Amelia Peabody Omnibus 1-4 (35 page)

The light grew stronger as we advanced, and before long I could hear a voice rambling on in a soliloquy or monologue, which was a great help in covering the small sounds we inadvertently made. The voice was a man’s, and the tones were oddly familiar; but it was not Walter’s voice. As we advanced I began to distinguish words; the words, and the smug, self-satisfied tones filled me with amazement. Who could it be who was chatting so unconcernedly in a tomb in the Egyptian desert?

Emerson was in the lead; he stopped me, at the entrance to the side chamber from which the light proceeded. We crouched there, listening; and gradually realization dawned. What a fool I had been. The plot now seemed so obvious I felt a child ought to have detected it.

‘… and so you see, my heart, that cousin Luigi and I are a pair of clever fellows, eh? You say “luck,” that I won your heart; but no, it was no luck, it was my charm, my handsome face – and that the fool old grandfather not let you see men, any men. When we run away, then Luigi comes to the old grandfather. If grandfather not be good fellow and make Luigi rich, then Luigi make new will himself! Luigi can write like anyone; he writes many fine cheques at the university before they catch him and tell him, go home. Luigi is smart fellow, almost as smart as me. When bad old grandfather make new will, hide it in box and send away, then Luigi come to me with new plan. I search your room in Cairo, dressed up like old Egyptian fellow; but the box is not there. We must make another plan. Was I not fine mummy? I am fine actor; I make you all much afraid. And it is I who tell Luigi of this young fool – I was Arab in museum that day, when you meet Master Walter; you look at him as you look once at me, and I know….’

An indignant exclamation from Evelyn interrupted this long-drawn-out piece of braggadocio. The relief of hearing her voice, weak as it was, almost made me collapse.

‘If he had not been wounded, and drugged as well, you would never have overcome him,’ she cried. ‘What have you done to him? He lies so still…. Please let me see how he is injured. Unless – oh, heaven! – he is not – he cannot be – ’

Emerson’s shoulder, pressed against mine, jerked convulsively, but he did not move.

‘No, no,’ Evelyn’s tormentor replied, in a horrid parody of sympathy. ‘The brave young hero is not dead. But why you sorry? Soon you both be dead. You die together, like Aida and Radames in the beautiful opera of Signor Verdi. I thank my genius compatriot for this idea – so romantic. Together, in the tomb, in the arms of each other.’ His voice changed; he sounded like a sulky boy as he added, ‘Luigi say, kill you. Me, to kill? Always the bad job for me; Luigi too much gentleman to make hands dirty. So, I leave you here. I am gentleman too; I do not kill woman. At least I not do it often. Not woman who once I held in my – ’

This was too much for Emerson, who was quivering like a boiler about to blow up. With a roar, he erupted into the lighted chamber. I need not say that I was close on his heels.

The first thing I saw was Evelyn’s pallid face, streaked with dust and tears, her eyes fairly bulging out of her head as she saw me. The first sound I heard was her cry of ‘Amelia!’ as she collapsed in a swoon of relief and joy.

The poor child was huddled on the littered floor, her hands bound behind her, her pretty hair all tangled and dusty. I lifted her up, and watched complacently as Emerson finished choking Alberto. Yes; the mummy, the confederate of Lucas-Luigi, the abductor of Evelyn, was none other than her erstwhile lover, whose relationship to her scheming cousin had been made plain by his own boasts. I think that of the two he was the worst; I didn’t feel the slightest inclination to interfere as his face turned purple and his flailing hands dropped limply.

Emerson dropped him with a thud and turned to his brother. Walter was lying in the opposite corner, bound hand and foot; he was unconscious, and a darkening bruise on his brow showed how the villain had struck him down. Evelyn came back to consciousness in time to hear Emerson proclaim, in ringing tones, ‘He is alive! He is not seriously injured!’ Whereupon she fainted again, and I had quite a time bringing her around.

The journey back was long and arduous, but it did not seem so to us; our hearts were overflowing with happiness increased by the knowledge that we had left Alberto bound and gagged in the tomb where he had intended to entomb Evelyn and Walter. The last thing I remember seeing as we left was the mummy costume lying limp and harmless on the floor. It seemed absurd when I looked at it closely that it could have frightened anyone. The head mask was made in a separate piece, the joint being covered by strips of bandaging. And the suit itself buttoned neatly up the front.

