Amelia Peabody Omnibus 1-4 (22 page)

‘Then accept Lucas’s offer. No, no, I mean his offer of money. Half of your grandfather’s fortune is yours, morally. If you really believe Walter would accept – ’

‘Amelia, that is not worthy of you. Could I accept Lucas’s generosity and use it to buy the affection of Lucas’s rival?’

‘You put things in such a cold-blooded way,’ I muttered.

‘It is the honest way.’ Evelyn’s animation had faded; she was pale and sad. ‘No, Amelia. I cannot – will not – marry Lucas, nor will I accept a penny from him. Are you so anxious to rid yourself of me? I had dared to let myself envision a life together…. Growing old with you, winding wool and keeping cats and tending a garden somewhere in the country. We could be content, could we not? Oh, Amelia, don’t cry! I have never seen you weep; don’t do it on my account….’

She threw her arms around me and we clung together, both sobbing violently. I did not often cry, it is true; I don’t know why I was crying then, but I found it soothing to do so. So I let myself go, wallowing in the luxuriance of openly expressed emotion, and Evelyn made me cry even harder by the fond expressions she choked out.

‘I do love you, Amelia; you are dearer to me than any sister. Your kindness, your sense of humour, your saintly temper …’

The last phrase appealed too strongly to the sense of humour she had just mentioned; I stopped crying and began to laugh feebly.

‘Dearest Evelyn, I have a temper like a fiend’s, and the disposition of a balky mule. How beautiful is friendship, that it blinds one to the friend’s true nature! Well, child, don’t cry anymore; I know why you weep, and it is not because of my saintly nature. I suppose the Almighty will order our lives as He sees fit, and there is no reason for us to worry. I have not altogether decided to accept His decrees; but whatever happens, you and I will not part until I can give you up to a man who deserves you. Here, wipe your eyes, and then give me the handkerchief so I can wipe mine. I did not expect to need more than one handkerchief this evening.’

We mopped our wet faces and went on with our dressing. Evelyn had one more comment to make.

‘You speak as if I would be the one to leave you. Will you keep me on, Amelia, to wind wool and wash lapdogs, after
you
are married?’

‘That is the most ridiculous remark you have made as yet,’ I said. ‘And many of your remarks have been extremely silly.’

W
HEN
we came out of the tomb, wearing fresh garments and rather red eyes, we found the men assembled. Lucas had brought enough articles to stock a shop; there were flowers on the table, and a glittering array of silverware and crystal. The look on Emerson’s face as he contemplated the elegantly set table was almost enough to compensate for the absurdity of the business.

Lucas was attired in a fresh suit, spotless and expensively tailored. He sprang to his feet when we appeared and held a chair for Evelyn. Walter held one for me. Lucas offered us sherry. He behaved as if he were the host. Emerson, who was now staring at the toes of his deplorable boots, said nothing. His arm was still strapped to his side, and I concluded that he felt too ill to be as objectionable as he usually was.

‘Such elegance,’ I commented, as Lucas handed me a delicate goblet. ‘We are not accustomed to luxury here, your lordship.’

‘I see no reason for depriving oneself of the amenities,’ Lucas replied, smiling. ‘If asceticism is necessary, I venture to say that you will find me ready to accept the most stringent measures; but while Amontillado and crystal are available, I will make use of them.’

He lifted his own glass in a mock salute. It did not contain Amontillado, although the liquid was almost as dark a shade of amber. My father never drank spirits, but my brothers were not so abstemious. I looked critically at the glass, and remarked, ‘Do you think it wise to imbibe? We must be on the qui vive tonight. Or have you abandoned your intention of lying in wait for our visitor?’

‘Not at all! I have a strong head, Miss Amelia, and a little whiskey only makes my senses more acute.’

‘That is the common delusion of the drinker,’ said Walter. His tone was offensive. Lucas smiled at him.

‘We are appreciative of your luxuries, Lucas,’ Evelyn said. ‘But they really are not necessary. How heavily laden your dahabeeyah must be!’

