Seeing a Large Cat (7 page)

Then he realized that the little hands were plucking at his sleeve and that the soft voice was saying something that startled him into giving her his full attention.

"Let's run away and make them look for us. Wouldn't that be fun?"

"Run away? Where? "

"We could take a walk in those pretty gardens. They must be just plain gorgeous at night."

"Well, yes, but it's hardly the sort of place for-"

"I'd be perfectly safe with you," she murmured, clinging to his arm and looking up into his face.

"Er-yes, of course," said Ramses, in some confusion. "But your father- "

"Oh, he'll fuss at me. I don't mind him, I can always talk him around. You aren't afraid of him, are you? "

"No. But my mother wouldn't approve either, and I'm absolutely terrified of her"

"Scaredy cat!"

"I beg your pardon ? "

He had expected she would go on pleading, and he was beginning to enjoy the game. (He was, you must remember, rather new to it.) She caught him completely off guard when she exclaimed, "Oh, look!" and ran down the stairs, laughing at him over her shoulder. By the time he got his wits back she was threading a perilous path through the traffic that filled the street.

He thought he had her once, but she twisted gracefully away from the hand he had put on her shoulder and darted straight into the shadowy entrance. The gatekeeper intercepted him when he tried to follow; cursing with almost as much eloquence as his father, he fumbled in his pocket for a coin. The delay had given her ample time to elude him, but that was not what she wanted; glimpses of fluttering pink silk and silvery tinkles of laughter led him on, from one winding path into another. At first the walkways were well populated, but people made way for them, with smiles and laughing comments. One woman-an American, by her voice-exclaimed, "Aren't they cute? "

Ramses was not feeling at all cute, if he understood the word correctly. He could only hope to get the spoiled little creature back to the hotel before anyone noticed they were missing, and pray none of the amused spectators were friends of his parents or her father. There were not so many strollers now. She was heading away from the cafes and the restaurant, back into the darker, less populated areas.

For a few long seconds he lost sight of her. Then the glow of a lamp ahead shone on pink silk, and he turned into the side path, swearing with relief and renewed anger. She was there, only a few feet ahead of him-not running now, walking slowly, and looking from side to side. No one else was in sight. Breaking into a run, he caught her up, took her by the shoulders, and spun her round to face him.

"Of all the silly, stupid stunts- " he began.

She caught hold of his lapels and leaned against him. "There's someone there," she whispered. "In the bushes. He was following me."

"Oh, right," said Ramses.

"I'm frightened. Hold me."

The tremulous pink mouth was close to his. She must be standing on tiptoe, Ramses thought.

That was his last coherent thought for some time. She fit snugly if stiffly into his arms-he had never been in such close contact with a girl wearing corsets before-and the soft pink mouth was a good deal more experienced than it had appeared.

The interval might have lasted even longer had he not been distracted by the crash of shattering glass. The flame of the nearest lamp-the only one along that stretch of the path- popped and hissed and went out.

Though he could see nothing he heard the sounds from the shrubbery and knew what they meant. He tried to pull away from Dolly's clinging arms, but she tightened her stranglehold round his neck and buried her face against his chest. His hands were raised, trying to loosen hers, when an indistinct form emerged from the shrubbery, snatched the girl away, and kicked his feet out from under him. He heard a strangled squawk from Dolly and managed to twist in midair, so that it was the side of his face instead of his nose and forehead that came into jarring contact with the gritty ground. When he scrambled up his eyes had begun to adjust to the darkness. He could see the glimmer of Dolly's light-colored frock and the pale oval of her face. He wondered why she wasn't screaming.

The fellow let her go and darted at Ramses. He blocked the blow but was somewhat disconcerted to feel a sharp pain run along his forearm. He had not seen the knife. Simultaneously he landed a blow of his own, a hard backhanded swing that struck the man across the side of the head and sent him staggering back.

Then Dolly screamed. The sound startled both men; it was, as Ramses later remarked, rather like having a shell explode right next to your ear. The other man turned and plunged into the shrubbery.

Instinctively Ramses started in pursuit. It was perhaps just as well Dolly stopped him, stepping out into his path and fainting gracefully but decisively against him.

Her screams had attracted attention. A few belated strollers were coming their way, calling out questions. There was no chance of catching up with the attacker now, even if he had not been encumbered with a swooning maiden.

