Amelia Peabody Omnibus 1-4 (21 page)

We retraced our steps to the top of the second flight of stairs, where three small rooms were located off the main corridor. Here crumbling reliefs showed the death and burial of a princess, one of Khuenaten’s daughters. She had died young, and had been laid to rest in her father’s tomb. The little body, stretched out stiffly on its bed, looked very pathetic, and the grief of the parents, holding one another’s hands for comfort, was strangely moving. Almost one could hear a thin moan of anguish echoing down the deserted corridors….

And then there was a moan – or at least, a faint sound of some kind. The reader can only faintly imagine the horrific effect of such a sound – of sound of any sort – in those dark, musty rooms that had never been inhabited except by the dead. Before my scalp had time to prickle, the fainter sound was followed by another, less ghostly, but even more alarming. It was a loud crash of falling rock. Whatever the sound lost by reason of distance was regained by the rolling echoes. I started and dropped my candle.

Using language no lady could possibly remember, much less reproduce, Emerson scrabbled around in the debris that littered the floor until he found the candle. He relighted it from his own. Then he looked directly at me and spoke in the quiet voice he employed in moments of emergency.

‘You are no fool, Peabody, if you are a woman. You know what that sound may mean. Are you prepared? You will not swoon, or scream, or become hysterical?’

I gave him a look of withering scorn, and in silence started out of the room.

With Emerson breathing heavily behind me, I made my way along the corridor. I did not expect that we would meet with any obstruction there. The walls and floors were carved from the living stone of the mountains. No; the difficulty would be at the entrance, and long before we reached that spot I knew that my surmise was unhappily correct. From the foot of the final stair I saw that the light which should have been apparent at the entrance was – not apparent.

We made our way up the stairs, not without difficulty, for rocks littered the steps, and stood at last before the entrance. The narrow opening was closed by stones – some as small as pebbles, some as large as boulders.

I blew out my candle. It was obvious that we had better conserve what little light we had. I was stooping to pluck at the rocks when Emerson turned to stick his candle onto a ledge in a pool of its own grease.

‘Take care,’ he said curtly. ‘You may start another landslide that will sweep both of us down the stairs.’

We dug for a long time; not as long as it seemed, perhaps, but the first candle was almost burned out when there came a sound from without. It was, to say the least, a welcome event. At first the words were indistinguishable. Then I realized that the person was speaking Arabic. I recognized the voice and, in the stress of the moment, understood what was being said. The voice was Abdullah’s. He demanded to know if we were within.

‘Of course we are within,’ shouted Emerson angrily. ‘Oh, son of a blind, bow-legged mule, where else should we be?’

A howl, which I took to be one of delight, followed this question. The howl was followed by a shout in quite another voice: ‘Hold on, Miss Amelia! Lucas is on the job!’

All at once Emerson threw his arms against me and pushed me against the wall, pressing his body close to mine.

Although I am now alone as I write, my Critic having gone off on an errand, I hesitate to express the thoughts that flashed through my mind at that moment. I knew Emerson was no weakling, but I had not fully realized his strength until I felt the rigid muscles of his breast against mine and felt my bones give under the strength of his grasp. I thought … I expected…. Well, why not admit it? I thought he was embracing me – relief at our unexpected rescue having weakened his mind.

Luckily these absurd notions had no time to burgeon in my brain. A horrible rattling crash followed, as the barricade gave way, and great rocks bounded down the stairs and banged against the walls. I felt Emerson flinch and knew he had been struck by at least one rock, from whose impact his quick action had saved me; for my body was shielded by his and his big hand pressed my face into the shelter of his shoulder.

I was quite out of breath when he released me, and gulped air for several seconds before I realized it was the clean, hot air of the outer world I breathed, and that sunlight was streaming into the vault.

The sunlight was too bright for my dazzled eyes, accustomed to darkness. I could just make out the silhouettes of the heads and shoulders of two men above the heap of rock that still lay on the threshold.

Emerson leaned back against the wall, his left arm hanging at an odd angle. As Abdullah and Lucas came scrambling in over the rocks, Emerson turned his head toward his foreman. Rivulets of perspiration were streaming down his face, turning the dust that covered it into a muddy mask.

