Amelia Peabody Omnibus 1-4 (143 page)

‘Bribe him?’ I inquired delicately.

A deep flush stained the girl’s rounded cheeks. ‘He has never given the slightest indication that an offer of the sort to which you refer would influence him.’

‘I see. Well, men are strange creatures, Enid; it requires experience like mine, which extends over many nations and two separate continents, to understand their foibles. Did it ever occur to you that Ronald might have taken steps to prevent you from finding Donald?’

‘Such a suspicion did enter my mind,’ Enid murmured. ‘I even wondered whether Kalenischeff might not have been sent to lead me astray. But I cannot believe that, even of Ronald …’

‘Believe it,’ I said firmly. ‘Kalenischeff was up to something; he told me he intended to leave Egypt, and he would never abandon a lucrative scheme until he had collected every possible penny first. He meant to betray someone, I am certain of that. The only question is – who? Well, my dear, you have raised several interesting and suggestive issues, which I must mull over. Now we had better join the others. I believe I hear Emerson calling me.’

There was no doubt about it, in fact. Emerson’s voice, as I have had occasion to remark, is notable for its carrying quality.

Ramses was the first to greet us. He asked whether I had found anything interesting inside the pyramid.

I changed the subject.

We had almost finished our repast when the sound of voices from afar warned us that another party of tourists was approaching. The absurd little caravan came trotting toward us, and after one look at the formidable figure leading the procession, Emerson dived headlong into the trench that had been dug. After the episode with the empress, he was wary of old ladies.

I sent the others back to work and advanced to meet the intruders, hoping I could head them off and spare my poor Emerson. The rider on the lead donkey looked familiar, and I realized that it was indeed the elderly American lady I had seen at Shepheard’s. Her voluminous black skirts practically swallowed up the little donkey. Nevertheless, he proceeded at a brisk trot, which caused the old lady to roll perilously from side to side. Two donkey boys took turns shoving her back into the saddle.

Seeing me, she changed course. ‘I know you,’ she said, in a piercing nasal voice. ‘Saw you at the hotel. Friend of Baehler’s? Most improper, a lady dining alone.’

‘I was not dining, I was lunching,’ I reminded her, and then introduced myself.

‘Huh,’ said the old lady. ‘And who’s that, then?’

She pointed with her parasol. I turned. ‘Allow me to present my son,’ I said. ‘Ramses, go back–’

‘Ramses?’ The old lady trumpeted. ‘What kind of name is that? Sickly-looking child. Not long for this world.’

‘Thank you for your concern, madam,’ I said with frigid courtesy. ‘I assure you it is unwarranted. Ramses, will you please–’

The old lady distracted me by dismounting. Indeed, the process would have seriously alarmed someone of a nervous temperament, accompanied as it was by infuriated screams and wild waving of her parasol. I thought she was going to topple over onto one of the small donkey boys and mash him flat. However, the action was eventually completed and the old lady, straightening her skirts and her black veil, addressed me again.

‘Show me the pyramid, ma’am. I came a long way to see it, and see it I will. Mrs Axhammer of Des Moines, Iowa, don’t do things by halves. I’ve got a list …’ She plucked it from her pocket and waved it like a flag. ‘And I’m not going home till I’ve seen everything that’s writ down here.’

‘What about your companions?’ I asked. Both had dismounted. The pale young man leaned weakly against his donkey, mopping his brow. The woman had collapsed onto the ground, her face as green as the palms in the background.

Mrs Axhammer of Des Moines, Iowa (wherever that barbaric location may be), emitted the evillest laugh I had ever heard. ‘Let ‘em sit. Poor weak critters, they can’t keep up with me – and I’m sixty-eight years old, ma’am, not a day less. That’s my nephew – Jonah’s his name – I brung him along so he could tend to things, but he ain’t worth a plugged nickel. Thinks he’ll get cut out of my will if he ain’t nice to me. Doesn’t know he’s already cut out of it. I hired that fool woman for a companion, but she ain’t holding up either. A lady’s got to have a chaperone, though. What’s that boy staring at me for? Ain’t you taught him any manners?’

‘I venture to say,’ said Ramses, in his most pedantic manner, ‘that most people would forget their manners when confronted with someone as remarkable in appearance as yourself. However, I do not wish any opprobrium to attach to my mama. She has endeavoured to correct my behaviour, and if the result is not as it should be, the blame is mine, not hers.’

