Amelia Peabody Omnibus 1-4 (16 page)

The moon was high and bright, but its position left the ledge in shadow. Against this dark background an object stood out palely. It was at the far end of the ledge, where it curved to pass around a shoulder of rock; and I was conscious of an odd constriction of my diaphragm as I glimpsed it.

The shape was amorphous. It was of the height and breadth of a man, but it more resembled a white stone pillar than a human form, split at the bottom to present an imitation of a man’s lower limbs. Stiff, stubby appendages like arms protruded at shoulder height, but they were not arms; humans arms were never so rigid.

As I stared, blinking to cure what I thought must be a failure of my vision, the shape disappeared. It must have moved around the corner of the path. A faint moaning sigh wafted back to me. It might have been the sigh of the wind; but I felt no movement of air.

I retreated to my bed, but I did not sleep well the rest of the night. The first pale streaks of dawn found me wide awake, and I was glad to arise and dress. I had managed to convince myself that what I saw was a large animal of some kind, raised on its back legs as a cat or panther will rise; so the full horror of the night did not strike me until I stepped out onto the ledge, which was now illumined by the rising sun. As I did so, something crackled under my foot.

Sunrise in Egypt is a glorious spectacle. The sun, behind the cliffs at my back, shone fully upon the western mountains; but I had no eye for the beauties of nature then. The sound and feel of the substance my foot had crushed was horribly familiar. With reluctance I bent to pick it up, though my fingers shrank from the touch of it.

I held a small fragment of brown flaking cloth, so dry that it crackled like paper when my fingers contracted. I had seen such cloth before. It was the rotting bandage which had once wrapped an ancient mummy.

I
STOOD
on the ledge for some time, trying to think sensibly. Emerson had spent some hours with the mummy. Fragments of the fragile cloth, caught on the fabric of his garments, might have been brushed off when he sat down at dinner the night before. But as soon as the idea entered my mind, common sense dismissed it. There was a regular trail of the stuff leading down the ledge as far as I could see. If Emerson’s clothes had been so untidy I would have noticed. Further, Emerson’s chair was some six feet away from the door of our chamber. He had never approached our door last night; and the largest heap of fragments was there, as if it had been deposited by a creature who stood for a long time on our threshold.

I don’t know what instinct moved me to action – fear for Evelyn’s nerves, perhaps, or concern for the superstitions of the workers. At any rate, I dashed inside, snatched up a cloth, and swept the horrible fragments off the ledge. Evelyn was still sleeping; and from below, the fragrance of coffee reached my nostrils. Michael was on duty early.

I was not the only early riser. As I stood by the campfire sipping my tea, Emerson came down the path. He gave me a surly nod and paused for a moment, as if daring me to order him back to bed. I said nothing; and after a while he went on and disappeared into the cave where his precious mummy had been deposited.

He had not been within for more than a few seconds when the sweet morning air was rent by a hideous cry. I dropped my cup, splashing my foot with hot tea; before I could do more, Emerson burst out of the cave. His inflamed eyes went straight to me. He raised both clenched fists high in the air.

‘My mummy! You have stolen my mummy! By Gad, Peabody, this time you have gone too far! I’ve watched you; don’t think I have been unwitting of your machinations! My pavement, my expedition, my brother’s loyalty, even my poor, helpless carcass have fallen victim to your meddling; but this – this is too much! You disapprove of my work, you want to keep me feeble and helpless in bed, so you steal my mummy! Where is it? Produce it at once, Peabody, or – ’

His shouts aroused the rest of the camp. I saw Evelyn peering curiously from the ledge above, clutching the collar of her dressing gown under her chin. Walter bounded down the path, trying to stuff his flying shirttails into his waistband and simultaneously finish doing up the buttons.

‘Radcliffe, Radcliffe, what are you doing? Can’t you behave for five minutes?’

