Lord of the Silent: A Novel of Suspense (4 page)

The voyage was without incident of a military nature, but it provided one surprise. Gargery did not make his appearance until we were two days out of Southampton. He chose his moment well, waiting until after Emerson had had several cups of coffee and we were taking our morning promenade on deck. No doubt he hoped the presence of several dozen witnesses would force my husband to control himself. In this he was not correct. Emerson came to a dead halt when he saw the familiar form advancing toward him. Gargery drew himself up to his full height of five and a half feet, snapped off a salute, and got out three words-"Reporting for duty"-before Emerson seized him by the collar and began shaking him. It was the sight of Sennia's scandalized face that stopped Emerson after only a few bad words. "Confound it!" he exclaimed, winding down. "What do you mean by this, you rascal? How dare you disobey me?" "People are staring, Emerson," I pointed out. "Don't hurt him!" Sennia cried, throwing her arms round Gargery. Between Emerson's grip on his collar and Sennia's passionate grasp of his diaphragm, Gargery had not breath enough to speak; I could not help noticing that he looked very pleased with himself, however. Ramses and Nefret had been following at a discreet distance. Now they joined us. "Perhaps," said Ramses, "we ought to continue this-er- discussion in private, Father." Emerson's grip relaxed and Gargery, who had been standing on his toes, staggered and caught himself. "Haven't got my sea legs quite yet, sir," he remarked. "Soon will. As I was saying, sir, I am reporting for duty." We had our private discussion, in a corner of the smoking room. It was a fine, bright day, so most of the passengers were on deck enjoying the sunshine. Gargery offered no excuses except the one that was, for him, sufficient. "I couldn't let you go off by yourselves, not after all the terrible trouble you got into last year." Gargery did not know the details of the "terrible trouble," for the truth of that business was and would be buried deep in the secret files of the War Office, but it had been impossible to hide certain of the consequences from him and the others. I had therefore, with my usual skill, composed a narrative that explained what could not be concealed and avoided what could not be explained. After all, as Gargery admitted, we got ourselves into trouble almost every year with one set of criminals or another. So far as he and our other friends were concerned, the boys' injuries had been incurred in the course of another encounter with our old nemesis, the Master Criminal, and his gang of antiquities thieves. Pursuing his advantage, Gargery went on with mounting indignation. "What's more, sir and madam, you went and let those two get married out there in Egypt, without us being present or even being told, sir and madam, till it was all over. We took that most unkindly, sir and madam." Nefret was trying so hard not to laugh, she was incapable of speech, but Ramses managed to interpose a word. "We got married again in England, Gargery, primarily to please you and Rose. A man doesn't make that sort of sacrifice lightly." "Well, yes, sir," said Gargery, with the air of one graciously conceding a point. "It was good of you, Mr. Ramses. And very nice it was, I must say, with all the flowers and Miss Nefret pretty as a picture and the master blowing his nose every few minutes and Rose and Miss Lia and Miss Evelyn crying and you the picture of a proud husband and-" "Yes, quite," said Ramses. He was somewhat flushed, whether with embarrassment or suppressed laughter, I could not tell. "We know all about it, Gargery. We were there." "Me, too," said Sennia. In fact, it had been partially on Sennia's account that Ramses had agreed to "make an ass of myself" in full formal dress, in the presence of the press and various curiosity seekers, at no less an establishment than St. Margaret's at Westminster. Sennia had been devastated by the news of his marriage. As she explained indignantly to me, she had counted on marrying him herself, when she was a little older. It required a great deal of tact on Nefret's part to win her over, and part of the price of acceptance was the offer of being a member of an elaborate wedding, attired in her fluffiest frock and bedecked with flowers. (She behaved throughout the ceremony rather as if she were giving the groom away.) Though the whole business was something of a nuisance, it pleased a good many people and satisfied a nagging doubt of my own as to the legitimacy of the original arrangement. Father Bennett of the Anglican Church had been unwilling to act as promptly as I wanted, and the amiable but very elderly Coptic priest who officiated kept forgetting the words. The handsome flush that had darkened Emerson's cheeks was not caused by embarrassment or laughter. He knew he had lost considerable ground during the exchange and was trying to think how to regain it