It was difficult to assess the effect of this speech on Mrs Axhammer, for the veil blurred her features. Personally, I thought it rather a handsome effort. Ramses advanced and held out his hand. ‘May I escort you, madam?’ he asked.

The old lady brandished her parasol. ‘Get away, get away, you young rascal. I know boys; trip you up, boys do, and put spiders on you.’

Ramses began, ‘Madam, rest assured I had no intention–’

‘Now how could you be any use to me?’ the old lady demanded irascibly. ‘Puny little critter like you. . . Here, ma’am, I’ll take your arm. You’re short, but you look strong.’

She caught me by the shoulder. She was wearing dainty black lace mittens, but there was nothing delicate about her hand, which was as heavy as a man’s. I permitted the liberty, however. Courtesy to the elderly is a trait I endeavour to instil in my son – and the lady’s grip was too strong to be easily dislodged.

As we walked slowly toward the pyramid, Mrs Axhammer subjected me to a searching and impertinent interrogation. She asked how old I was, how long I had been married, how many children I had, and how I liked my husband. I returned the compliment as soon as I could get a word in, asking her how she liked Egypt.

After a long diatribe about the heathen customs and unsanitary habits of the modern Egyptian, she added in an equally vitriolic tone, ‘Not that civilized folks act much better, ma’am. The scandals I heard in Cairo would make a lady blush, I do assure you. Why, there was a young English lady murdered her inamorato a few days ago; cut his throat ear to ear, they say, in her very room.’

‘I had heard of it,’ I said. ‘I cannot believe any young lady would do such a thing.’

A gust of wind blew Mrs Axhammer’s veil askew, just as she bared a set of large white teeth whose very perfection betrayed their falsity. ‘There’s no doubt in my mind,’ she snapped. ‘Women are dangerous, ma’am, much more dangerous than the male. I see you’ve got one out here with you. Don’t approve of women taking work away from men. Ought to stay at home and tend to the house.’

Realizing I would get no more out of the malicious old creature except ignorant maledictions about her own sex, I determined to finish my duties and get rid of her. She paid no attention to my lecture, which, if I may say so, was of admirable quality, and resisted my efforts to lead her away from the excavations.

‘There’s a white man down there with all them natives,’ she exclaimed indignantly. ‘Is that your husband? Ain’t he got no sense of dignity? Hi, there, you–’ And she made as if to jab Emerson, whose back was turned, with her parasol.

Like lightning I brought my own parasol into play, striking up the shaft of Mrs Axhammer’s with a skill worthy of a master swordsman. The ring of steel on steel made Emerson jump, but he did not turn round.

The old lady burst out laughing and feinted playfully at me with her parasol. ‘Useful instruments, ain’t they? Never travel without one. Hey, there–’

She spun round; and as her flailing draperies settled, I saw to my consternation that they had concealed a small kneeling form.

‘Ramses!’ I exclaimed. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Looking up my skirts,’ the old lady howled. ‘Let me at him, ma’am, let me at the little rascal. You’ve been too soft on him, ma’am; he needs a good thrashing, and Mrs Axhammer of Des Moines, Iowa, is the one to give it to him.’

While I engaged the agitated old person in a spirited exchange of thrusts and parries, Ramses skipped hastily away. ‘I was merely examining your feet, madam,’ he said indignantly. ‘They are very large, you know.’

This remark may have been intended to soften Mrs Axhammer’s anger, but as might have been predicted, it had precisely the opposite effect. She set off after Ramses, and, seeing he was having no difficulty in keeping a safe distance from her, I followed at a more leisurely pace. At least Ramses’ dreadful lapse of manners had succeeded in drawing Mrs Axhammer away from Emerson, and I fondly hoped that once away, she would not return.

Such proved to be the case. Shaking with indignation, Mrs Axhammer mounted her donkey and the caravan trotted off.

When we returned to the house that afternoon, Emerson expressed himself as satisfied with the morning’s work. ‘I think I have it clear in my mind now, Peabody. There are traces of at least three occupation levels, the latest addition having probably been made in Ptolemaic times. The plan is complex, however, and I would appreciate your assistance, if you are finished messing about with your pyramid.’

Overlooking the derogatory tone, I assured him that I was at his disposal. ‘There is nothing inside, Emerson. I doubt that it was ever used for a burial.’

