Seeing a Large Cat (17 page)

"Ibrahim will go with you to show you the way," I finished. "And I will send someone to Luxor directly to fetch Dr. Willoughby."

Dolly had not uttered a word nor moved an inch, even when her father called her. She looked more than ever like a wax doll; her brown eyes were as expressionless as glass. I poked her with my parasol. "Go along with your father."

"Yes, ma'am," Dolly said in a faraway voice. "Your house, ma'am?"

"We will be there before you," I assured her. "Now hurry, can't you see he is waiting for you? The sooner we get medical attention for him the better."

Emerson attended them to their carriage. I would like to believe he was moved by Christian charity and gentlemanly manners, but I think it was rather that he was anxious to be rid of them as quickly as possible. Nefret and I started back along the path over the plateau. Briskly though we climbed, it was not long before Emerson caught us up. He was, of course, swearing.

"That is just a waste of breath, Emerson," I said. "I don't like the situation any better than you, but we had no choice."

"Yes, we did. However," Emerson said grudgingly, "the choice was forced upon us by our confounded sense of duty. There is a limit to mine, Amelia. I depend on you to get them out of my house as soon as possible."

"Dr. Willoughby may wish to take the Colonel to his clinic," Nefret suggested.

"Precisely what I was about to suggest," I said. "It is obviously the best place for the Colonel, and there are female nurses and attendants to look after the girl. Have no fear, Emerson, they will be out of your house by nightfall."

"They had damned well better be. We still have a mummy to contend with, Peabody-or have you forgotten? I want to examine it tonight."

I murmured reassurances. I too was anxious to examine the mummy, though I was no longer in any doubt as to its identity.

Chapter Six

I have never been particularly fond of mummies.

When I saw the familiar walls of our house ahead I felt as if we had been gone for days instead of hours. It would have been a pleasure to relax on the shaded verandah with a cool drink in my hand, but I knew that indulgence was still some hours away. Girding up my loins and stiffening my spine, I went into action. The carriage arrived shortly after we did, and I saw the Colonel helped to bed in Ramses's room, his dragoman and coachman sent to the kitchen for food and drink, and Dolly supplied with the means of refreshing herself.

Nefret had been right, the girl was absolutely hopeless; she could not take care of herself, much less her father. She sat at my dressing table with her hands folded on her lap, staring at her reflection in the mirror; it was I who drew out the hat pins, removed her hat, and smoothed her wet, tangled hair. When I offered her a damp cloth she only looked blankly at it, so I began to wipe the dust and perspiration from her face, noting that there were no signs of tears.

The cool water roused her-or perhaps it was my assault on her porcelain-fair complexion. She took the cloth from my hand and dabbed delicately at her lips. (I had suspected their pretty pink color was not entirely natural.) Then she asked for her handbag.

Smoothing rice powder on her cheeks, she inquired, "How is poor dear Daddy?"

"Resting easily, I am happy to say. Miss Forth is sitting with him."

"Miss Forth?" I watched the pretty, composed face reflected in the mirror and saw her eyes narrow. "Why is she with him?"

"Because she is a kind, compassionate individual. She has had some medical training. Since I was busy with you, there was no one else to send."

"Where is Mr. Emerson?"

I was about to reply when I realized she might not mean my husband. I supposed I would have to get used to that, too.

"If you are referring to my son, he and David have taken the horses to be exercised. Are you feeling better now? No doubt you will wish to go to your father."

Dolly put a hand over her eyes and shook her head. "I just can't face it, Mrs. Emerson. It breaks my heart to see him looking so poorly."

So I led her to the verandah and told Ali to serve tea. Dolly responded only with abstracted murmurs to my attempts at polite conversation. She had taken a chair next to one of the open arches that offered an excellent view of the sandy path that led toward the riverbank, and her eyes remained fixed on that scene. I assumed she was watching for the doctor, and my annoyance with her subsided a trifle.

Dr. Willoughby made as much haste as he could. It was not long before the carriage drew up. The doctor's calm face, his quiet, soothing voice, his very presence, made me feel that a burden had been lifted from my shoulders. We had known him for many years and had complete confidence in him.

I was about to lead him to the chamber where the sick man lay when Emerson emerged from the house. I had assumed he was skulking in his study, avoiding both Dolly and her father, but his first words assured me that I had misjudged him. Admirable man! He had neglected neither his duties as a father nor his obligations as an English gentleman.

"Nefret and I have been with the Colonel," he explained. "I believe he is resting more easily. Come along, Willoughby."

When Emerson returned, Nefret was with him. She was still wearing her dusty boots and trousers; arms bared to the elbows, shut open at the throat, she pushed the loosened locks of red-gold hair back from her face and dropped wearily into a chair. The cat Sekhmet instantly crawled from my lap to that of Nefret.

