Amelia Peabody Omnibus 1-4 (83 page)

‘He lied to me,’ he grunted. ‘His publication was not ready. It was late this year. Did you know that, Amelia?’

I did know. He had told me approximately fifteen times. Emerson brooded darkly on the iniquities of Petrie and de Morgan. ‘He did it deliberately, Amelia. Mazghunah is close to Dahshoor; he will make sure I receive daily reports of his discoveries while I dig up Roman mummies and degenerate pottery.’

‘Then don’t take Mazghunah. Demand another site.’

Emerson ate in silence for a time. Gradually his countenance lightened and a smile curved his well-shaped lips. I knew that smile. It boded ill for someone – and I thought I knew for whom.

At last my husband said slowly, ‘I will accept Mazghunah. You don’t mind, do you, Peabody? When I visited the site some years ago I determined to my own satisfaction that the remains were those of pyramids. The superstructures have entirely disappeared, but there are surely passageways and chambers underground. There is not a chance of anything better; Firth has Sakkara, and the Giza pyramids are so popular with tourists, one can’t work there.’

‘I don’t mind. “Whither thou goest,” you know, Emerson; but I do hope you are not planning any ill-advised assaults on M. de Morgan.’

‘I cannot imagine what you mean,’ said Emerson. ‘Naturally I will offer the gentleman the benefit of my experience and superior knowledge whenever the opportunity presents itself. I am determined to turn the other cheek, and render good where …’

He broke off, catching my sceptical eye upon him; and after a moment his great hearty laugh boomed out across the dining salon, stopping conversation and making the crystal chime. Emerson’s laugh is irresistible. I joined him, while Ramses watched with a faint smile, like an elderly philosopher tolerant of the antics of the young. It was not until after we had returned to our room that I discovered Ramses had taken advantage of our distraction to conceal his fish under his blouse as a present for Bastet. She enjoyed it very much.

T
HOUGH
I attempted to conceal my feelings, I was exceedingly put out. It seemed hard indeed that I should have to suffer from Emerson’s blunder, for it was nothing less. De Morgan had dug at Dahshoor the year before. It would have required considerable tact and persuasion to convince him to yield the site to another excavator, and Emerson’s methods of persuasion were not calculated to win over an opponent. Though I had not been present, I knew only too well what had transpired. Emerson had marched into de Morgan’s office, unannounced and uninvited; rested his fists on the director’s desk; and proclaimed his intent. ‘Good morning, monsieur. I will be working at Dahshoor this season.’

De Morgan had stroked his luxuriant moustache.
‘Mais, mon cher collèague, c’est impossible.
I will be working at Dahshoor this season.’

Emerson’s response would have been an indignant shout and a crash of his fist on the table; de Morgan would have continued to stroke his moustache and shake his head until Emerson stamped out of the door, annihilating small tables and miscellaneous chairs as he went.

I looked through the reference books we had brought with us in a vain attempt to find something about Mazghunah. Few of the authorities so much as mentioned it, and if there were pyramids at the site, that fact was not widely known. If Emerson had not confirmed their existence, I would have suspected de Morgan of inventing them, to taunt Emerson.

Emerson exaggerates, in his humorous fashion, when he says I have a passion for pyramids. However, I admit to a particular affection for these structures. On my first visit to Egypt as a tourist I had fallen victim to the charm of their dark, stifling passageways, carpeted with rubble and bat droppings. Yet, since taking up the practice of archaeology I had never been able to investigate a pyramid professionally. Our interests had taken us elsewhere. I had not realized how I yearned to explore a pyramid until I found I could not.

‘Abusir,’ I said. ‘Emerson, what about Abusir? The pyramids there are much decayed, but they
are
pyramids.’

‘We will dig at Mazghunah,’ said Emerson. He said it very quietly, but his chin protruded in a manner I knew well. Emerson’s chin is one of his most seductive features. When it jutted out in that particular fashion, however, I had to repress a desire to strike it smartly with my clenched fist.

