes it clear that he has not indulged long or often. Those who do so exhibit a characteristic leaden pallor and skeletal thinness, along with lethargy and disinclination towards exertion. All varieties of exertion,’ he added, with one of those masculine grins.

‘Humph,’ I said. ‘Well, I wouldn’t know about that, Emerson, but he certainly exerted himself on the night he rescued Ramses.’

‘He was probably under the influence of opium at that time,’ Emerson said coolly. ‘Used moderately, it acts as a stimulant.’

‘You seem to know a great deal about it.’ I glanced around the room and was relieved to see that Ramses had taken himself off. ‘Emerson – have you ever …’

‘Oh yes. Only as an experiment,’ Emerson added. ‘I don’t enjoy the sensation or the side effects. When used in moderation, however, opium appears to be no more harmful than tobacco or alcohol.’

‘I believe I have heard that that is the case; also that addiction happens chiefly in individuals of weak will-power who would just as easily become the victims of intoxicating drinks and who are practically moral imbeciles, often addicted to other forms of depravity.’

Emerson had devoured the toast as rapidly as I produced it. Now he drained his third cup of tea and sprang up from his chair. ‘I don’t mean to criticize, Peabody, but you are taking a confounded long time over breakfast. We have work to do, you know.’

At Emerson’s request, Abdullah had already hired the necessary number of workers. Emerson hates this task, as he abhors all duties that keep him from the actual digging. When we opened the gates we found a sizable group waiting for us, squatting patiently on the ground. Some were men who had worked for us at Mazghunah the year before; their sombre indigo robes and turbans, the mark of the Copts, or Christian Egyptians, stood out in sharp contrast to the paler, washed-out blue and white stripes of the Moslem garb. Around the outskirts of the mass of adults, the children ran back and forth with the splendid energy of youth, playing games and crying out in shrill high voices.

While Emerson greeted and inspected the men Abdullah had selected, I set out my medical supplies on a folding table and attended to the sufferers who awaited my coming, dispensing sulphate of copper for the ever-present ophthalmia, and ipecacuanha for bowel complaints. Emerson concluded his business first and stamped up and down until I finished, without, however, complaining of the delay; for beneath his gruff exterior Emerson has the kindest heart in the world and is never unmoved by the suffering of the less fortunate. The moment the last patient was dismissed, however, he seized me by the hand and set out for the dig, calling the men to follow.

‘Makes one feel like a general, doesn’t it, Peabody?’ he said, in high good humour.

I glanced back at the ragged crowd straggling after us. ‘More like a leader of one of the madder crusades. Where is Nemo?’

‘Hot on the trail of Ramses.’ Emerson grinned. ‘I fancy the boy won’t find it as easy to elude or corrupt him as he did Selim. I look forward to accomplishing a great deal of useful work this season, Peabody. Without interruption, Peabody!’

I knew the poor dear man was deluding himself, but I did not voice my doubts aloud. It was hard to think of murder, abduction, and assault on such a morning. The air was fresh and cool and the purity of the atmosphere strengthened every sense. Sounds carried farther, vision seemed magnified, and the surface of the skin tingled to the slightest touch. I drew in deep breaths of the salubrious air, and although Emerson set a rapid pace, I had no difficulty in matching it.

Our march was accompanied by the musical jingle of the accoutrements dangling from my belt, all of them objects I find essential on a dig, such as matches in a waterproof box, small flasks of water and brandy, writing implements, a pocket knife, and so on. Emerson was not too fond of my carrying these things, for he complained that their sharp edges were an impediment to the impulsive embraces to which he was prone; but upon at least one occasion my chatelaine, as I jestingly called it, had been instrumental in saving our lives. His opinions had not altered, but he now kept them to himself.

