Amelia Peabody Omnibus 1-4 (36 page)

‘Archaeology is a fascinating pursuit, but, after all, one cannot work day and night…. Peabody, my darling Peabody – what a perfectly splendid time we are going to have!’

Emerson was right – as he usually is. We have had a splendid time. We mean to work at Gizeh next year. There is a good deal to be done here yet, but for certain practical reasons we prefer to be nearer Cairo. I understand that Petrie wants to work here, and he is one of the few excavators to whom Emerson would consider yielding. Not that the two of them get along; when we met Mr Petrie in London last year, he and Emerson started out mutually abusing the Antiquities Department and ended up abusing one another over pottery fragments. Petrie is a nice-looking young fellow, but he really has no idea of what to do with pottery.

The practical reasons that demand we work near Cairo are the same reasons that keep me here, in my chair, instead of being down below supervising the workers as I usually do. Emerson is being overly cautious; I feel perfectly well. They say that for a woman of my age to have her first child is not always easy, and Emerson is in a perfect jitter of apprehension about the whole thing, but I have no qualms whatever. I do not intend that anything shall go amiss. I planned it carefully, not wanting to interrupt the winter excavation season. I can fit the child in quite nicely between seasons, and be back in Cairo ready for work in November.

We are now awaiting news from Evelyn of the birth of her second child, which is due at any moment. She is already the mother of a fair-haired male child, quite a charming infant, with a propensity for rooting in mud puddles which I am sure he inherited from his archaeological relatives. I am his godmother, so perhaps I am biased about his beauty, intelligence, and charm. But I think I am not.

Walter is not with us this season; he is studying hieroglyphics in England, and promises to be one of the finest scholars of our time. His library at Ellesmere Castle is filled with books and manuscripts, and when we join the younger Emersons there for the summer and early fall each year, he and Emerson spend hours arguing over translations.

Lucas? His present whereabouts are unknown to us. Without the money to support his title he could not live respectably in England. I wanted to prosecute the rascal as he deserved; but Baring dissuaded me. He was very helpful to us when we reached Cairo with our boatload of criminals; and he was present on the momentous occasion when Evelyn opened her boxes and found, among the diaries and books, an envelope containing her grandfather’s last, holograph will. This was the final proof of Lucas’s villainy; but, as Baring pointed out, a trial would bring unwished-for notoriety on all of us, particularly Evelyn, and Lucas was no longer a danger. He lives precariously, I believe, somewhere on the Continent, and if he does not soon drink himself to death, some outraged husband or father will certainly shoot him.

I see Alberto whenever we pass through Cairo. I make a point of doing so. As I warned him once, Egyptian prisons are particularly uncomfortable, and the life does not seem to agree with him at all.

Michael has just rung the bell for lunch, and I see Emerson coming toward me. I have a bone to pick with him; I do not believe he is correct in his identification of one of the sculptured busts as the head of the heretic pharaoh. It seems to me to be a representation of young Tutankhamon, Khuenaten’s son-in-law.

I must add one more thing. Often I find myself remembering that blustery day in Rome, when I went to the rescue of a young English girl who had fainted in the Forum. Little did I realize how strangely our destinies would be intertwined; that that act of simple charity would reward me beyond my wildest dreams, winning for me a friend and sister, a life of busy, fascinating work, and….

Evelyn was right. With the right person, under the right circumstances – it is perfectly splendid!

O
FFHAND
Ramses couldn’t think of a reasonable excuse for visiting the poor little village, much less the ruined house. He was furious with his uncle, and Selim’s delight at participating in the venture annoyed him even more. Was everyone except his father and him under Sethos’s spell?

The village was one of several that bordered the cultivation south of the temple of Seti I. As they rode towards it Selim said, ‘We are looking for tombs, yes?’

‘There aren’t any in that area.’

‘Who can say?’ Daoud inquired. He was riding Emerson’s gelding, the only horse in the stable that was up to his weight.