"Forgive my appearance," she said formally, stroking the cat. "I really would like a cup of tea before I change."

There was no response from Dolly, who continued to scan the terrain. She might have been admiring the late afternoon light on the golden sand. However, I was beginning to suspect that was not the case. She had barely spoken to the doctor.

Dolly was the first to see the riders approaching. Why they had not gone round to the stables I did not know, but I supposed it was because Ramses had some notion of showing off. He made a good job of it, I must say, bringing the beautiful, obedient creature he bestrode to a spectacular rearing stop in front of the verandah. Even I caught my breath in a gasp of admiration. I knew my son well enough to be sure he had not employed force; his hands were light on the reins and when he leaned forward to pat the horse's neck, it tossed its head like a pretty girl who has received a compliment.

Dolly clapped her hands and ran to the entrance. "Oh, lovely!" she cried. "What a beautiful creature! And how beautifully you ride!"

Ramses gave the dainty, posed little figure a blank look, and I revised my earlier opinion. If he had meant to show off, it had not been Dolly he wanted to impress. I realized then that he had not even known she was there; the decision to bring the Colonel to the house had not been taken until after he and David had left with the mummy.

The boys dismounted and I explained the situation. "Miss Bellingham is waiting to hear from Dr. Willoughby, who is examining her father now. We felt it was best to bring the Colonel here."

"I'll take the horses to the stable," David began.

"No, wait." Dolly gathered her skirts in one graceful hand and approached Risha, who studied her with polite disinterest. "What a beauty! Is she yours, Mr. Emerson?"

Ramses, no more accustomed to that form of address than was I, glanced involuntarily at his father before replying. "Er-yes."

"You will let me try her out, won't you?"

"Now?"

She gave a tinkling laugh. "Silly boy! How could I ride dressed like this?"

Ramses, obviously at a loss, was saved by the return of Dr. Willoughby. He declined my offer of a cup of tea, saying, "I want to get the Colonel to my clinic at once. Not that there is any need for concern," he added with a reassuring smile at Dolly-at her back, rather, for she had not even bothered to face him. "But I would like to keep him under observation for a few days. You will be quite comfortable with us, Miss Bellingham, and I am sure more at ease about your father."

That got Dolly's attention. A frown wrinkled the porcelain surface of her brow. "You want me to stay at the hospital with him? You said there was no need for concern. Why must I go there?"

I knew what the selfish little creature was thinking. The quiet ambience of a clinic, with responsible persons watching over her, was not at all to her taste. She was hoping I would propose that she come to us, and I felt certain that if I did not, she would propose it herself.

"You cannot stay alone at the hotel," I said in a voice that brooked no argument. "This is a very suitable arrangement. Thank you, Dr. Willoughby."

Dolly gave me a cool, measuring look. Realizing she had met her match, she bowed her head and murmured submissively, "Yes, thank you, Doctor."

She must have been watching Ramses out of the corner of her eye. As soon as he started to move away she pounced like a playful kitten. "Thank you so much for your kindness, Mr. Emerson. You won't forget your promise?"

"I haven't done anything," Ramses said. "Er-what promise?"

"To let me ride your beautiful horse."

I was beginning to be very tired of Miss Dolly. "Out of the question, Miss Bellingham. Risha has not been trained to a sidesaddle. You ought not be thinking of pleasure with your father so ill. Emerson, take her to Dr. Willoughby's carriage and put her into it."

Dolly had not been trained either, but few people disobey me when I speak in that tone, and my dear Emerson was quick to follow my suggestion. While he led Dolly away I went with Dr. Willoughby to assist the Colonel, who was sitting up and who did indeed look almost himself again. After assuring me of his gratitude, he added meaningfully, "We have much to discuss, Mrs. Emerson. May I beg the favor of an interview at your earliest-"

"It must be at your convenience, Colonel," I interrupted. "We will have that discussion, to which I look forward as eagerly as you, as soon as Dr. Willoughby feels you are well enough."

"To endure another shock? Have no fear of that, Mrs. Emerson. Nothing could affect me more painfully than what I have seen this day. Whatever comes of it-"

"I understand," I said, for Dr. Willoughby, behind him, was shaking his head and making motions toward the door. "It will all come right in the end, I daresay."

He was not so easily got rid of, though; he insisted on shaking my hand and Emerson's and thanking us again. The boys had made their escape, with the horses. They did not appear until after the carriage had driven away.

Seeing my critical eye upon him, Ramses said, "Do you mind if we don't change for dinner, Mother? It is late, and Father means us to work on the ... to work this evening."

"Yes, quite all right," said Emerson. "Sit down, my dear Peabody. Put your feet up, and I will get you your whiskey and soda. You have had a trying day, but I must tell you, my dear, that-except for one or two forgivable lapses-I have never seen you perform better. You got rid of the Bellinghams quite neatly."