‘He is accusing me of stealing his mummy,’ I said. My own tones were rather loud. ‘I will overlook his other ridiculous accusations, which can only be the product of a disturbed brain – ’

‘Disturbed! Certainly I am disturbed! Of all the ills on earth, an interfering female is the worst!’

By this time we were surrounded by a circle of staring faces; the workers, coming in from the village, had been attracted by the uproar. They could not understand Emerson’s remarks, but the tone of anger was quite comprehensible; their dark eyes were wide with alarm and curiosity as they watched Emerson’s extraordinary performance. Foremost in the crowd stood Mohammed, the man who had led us to the tomb the day before. There was the most peculiar expression on his face – a kind of sly smirk. It interested me so much that I failed to respond to Emerson’s latest outburst, and turned away, leaving him waving his fists at empty air. Mohammed saw me. Instantly his mouth turned down and his eyes widened in a look of pious alarm that would have suited an angel.

Seeing the futility of communication with Emerson when he was in this state, Walter turned to the cave where the mummy was kept. He was soon out again; his expressive face told me the truth before he spoke.

‘The mummy is gone,’ he said, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘Only scraps of the wrappings remain. Why would anyone steal such a poor specimen?’

‘These people would steal their grandmothers and sell them if there were a market for decrepit old ladies,’ Emerson growled.

I had observed that his fits of rage, though violent, were soon over. Afterward he seemed greatly refreshed by the outburst and would, in fact, deny that he had ever lost his temper. He now spoke to me as if he had never made his outrageous accusations.

‘What about breakfast, Peabody?’

I was meditating a suitably crushing retort when Walter spoke again.

‘It is really incomprehensible. The men could have made off with the mummy when they first found it. And what has become of the bandages you removed?’

‘That, at least, is easily explained,’ Emerson answered. ‘I could not unwrap the bandages. The perfumed resins in which the body was soaked had glued the wrappings into a solid mass. I had to make an incision and open the thorax. As you know, Walter, the body cavities often contain amulets and scraps of – Peabody! Miss Peabody, what is the matter?’

His voice faded into a dim insect buzzing, and the sunlight darkened. A ghastly vision had flashed upon my mind. If the moon had been higher – if I had seen the nocturnal visitor more distinctly – would I have beheld the violated body, gaping wide?

I am happy to say that this was the first and last time I succumbed to superstition. When I opened my eyes I realized that Emerson was supporting me, his alarmed face close to mine. I straightened, and saw a dark flush mantle his cheeks as I pushed his arms away.

‘A momentary weakness,’ I said. ‘I think – I think perhaps I will sit down.’

Walter quickly offered his arm, and I did not disdain it.

‘You are wearing yourself out, Miss Peabody,’ he said warmly. ‘We cannot allow such sacrifices. Today you must rest; I insist upon it.’

‘Hmmm,’ said Emerson. His eyes expressed neither concern nor appreciation, but rather speculation as they examined my face.

As the day wore on I could not help recalling Evelyn’s remark of the previous evening. I had discounted her mention of nervousness then; now I could not deny that the atmosphere was uneasy. I myself was unable to settle down to anything. After working on the pavement for a time I went to the site where Walter and Abdullah were directing the workers.

There were more than fifty people at work. The men were removing the sand that had covered the foundations of temples and houses, shovelling it into baskets which were then carried away by children, boys and girls both. It was necessary to dump the sand some distance away, lest it cover future excavations. The work was tedious, except when the men reached the floor level, where abandoned objects might be found; yet all the workers, children and adults alike, usually worked cheerfully and willingly. They are very musical people, the Egyptians, although their wailing, yodelling singing sounds odd to European ears; but today no brisk chorus speeded the work. The children who carried the baskets were slow and unsmiling.

I joined Abdullah, the foreman, where he stood on a little rise of sand watching the diggers.

‘They do not sing today,’ I said. ‘Why not, Abdullah?’

Not a muscle moved in the dignified brown face; but I sensed an inner struggle.

‘They are ignorant people,’ he said, after a time. ‘They fear many things.’

