Amanda Grange & Jacqueline Webb (2 page)

Both children turned in surprise. They had been so engrossed in the figurine that they had failed to hear any noise from the hall.

Margaret stood in the doorway, watching her brother and sister struggle for ownership of the statuette.

“We're not doing anything,” Laurence said defensively and also mendaciously.

“Yes you are. You're fighting over Cousin Edward's doll.”

The word “doll” had a startling effect on Laurence. He stopped trying to wrest the little figure from his sister, nearly causing her to drop it.

“I'm not interested in any stupid doll,” he said, suddenly aware of his dignity as a nine-year-old boy. “In fact there's nothing very interesting in here at all. I'm going to go down to the pond and see if the frogs are out yet.”

He ran out of the door and Jane followed automatically. Then she hesitated a second and looked back at the figurine in puzzlement, before shrugging her shoulders and following her brother. With a noisy clattering down the stairs, they were gone.

Margaret stayed where she was. For a moment she examined the little figurine from a distance; then slowly, almost dreamily, she entered the room and reached up to take the object in her hands. She smiled at the doll and then, humming a little song, picked up the chamois cloth and began to polish its jewels.

***

It was some half an hour later when Darcy held out a brandy glass to Edward. The children had all disappeared and Elizabeth had gone to speak to the housekeeper, leaving the gentlemen in possession of the drawing room.

“Your good health, Cousin. And now that you've admired my phaeton, expressed delight over Elizabeth's garden, and enchanted my children, perhaps you should tell me more about your reason for being in London,” Darcy said.

“I am afraid you will disapprove,” said Edward with a rueful shake of the head.

“Does it have anything to do with Sir Matthew Rosen?” asked Darcy, as he took a seat and stretched his long legs out in front of him. He took a sip of brandy. “Sir Matthew has written some very interesting articles for
The
Times
recently, and I hear he is trying to find more patrons for his Egyptian dig. In fact, I believe he is even willing to allow some enthusiasts to join his party—for a consideration, of course.”

Edward took a drink of brandy.

“I knew you would not approve,” he said.

“Perhaps
not
understand
is closer to the mark. If you want to go then I cannot stop you, but think carefully before you commit yourself. Egypt is a long way from home if you change your mind.”

He was fond of Edward. More than fifteen years Edward's senior, he felt like more of an uncle toward the young man than a cousin and he remembered Edward's many boyhood enthusiasms with affection. They had come and gone like the will-o-the-wisp, full of movement and colour, but with the same ephemeral lifespan.

With the one exception of Egypt. Ever since he was five, when he had first heard his father talking about his trip to Egypt with Darcy's father, Edward had been enthralled by the very mention of the place, and this was despite the fact that both men had returned from their ill-fated adventure being poorer and also worryingly ill with strange diseases.

Elizabeth
was
right
, thought Darcy;
enthral
is
a
good
word. It is as though they are bewitched by the place. Edward has never even been, and yet his eyes light up at the thought of it
.

“Luncheon will be ready shortly,” Elizabeth announced, walking into the room.

“I was just asking Edward what his plans are while he is in London,” Darcy said as he got up and poured her a glass of ratafia.

“Tell us all about it,” Elizabeth said, spreading the skirt of her white lawn empire dress on the chaise longue. She took the drink and savoured it. “I take it you will be visiting the Egyptian exhibition at the British Museum? I do hope so. I have wanted to go there for some time. We could all go together; it would be good for the children. Darcy is always worrying about the children's education,” she said teasingly.

Darcy took the teasing in good part, having become accustomed to it in the years of his marriage.

“By all means,” he replied. “It would be interesting. The children have never seen the Egyptian exhibits and I think the older children in particular will be interested to see the Rosetta Stone. Did you not acquire some prints of the Stone, Edward? I seem to remember you thinking you might be able to decipher the hieroglyphs.”

Edward laughed.

“You are quite right,” he said. “I was so excited by news of the discovery that I set to work right away, alas to no avail. It seemed as if it would be so easy, the Stone having the same message written in three different languages, one of them being the hieroglyphic language. But even understanding the other two languages was no help. Messages written in letters are one thing; messages recorded in pictures are quite another.”

“There is no shame in having failed,” said Darcy. “Better…” He stopped suddenly.

“Better minds than mine have tried and failed?” asked Edward.

“I was not going to say that,” said Darcy.

Elizabeth and Edward both gave him a disbelieving look and he laughed. “Very well, I was. I would like to see it again,” he mused. “I have not been to the Egyptian rooms for several years. When do you intend to go?”

“Tomorrow. I would be delighted if you would all accompany me. I have made an appointment to see Sir Matthew Rosen, but it should not take long. I would enjoy showing you around.”

“I guessed as much,” said Darcy.

