Amelia Peabody Omnibus 1-4 (37 page)

‘Nothing, my dear. Do go on.’

‘That’s all’, Emerson said grumpily. ‘Except that Carter has been calling on all his friends, dropping veiled hints and looking mysterious when they ask questions. Fine way to keep his discovery secret.’

‘Why should he?’ I asked. ‘The wire he sent Lord Carnarvon was known to all of Luxor, and I expect his lordship has confided in a number of his friends, who have confided in their friends. There is no keeping such things secret.’

‘The archaeological community is abuzz with rumours’, Suzanne said. ‘Is it true, Mrs Emerson? That Mr Carter has found a new unrobbed tomb? The Professor wouldn’t tell us anything.’

‘Said I wouldn’t’, Emerson grunted, attacking his food with vigour. ‘I keep to my word.’

Nadji, who had spoken very little, looked up. His English was excellent, with only the slightest trace of an Egyptian accent. ‘The word had got round before your arrival, sir. You have nothing with which to reproach yourself.’

‘But you have actually seen the tomb’, Suzanne exclaimed, her eyes popping. ‘Please tell us. It can’t be kept secret for long, can it?’

‘I only hope Howard has not raised Lord Carnarvon’s expectations too high’, I replied. Then, seeing no reason to remain discreet when Howard and Carnarvon had not done so, I went on. ‘Thus far he has found a sealed doorway, with what appears to be a blocked passage behind it. The signs are hopeful, but one never knows, does one? I expect we won’t have to wait long, though. Carnarvon will surely wish to press on to Luxor as soon as possible.’

Ramses said to his father, ‘Callender is here.’

‘Pecky Callender? What the devil for? He’s no Egyptologist.’

‘But he is a trusted friend of Carter’s. I believe he has been instructed to prepare for Carnarvon’s arrival.’

Emerson scowled darkly. I knew what he was thinking; I always do. He had offered his services, which had not been accepted. It was a snub, and I felt for him. All the more since he was due for an even more painful shock.

We had just finished luncheon when the reply to my note to Katherine came, expressing her pleasure at receiving the two new members of our staff, and inviting us to dine that evening. She had sent the Vandergelts’ carriage for them and their luggage.

‘We will see you tonight at dinner’, I said. ‘No, Emerson, there is no need for you to accompany them, they will want to have a little rest this afternoon.’

‘I thought we might go on to the Valley’, said Emerson, trying to detach my grip on his arm. ‘They will want to see –’

‘Not this afternoon, Emerson.’

Hearing something in my tone, Emerson objected no further. After the carriage had driven off, he turned to me.

‘You have all been behaving very oddly’, he said, looking from one of us to the other. ‘What has happened?’

‘Sit down, Father’, Nefret said.

‘Good Gad!’ Emerson cried in anguished tones. ‘Not one of the kiddies!’

‘Now stop that, Emerson’, I said severely. ‘Do you suppose we would all be so calm if something had happened to one of the children? No. Guess again.’

Emerson dropped into a chair. ‘The tomb has been robbed’, he said in a hollow voice. ‘Pecky Callender is no more use than –’

‘At least you put the children before the tomb’, I snapped. ‘Allow me to remind you once again that it is not your tomb. Guess again.’

Emerson’s noble brow furrowed. ‘Give me a hint.’

‘Confound you, Emerson’, I began. ‘How can you have forgotten –’

‘Not so loud, Mother.’ Nefret, who had been struggling with laughter, sat on the arm of Emerson’s chair and put a finger to his lips. ‘We have a guest, Father. The – Oh, dear, how can I put this? The person who inspired your adventure at the shop. The fire. The bag of salt. The –’

As comprehension gradually dawned, her dainty finger proved inadequate to the task. ‘Hell and damnation!’ Emerson shouted. ‘Has that bas– Has he had the effrontery to come here?’

‘He was ill’, Nefret said. ‘Please, Father, don’t fly off the handle.’