Ever since my first season in Egypt, when I had sometimes found myself uncomfortably, not to say dangerously, encumbered by the absurd attire fashion forces upon the helpless female form, I had been refining and improving my working costume. Though I have never received credit for my innovations from the couturier establishments of Paris – and probably never shall, for envy is a characteristic of such people – I am convinced my bold ideas have had their effect on persons such as Worth and Lanvin. Only this past year I had come upon an ensemble known as a bicycle dress which incorporated many of my inventions, and which was the latest Paris mode. I had therefore caused several versions of this costume to be made for myself, not in the impractical brown velveteen of the original, but in serge and lightweight flannel. The darker colours that are more suitable in England and in Europe, matching as they do the natural shades of nasty French mud and good healthy English dirt, are not appropriate for Egypt, so I had indulged myself in cheerful shades that would not show sand and dust. In honour of our first day, I had assumed the gayest of the collection. The wide Turkish trousers, gathered in at the knee, were so full that when I remained upright and motionless, the division was obliterated. Stout boots and gaiters completed the nether portion of the costume. A short double-breasted jacket was buttoned over a white shirtwaist, collar, and tie, and a broad leather belt adorned with the aforementioned accoutrements (and of course a pistol in a matching leather holster) supported the trousers. The fabric was a brilliant crimson, Emerson’s favourite shade. Though some might have considered it too flamboyant for an archaeological expedition, I felt it added a colourful touch.

Though concern about my personal appearance has never been a matter of paramount importance to me, I will candidly admit that my spirits rise when I know I look my best. I fancy there is nothing wrong with that. It displays a proper self-respect without which no individual, man or woman, can achieve great things. I was conscious that morning of looking my best. Add to that the glorious promise of the pyramids, pale gold in the morning light, and the presence of the man at my side, towing me along with hearty precipitation, and I knew there was not a woman in the universe happier than I.

I realized that I would not be able to penetrate the interior of the pyramid that day. Indeed, that pleasure would be an amusement of my leisure hours instead of a duty, since Emerson had determined to begin with the remains of the subsidiary structures alongside the major monument.

Of these there were an
embarrass de richesse
, so to speak. To the north stood a tumbled pile of stone that had once been a tomb of the same shape, though considerably smaller. We also expected to find next to the pyramid the remains of the funerary temple. From this building a long roofed causeway had led across the desert to the edge of the cultivation. In addition, the land near the royal tomb was filled with burials of courtiers and family members, just as people of the Christian era had caused their graves to be placed near the tomb of a celebrated saint, in the hope, one presumes, that the sanctity of the primary corpse would seep over onto the less worthy. Superstition, alas, is a basic human weakness, and not restricted to pagans.

Halting atop a ridge, Emerson shielded his eyes with his hand and gazed upon the scene. The breeze ruffled his dark hair and pressed the flannel of his shirt against his muscular breast. A thrill of (primarily) aesthetic pleasure ran through me as I watched him.

‘Well, Peabody, what is it to be?’ he asked.

‘I am sure you have already decided,’ I replied. ‘We have debated the matter endlessly, without agreeing, and I know you will go right ahead with your plan no matter what I say.’

‘Peabody, I have explained on a number of occasions my reasons for postponing any investigation of the small subsidiary pyramid. I suppose, given your particular enthusiasm, even a little pyramid is better than no pyramid at all, but I believe we ought to search for private tombs and for the temple.’

Before I could reply, a high, penetrating voice said, ‘If I were allowed to cast my vote on this matter, I would suggest we begin with the causeway. That line across the desert, which is easily discernible from this slight elevation, surely marks its original course, and were we to follow it to its ultimate–’

Emerson and I spoke at once. Emerson said, ‘Yes, yes, my boy.’ I said, ‘Ramses, be quiet.’

Mr Nemo laughed. ‘Is that how it’s done?’

Pleased to see him more cheerful, I inquired, ‘And what is your opinion, Mr Nemo?’

Nemo scratched his side. The gesture roused the direct suspicions; I vowed to myself that as soon as we returned to the house that evening, I would deal with him as I dealt with the donkeys. He needed more suitable attire as well.