‘It would have been more heavily laden if I had had my way,’ Lucas replied. ‘Your boxes have arrived in Cairo, Evelyn. I intended to bring them along; but that old curmudgeon, Baring, refused to hand them over.’

‘Indeed?’ I said. ‘He was an acquaintance of my father’s.’

‘I am well aware of that. You should be complimented, Miss Amelia, that the new master of Egypt has taken the trouble to look after your affairs personally. The boxes were sent to you, since it was your address the Roman consul had for Evelyn. Baring took charge of them in Cairo and guards them like the dictator he is. I explained my relationship to Evelyn, but he was adamant.’

‘Perhaps your reputation has preceded you,’ I said mildly.

It was impossible to offend Lucas. He laughed heartily.

‘Oh, it has. I went to university with a young relative of Baring’s. I am afraid certain – er – escapades reached the distinguished gentleman’s ears.’

‘It does not matter,’ Evelyn said. ‘I am grateful for your efforts, Lucas, but I need nothing more than I have.’

‘You need nothing except yourself,’ Lucas said warmly. ‘That is treasure enough. But your needs and your desserts are two different things. One day, Evelyn, you will be persuaded to accept what you deserve; although all the treasure houses of the pharaohs could not hold its real value.’

Evelyn flushed and was silent; she was too gentle to reproach him for his remarks, which were, to say the least, out of place at that time and in that company. I felt quite exasperated with the girl; could she not see that her response to Lucas’s florid compliments only inflamed poor Walter’s jealousy? With a lover’s excessive sensibility he misinterpreted every blush, every glance.

Emerson removed his gaze from the toes of his boots and glowered at me. ‘Are we to sit here all evening exchanging compliments? No doubt you have planned the evening’s entertainment, Peabody; enlighten us as to what we must do.’

‘I had not given the matter much thought.’

‘Really? And why not?’

I had found that the surest way of annoying Emerson was to ignore his provocative remarks and reply as if he had spoken in ordinary courteous exchange.

‘I was thinking of the royal tomb,’ I explained. ‘Of the relief of the little princess and her grieving parents. Evelyn should copy it. She would do it beautifully.’

‘I am surprised at the suggestion,’ Lucas exclaimed. ‘After what happened today – ’

‘Oh, I don’t mean she should do it now; but one day, when the situation has been cleared up. Since your connection with Evelyn has been so distant, Lucas, you may not know that she is a splendid artist. She has already done a painting of the pavement that was destroyed.’

Lucas insisted on seeing this painting and exclaimed over it quite excessively. The conversation having turned to matters archaeological, he was reminded of the papyrus scroll he had mentioned.

‘I had the bearers fetch it,’ he said, reaching into the box at his side. ‘Here you are, Mr Emerson. I said I would hand it over, and I keep my word.’

The papyrus was enclosed in a carved and coloured wooden case, except for a single section – the one Lucas had unrolled.

‘I put it between two squares of glass,’ he explained. ‘That seemed the best method of keeping it from crumbling any further.’

‘At least you had that much sense,’ Emerson grumbled. ‘Hand it to Walter, if you please, your lordship. I might drop it, having only one good hand.’

Walter took the framed section, as gently as if it had been a baby, on the palms of his two hands. The sun was setting, but there was still ample light. As Walter bent over the sheet of papyrus, a lock of hair tumbled down over his brow. His lips moved as if in silent prayer. He seemed to have forgotten our presence.

I leaned forward to see better. The papyrus seemed to me to be in fairly good condition, compared with others I had seen in antiquities shops. It was brown with age and the edges were crumbling, but the black, inky writing stood out clearly on the whole. An occasional word was written in red, which had not fared so well; it had faded to a rusty brown. Of course I had no notion whatsoever what the writing said. It resembled the hieroglyphic writing; one could distinguish the shape of an occasional bird or squatting figure, each of which represented a letter in the ancient picture alphabet of the Egyptians. But the majority of the letters were abbreviated forms and resembled a written script such as Arabic more than it resembled hieroglyphic writing.