‘And keep your voice down’, I added. ‘How successful we have been in concealing his presence I cannot say, but there is nothing to be gained by shouting it from the rooftops.’

Emerson could not get up without dislodging Nefret. He squirmed a bit, but she stayed firmly in place. ‘Oh, bah’, he said in a strangled voice. ‘Ramses, would you care to explain how this came about? No, Peabody, not you; you are inclined to digress, and I want a succinct, informative account, without commentary.’

He got it. In my opinion Ramses might have elaborated a trifle more; however, my attempts to add colour to the narrative were ignored by all parties. When Ramses had finished, Emerson sat in silence for a time, stroking his prominent chin.

‘That is the most preposterous story I have ever heard’, he said at last.

‘That was my initial reaction’, I admitted. ‘And I feel sure Sethos hasn’t told us all he knows. However, this is a preposterous world, Emerson, and some persons will stick at nothing to gain their ends.’

Emerson could not deny this. We had encountered a number of such persons, and history had preserved the names of many others.

‘This mysterious paper’, he said. ‘Have you succeeded in deciphering it?’

Ramses shook his head. ‘It’s really not my field of expertise, Father.’

‘You need not apologize, my boy. Very well. You can get up now, Nefret; my temper is firmly under control. I want to see him. Now.’

Naturally I went with Emerson. He appeared to be in a reasonable state of mind, but there was no telling how long it would last if his brother provoked him – which he was almost certain to do.

Sethos was sitting up in bed, reading. He greeted Emerson effusively, but without surprise. ‘I heard you were back’, he explained. ‘Who are the two people who came with you?’

His attempt at insouciance did not deceive Emerson, for the beard and the silly nose failed to conceal the hollowness of his cheeks and his sickly complexion.

‘Fatima told you, I suppose’, Emerson said gruffly. ‘The two newcomers are members of our staff. Egyptologists, well known to me. Er – how are you feeling?’

‘Much better. It is good of you to ask.’

‘Hmph’, said Emerson. ‘What the devil are we to do with you, eh?’

‘That sounds more like you’, said Sethos. ‘I’ll be out of here as soon as Nefret gives me leave.’

Emerson sat down heavily on the side of the narrow bed. ‘Where will you go?’

‘I’ll stay in touch.’

‘Damned right you will!’ said Emerson. ‘Curse it, you can’t simply stroll out the front door. Your adversaries aren’t all fools. If they discover you have been here they will assume we have your confounded secret message, or a copy of it.’

Sethos’s eyes fell. ‘What do you suggest?’ he asked meekly.

Emerson studied him with suspicion. Meekness was not one of Sethos’s normal traits. ‘You will need a new persona’, he said. ‘The role that comes to mind is one you’ve played before. It is known that we are taking on additional staff.’

‘Brilliant’, Sethos exclaimed. ‘Who shall I be, then? Petrie? Alan Gardiner?’

‘Control yourself’, I said firmly. ‘You cannot take on the identity of a well-known person. You had better be a philologist. You can spend your time with Ramses, ostensibly working on the papyri from Deir el Medina, and avoiding situations that could betray your ignorance of archaeological technique.’

‘I’m not all that ignorant’, Sethos said indignantly.

‘We can work out the details later’, said Emerson. ‘The most important thing is that the elderly beggar must go.’

Little did we know, but he already had – into a more distant realm.

T
HE
events I am about to relate began on a December afternoon, when I had invited Lady Carrington and certain of her friends to tea.

Do not, gentle reader, be misled by this introductory statement. It is accurate (as my statements always are); but if you expect the tale that follows to be one of pastoral domesticity, enlivened only by gossip about the county gentry, you will be sadly mistaken. Bucolic peace is not my ambience, and the giving of tea parties is by no means my favourite amusement. In fact, I would prefer to be pursued across the desert by a band of savage Dervishes brandishing spears and howling for my blood. I would rather be chased up a tree by a mad dog, or face a mummy risen from its grave. I would rather be threatened by knives, pistols, poisonous snakes, and the curse of a long-dead king.