‘He speaks the truth’, Selim said. ‘We heard a rumour, eh? That is not hard to believe. There are always rumours of tombs.’

‘I suppose so’, Ramses said grudgingly. He ought to have thought of that excuse himself. It was Sethos’s fault, for getting him too angry to think straight. But it was unfair of him to take out his ill humour on Selim.

‘While we look for tombs, Daoud will go into the house and find the paper’, Selim said.

‘You’d leave the dead dog to him?’ Ramses asked with a smile.

‘I do not mind’, Daoud said placidly. ‘What does it look like, this paper?’

Their arrival brought the villagers out in full force. Most of the men were working in the fields, so their audience consisted of women, small children and the usual livestock, plus a few doddering old men. When Ramses asked about new tombs, they were deluged with information from everybody except the livestock. Ramses knew he was the chief attraction; this sad little place was seldom visited by foreigners, and the visit of a member of the family of the Father of Curses was an event that would be talked about for days.

He and Selim made their way through a tumble of toddlers and barking dogs, led by the old gentleman who had appointed himself guide, and trailed by the rest of the local citizens. The noise level was high. There were a few tombs in the rocky surroundings, all small and empty except for thick layers of trash. They spent more time examining them than the wretched places merited, and then started back. Daoud was waiting with the horses. His large amiable face wore a smile and his hand was in the breast of his robe.

Not until they were well away from the village did Ramses ask, ‘You found it?’

‘Yes.’ Handing over a small packet sealed all round with heavy tape, he added, ‘It was buried deep. The dog was a joke, I think. There were only bones.’

‘Typical’, Ramses muttered.

‘Open it’, Selim urged.

Ramses was curious too. Drawing his knife, he slit the tape and pulled back the rubberized fabric. Inside, between pieces of pasteboard, were two sheets of folded paper.

‘There are no words on the paper’, Selim said, leaning closer. ‘What does it mean? Is it what you wanted?’

‘Want? Hell, no, I don’t want the damned thing. But I suppose I’m stuck with it.’

The symbols were numbers, dozens of them. The only codes and ciphers with which he was familiar used letters of the alphabet.

‘Bloody hell’, Ramses said.

On the Wednesday we were in receipt of a telegram from Emerson announcing his arrival the following morning. That was all it said. I would have appreciated a trifle more information – something along the lines of ‘Have hired new staff ’ or ‘Have not hired new staff ’ – but I was only too familiar with Emerson’s disinclination to spend good money on telegrams.

Sethos’s condition had improved; according to Nefret, he would be out of the woods in another day or two. Ramses had supplied him with a rather raggedy grizzled beard and enough putty to sculpt a new nose. Sethos seemed to enjoy playing with the latter; over the course of the day the contours of his nose changed from retroussé to hooked to concave. I hadn’t realized how drastically the shape of a nasal appendage can alter one’s appearance. My own experiments with the putty were not successful. The cursed stuff wouldn’t stick. I decided there must be some trick to it, and determined to ask Ramses at a later time.

I was unable to extract any additional information out of Sethos, even when I showed him the little list I had made. ‘You have absolutely no idea who is involved in this shadowy organization of yours?’

Smiling his irritating smile, he read the list aloud. ‘The French, the Zionists, the anti-Zionists, Ibn Saud, Feisal of Iraq, the British Secret Service, Sharif Hussein, Gertrude . . . Gertrude Bell? Come now, Amelia! I know you and she don’t get on, but –’

‘I do not approve of women who claim the privileges of men for themselves but deny them to other women. She is a confirmed antifeminist with a monumental ego. She fancies herself a king-maker. Such people consider that the end justifies the means.’

‘It could be any of them, or all of them, or none of them’, Sethos said, tacitly accepting my judgement of Miss Bell.

‘Not a very comforting conclusion, I must say.’

‘Did you discuss your list with Ramses?’