Two years have passed since the events of which I have written – two years full of thrilling events, both personal and historic. Emerson’s fears for the gallant Gordon were, alas, justified; he was horribly murdered in January, before the expeditionary force arrived. But the cause for which he died was not lost; the mad Mahdi himself died the same year, and our forces are beating back the insurgents. My friend Maspero has left the Antiquities Department, which is now under the charge of M. Grebaut, whom Emerson detests even more than he did Maspero. As for Emerson himself…

I sit, writing this, on the ledge above the familiar and beloved plain of Amarna; and when I lift my eyes from the page I see the busy groups of workmen scattered about like black ants on the pale sand, as they bring the ruins of Khuenaten’s city back to the light of day. My self-appointed Critic has left me in order to supervise the clearing of what appears to have been a sculptor’s workshop; several splendid busts have already been found. Emerson pushes himself unnecessarily, for Abdullah is an excellent foreman, reliable and skilled. As Emerson says, there is nothing like a spot of blackmail to make a man perform to the best of his ability. Abdullah never refers to the events of that winter two years ago.

They are surprisingly clear and present to my mind, as if they had happened only yesterday. I never had such a good time in all my life. Oh, certainly, at the time there were moments of extreme discomfort; but the adventure, the danger, the exhilaration of doubt and peril are in retrospect something I rather regret having lost.

We had to interrupt the excavations for a few weeks. To Emerson’s deep disgust, it was necessary to carry our captives to Cairo and explain to the authorities there what had happened. I had suggested leaving Alberto in the tomb; it seemed a fitting punishment. But I was dissuaded by Evelyn’s horrified protests.

So, at sunrise, we returned to the dahabeeyah, and Emerson made a fine speech to the assembled crew, who squatted on the deck staring at him with round black eyes while he explained that the mummy had been a hoax, the curse imaginary, and that an ordinary human being had been behind the whole thing. He produced his downcast, shivering captive at the appropriate moment, and I think the sight of an Englishman, one of the Master Race, in bonds and held up to scorn as a common criminal did as much as anything to win their wholehearted allegiance. Lucas’s crew gave us no difficulty; their loyalty had been won with money, and as soon as the source of funds dried up, their devotion withered. An expedition set out immediately for the camp and brought back a very thirsty Alberto, together with our luggage and equipment. I myself supervised the removal of poor Michael, on a litter. We set sail at once for Cairo.

It was an enjoyable trip. With the great sail furled and lowered onto blocks on the deck, we let the current bear us downstream. There were occasional misadventures grounding on sandbars, an encounter with another dahabeeyah that lost the latter its bowsprit and won us the collective curses of the exuberant American passengers; but these are only the normal accidents of Nile travel. In every other way matters could not have been more satisfactory. Michael began to make a good recovery, which relieved my worst fears. The crew outdid itself to please us. The cook produced magnificent meals, we were waited upon like princes, and Reis Hassan obeyed my slightest command. The full moon shone down upon us, the river rolled sweetly by…. And Emerson said not a word.

I had waited for him to make some reference, if not an apology, for his outrageous behaviour in – for his daring to – for, in short, the kiss. Not only did he remain silent, but he avoided me with a consistency that was little short of marvellous. In such close quarters we ought to have been much together; but whenever I entered the saloon it seemed that Emerson was just leaving, and when I strolled on the deck, admiring the silvery ripples of moonlight on the water, Emerson vanished below. Walter was of no use. He spent all his time with Evelyn. They did not talk, they just sat holding hands and staring stupidly into one another’s eyes. Walter was a sensible chap. Evelyn’s fortune would not keep him from happiness. Was it possible that Emerson … ?

After two days I decided I could wait no longer. I hope I number patience among my virtues, but shilly-shallying, when nothing is to be gained by delay, is not a virtue. So I cornered Emerson on deck one night, literally backing him into a corner. He stood pressed up against the rail that enclosed the upper deck as I advanced upon him, and from the look on his face you would have thought I were a crocodile intent on devouring him, boots, bones, and all.