Lest I be accused of exaggeration, let me point out that I have had all those experiences, save one. However, Emerson once remarked that if I
should
encounter a band of Dervishes, five minutes of my nagging would unquestionably inspire even the mildest of them to massacre me.

Emerson considers this sort of remark humorous. Five years of marriage have taught me that even if one is unamused by the (presumed) wit of one’s spouse, one does not say so. Some concessions to temperament are necessary if the marital state is to flourish. And I must confess that in most respects the state agrees with me. Emerson is a remarkable person, considering that he is a man. Which is not saying a great deal.

The state of wedlock has its disadvantages, however, and an accumulation of these, together with certain other factors, added to my restlessness on the afternoon of the tea party. The weather was dreadful – dreary and drizzling, with occasional intervals of sleety snow. I had not been able to go out for my customary five-mile walk; the dogs
had
been out, and had returned coated with mud, which they promptly transferred to the drawing-room rug; and Ramses…

But I will come to the subject of Ramses at the proper time.

Though we had lived in Kent for five years, I had never entertained my neighbours to tea. None of them has the faintest idea of decent conversation. They cannot tell a Kamares pot from a piece of prehistoric painted ware, and they have no idea who Seti the First was. On this occasion, however, I was forced into an exercise of civility which I would ordinarily abhor. Emerson had designs on a barrow on the property of Sir Harold Carrington, and – as he elegantly expressed it – it was necessary for us to ‘butter up’ Sir Harold before asking permission to excavate.

It was Emerson’s own fault that Sir Harold required buttering. I share my husband’s views on the idiocy of fox hunting, and I do not blame him for personally escorting the fox off the field when it was about to be trapped, or run to earth, or whatever the phrase may be. I blame Emerson for pulling Sir Harold out of his saddle and thrashing him with his own riding crop. A brief, forceful lecture, together with the removal of the fox, would have got the point across. The thrashing was superfluous.

Initially Sir Harold had threatened to take Emerson to court. He was prevented by some notion that this would be unsportsmanlike. (Seemingly no such stigma applied to the pursuit of a single fox by a troop of men on horseback and a pack of dogs.) He was restrained from physically attacking Emerson by Emerson’s size and reputation (not undeserved) for bellicosity. Therefore he had contented himself with cutting Emerson dead whenever they chanced to meet. Emerson never noticed when he was being cut dead, so matters had progressed peacefully enough until my husband got the notion of excavating Sir Harold’s barrow.

It was quite a nice barrow, as barrows go – a hundred feet long and some thirty wide. These monuments are the tombs of ancient Viking warriors, and Emerson hoped to discover the burial regalia of a chieftain, with perhaps evidences of barbaric sacrifice. Since I am above all things a fair-minded person, I will candidly confess that it was, in part, my own eagerness to rip into the barrow that prompted me to be civil to Lady Carrington. But I was also moved by concern for Emerson.

He was bored. Oh, he tried to hide it! As I have said, and will continue to say, Emerson has his faults, but unfair recrimination is not one of them. He did not blame me for the tragedy that had ruined his life.

When I first met him, he was carrying on archaeological excavations in Egypt. Some unimaginative people might not consider this occupation pleasurable. Disease, extreme heat, inadequate or nonexistent sanitary conditions, and a quite excessive amount of sand do mar to some extent the joys of discovering the treasures of a vanished civilization. However, Emerson adored the life, and so did I, after we joined forces, maritally, professionally, and financially. Even after our son was born we managed to get in one long season at Sakkara. We returned to England that spring with every intention of going out again the following autumn. Then our doom came upon us, as the Lady of Shalott might have said (indeed, I believe she actually did say so) in the form of our son, ‘Ramses’ Walter Peabody Emerson.