The Buried Pyramid (8 page)

Neville settled with the shop, then handed Jenny into a cab. She fell asleep almost before the cab had rattled into traffic, her head drooping trustingly onto his shoulder as her mother’s had twenty years before. The jet beads trimming the crown of her hat trembled with the motion of the cab, tickling Neville’s cheek a little like tears.

2

Sir Neville’s Secret

Jenny Benet awoke and didn’t know where she was. The bed in which she lay was canopied, and the sheets smelled of lavender, not the strong soap favored by the housekeeping staff at her boarding school. The carpets on the floor were richly-hued and of Persian design, the curtains heavy damask that shone sapphire in the pale sunlight. The furnishings were simple, but obviously of the best quality.

Then motion and a sense of something familiar caught her eye. Her trunks were ranked neatly along one wall, their lids open, and a plump woman whose name hovered at the edge of her memory was bending over the largest, unfolding items of clothing and putting them into an ornately carved wardrobe.

Jenny sat up and scrubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand, then glanced down and saw that she was wearing one of her own night dresses. With the sight, memory crystallized.

“Emily, isn’t it?” she said.

The woman started, glancing around wildly, her hand fluttering in the vicinity of her ample bosom. Then her gaze rested on Jenny and she visibly relaxed. A warm smile lit her pleasant features, making them something far more interesting than pretty.

“You startled me, Miss, that you did! I’m sorry if I woke you, but I thought I could work without disturbing you.”

Jenny looked at the amount of clothing hanging neatly in the wardrobe, and smiled.

“I’d say you did a good job, Emily. What time is it?”

Emily tilted her head to one side.

“Well, I’d guess around eight in the morning. Your uncle has had his breakfast and gone to call on some business associates. He said to tell you he’d be back for luncheon.”

Jenny slid from beneath the covers and stretched, her feet buried in the comfortable plush of the carpet.

“I can’t think when I’ve slept so late! Madame back in Boston would be lecturing me on sloth right enough.”

“Now, I think you just might have needed the rest,” Emily said comfortably. “That’s what I think.”

She looked Jenny up and down, tapping the dimple in her rounded chin with her forefinger.

“You’ll be wanting a wash, if I mind you right. Would you like me to have a breakfast tray sent up for you along with the hot water?”

Jenny nodded. “That would be lovely.”

“And your uncle asked if I’d stand as your lady’s maid.” Emily looked uncomfortable. “I said I’d try, but only if I could tell you that by rights I’m just a maid of all work.”

Jenny laughed.

“Well, that’s fine by me. I’ve never had a lady’s maid. At school we laced each other up as needed. I figure I won’t need much more here.”

Emily relaxed visibly.

“Well, I can manage that much, I’m sure. Let me run down to the kitchen and ask Cook for a tray. I’ll bring back the hot water with me.”

Privacy had not been much available for Jenny either at boarding school or at home, so she found Emily’s chattering company very welcome. In short time, she had learned that Hawthorne House maintained a relatively small staff: housekeeper, butler, cook, footman, Emily herself, and a boy to do the boots and other such chores.

This seemed like a rather large number of people to tend to the comfort of one man, but Emily rapidly made clear there could have been more. Sir Neville did without a valet. He didn’t keep a driver or groom because his horses were stabled at a reliable livery establishment nearby, and he didn’t keep a coach. Between them the housekeeper and cook handled the shopping, and the butler minded the wine cellar. The butler was also in charge of household accounts.

“The staff will even be smaller when Sir Neville goes abroad,” Emily continued, returning to Jenny’s unpacking. “The house is going to be closed, but for the butler and housekeeper to take care of immediate needs. Sir Neville has found places for everyone else, and now he’s taking me and my man along with him.”

Jenny recalled that the footman, Albert, or Bert as Emily preferred to call him, was Emily’s husband of two years. They had no children, but Emily wasn’t distressed.

“We’re putting by for that day,” she said, “and don’t mind having a bit of time to do so, not that Sir Neville would dismiss me, but there’s no escaping that a child gets in the way of doing one’s job.”

Jenny wondered how old Emily might be, and finally decided on somewhere past twenty, but not yet twenty-five. Bert, as she recalled him from their brief meeting the night before, was probably five years older. Young enough, then, to relish an adventure, but mature enough that they could be left to their own devices when Uncle Neville went off wherever it was he was going.

She thought about what he’d said the night before concerning the make-up of that expedition. Three men only, and Bert hadn’t been one of them. She didn’t think Uncle Neville was such a snob as not to mention a servant in his count, but then she didn’t know. There was so much she didn’t know, including the most important thing—how to convince Uncle Neville to let her go with him to Egypt.

“Did Uncle Neville tell you where he was going?”

Emily looked puzzled.

“Why, to Egypt, Miss. Kay-ro or so such heathen place. At least that’s where Bert and I will be stopping. Sir Neville said he might need to go elsewhere, but that he’d make certain we had a respectable place to stay while we’re waiting for him.”

“I’m sure,” Jenny said.

She would have asked more, but she noticed that Emily had lifted a smaller box from inside one of the trunks and was shaking out a ring of keys, clearly looking for the one that would fit the lock.

“No need to unpack that one, Emily,” Jenny interjected with enough haste that Emily gave her a rather quizzical look. “I mean, I don’t think it’s anything I’ll need for a while.”