‘You cannot expect a sensible answer from me, Mrs Emerson,’ he said. ‘I know nothing of archaeology; like all ignoramuses, I would like to see you dig up jewels and gold. The best chance of finding such things, I believe, would be in the nearby private tombs.’

I gave Emerson a significant glance, or, at least, I tried to. He was not looking at me. ‘You are too modest, Mr Nemo,’ I said. ‘Your remark betrays a greater knowledge of archaeology than you would claim.’

‘Oh, I got that from Master Ramses here,’ said Nemo calmly. ‘As we walked he gave me a lecture on the principles of excavation. Well, Professor and Mrs Emerson – what is your decision? And what can a mere tyro do to assist? I can wield a pick or shovel with the best of them.’

Emerson fingered the cleft in his chin, as is his habit when deep in thought. Finally he said decisively, ‘Ramses, you and Abdullah can begin on the causeway. Stop at once if you come upon stone or brickwork. I must do a preliminary survey before we remove any object from its place, but as you have several tons of sand to shift, I should be able to finish before you achieve that end.’

Ramses frowned. ‘There is no need for Abdullah to share the supervisory role, Papa, since I am entirely capable of managing by myself, and he might be better employed–’

‘Be quiet, Ramses,’ I said. ‘Yes, yes, my boy,’ Emerson said. He added, ‘Nemo, go along with Ramses. He will tell you what to do.’

‘I don’t doubt that he will,’ said Nemo.

We scattered to our appointed tasks. Mine was to assist Emerson with the surveying. To be sure, de Morgan had surveyed the site already, but Emerson had no confidence whatever in the abilities of the Director of the Antiquities Service. ‘These Frenchmen can’t even count properly, Peabody. No wonder, with that ridiculous metric system of theirs.’

Matters proceeded smoothly. As I have said, Abdullah was as capable as most trained archaeologists, and when I looked up from my own task I could see the men digging with such vigour that a fine cloud of sand enclosed them. A line of children ran to and fro, between the diggers and the distant dump site, emptying their baskets and returning to have them filled again.

We stopped for a rest and a light repast at nine-thirty, and were about to resume work when one of the men called out and pointed. Someone was approaching. The newcomer was a European, by his dress, and he was on foot, coming across the desert from the north.

Emerson said, ‘Curse it.’ He hates visitors interrupting his work. ‘Deal with the fellow, Peabody,’ he growled, snatching up his transit. ‘I have vowed that this season I will not suffer the constant intrusions of idle tourists.’

‘He doesn’t look like a tourist,’ I said. ‘His gait is rather unsteady, Emerson, don’t you think? I wonder if he can be intoxicated.’

‘Humph,’ said Emerson. ‘As a matter of fact, he looks familiar. Who is it, Peabody?’

The countenance, whose features became ever more recognizable with increased proximity, was indeed one I had seen before, but I was unable to produce a name to go with the face. He was a pleasant-looking young chap, of medium height and wiry frame. The only unusual thing about him was his complexion, which was of an odd greyish-green.

He greeted us by name, and added hesitantly, ‘We met last year in Cairo. Quibell is my name.’

‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Won’t you join us, Mr Quibell? I can only offer you hard-boiled eggs and chilly toast–’

‘No, thank you.’ Quibell shuddered and the greenish tinge of his cheeks intensified. ‘You must forgive me if I come at once to the reason for my disturbing you–’

‘That would be a kindness,’ said Emerson. ‘I thought you were with Petrie this year.’

‘I am.’

‘But Petrie is at Thebes.’

‘He began at Sakkara, and left a few of us to finish the task of recording the private tombs,’ Quibell explained. ‘When I heard you were at Dahshoor, I took the liberty of coming to ask a favour. I know Mrs Emerson’s reputation as a physician–’

‘Ha,’ said Emerson.

‘I beg your pardon, Professor?’

‘Nothing,’ said Emerson.