I accepted the whiskey, but I could only shake my head at his naivete. We were not rid of the Bellinghams-far from it! Dolly seemed to have taken an unaccountable fancy to Ramses, and I had not at all liked the way the Colonel had looked at Nefret when he said good-bye. He had presumed to kiss her hand. The Colonel was old enough to be her grandfather, but he was probably vain enough to consider that unimportant. Most men are. And he was now a widower.

"It is Mrs. Bellingham," I said.

The words fell into a solemn silence. I did not doubt they were all thinking the same thing, for no one asked what I meant. Ramses, in his favorite position atop the low wall, was the first to speak.

"If it is-and we have yet to make a positive identification-how did she get from Cairo to a tomb in the Theban hills?"

"That is only one of many unanswered questions," I replied.

Nefret drew her feet up and clasped her hands around her bent knees. "It cannot have been the Colonel who put her there."

"An unproven assumption," Ramses said coldly.

"A reasonable assumption, however," I said. "This is his first trip to Egypt since his wife disappeared. His movements during that earlier visit must have been a matter of public knowledge. Preparing the body, transporting it, locating and excavating a suitable tomb, concealing the location-those activities would have required weeks, possibly months."

"Anyhow, why would a man do such a thing?" David asked, his sensitive lips quivering.

"Well," I began.

"Don't say it, Peabody!" Emerson shouted.

"I see there is no need. You have all thought of it too. But speculation is fruitless at this point; an examination of the body may indicate how she died." Watching Emerson's apoplectic countenance with some concern, I added, "Or it may not. Have more whiskey, Emerson, I beg. There is another possible explanation for the presence of those remains. In criminal investigations one must always ask the question 'Cui bono?" I translated for David, whose Latin was not very good. "Who profits? Now I put it to you that one person does stand to profit from the discovery of the body of a woman, young and beautiful, wrapped in silken garments... ."

A hissing, spurting noise and a gurgled expletive from Emerson stopped me. He had been at the table adding soda to his glass. He turned. Liquid dripped from his chin and the end of his nose.

"Do be careful, my dear," I exclaimed. "Is there something wrong with the gasogene?"

"No," said Emerson. "No, Peabody. There seems to be something wrong with me-with my hearing, or possibly my brain. Are you seriously suggesting that Mrs. Whitney-Jones put that body into that tomb so that she could produce it at the appropriate moment in order to convince Donald Fraser-" His voice broke. "To convince him . . ." He could not continue. Leaning helplessly against the table, he laughed till he choked.

I went to him and pounded him on the back. "I am so pleased to have given you a hearty laugh, my dear. Let us dine, and then-then we will be one step nearer the truth."

It was a salutary reminder of the unhappy task that lay before us. No one had his usual appetite for dinner; Nefret only picked at her food. I had almost come to hope that the mummy might be a tasteless joke after all-a bundle of sticks and padding, designed to deceive-but I knew that there was little chance of such a harmless outcome. The Colonel had recognized something about the body-the hair, or more probably the fabric. As a fond bridegroom he may have selected that gown as part of his bride's trousseau.

After dinner we gathered round the long table in the room Nefret used for developing her photographs. The windows could be, and now were, tightly shuttered. Emerson was taking no chances on our activities being overlooked.

The temperature was high and the faces of the watchers shone with perspiration. In addition to ourselves, Howard Carter and Cyrus Vandergelt were present. It was I who had suggested to Emerson that we ought to have impartial witnesses present, but the promptness with which he had agreed assured me that he had had the same sensible thought. I had explained the situation to Cyrus and Howard over a postprandial glass of brandy. There is nothing like brandy (unless it is whiskey and soda) to soften the impact of shocking news.

Why is it, I wonder, that we are more affected by contemporary cadavers than by the remains of someone long dead? There is no real difference; the physical shell has been abandoned, it is only a husk, a crumpled chrysalis. We were all on familiar terms with mummies. But Nefret's rounded cheeks were paler than usual, and the faces of the men were lined and grave. (Except, of course, for the face of Ramses, which seldom showed emotion of any kind.)

The anonymous bundle lay on the table before us, the dry, pale hair framing the muffled face. My eyes went involuntarily from it to David's watercolor sketch, which was propped on a shelf to finish drying.

He had reproduced the faded blue of the wrappings and the strawlike hair quite accurately, but he had done more than that. All good copyists-Howard Carter and my dear sister, Evelyn, for instance-have the ability to capture the spirit as well as the form of an object. David's drawing might have served as an illustration for a romantic novel about ancient Egypt. Unless Ramses had introduced him to that deplorable variety of fiction, David could not be familiar with it; yet without departing from an accurate representation, he had caught the same aspect I had noticed earlier.