We had dined formally; I was wearing my crimson gown and I had taken some pains with my hair. I thought, when I looked at myself in the mirror that evening, that I did look well; perhaps Evelyn’s flattery had not all been false. As I approached Emerson I was pleasantly aware of the rustle of my full skirts and the movement of the ruffles at my throat.

‘No,’ I said, as Emerson made a sideways movement, like a crab. ‘Don’t try to run away, Emerson, it won’t do you a particle of good, for I mean to have my say if I have to shout it after you as we run about the boat. Sit or stand, don’t mind me. I shall stand. I think better on my feet.’

Emerson squared his shoulders.

‘I shall stand. I feel safer on my feet. Proceed, then, Peabody; I know better than to interfere with you when you are in this mood.’

‘I mean to make you a business proposition,’ I said. ‘It is simply this. I have some means; I am not rich, like Evelyn, but I have more than I need, and no dependants. I had meant to leave my money to the British Museum. Now it seems to me that I may as well employ it for an equally useful purpose while I live, and enjoy myself in the bargain, thus killing two birds with one stone. Miss Amelia B. Edwards has formed a society for the exploration of Egyptian antiquities; I shall do the same. I wish to hire you as my archaeological expert. There is only one condition….’

I had to stop for breath. This was more difficult than I had anticipated.

‘Yes?’ said Emerson in a strange voice. ‘What condition?’

I drew a deep breath.

‘I insist upon being allowed to participate in the excavations. After all, why should men have all the fun?’

‘Fun?’ Emerson repeated. ‘To be burned by the sun, rubbed raw by sand, live on rations no self-respecting beggar would eat; to be bitten by snakes and mashed by falling rocks? Your definition of pleasure, Peabody, is extremely peculiar.’

‘Peculiar or not, it
is
my idea of pleasure. Why, why else do you lead this life if you don’t enjoy it? Don’t talk of duty to me; you men always have some high-sounding excuse for indulging yourselves. You go gallivanting over the earth, climbing mountains, looking for the sources of the Nile; and expect women to sit dully at home embroidering. I embroider very badly I think I would excavate rather well. If you like, I will list my qualifications – ’

‘No,’ said Emerson, in a strangled voice. ‘I am only too well aware of your qualifications.’

And he caught me in an embrace that bruised my ribs.

‘Stop it,’ I said, pushing at him. ‘That was not at all what I had in mind. Stop it, Emerson, you are confusing me. I don’t want – ’

‘Don’t you?’ said Emerson, taking my chin in his hand and turning my face toward his.

‘Yes!’ I cried, and flung my arms around his neck.

A good while later, Emerson remarked,

‘You realize, Peabody, that I accept your offer of marriage because it is the only practical way of getting at your money? You couldn’t join me in an excavation unless we were married; every European in Egypt, from Baring to Maspero, would be outraged, and Mme Maspero would force her husband to cancel my concession.’

‘I fully understand that,’ I said. ‘Now if you will stop squeezing me quite so hard…. I cannot breathe.’

‘Breathing is unnecessary,’ said Emerson.

After another interval, it was my turn to comment.

‘And you,’ I said, ‘understand that I accept your proposal of marriage because it is the only way in which I can gain my ends. It is so unfair – another example of how women are discriminated against. What a pity I was not born a hundred years from now! Then I would not have to marry a loud, arrogant, rude man in order to be allowed to excavate.’

Emerson squeezed my ribs again and I had to stop for lack of breath.

‘I have found the perfect way of silencing you,’ he said.

But then the laughter fled from his face and his eyes took on an expression that made me feel very odd – as if my interior organs had dissolved into a shapeless, sticky mass.

‘Peabody, you may as well hear the truth. I am mad about you! Since the day you walked into my tomb and started ordering us all about, I have known you were the only woman for me. Why do you suppose I have sulked and avoided you since we left Amarna? I was contemplating a life without you – a bleak, grey existence, without your voice scolding me and your big bright eyes scowling at me, and your magnificent figure – has no one told you about your figure, Peabody? – striding up and down prying into all sorts of places where you had no business to be…. I knew I couldn’t endure it! If you hadn’t spoken tonight, I should have borrowed Alberto’s mummy costume and carried you off into the desert! There, I have said it. You have stripped away my defences. Are you satisfied with your victory?’

I did not reply in words, but I think my answer was satisfactory. When Emerson had regained his breath he let out a great hearty laugh.