‘That is what I said, Mama,’ remarked Ramses.

After luncheon, Enid retired to her room with her book of detective stories. She had not spoken a word to Donald, and his gloomy look testified to his depressed spirits. I was about to suggest we have a little talk when Emerson said, ‘What would you think about a ride to Mazghunah this afternoon, Peabody? The communion vessels ought to be returned to the church.’

‘An excellent idea, Emerson,’ I replied, wondering what was behind this suggestion.

‘Shall we take Ramses?’

‘I would rather not,’ I said truthfully.

‘And I,’ said Ramses, ‘would prefer to take a little mild exercise, in the form of a stroll around the village and its environs.’

‘Mild exercise indeed,’ I exclaimed. ‘You have had a great deal of exercise already, being chased by infuriated old ladies. Stay here and work on your grammar.’

‘Never mind, Peabody,’ Emerson said with a smile. ‘We cannot keep an active lad like Ramses shut up in the house all the time. There is no harm in his taking a stroll so long as Mr Fraser accompanies him.’

Neither Ramses nor Donald appeared to care for that idea. ‘Such an arrangement would leave the young lady unprotected,’ Ramses protested. Donald nodded vigorous agreement.

‘She has stout walls and strong men to protect her,’ Emerson replied. ‘It is broad daylight, and we won’t be long. Mazghunah is only ten kilometres from here, and our business will be easily concluded.’

So it was arranged. Taking two of the donkeys, Emerson and I rode southward. We saw no one, for at that time of day tourists and natives alike retire into the shade. I hardly need say that Emerson and I are never deterred from the path of duty by climatic conditions, and I, for one, enjoyed the ride.

The path, scarcely discernible to any but a trained eye, led across the rocky waste of the plateau, past the tumbled remains of the three brick pyramids of Dahshoor. They had been built a thousand years after their great stone neighbours, but the shorter passage of time had not dealt kindly with them. Once faced with stone, in imitation of the older and larger tombs, they had crumbled into shapeless masses of brick as soon as the facing stones were removed.

Dominating the other ruins was the great bulk of the Black Pyramid, the tomb of Amenemhat of the Twelfth Dynasty. Because of its location on the highest part of the plateau, it appears from some vantage points to be even taller than its stone neighbours to the north, and its ominous reputation is justified by its appearance. I knew the interior of that monstrous structure only too well, for it was into its sunken and flooded burial chamber that Emerson and I had been flung by the villain who assumed we would never emerge alive. Only the most heroic exploits on both our parts (with a little assistance from Ramses) had enabled us to escape from perils which would have destroyed lesser beings.

Although I would have liked to explore the Black Pyramid again, and visit the ruined monastery we had occupied the year before, we had no time for nostalgia that day. We went directly to the village.

By comparison to Mazghunah, Menyat Dahshoor is a veritable metropolis. The former village is primarily inhabited by Copts (Egyptian Christians) but except for the characteristic indigo turbans, the inhabitants are indistinguishable in appearance from other Egyptians, and the wretched little houses are like those of any Moslem village. Ancient Coptic, the last remnant of the tongue of the pharaohs, is no longer spoken except in a few remote hamlets to the south, but it survives in the ritual of the Coptic Church.

The village looked deserted. Even the dogs had sought shelter from the sun, and nothing moved except a few chickens pecking at bugs. Strangers are such a rarity in these primitive places, however, that our advent was soon acknowledged, and people began trickling out of their houses. We drew up near the well, which is the centre of communal activity. Facing us was the church, with the house of the priest next to it.

The men gathered around Emerson, calling out greetings and inquiries. The women approached me, many carrying sickly babies. I had expected this and had come prepared; opening my medical kit, I began dispensing ipecacuanha and eyewash.

The Sheikh El Beled (mayor of the village) had of course noted our arrival as soon as the others, but dignity demanded that he delay awhile before presenting himself. Eventually, he made his appearance; when Emerson informed him that the lost communion vessels were about to be restored to him, tears filled the little man’s eyes, and he dropped to his knees, kissing Emerson’s feet and babbling thanks.

‘Humph,’ said Emerson, not looking at me. Honesty demanded that we decline to take credit for something we had not achieved; but on the other hand, there was no need to explain a situation that was inexplicable even to us.