“Sir Matthew Rosen?” asked Elizabeth.

“An authority on Egyptian tombs and artefacts,” said Edward. “He has recently returned from an archaeological site near Cairo and I am anxious to talk to him.”

“Then it is settled; we will visit the museum tomorrow. I am already looking forward to it,” she said, her eyes sparkling.

She stood up as the gong for luncheon sounded in the hall, and the two gentlemen sprang to their feet. As they moved toward the dining room, Edward excused himself for a moment in order to retrieve a letter from his room that his father had given him for Darcy. Not wishing to delay the others, he bounded up the stairs two at a time and raced along to his room. But he stopped as he neared the door and heard a voice whispering softly. He walked slowly to the room and looked in.

Margaret was standing by the window, holding something in her hand, and talking to herself.

“Margaret? Are you quite well, my dear?” he asked. The child's soft brown curls were sticking to her face, which was flushed with heat. She turned at the sound of his voice.

“Oh, Cousin Edward, I was talking to your doll. She's very sparkly.”

“Yes. Where did you find her?”

“I didn't find her. L—”

The little girl frowned and he guessed she was trying to avoid mentioning her brother's name. Edward was well aware of the fascination his leather bag held for certain members of the Darcy clan, and he smiled.

“Well, never mind. Do you like her? Her name is Aahotep.”

“Is it? She's not very nice, is she? But I think she's rather sad.”

“Why do you say that?” Edward asked, startled.

He had found the doll in the attic of his family home, along with several other artefacts his father had brought home from Egypt. It was of little monetary value, although the coloured glass made it look pretty.

“Because she was mean to someone and now she can't say sorry although she wants to. And it's making her mean toward other people. But I feel sorry for her.”

“Well, I expect she will feel better when she has had some lunch,” Edward said gently.

Margaret gazed at him with clear grey eyes.

“She's a doll, Uncle Edward. She doesn't get hungry.”

Edward smiled. “Well, I do and I am sure you do too. Come, let us leave Aahotep to ponder her evil deeds and go down to lunch, shall we?”

Margaret nodded and, taking his hand, was soon busily reciting the tale of her recent visit to Kent, where she had visited her great-aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Her unusually rosy colour faded rapidly and Edward dismissed it as a peculiarity of the very young. It was not until much later on that he realised he should have paid more attention to the littlest Darcy's pronouncements, but by then it was too late.

Elizabeth woke the following morning with the feeling that something was wrong. At first she could not think what it was, but then she realised that no children were jumping on the bed or wriggling under the covers next to her.

She smiled as she remembered how horrified Darcy had been the first time the children had invaded their bedroom in the morning. He had been raised in a formal manner and he had seen his parents by appointment, usually for an hour after dinner, when he had recited whatever poem he had been learning or displayed his command of Latin. Then, having been smiled upon by his mother and inspired by his father, he had returned to the nursery, there to stay until the next appointed time. So when Beth had first toddled into the Darcys' bedroom, having escaped her sleeping nurse, he had been torn between delight at seeing her waddling toward him and an uncomfortable feeling that she should have stayed in the nursery.

Elizabeth had not had any such difficulties, and she had given Beth a hug. Darcy had been charmed, despite the feeling that it was wrong for someone as august as Miss Elizabeth Darcy to crow with delight as her mother, the equally august Mrs Elizabeth Darcy, tickled her and teased her. But then he had been overcome with love and affection and he had succumbed entirely.

The Darcys' room had become more and more crowded in the mornings as further children had arrived, until the older children had started to feel it was beneath their dignity to cavort in such a manner and had gradually absented themselves from the proceedings. Now Beth and William never came, John seldom, and even Laurence and Jane only whirled into the room about three mornings out of five. But Margaret always came. And yet here it was, past seven o'clock, and there was no sign of her.

Fearing that Margaret was ill, Elizabeth slipped out of bed and, throwing a wrapper round her shoulders, went along the splendid landing and into Margaret's room. She need not have worried. The early morning sunlight, creeping in through a crack in the curtains, illuminated a peaceful scene. Margaret was sound asleep, clutching her Egyptian doll, and judging by the murmurs that came from her cherubic lips, she was dreaming.

A slight creak alerted Elizabeth to the fact that someone else was walking along the landing and a moment later Darcy entered the room and put his arm round her.

“I thought I would find you here. It is not the same without Meg climbing on the bed, is it, my love? I am glad she has not outgrown the habit. She must be worn out after yesterday's excitement.”

“Edward certainly knows how to exhilarate people,” Elizabeth agreed.

“He does. He has always been carried away by his enthusiasms.”

“Which is no bad thing,” said Elizabeth. “I have been thinking for some time that I would like an adventure and Edward, with his talk of Egypt, is the next best thing.”

“An adventure? Do I bore you, my love?” asked Darcy teasingly.