‘The remains of the pyramid at Zawaiet el ’Aryan,’ I persisted. ‘Maspero failed to enter it ten years ago. We might find the entrance he missed.’

Emerson was visibly tempted. He would love to do Maspero or any other archaeologist one better. But after a moment he shook his head. ‘We will dig at Mazghunah,’ he repeated. ‘I have my reasons, Amelia.’

‘And I know what they are. They do you no credit, Emerson. If you intend – ’

Crossing the room in a few long strides, he stopped my mouth with his. ‘I will make it up to you, Peabody,’ he murmured. ‘I promised you pyramids, and pyramids you will have. In the meantime, perhaps this …’

Being unable to articulate, I gestured wordlessly at the door connecting our room to the next. Ramses had retired thither, purportedly to give John an Arabic lesson. The murmur of their voices, broken now and again by a chuckle from John, bore out the claim.

With a hunted look at the door, my husband released me. ‘When will this torment end?’ he cried, clutching his hair with both hands.

Ramses’ voice broke off for a moment and then continued.

‘John should be able to resume his duties tomorrow,’ I said.

‘Why not tonight?’ Emerson smiled meaningfully.

‘Well … Good heavens,’ I exclaimed. ‘I had forgotten. We have a rendezvous this night, Emerson. The distressing news quite shook it out of my head.’

Emerson sat down on the bed. ‘Not again,’ he said. ‘You promised me, Amelia … What are you up to now?’

I told him what had transpired at the bazaar. Little gasps and cries escaped his lips as I proceeded, but I raised my voice and went on, determined to present him with a connected narrative. At the end I produced the scrap of papyrus.

‘Obviously Abd el Atti was lying when he claimed he had no papyri,’ I said. ‘To be sure, this is Coptic, but – ’

Emerson pushed the fragment aside. ‘Precisely. Walter is not interested in Coptic; that is the language of Christian Egypt.’’

‘I am well aware of that, Emerson. This fragment proves –’

‘You had no business going to that fat scoundrel. You know what I think of – ’

‘And you know that the dealers are likely to have the best manuscripts. I promised Walter – ’

‘But this is not – ’

‘Where there is one scrap there must be a papyrus. I – ’

‘I told you – ’

‘I am convinced – ’

‘You – ’

‘You – ’

By this time we were both on our feet and our voices had risen considerably. I make no apologies for my exasperation. Emerson would try the patience of a saint. He loses his temper on the slightest provocation.

We broke off speaking at the same time, and Emerson began pacing rapidly up and down the room. In the silence the rise and fall of Ramses’ voice went placidly on.

Finally Emerson left off pacing. Rapid movement generally calms him, and I will do him the justice to admit that although he is quick to explode, he is equally quick to regain his temper. I smoothed his ruffled locks. ‘I told Abd el Atti we would come to the shop tonight.’

‘So you said. What you failed to explain is why the devil I should put myself out for the old rascal. There are other things I would rather do tonight.’

His eyes sparkled significantly as he looked at me, but I resisted the appeal. ‘He is desperately afraid of something or someone, Emerson. I believe he is involved in the illicit antiquities business.’

‘Well, of course he is, Peabody. All of them are.’

‘I am referring, Emerson, to the recent, unprecedented flood of stolen objects you and Walter were discussing. You yourself said that some new player must have entered the game – some unknown genius of crime, who has organized the independent thieves into one great conspiracy.’

‘I said no such thing! I only suggested – ’

‘Abd el Atti is a member of the gang. His reference to the Master eating his heart – ’

‘Picturesque, but hardly convincing,’ said Emerson. His tone was less vehement, however, and I saw that my arguments had made an impression. He went on, ‘Are you certain you understood correctly? I cannot believe he would make a damaging admission in your presence.’

‘He didn’t know I was present. Besides – weren’t you listening, Emerson? – he was speaking the
siim issaagha.’