Ramses hoisted the girl unceremoniously into his arms and began to retrace his steps, politely declining offers of assistance from the curious people he encountered. "Thank you our friends are waiting-she is unhurt-frightened by the dark-you know how women are. ..."

Thank God, he thought piously, his mother had not heard him say that. What his mother would say to him he dared not think. "Another shirt ruined? " Not to mention his new suit, which he had owned less than forty-eight hours. He had got blood all over Dolly's dress, too. It looked very expensive.

His family was waiting at the entrance to the gardens. He was not surprised; his mother had an uncanny instinct for being in the wrong place at the right time. They were all staring at him-all except Nefret, who was examining her face in a small hand mirror. She glanced in his direction and shook her head, smiling as if at the antics of a naughty little boy.

Which was, of course, precisely how she thought of him.

Since it seemed clear that God was not going to do him the favor of striking him dead on the spot, he tried desperately to think of something to say that would not make him appear more of an idiot than he already felt. "Er-I beg your pardon for being so long. I assure you the delay was unavoidable."

"The would-be abductor must have done something to attract her attention and draw her away, into the gardens," I said thoughtfully. "Hence her exclamation. Didn't she tell you what she saw?"

"There was not time," said Ramses, staring intently at his empty glass.

"What was he wearing?"

"Amelia," said my husband. "May I interrupt for a moment?"

"Certainly, my dear. Have you thought of something you want to ask Ramses?"

"I do not want to ask him anything. I do not want you to ask him anything. I do not want anyone to ask him anything."

"But, Emerson-"

"I don't care who is after Bellingham's daughter, Peabody-if anyone is. She is not our responsibility. Neither," Emerson went on, smiling at me in a fashion that would have made some women run whimpering from the room, "is Mrs. Fraser our responsibility. Our responsibility, Peabody, is to our children-I include David, of course-and to one another, and to our work! So firmly convinced of this truth am I that I have determined to leave Cairo at once. We will sail tomorrow."

I was not at all put out, since I had expected something of the sort from Emerson. He is always complaining about interruptions to our work, and interfering in other people's affairs, and so on. I knew perfectly well that we would end up being involved no matter what he said or did to prevent it, so I said only:

"We cannot leave so soon, Emerson. The tailor has not finished with Ramses's clothes, and if he goes on as he has begun, he will certainly require a quantity of them. That coat is ruined, and he has had it less than-"

"Very well, my dear," said Emerson in the same mild voice. "We will go round to the tailor tomorrow morning-you and I together, Peabody, since I don't intend to let you out of my sight until we are under way. We will collect what is finished and have the rest sent on."

"I think that is a very sensible suggestion," said Nefret. "Our leaving as soon as possible, I mean. It would also be sensible for us to go to bed. Good night."

She swept out of the room.

"What is she so angry about?" David asked.

"Whom is she angry at, would be more accurate." Ramses removed the cat from his lap and deposited it on a chair. "I expect it's me. Good night, Mother. Good night, Father. Are you coming, David?"

David was, of course. He had said very little-he seldom got the chance to say anything when we were all together-but I knew he was blaming himself for not being at Ramses's side when danger threatened. They were the closest of friends and David took his self-assumed responsibilities far too seriously. No one, as I had good cause to know, could keep Ramses out of trouble for long.

"Now that is odd," I remarked after they had gone.

"What?"

"I would have expected Ramses to stay, speculating and theorizing and talking and arguing. He must be feeling more ill than he admitted. I had better go and-"

"No, you hadn't." Emerson put his arms around me and held me fast.

"Now, Emerson, don't do that. At least don't do that here in the saloon where people can-"

"Elsewhere, then."

"Gladly, my dear." As we strolled-or to be more accurate, hastened-toward our room, I said, "I am in complete agreement with your decision to leave tomorrow, Emerson. It will be good to be back at work again. You will begin, I assume, with tomb Twenty-A?"

Emerson drew me into the room, kicked the door shut, and swung round to face me. "Why should you assume anything of the sort?"

"It seems evident that quite a number of people want you to investigate it."

"What the devil are you talking about, Peabody?" Emerson demanded. He shook his head. "One would think that after all these years I would have become accustomed to your mental gyrations, but it really is deuced hard to keep up with them. The messages demanded I stay out of the place. And besides-"

"Emerson, you know perfectly well that the surest way of getting you to do something is to forbid you to do it. Colonel Bellingham's offer this evening was a subtler variation of the same method. He offered you the chance to look for unknown tombs, knowing full well that the suggestion of patronage on his part would make you even more determined to go on with what you had originally planned-that is, investigate the known tombs, including Twenty-A."