without offending Sennia. "You need me, sir and madam," said Gargery. "Especially with Mr. David staying behind and little miss along." "Oh-er-bah," said Emerson, with a wary look at Sennia. She was watching him like a small protective dragon. He forced a sickly, unconvincing smile. "Hmph." "So that's settled," said Nefret. "Come, Ramses, we haven't done our mile round the deck yet. Will you join us, Sennia?" "I will stay with Gargery." She took his hand. And stay with him she did, during most of the daylight hours for the remainder of the voyage. It took Emerson several days to get back in her good graces. "Curse it," he remarked gloomily. "I daren't so much as scowl at the rascal." "She is fiercely protective of all those she loves, Emerson. She would take your part just as vigorously if someone were unkind to you." "D'you think so?" Emerson considered this idea. "I refuse to pick a quarrel with you so that Sennia can defend you. She'll get over it; just be polite to Gargery." "Damnation," said Emerson. I have never cared for Alexandria. It has no pharaonic monuments worth mentioning, and the city is a blend of the worst of European and Eastern characteristics, with little of the charm of Cairo's shadowy old streets. This year the harbor was crowded with shipping, including a depressing number of hospital vessels. Alex had been the center of operations for the Gallipoli Campaign; the brave lads from Australia and New Zealand had sailed from there, in high spirits and with promises of a quick return. They had returned only too soon. There were so many wounded, the hospitals could not take them all in; the Red Cross flag flew over many villas and houses in and around the city. It was a relief to board the train for Cairo, and only the need to hide our feelings from the child kept us from gloomy introspection and gloomier conversation. However, being back in Egypt was pleasure enough to take our minds off sadder subjects, and when we pulled into the central station in Cairo, we were met by a shouting, cheering crowd-members of the family that had worked for and with us for so many years. Abdullah, our reis and dear friend, was gone now, but his children and grandchildren and nephews and nieces and cousins formed a close-knit clan. As soon as the train came to a stop, eager hands pulled us from the carriage, and we were immediately surrounded. Fatima, Abdullah's daughter-in-law and our Egyptian housekeeper, snatched Sennia out of Basima's arms; Selim, Abdullah's youngest son who had replaced him as reis, began questioning Emerson about the season's work; Daoud, towering a full head above the others, demanded news of his adored Lia and the baby; Ali and Yussuf, Ibrahim and Mahmud embraced us all in turn. They then escorted us in a triumphal procession to the carriages they had waiting. As soon as we were in our carriage, Emerson began to grumble. "Confound the cursed cabs, they are too slow. Why didn't Selim bring the motorcar?" I had ordered Selim not to. Emerson would have insisted on driving it, and Emerson's notion of operating a motorcar is to head straight for his destination without slackening speed or changing direction. This is not a good method with slow-moving carts and camels. There are a good many of both in the streets of Cairo. Instead of pointing this out, I remarked, with the tact I have developed over many years of marriage, "I expect he wanted to make a spectacle of our arrival. You see how handsomely the carriages are decorated." "Spectacle is the word," Emerson grunted, throwing himself into a corner and folding his arms. "Sennia is enjoying it." I looked back at the carriage following ours. Bright-red tassels hung from the horses' harnesses and bells jingled. I could see Sennia jumping around like a cricket, and Gargery trying to hold on to her. After we had gone a short distance Emerson forgot his pique and began looking for old acquaintances in the crowd. Since he is acquainted with practically every beggar, thief, and merchant in Cairo, he found a good many of them, and his stentorian greetings were answered in kind. "Salaam aleikhum, Father of Curses! Marhaba!" Our procession made its way through the city, across the bridge, and along the road to Giza toward the house we had taken for the past several seasons. Comfortable in the knowledge that our devoted friends would have everything in order for our arrival, I breathed deeply of the dry, warm air and with greedy eyes took in the sights and sounds that were so dear and familiar. Not even the dust kicked up by the hooves of horses and donkeys could spoil my pleasure. I was back in Egypt, the home of my heart. What thrilling discoveries awaited me that season! I felt certain the tombs of ancient Giza held undiscovered treasures. And with any luck, we might run across a gang of tomb robbers or even a murderer. Another group of friends awaited us in the courtyard of the house. Sennia was immediately gathered up by Kadija, Daoud's wife, who had been too