‘You d—— fool,’ he said.

‘You are hurt,’ said Abdullah intelligently.

‘Words fail me,’ said Emerson.

But of course they did not; he went on, though he spoke in gasps. ‘An experienced foreman … knows better… shoving like a battering ram….’

‘I tried to tell him to go slowly,’ Lucas broke in. ‘Unfortunately my Arabic is nonexistent.’

He looked so guilty, and Abdullah so particularly enigmatic, that I realized who was probably responsible for the accident. There was no point in pressing the matter, however.

‘He was anxious to get us out,’ I said. ‘Let us eschew recriminations and act. Is your arm broken?’

‘Dislocated,’ said Emerson, between his teeth. ‘I must get back … Walter knows how….’

‘You cannot walk so far,’ I said.

This was patently true, and anyone but Emerson would have admitted the fact at once. His knees were buckling, and only the wall at his back kept him upright.

‘I can do … what I must,’ he replied.

‘No doubt; but there is no need. I saw our local surgeon perform this operation once, on a farmer whose shoulder had been put out of place. If you will direct me – ’

The idea seemed to revive Emerson. His eyes rolled toward me; I swear, I saw a flash of enjoyment.

‘You won’t like it,’ said Emerson.

‘Neither will you,’ I replied.

I think I prefer not to describe the procedure that followed. Emerson was not in any mood to make jokes when it was over, but I was the one who had to sit down on the ground and put my head between my knees. Fortunately Abdullah had brought water; we both had been thirsty from the heat and dust even before the accident. A long drink revived me and helped Emerson. I then tore up my petticoat in order to fasten his arm to his body so that it would not be jarred unnecessarily. He had his wicked temper back by then, and made a rude remark.

‘As you would say, my lord, it is just like one of Mr Haggard’s romances. The heroine always sacrifices a petticoat at some point in the proceedings. No doubt that is why females wear such ridiculous garments; they do come in useful in emergencies.’

The way to the royal tomb had seemed long; the road back was interminable. Lucas’s strength was of great assistance, and Emerson did not disdain the help of his arm. As we walked along, Lucas explained how he had happened to find us.

He had had a little adventure of his own. Riding not far from the village, he had been accosted by the owner of his donkey, who had abandoned animal and rider when they first approached the camp. Now the donkey owner demanded his animal back.

‘It occurred to me,’ Lucas explained, ‘that you had probably been deprived of donkeys as well as workers, so I determined to keep that one, if I could. If the villagers had realized I was acquainted with you, I never should have got it in the first place. I offered to buy the wretched little beast – thinking of Evelyn’s using it, of course. But it was no use; when I insisted, I was set upon by a howling horde of villagers and forcibly removed from my steed. They offered me no violence, but I was shaken up and very angry. I was on my way back to camp when I met Abdullah. He said you had gone to the royal tomb; and after my adventure, I was somewhat concerned about you. So we came here – fortunately!’

‘You did not see the rockfall, then?’ Emerson asked.

‘No.’

‘It couldn’t have been an accident,’ Emerson grunted. ‘Too fortuitous. Why that one spot, while we happened to be inside the tomb?’

‘We were fortunate that it was not a more extensive landslide,’ I said, stumbling into a thornbush.

‘Hmmph,’ said Emerson, trying not to groan.

A mile or two from camp we were met by Walter and Evelyn, who, alarmed at our prolonged absence, had set out to look for us. Walter went quite pale when he saw Emerson’s faltering steps and bandaged body, but he knew better than to commiserate.

‘It is most unfortunate,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Another accident, just now, will merely confirm the villagers’ superstitions.’

‘We need not tell them, surely,’ said Lucas.

‘They will know,’ I said. ‘I suspect one of them has good reason to know what has occurred.’

‘Aha!’ Lucas exclaimed. ‘You think it was no accident?’

He was altogether too pleased about the whole affair. I knew it was unfair of me to blame him for enjoying the adventure; his acquaintance with Emerson and Walter was of the slightest, so he could not be expected to feel for them as Evelyn and I did. And certainly the wild events of those days would have appealed to the adventurous spirit of any young gentleman. Nevertheless, his grin annoyed me.