‘I am thoroughly conversant with the present political situation’, I replied. I never lie unless it is absolutely necessary. ‘It is even more volatile than your initial summary suggested. Since Ibn Saud defeated his chief rival, the Rashid, at Hayil –’

‘I know, I know’, Sethos said somewhat abstractedly.

‘Hayil is where you and Margaret first met, isn’t it? Where is she now?’

Sethos started. ‘You do have an unnerving habit of jumping from one subject to another’, he complained. ‘I don’t know where she is. What would you do with the address if you had it? You surely didn’t intend to inform her I was with you, or issue an urgent summons to Luxor. You might as well stand in the souk and shout the news aloud.’

‘Would she not wish to be by your side when danger threatened?’ I asked.

‘My dear Amelia, you are such a romantic. I’ll tell you what will fetch her, though. If that tomb of Carter’s turns out to be big news, she’ll be first on the spot.’

He was playing the same trick on me, but I decided not to challenge the change of subject. ‘Who told you about the tomb? Ramses?’

‘Ramses is avoiding me these days. Hadn’t you noticed? No, it was Selim. He and Daoud believe the omens are propitious.’

‘The golden bird’, I said with a sniff. ‘It is only Howard’s canary.’

‘That was Daoud. Selim isn’t superstitious. From his description I’d say Carter may have come upon something . . . interesting.’ He moved restlessly. ‘I’d love to have a look for myself. When can I get up?’

‘Not until Emerson arrives.’

‘You aren’t afraid I’ll bolt, are you?’

‘You aren’t fool enough to try that. We must find a new identity for you and work out some explanation for your presence. The dying beggar won’t serve much longer.’

‘I have a few ideas’, Sethos said pensively.

‘I’m sure you do. Try to control your extravagant imagination. Emerson will be here tomorrow and then we will have a council of war.’

‘I am afire with anticipation at the prospect.’

Emerson had hired the two new staff members, and what is more, he had brought them with him. We were all at home that morning; Nefret had patients and Ramses was still struggling with Sethos’s mystery document. I sent Fatima to summon Ramses, and greeted the newcomers.

‘As I told you, Peabody, they suit our requirements admirably’, said Emerson. ‘I trust their rooms are ready?’

‘As
I
told
you,
Emerson, they will be staying with Cyrus’, I replied. My temper was firmly under control. I did not even mention the fact that Emerson had neglected to tell me they were coming with him. ‘I will notify Katherine at once that they are here. If you would like to freshen up, Mademoiselle Malraux, Fatima will show you to the guest room and supply anything you need.’

‘Oh, please, Mrs Emerson, do not be so formal.’ The girl’s eyes widened alarmingly, but I decided she was only attempting to indicate goodwill. ‘I hope you – all of you – will call me Suzanne.’

A murmur from Mr Farid included a pair of syllables that sounded like a name. ‘Suzanne and Nadji, then’, I said with a smile.

Having dealt with the immediate problems caused by Emerson’s lack of consideration, I invited the young people to join us for luncheon, it being almost time for that meal. My motives were part hospitality, part cowardice. I had given some consideration as to how to break the news of his brother’s presence to Emerson and had come to the conclusion that there really was no way of doing it tactfully. This enabled me to delay the revelation a little longer.

The young lady bubbled with Gallic enthusiasm about the house and its arrangements. ‘I had glimpses of a beautiful garden, Mrs Emerson. May I hope for a stroll later? I am exceedingly fond of flowers.’

‘You will have ample time to enjoy the garden in the weeks to come’, I replied. ‘I am sorry we were unable to ask you to stay with us, but we are constantly in and out of one another’s houses, and Mr Vandergelt’s home is much more elegant than ours.’

‘What is the news from Cairo?’ Ramses asked, knowing Emerson was about to tell us anyhow.

‘Carter is there, and Carnarvon is on his way’, said Emerson. As far as he was concerned, there was only one matter of interest in Cairo. ‘By chance I happened to run into Carter – What did you say, Peabody?’