‘What things?’

‘Afreets, demons – all strange things. They fear ghosts of the dead. The mummy – they ask where it has gone.’

That was all he could, or would, say. I went back to my pavement in some perturbation of spirit. I could hardly sneer at the ignorance of the natives when I had experienced equally wild thoughts.

The reader may well ask why I had not spoken of my adventure. I asked myself the same question; but I knew the answer, and it did not reflect creditably on my character. I was afraid of being laughed at. I could almost hear Emerson’s great guffaws echoing out across the valley when I told him of seeing his lost mummy out for a midnight stroll. And yet I felt I ought to speak. I knew I had not seen an animated mummy. My brain knew it, if my nervous system did not. I spent the rest of the day brushing tapioca and water over my lovely pavement and carrying on a vigorous internal debate – common sense against vanity.

When we gathered on the ledge for our customary evening meeting, I could see that the others were also distraught. Walter looked very tired; he dropped into a chair with a sigh and let his head fall back.

‘What a wretched day! We seem to have accomplished nothing.’

‘I shall come down tomorrow,’ said Emerson. He looked at me. ‘With Peabody’s permission or without it.’

Walter sat upright.

‘Radcliffe, why do you address Miss Peabody so disrespectfully? After all she has done for us …’

It was unusual for Walter to speak so sharply – another indication, if I had needed one, of the strained atmosphere.

‘Oh, I don’t mind,’ I said calmly. ‘Sticks and stones may break my bones, you know. As for your returning to work tomorrow…’

I looked Emerson up and down. The clinical appraisal annoyed him, as I had known it would; he squirmed like a guilty schoolboy, and exclaimed, ‘What is your diagnosis, Sitt Hakim?’

Truthfully, I was not pleased with his appearance. He had lost considerable flesh. The bones in his face were too prominent, and his eyes were still sunken in their sockets.

‘I disapprove,’ I said. ‘You are not strong enough yet to be out in the sun. Have you taken your medicine today?’

Emerson’s reply was not suitable for the pages of a respectable book. Walter sprang to his feet with a hot reproof. Only the appearance of Michael, with the first course of our dinner, prevented an argument. We went early to bed. I could see that Emerson fully intended to return to the excavations next day, so he needed his sleep, and after my disturbed night I too was weary.

Yet I did not sleep well. I had disturbing dreams. I awoke from one such dream in the late hours of the night, and as my sleep-fogged eyes focused, I saw a slim white form standing by the doorway. My heart gave such a leap I thought it would choke me. When I recognized Evelyn, I almost fainted with relief.

She turned, hearing my gasp.

‘Amelia,’ she whispered.

‘What is it? Why are you awake at this hour? Good Gad, child, you almost frightened me to death!’

She looked ghostly as she glided toward me, her bare feet making no sound, her white nightdress floating out behind her. I lighted a lamp; Evelyn’s face was as pale as her gown. She sank down on the edge of my bed, and I saw that she was shivering.

‘I heard a sound,’ she said. ‘Such an eerie sound, Amelia, like a long, desolate sigh. I don’t know how long it had been going on. It woke me; I am surprised it didn’t waken you too.’

‘I heard it, and it became part of my dream,’ I answered. ‘I dreamed of death, and someone weeping over a grave… Then what happened?’

‘I didn’t want to wake you; you had worked so hard today. But the sound went on and on, until I thought I should die; it was so dreary, so unutterably sad. I had to know what was making it. So I went and drew the curtain aside and looked out.’

She paused, and went even paler.

‘Go on,’ I urged. ‘You need not fear my scepticism, Evelyn. I have reasons, which you will hear in due course, for believing the wildest possible tale.’

‘You cannot mean that you too – ’

‘Tell me what you saw.’

‘A tall, pale form, featureless and stark. It stood in shadow, but … Amelia, it had no face! There was no sign of nose or mouth or eyes, only a flat, white oval; no hair, only a smooth-fitting covering. The limbs were stiff – ’