She put her hand up to his face. “Never. But we have spent a great many years having our family—wonderful years and I would not change them for anything—and yet now that the children are older, I find myself thinking of all the places I have never seen. When I was younger, a trip to the Lake District seemed like an adventure, but now the Lake District is familiar and I find myself longing for that sense of excitement again, the feeling that I am going somewhere different, to see something new. To be transported beyond the confines of my normal life, to experience something that cannot be foreseen.”

“Then it is a good thing we are going to the British Museum. You can feast your eyes upon the Egyptian artefacts and imagine yourself exploring the pyramids!” he teased her.

Margaret stirred and then settled again.

“Let her sleep,” said Elizabeth. “It will be a busy day for her.”

“For all of us,” said Darcy.

***

The busyness was already apparent when Elizabeth walked into the drawing room an hour later to find the boys already up and dressed, surrounded by books.

Edward, who was pointing out something of interest in one of them, looked up with a laugh and said, “We breakfasted early, and ever since then we have been raiding the library for books on Egypt. Darcy has a fine collection.”

Elizabeth was used to seeing William with a book, but it was rare to see either John or Laurence anywhere near one by choice, and she thought with satisfaction that Edward's visit had already been good for them.

Although she would never admit as much to Darcy, she did sometimes think that Laurence would benefit from school, but she hated the thought of losing him. He was her youngest son and she wanted to keep him with her. Now, seeing him so happy and engaged at home, she felt her somewhat guilty conscience being appeased.

“There are all sorts of interesting things in the museum,” said William. “Did you know it was opened over fifty years ago and that it has lots of Egyptian artefacts in it?”

“The Rosetta Stone was found by a soldier,” said John proudly.

“Only a French soldier,” said Laurence scathingly.

“Some of the French fought bravely. Colonel Fitzwilliam said so,” returned John. “I expect the Stone was found by one of the brave ones. The French invaded Egypt and they were working on the defences at Fort Julien when one of the soldiers saw the Stone sticking out of the ground,” he explained to his mama. “It was near a place called Rosetta, which is why they called it the Rosetta Stone.”

“But what is important,” said William, “is that it has some writing on it, and the writing says the same thing but in three different kinds of writing. One of them is in Greek writing, and one of them is ordinary Egyptian writing, and one of them is hiero… hiero… hieroglyphs, which are a kind of pictures. I can read and write Greek, so if I could make a copy of the Stone, I might be able to work out what the hieroglyphs mean.”

“No, you wouldn't,” said Laurence. “No one can read the hieroglyphs yet, not even Cousin Edward.”

“And if not even Edward can read them, what hope is there for anyone else?” asked Elizabeth.

Edward laughed and moved some books so that she could sit down.

“I appear to have taken over your drawing room,” he said.

“Never mind, I do not have time to sit down anyway,” she said. “It is time we were all getting ready for our outing. Fitzwilliam has given orders for the carriages to be brought round and they will be at the door in half an hour.”

“Then we had better be ready for them,” said Edward.

There was a flurry of activity, but by the time thirty minutes had passed, everyone was ready; even Margaret, who had at last roused herself and who was holding her doll tightly in her hand.

Edward delighted the children by suggesting that he should go in the carriage with them while Darcy should drive Elizabeth in his new phaeton. The suggestion delighted Darcy and Elizabeth almost as much as it delighted the children, for as much as they loved their offspring, they valued having time alone together.

The morning was bright and sunny, with the first feeling of spring in the air, and Elizabeth could not have been happier as she took her place beside her husband. The two-seater carriage, which had an open top, was pulled by a pair of matched bays, and they cut quite a dash as they moved out into the road.

Darcy drove with skill through the London traffic, past brewers' carts, hackney carriages, and ponderous coaches, while Elizabeth revelled in the feel of the soft air on her cheeks. By the time they arrived at Montague House, which housed the museum, she had a healthy glow to her skin and her eyes were bright, prompting Darcy to seize her hand and kiss it as he helped her out of the phaeton.

She had a sudden memory of the first time he had helped her out of a carriage, and she saw by his expression that he remembered it, too. She looked down at their joined hands and then looked at Darcy, whose eyes were full of his love for her. Thinking herself the luckiest woman in the world, she took his arm and looked up at the splendid museum.

Ahead of them, the children were spilling out of the Darcy coach. They had all been given strict instructions by Elizabeth to be on their best behaviour, but she need not have worried: the large and imposing building had its effect on them and they went quietly inside.

As they did so, she noticed the effect Beth had on everyone they passed. Without ever trying, Beth managed to charm people. They looked at her quiet, self-assured figure and felt the goodness she radiated. Coupled with her undoubted beauty, it entranced them, young and old. And yet Beth was unaware of it.