Emerson opened his mouth as if to speak.

"Furthermore," I went on, "Donald Fraser also endeavored-clumsily, I admit, but he is not a subtle person-to turn your attention away from the lesser-known tombs in the Valley-which includes, I hardly need point out, tomb Twenty-A! Can all these seemingly unrelated incidents be part of a single sinister plan? There can be no doubt of it, Emerson. Someone is trying to get you into that tomb. The only question is-why?"

Emerson's mouth was still open. He began mumbling. "It's getting worse. Or is it that my wits are failing? I used to be able to follow ... Well, more or less ... But this is ..."

I deemed it advisable to change the subject. Turning, I said, "May I request your assistance with the buttons, my dear?"

Chapter Three

Cats cannot be held accountable for their actions, because they have no morals to speak of.

Emerson was as good as his word. He followed close on my heels next morning while I made the rounds of boot makers, tailors, and haberdashers. Not even the hour I spent at the linen drapers got him off the trail, though he had never willingly entered that establishment before; arms folded, brow thunderous, he stood behind me while I selected handkerchiefs, serviettes, and sheets. It was well on toward midday before I finished, and when we returned to our hired carriage (Emerson holding my arm in a hard grip the whole time), I suggested that since the day was half gone we should postpone our departure till the following morning.

"No," said Emerson.

So we got off that same day, and I confess I was not unwilling to enjoy again the pleasures of Nile travel-to sit on the upper deck under the shade of an awning, watching glide past the fields upon which the water of the inundation lay in glimmering sheets, the mud-brick villages shaded by palm and tamarisk, the naked children splashing in the shallows. It was a scene that had not changed in thousands of years; the majestic shapes of the pyramids of Giza and Sakkara, their scarred slopes smoothed by distance, might have been just completed by the same half-naked men who tilled the muddy fields.

Emerson at once retired to the saloon, which we used as a sitting room and library. I knew better than to disturb him; he was accustomed to use this period of time to work out his plans for the winter, and he did not like to be questioned about them until he had things clear in his mind. At least that was what he always claimed. The truth is he took a childish pleasure in keeping the rest of us in suspense.

It was not until late afternoon that I was able to get Ramses alone. He and David were with Nefret on the upper deck, engaged in an animated discussion about mummies and examining some very nasty photographs. Averting my eyes from the face of an unfortunate queen whose cheeks had burst because of an excess of packing material under the skin, I requested that he try on his new clothes. He objected, of course, but only as a matter of form, since he knew it would have no effect.

The parcels I had fetched that morning were piled on the bed and the floor, unwrapped and uninspected. I removed a bundle of shirts from the chair and seated myself. Ramses eyed me warily.

"I want to be certain the trousers and shirts are a proper fit," I explained. "Go behind the screen to change if you like."

Ramses assured me he did like. When he emerged he looked quite respectable except for the rolled-up bottoms of his trouser legs. I seated myself on the floor and took my sewing kit from my pocket.

"What are you doing?" Ramses asked in surprise.

"Measuring your trouser legs. They will have to be hemmed."

"But, Mother! Never in your entire life have you willingly-"

"Your father left me little choice," I replied, putting in pins.

"The tailor would have done it properly if you had returned for the final fitting. Oh, dear, I am sorry. Did I prick you?"

"Yes. Why not spare yourself and me and tell me what it is you want to talk to me about?"

I looked up. Like the Egyptians he resembles in so many ways, Ramses has very long, thick lashes. They give his dark eyes quite a penetrating expression, but I knew that impassive countenance well, and I detected an underlying look of uneasiness.

"I suppose we can find a tailor in Luxor," I admitted, taking the hand he offered and allowing him to raise me to my feet. "Just tuck them into your boot tops until then."

"That temporary solution had occurred to me. Will this take long? I promised Father-"

"Let him wait. It is his own fault, for refusing to allow me to discuss the matter earlier." I seated myself and arranged my skirts.

Ramses remained standing, arms folded and feet apart. Thanks to my study of psychology I recognized the posture as one of defensiveness and attempted domination, but of course I did not allow it to affect me. I had determined to follow Emerson's advice and treat Ramses like a responsible adult, confiding in him and asking his opinion. It was an effort, but one I felt obliged to make.