shy to come to the railroad station. We had all learned to admire this very large, very dignified woman, who had the dark brown skin of her Nubian mother. She and Nefret were especially close; as soon as Kadija had given Sennia a hearty hug, she passed the child on to the others who were waiting to greet her and turned to Nefret. "You are blooming like a flower, Nur Misur," she murmured, as they embraced. "Is it happiness or some other cause that puts the light in your eyes?" I had wondered myself. They had been married for eight months-not that I was counting-and one might have supposed that by this time . . . Naturally I would never have ventured to ask directly, so you may believe I awaited Nefret's response with considerable interest. Unfortunately at that moment Fatima came bustling up to inform me that she had prepared a feast of all our favorite dishes and that the food would be cold if we did not come at once. I asked for a little time to remove the dust of travel, a request which was granted. Our rooms were in perfect order, as I had expected. "She has put rose petals in the wash water again," Emerson said resignedly. Though it would have been difficult to fault Fatima's arrangements, there were always a few household matters to be attended to before we could begin work. The house had not the charm of others we had inhabited-I still regretted the loss of our residence in Luxor, which I had had built to my own specifications-but it was comfortable and commodious, with numerous balconies and a flat roof which we used as an open-air sitting room. We were in the habit of taking tea there whenever the weather was fine, enjoying the views of the city and the Giza pyramids and watching the sun go down in a blaze of fiery color. However, certain members of the family did not find the house commodious enough. Nefret had already spoken to me about her and Ramses taking up residence on our dahabeeyah, which we kept moored at the tourist dock near the house. I could think of no reasonable objection to the scheme; over the years the boat had served as living quarters for various members of the family, and although it had become somewhat cramped for all of us it was roomy enough for two-especially if the two were close. So when Nefret raised the subject again-the first morning after our arrival-I assured her I would do everything I could to facilitate the move. Emerson was the biggest stumbling block. He always objects to "wasting time" on household chores. When I first met him he was living quite comfortably, by his standards, in an empty tomb chapel, and it took me quite some time (and a lot of argument) to overcome his preference for tents over houses and a splash in the Nile over a nice neat bath chamber. He had us out at Giza the day after we arrived. The previous season we had begun excavating some of the private tombs at Giza, called mastabas because their shape resembled that of the benches outside Egyptian houses. These splendid tombs belonged to the nobles and princes of the Old Kingdom; laid to rest near their royal master, they hoped to share the eternity of endless bliss that awaited him. The neatly drawn plans readers will find in volumes of excavation reports, including our own, give a misleading picture. The rows of precise rectangles representing the streets of tombs show them as they were laid out four thousand years ago. When modern explorers first visited the site, it was a wilderness of broken stone and undulating sand. Only the head of the Sphinx showed above the sand; temples and tombs had been buried deep. And, as subsequent excavation proved, the tombs had been robbed and the temples vandalized in ancient times. The same pharaohs who composed pious inscriptions praising their kingly ancestors tore the monuments of those ancestors apart in order to use the stones for their own temples. Some of our archaeological predecessors had added to the confusion, digging more or less at random and carrying off statues and even the painted and carved stones from the walls of the chapels. Many of them hadn't even bothered to keep accurate records of what they found and where they found it. These objects were now scattered across Europe and America in various museum collections. After the founding of the Service des Antiquites, would-be excavators were subjected to stricter rules. No one could dig without a permit, and nothing could be taken out of Egypt without the consent of the director. At least that was the way it was supposed to work. It had always been impossible to control illegal digging and the smuggling of antiquities, but of late there had been a dramatic increase in these activities. With the Germans gone and French and English archaeologists in the army or preoccupied with war work, many of the sites had been left unguarded. According to Selim, whose family and professional connections extended all over Egypt, there was hardly a site that had not suffered. It was a relief to find no evidence of disturbance