William looked around him with interest, while John's eyes searched for any display of weapons the museum might have. Laurence, for once overawed, held Jane's hand, and Margaret followed on behind as Edward led them to the Rosetta Stone.

“You seem to know your way,” said Darcy.

“I have seen the Stone before,” said Edward.

“How long has it been here?” asked William.

“Thirteen years,” said Edward. “Colonel Turner brought it to England when the French surrendered to the English in Egypt. He presented it to the king, and the king said that it should be put in the museum.”

“I should like to see the site of the battles,” said John. “Colonel Fitzwilliam has told me all about Aboukir Bay and the triumph of our armies. I wish we could go to Egypt,” he added wistfully.

They arrived at the Stone. Beth, who had shown little interest in the proceedings, was captivated by the hieroglyphs.

“Look at the beautiful pictures. That one looks like a bird,” she said. “And that one looks like a shepherd's crook.”

“It looks like a lot of squiggles to me,” said Laurence. “If it's been here for thirteen years, why hasn't anyone found out what it says yet?”

“Because the language is very different from anything we are used to,” said Edward.

William took out a notebook and started copying the hieroglyphs, but Edward said, “There is no need for that. I have a print of them in my bags. I will give it to you when we return to the house.”

Elizabeth was as intrigued as the children. The Stone seemed very exotic and she could almost feel the heat of the desert as she looked at it. How wonderful it must be to travel, to see the pyramids and deserts, to float down the Nile and smell the unfamiliar scents that permeated that strange world!

“I will have to leave you here for a while,” said Edward. “It is time for my meeting with Sir Matthew.”

As Edward was about to leave them, Darcy took him to one side.

“Does Sir Matthew know you are the son of an earl?” he asked.

“Of course,” said Edward. Adding, with a sudden smile, “How else do you think I managed to arrange an interview with him?”

“I suppose it would do no good to warn you that he is only interested in your family's wealth and status, not your enthusiasm?” asked Darcy. “Expeditions cost a great deal of money to pursue, and scholars are always short of funds.”

“No good at all,” said Edward. “Just as it would do no good for you to warn him that I am not just interested in his knowledge, but that I hope to persuade him to take me with him when he returns to Egypt.”

He bowed and withdrew, leaving the Darcys to wander the room and exclaim over the strange treasures housed in the museum. There were Greek vases, marble statues, and even an Egyptian mummy, which delighted Laurence. John, meanwhile, was more interested in the collection of medals, and William perused the collection of books.

All was going well until Beth, looking around her, said, “Where is Margaret?”

Elizabeth looked round and realised that her youngest daughter had strayed.

“She went over there,” Laurence said.

He pointed in the direction of an antechamber and then immediately lost interest in his smallest sister as Darcy pointed out a ferocious-looking sword. But Elizabeth and Beth went in search of Margaret.

The antechamber was darker than the main rooms, without any windows, which rendered it mysterious and somewhat eerie. A few candles guttered on the bare walls and for a moment Elizabeth felt herself overcome with a sense of foreboding. The fact that there were no visitors in this particular room made it seem more sinister.

“There you are, Margaret,” she heard Beth say.

She turned to see her youngest daughter staring at a set of painted friezes in the corner of the chamber. The little girl's eyes were set in enchanted wonder.

“What is it, my love?” Elizabeth asked, smiling, as she walked across to join both girls.

“Look, Mama. Margaret has found some pictures. Aren't they unusual?” Beth replied.

Elizabeth examined the pictures. They were set into a thick wooden board which had been propped up rather haphazardly against the wall. There were only six pictures, although it looked as though there was space for several more. Each picture was of the same figure, that of a woman with elongated eyes and generously curved body. But she was clearly not a sympathetic character. In every picture she was pictured surrounded by tiny corpses at her feet, who had obviously not died of natural causes.

“Oh, Beth, how gruesome…” Elizabeth began, but another voice interrupted her.

“Ah, early visitors to my
femme
fatale
.”

They all turned to see a man in his midfifties looking at them. He wore tightly fitting breeches, a long tailcoat cut away to show a rather faded waistcoat of cream brocade, and his cravat had been inexpertly tied. But his hair was his own, a faded brown with grey sideburns, and he smiled at them with merry eyes.

“Good day to you, sir,” said Elizabeth, while Beth and Margaret curtsied formally. “My daughters and I seem to have strayed into an unfinished exhibit room.”

“Unfinished and likely to remain so, madam,” said the gentleman. “I donated these artefacts to the museum and intended to fill the room with antiquities, but my sponsors have lost their appetite for the venture. Can't say as I blame them, really. The minx in the picture isn't the best advertisement for inspiring the imagination of the British public. But I took a fancy to her story while I was in Egypt and picked up this little trinket in a bazaar in Cairo.”