‘Very well,’ Emerson said. ‘I agree that Abd el Atti may well be involved in something deeper and darker than his usual shady activities. But your notion that he is a member of some imaginary gang is pure surmise. You have an absolutely unique ability to construct a towering structure of theory on one single fact. Foundationless towers totter, my dear Peabody. Control your rampageous imagination and spare your afflicted spouse, I beg.’

He was working himself into another fit of temper, so I only said mildly, ‘But supposing I am right, Emerson? We may have an opportunity to stop this vile traffic in antiquities, which we both abhor. Is not the chance of that, however remote, worth the trifling inconvenience I propose?’

‘Humph,’ said Emerson.

I knew the grunt was as close to a concession as I was likely to get, so I did not pursue the discussion, which would have been ended in any case by the advent of our son, announcing that the Arabic lesson was over. I did not want Ramses to get wind of our plan. He would have insisted on accompanying us, and his father might have been foolish enough to agree.

I was about to put my scrap of papyrus away when Ramses asked if he might look at it. I handed it over, cautioning him to be careful, an admonition to which he replied with a look of mingled scorn and reproach.

‘I know you will,’ I said. ‘But I don’t see what you want with it. Your Uncle Walter has not taught you Coptic along with hieroglyphs, has he?’

‘Uncle Walter does not know de Coptic,’ replied Ramses loftily. ‘I am only curious to see what I can make of dis from my acquaintance wit’ de ancient language; for, as you may be aware, de Coptic language is a development of de Egyptian, t’ough written in Greek script.’

I waved him away. Bad enough to be lectured on Egyptology by one’s husband; the smug and dogmatic pronouncements of my juvenile son were sometimes extremely trying to my nerves. He settled down at the table with Bastet beside him. Both bent their attention upon the text, the cat appearing to be as interested as the boy.

The door of the adjoining room now responded to a series of blows – John’s version of a knock. He has extremely large hands and no idea of his own strength. It was a pleasure to hear the sound, however, after the long silence from that direction, and I bade him enter. Emerson took one look at him and burst out laughing.

He wore the uniform of a footman, which he had presumably brought with him from England – knee breeches, brass buttons and all – and I must confess that he looked rather ridiculous in that setting. Emerson’s mirth brought a faint blush to his boyish face, though it was apparent he had no idea what his master found so funny. ‘I am at your service, sir and madam,’ he announced. ‘With apologies for failing to carry out me duties in the past days and respectful thanks for the kind attentions received from madam.’

‘Very well, very well,’ Emerson said. ‘Sure you are fit, my boy?’

‘Quite fit,’ I assured him. ‘Now, John, be sure never to leave off your flannel, and take care what you eat and drink.’

I glanced at Ramses as I concluded my advice, remembering the sweetmeat he had consumed – an incident I had not thought worth mentioning to his father. He seemed quite all right. I had been sure he would. Poisonous leaves and berries, india rubbers, ink and quantities of sweets that would have felled an ox had all passed through Ramses’ digestive tract without the slightest disturbance of that region.

Standing stiffly at attention, John asked for orders. I said, ‘There is nothing to do at present; why don’t you go out for a bit? You have seen nothing of the city, or even the hotel.’

‘I will go wit’ him,’ said Ramses, pushing his chair back.

‘I don’t know,’ I began.

‘What of your work, my son?’ inquired Emerson. This attempt, more subtle than my own, was equally fruitless. Ramses picked up his hat and started for the door. ‘De manuscript appears to have belonged to a person called Didymus Thomas,’ he said coolly. ‘Dat is all I can make out at present, but I will have anodder go at it after I have procured a Coptic dictionary. Come along, John.’

‘Stay in the hotel,’ I said quickly. ‘Or on the terrace. Do not eat anything. Do not speak to the donkey boys. Do not repeat to anyone the words you learned from the donkey boys. Do not go in the kitchen, or the bathrooms, or any of the bedrooms. Stay with John. If you mean to take Bastet with you, put her on the lead. Do not let her off the lead. Do not let her chase mice, dogs, other cats or ladies’ skirts.’

I paused for breath. Ramses pretended to take this for the end of the lecture. With an angelic smile he slipped out of the door.