‘It was no accident,’ I said curtly. ‘This was a foolish expedition. From now on we must stay in the camp and close to one another. Perhaps no real harm was intended –’

‘We cannot know that,’ Walter interrupted. ‘If the rock had struck my brother’s head instead of his shoulder – ’

‘But his injury
was
an unfortunate accident. It was incurred during our release, not during the rockfall, which could hardly have been designed to murder us. You knew our destination; you would have searched for us if we had not returned, so that even if Abdullah had not happened to go after us, we would not have been incarcerated long. No; the attempt could not have been at murder. I believe it was only another harassment.’

‘And if Peabody says so,’ remarked Emerson, ‘that is the Word of the Prophet.’

We finished the journey in cool silence.

However, we had much to be thankful for. Evelyn pointed this out as we prepared for dinner in our homey tomb. She was not looking well that evening; I noticed her pallor and sober looks all the more because it contrasted so strikingly with her appearance during the preceding week. She had been frightened, weary, and uncomfortable, as we all were; but under the strain there had been a quiet happiness, a kind of bloom. The bloom was now gone. And of course I knew the reason.

‘Has Lucas been annoying you?’ I enquired, with my usual tact.

Evelyn was doing her hair in front of the mirror. Her hands faltered; a bright lock of golden hair tumbled down her back.

‘He asked me again to marry him.’

‘And you said…?’

Evelyn turned. The disordered masses of her hair flowed out with the force of her movement and fell about her shoulders. She had never looked lovelier, for the nobility of her purpose and the strength of her emotion transformed her face.

‘Amelia, how can you ask? You know my feelings; I have never tried to conceal them from you, my cherished friend. I cannot marry the man I love; but I will never be the bride of another.’

‘You are wrong,’ I said forcefully. ‘Walter loves you. I know it; you must know it. You are being grossly unjust to him, not to give him the chance – ’

‘To know my shame – my folly? Never fear, Amelia; if he
should
ask me to marry him, I will tell him the truth.’

‘And why do you assume he will recoil? Oh, I agree; you must be candid, he would hear the story sooner or later, and he would have cause for resentment at hearing it from another than yourself. But he is a splendid lad, Evelyn; I like him more with every day that passes. He would not – ’

‘He is a man,’ said Evelyn, in a tone of weary wisdom that would have made me laugh, had I not been so distressed for her. ‘What man could forget or forgive such a thing in his wife?’

‘Bah,’ I said.

‘If I had anything to offer him,’ Evelyn went on passionately. ‘The fortune I once despised would be a godsend to him and his brother. If only – ’

‘You don’t suppose that splendid boy would refuse you for your misstep and forgive you for a fortune, do you?’ I demanded indignantly.

Evelyn’s eyes narrowed.

‘Amelia, why do you speak as if you were a hundred years old? Walter is only a few years younger than you, and you are still in your prime. In the last week you seem to have drunk from the fountain of youth; you are looking younger and more attractive every day.’

I stared at her in astonishment.

‘Come, now, Evelyn, don’t let your fondness for me destroy your aesthetic sense. I have been scoured by windblown sand, dried out and burned by the sun, and I have ruined every decent dress I own. Forget me, and let us settle your problem once and for all. If you would only listen to me – ’

‘I honour and love you,’ she interrupted, in a low voice. ‘But in this matter I cannot follow anything but my own conscience.’

‘But it is such a waste,’ I lamented. ‘You love this life. Your seeming fragility conceals a will of iron; you could be a helpmate as well as a wife to Walter.’

‘You are the one who loves this life,’ Evelyn said, watching me curiously. ‘What an archaeologist you would make, Amelia!’

‘Hmmm,’ I said. ‘That is true. It is most unfortunate that I was not born a man. Emerson would accept me then as a colleague; my money would support his work; what a splendid time we would have, working and quarrelling together. Oh, it is a pity that I am a woman. Emerson would agree.’

‘I am not so sure,’ said Evelyn. There was a faint smile on her lips.

‘You are distracting me again,’ I complained. ‘You cannot avoid the issue, Evelyn. Suppose I were to finance –’

‘No, Amelia,’ Evelyn said. I knew that gentle tone. It was as final as Emerson’s growl.