"What do you suppose is worrying Enid?" I inquired.

Ramses sat down rather suddenly on the bed. It might have been surprise that made him relax his aggressive posture. However, I thought I detected a flicker of relief in his hooded eyes. He had expected me to interrogate him about something else.

After a moment he shook his head. "I have no more information on the matter than you, Mother. If I might be allowed to theorize ..."

"Pray do," I said with an encouraging smile.

"Hmmm. Well, then, I would guess the lady whom we met yesterday is somehow involved. She appears to be travelling with them, but in what capacity? It seemed strange to me, as it must have done to you, that her precise relationship was never explained or defined, as is ordinarily the case when introductions are made. She is not an Egyptologist, or we would know her name; if she were a kinswoman, however distant, that fact would surely have been mentioned. One possible relationship does come to mind...."

He hesitated, looking at me from under lowered lids, and I reminded myself again of what Emerson had said. One small consolation was that Ramses could have learned of that relationship only secondhand. He had not the means to support a mistress.

Assuming a neutral expression, I said, "Unlikely in the extreme. Not only is she too old and too plain, but Donald would never be ungentlemanly enough to force his wife to accept his-er-to accept her as a travelling companion."

To my astonishment I saw that Ramses was blushing. I had never supposed he could. "That was not what I had in mind, Mother."

"What other possible relationships are there?" I demanded, hoping I was not blushing. "If she is not a hired guide or a relative or an old friend?"

"Companion," said Ramses. The blush had been no more than a slight darkening of his brown cheeks; it faded and his expression became grave. "Mrs. Fraser did not look well. People often come to Egypt for their health, yet if she had been ill and required the services of a nurse, why was this harmless fact not mentioned? Her behavior was erratic, and she obviously fears and dislikes Mrs. Whitney-Jones."

"A nervous disorder," I breathed. "Good heavens."

"You had thought of it, of course," said Ramses, watching me.

"Of course," I said automatically.

I had not thought of it, in fact, and the idea was so distressing that when Ramses pointed out it was almost teatime, and that Emerson would be looking for me, I did not pursue the subject. After tucking his trousers into his boot tops, Ramses politely escorted me to the saloon, where, as he had predicted, we found Emerson irritably demanding his tea.

Over the next few days I gave more thought to Ramses's theory and found it hideously convincing. It explained Enid's strange behavior and Mrs. Whitney-Jones's anomalous position. Mental disorders were viewed by the unenlightened as something shameful. Donald might hesitate to confide his wife's true condition even to such old friends as we.

After careful consideration, I decided not to confront Ramses with the other matter concerning which I had intended to interrogate him. I did not believe for a moment in his account of the incident in the Ezbekieh. My well-developed maternal instincts assured me he had told the truth, but not the whole truth. However, Emerson was right on two counts: the Bellinghams had nothing to do with us, and Ramses's relationships with persons of the female sex were best left to his father-for the present, at any rate.

I had enough to occupy my mind during the remainder of the trip-the usual domestic crises, woman-to-woman talks with Nefret, discussions of our plans for the whiter-and, when Emerson was not in the saloon, refreshing my memory of the topography of the Valley of the Kings. Emerson had admitted the correctness of our surmises; it was the smaller, insignificant tombs he meant to investigate that season. I would have found the prospect depressing had it not been for the mystery of tomb Twenty-A. To my annoyance I was unable to find any reference to this tomb, nor was it marked on the only map I had been able to locate. The map was an old one that had appeared in Lepsius's monumental work circa 1850, so I decided Lepsius had probably overlooked it.

Ramses was no more enthusiastic about small uninscribed tombs than I. Being Ramses, he found a specious excuse for avoiding the task.

"If the tombs are uninscribed, there will be nothing for me to do, Father. You have Nefret to take photographs, and David to make plans and sketches, and the men, especially Abdullah, to assist in excavating. And," he added quickly, "Mother, who can turn her hand to anything. Would there be any objection to my continuing the project I began last year? I have worked out a new method of copying I am anxious to try."