Emily set it back inside the trunk, though not without a questioning glance. Jenny, thinking of that ring of keys—keys she could certainly reclaim, since they were her own property, but which Emily in turn could easily reacquire for long enough to open the box—made a decision.

“Go ahead and open it,” she said, “but take care with the contents.”

Curiosity and apprehension warred for a moment on Emily’s face, but curiosity won—a thing Jenny wholly appreciated. Turning away to brush her hair, her hand never staying in its rhythmic stroke, she continued to watch through the mirror.

Emily set the black box on a chest of drawers, and unlatched the top. Opening it, she halted, her hand still resting on the lid, her mouth a round circle of surprise and astonishment.

“Miss!” she said. “Miss! These are pistols in here!”

Jenny nodded. “That’s right. Matched set and a boot-top derringer. Bowie knife, too, in the lid. They make it through all right?”

Emily snapped shut the lid as if she were closing it on a box of scorpions: quickly, but with great delicacy.

“I wouldn’t rightly know, Miss.”

“I’ll check them later, then. Salt air might not have done them too much harm, locked away like that.”

“I suppose so, Miss . . .”

Emily folded some of Jenny’s undergarments in silence, but finally curiosity got the better of her.

“Were those your late father’s, Miss?”

Jenny felt that familiar sense of unreality, as if Pierre Benet somehow weren’t dead, though she knew all too well that both he and Mama were gone.

“No, Emily,” she replied, her voice softer than she’d intended. “They’re mine. Always been mine.”

Emily looked at her, eyes impossibly wide. For the first time, Jenny noticed they were blue and that Emily had freckles.

“Oh.”

If Emily excused herself a few minutes later, Jenny, carefully relocking the weapons case, could hardly blame her.

Neville returned shortly before lunch and found Jenny awake, dressed, and in the front parlor, a book spread out on the table before her. When he entered, she leapt to her feet with spontaneous pleasure, a sunny smile all at odds with the unrelieved black of her dress lighting her face.

“What are you reading?” he asked.

“Belzoni’s account of his travels in Egypt.”

“Still interested in Egypt then?”

“Very much so!”

Neville smiled to himself. Perhaps Egypt would lose some of its charm if Jenny knew what other delights awaited her in England.

He seated himself in one of the high backed overstuffed chairs that remained from his parents’ day, steepled his fingers, and began:

“This morning I went out and investigated options for you here in London while I am away. I spoke with Lady Lindenmeade, a good friend of your grandparents. She has said she would be delighted to have you stay with her while I am abroad. The Lindenmeades are quite well connected, and one of Lady Lindenmeade’s granddaughters is coming out this year. I am certain you would receive the best introductions. Margaret is a fine young woman and would only be too happy for your company.”

Jenny bit her lip, clearly not wishing to seem ungracious in the face of an offer that many young women would be only too delighted to accept.

“If it doesn’t make much of a difference, Uncle Neville, I’d still rather go with you.”

Neville realized he was pleased rather than otherwise.

“Well, I spoke with Lady Lindenmeade on that matter as well, and she pointed out to me that as you are still in mourning for your parents, you could not be expected to be enthusiastic about teas and balls.”

“That’s true enough,” Jenny said, though something in her tone suggested that she might be less than enthusiastic at the best of times.

Neville wondered if the American version of the balls and parties that would fill the winter season was less entertaining than the English. Hadn’t Boston been settled by Puritans? Perhaps that explained Jenny’s lack of enthusiasm. He put the matter from his mind.

“Lady Lindenmeade assured me that your reputation would be undamaged if you traveled in my company to Egypt. She is writing to some friends of hers who are wintering there, and believes she can arrange for you to remain with their party when I must leave Cairo.”

Jenny nodded, but Neville thought that some of the brightness in her features dimmed. However, she was too polite—or too prudent—to press the matter. All she said was, “Then I can go with you?”

“That’s right, my dear. You will winter in the land of the pharaohs!”

At this, Jenny’s happiness returned.

“I have arranged,” Neville went on, “for you to meet Lady Lindenmeade for tea tomorrow. She can better advise you on what you will need for a sojourn in Egypt as she wintered there herself a few years ago.”

“Thank you, Uncle Neville. You seem to have thought of everything.”

“I try,” he said. “Emily—you have met Emily, haven’t you?”

“This morning. She seems quite sweet, and very efficient.”

“Emily has agreed to accompany us, and act as your chaperon. She and her husband will wait on you when I am away.”

“Wasn’t Emily going with you before this? She mentioned that she was going when we spoke this morning.”

Neville shook his head.

“No, I only just asked her and Bert last night.”

Jenny looked puzzled, then she grinned.

“You guessed all along that I’d rather go to Egypt than stay here!”

Neville nodded. “I know determination when I see it.”

And I don’t think you’ve quite finished being determined, Miss Benet. There will be time enough to deal with that once you’ve seen Egypt for real. I suspect that you will change your mind about going into the desert without my pressing.

Jenny touched his hand.

“Thank you. I won’t let you down.”

Neville accepted this as a promise.

“Would you be willing to grace me with your presence this afternoon? Our other traveling companion is coming to call. I should like you to meet him before you finalize your decision.”