‘It is splendid hieratic,’ said Emerson, who was leaning over his brother’s shoulder. ‘Much closer to the hieroglyphs than some I have seen. Can you make it out, Walter?’

‘You don’t mean that Master Walter can read that scribble?’ Lucas exclaimed.

‘Master Walter,’ said his brother drily, ‘is one of the world’s leading experts on the ancient language. I know a bit, but I am primarily an excavator. Walter has specialized in philology. Well, Walter?’

‘Your partiality makes you praise me too highly,’ Walter said, his eyes greedily devouring the crabbed script. ‘I must show this to Frank Griffith; he is with Petrie at Naucratis this season, and unless I miss my guess, he is going to be one of our leading scholars. However, I believe I can make out a few lines. You are right, Radcliffe; it is splendid hieratic. That,’ he explained to the rest of us, ‘was the cursive script used on documents and records. The hieroglyphic signs were too ornate and cumbersome for the scribes of a busy kingdom. The hieratic was developed from the hieroglyphic, and if you look closely, you will see how the signs resemble the original pictures.’

‘I see!’ Evelyn burst out. We were all bending over the papyrus now, except Lucas, who sipped his whiskey and watched us all with his patronizing smile. ‘Surely that is an owl – the letter “m.” And the following word much resembles the seated man, which is the pronoun “I”.’

‘Quite right, quite right.’ Walter was delighted. ‘Here is the word for “sister”. In ancient Egyptian that might mean….’ His voice faltered. Evelyn, sensitive to the slightest change in his feelings, quietly returned to her chair.

‘Sister and brother were terms of endearment,’ said Emerson, finishing the sentence his brother had begun. ‘A lover spoke of his sweetheart as his sister.’

‘And this,’ said Walter in a low voice, ‘is a love poem.’

‘Splendid,’ exclaimed Lucas. ‘Read it to us, Master Walter, if you please.’

Lucas had insisted that we be informal; but his address of Walter by the childish title was certainly meant to provoke. On this occasion it had no effect; Walter was too absorbed in his studies.

‘I can only make out a few lines,’ he said. ‘You ought not to have unrolled it, Lord Ellesmere; the break goes through part of the text. However, this section reads:

I go down with thee into the water
And come forth to thee again
With a red fish, which is – beautiful on my fingers.

‘There is a break here. The lovers are by the water; a pond, or the Nile. They – they disport themselves in the cool water.’

‘It doesn’t have the ring of a love poem to me,’ Lucas said sceptically. ‘If I offered a fish, red or white, to a lady of my acquaintance as a love offering, she would not receive it graciously. A diamond necklace would be more welcome.’

Evelyn moved slightly in her chair. Walter went on, ‘This is certainly a lover speaking. He is on one side of the river –

The love of the sister is upon yonder side;
A stretch of water is between
And a crocodile waiteth upon the sandbank.
But I go down into the water, I walk upon the flood;
My heart is brave upon the water
It is the love of her that makes me strong.’

There was a brief silence when he stopped speaking. I don’t know which impressed me more – the quaint charm of the lines or the expertness with which the modest young man had deciphered them.

‘Brilliant, Walter,’ I cried, forgetting propriety in my enthusiasm. ‘How inspiring it is to realize that noble human emotions are as ancient as man himself.’

‘It seems to me not so much noble as foolhardy,’ said Lucas lazily. ‘Any man who jumps into a river inhabited by crocodiles deserves to be eaten up.’

‘The crocodile is a symbol,’ I said scornfully. ‘A symbol of the dangers and difficulties any true lover would risk to win his sweetheart.’

‘That is very clever, Miss Amelia,’ Walter said, smiling at me.

‘Too clever,’ growled Emerson. ‘Attempting to read the minds of the ancient Egyptians is a chancy business, Peabody. It is more likely that the crocodile is a typical lover’s extravagance – a boast that sounds well, but that no man of sense would carry out.’

I was about to reply when Evelyn fell into a fit of coughing.

‘Well, well,’ Lucas said. ‘How happy I am that my little offering has proved to be so interesting! But don’t you think we ought to make plans for tonight? The sun is almost down.’