The project had, in fact, originated several years earlier, but our clearance of Tetisheri's tomb had not given Ramses much time to work at it before the preceding winter. Though Ramses was a reasonably skilled excavator and surveyor, he had an extraordinary talent for languages, and it was in this realm that his primary interests lay. A remark of his father's had inspired this latest project-copying the inscriptions that covered the walls of Theban temples and monuments.

Every year, every month (said Emerson, in passionate commentary), more of these irreplaceable texts were lost. The infrequent but violent rainstorms, the slow, insidious attack of sun and sand, had caused the stone to crumble over the centuries, and now the new dam at Aswan had raised the water table so that the monuments were being eaten away from below. Some of the texts had been copied by earlier visitors, but Ramses had a method involving a combination of photography and hand copying that he hoped would produce more accurate reproductions than any heretofore. His knowledge of the language gave him an additional advantage. When the hieroglyphic signs are badly weathered only a trained linguist can tell what they must have been.

I am, in fact, somewhat unjust to Ramses when I claim his sole motive was to get out of work he found tedious. The cause was a worthy one, and since it required him to stand for long hours on flimsy ladders, examining the marks on sun-baked walls, it was not a task for the faint of heart.

Sailing has a soothing effect on even the most restless personalities. We had one of the most idyllic voyages I can recall.

The river was high and the north wind swelled the white sails. We moored one night near the beloved site of Amarna, where in the days of our youth Emerson and I had first learned to appreciate one another. Whether by design or accident the children went early to bed, and Emerson and I stood long at the rail, holding one another's hands like young lovers and watching the slender silver sickle of the new moon swing low above the cliffs. It seemed as if 'twere only yesterday; and when Emerson led me to our cabin I felt like a bride again.

In the enjoyment of such pleasures my concern about Enid diminished. Dr. Willoughby, in Luxor, was a specialist in nervous disorders; he would be able to help her. The only minor flaw in our arrangements was Ramses's steadfast refusal to take up with Sekhmet. Not that he was unkind; one of Ramses's few virtues was his fondness for animals, and he would not have mistreated any creature. Firmly, gently, and in silence, he simply removed her when she tried to crawl onto his knee. I thought Sekhmet felt it a great deal, but when I taxed Ramses with it he gave me one of his peculiar half-smiles and asked how I could tell.

Ramses and I were getting on quite well; I reflected, with pardonable complacency, on how neatly I had handled the conversation about Enid and how appreciatively he had responded to my courtesy.

Which only goes to show that even I can be deceived, and that Ramses had indeed matured. He was even more duplici-tous, and better at concealing it, than he had been in his youth.

Though I am British to the core and proud of it, Egypt holds a place in my heart that is unequalled even by the green meadows of Kent. It would be hard to say which of Egypt's many antique sites is dearest to me: I have a particular weakness for pyramids, but Amarna has sentimental as well as professional associations and Thebes had been our home for the past several years. As the Amelia maneuvered in toward shore my heart beat fast with anticipation and a sense of homecoming. It was always the same, yet it was always different-the light on the western cliffs a softer gold, the shadows a more subtle shade of lilac. Evening was drawing in; for the past few miles we had glided through water stained crimson and gold with reflected sunset. Across the river the monumental ruins of the temples of Karnak and Luxor shone pale in the dusk, with the lights of the modern town twinkling between them.

When the gangplank went down I held the others back so that David might be the first to disembark. Prominent among the group of friends who awaited us was the tall, dignified form of Abdullah, our reis, and I knew he yearned to clasp his grandson in his arms.

"What the devil are you doing, Peabody?" Emerson demanded, trying to detach himself from my grip.

"Abdullah yearns to clasp David in his arms," I explained. "Allow them a few moments alone to enjoy the bliss of their reunion."

"Hmph," said Emerson.

Other arms were waiting to clasp him and Ramses: Daoud, Abdullah's nephew and second in command; Selim, Abdullah's youngest son; Yussuf and Ibrahim and Ali and the other men who had been faithful friends and workers for many years. Abdullah came at once to offer me a hand as I stepped onto the bank. His dark, dignified face was stern and unsmiling, but affection warmed his eyes.

Emerson cut short the embraces and cries of welcome. He greeted Abdullah in characteristic fashion, with a hearty handclasp and a loud complaint. "Curse it, Abdullah, where are the horses?"

"Horses?" Abdullah's eyes shifted.

"Large, four-footed animals. People ride on them," said Emerson with awful sarcasm. "The horses we hire every season. How are we supposed to get to the house?"