Amelia Peabody Omnibus 1-4 (46 page)

‘For what was this?’ Karl asked in a low voice, as we rode side by side. ‘I understand it not. To ask the Professor I do not dare; but you, his companion and – ’

‘I have not the least objection to explaining,’ I replied. ‘Emerson has flung down the gauntlet to that pack of thieves. In effect he has said: “I am here. I do not fear you. You know who I am; interfere with me at your peril.” It was well done, Karl; one of Emerson’s better performances, if I may say so.’

Unlike Karl, I had not troubled to moderate my voice. Emerson’s shoulders twitched irritably, but he did not turn around. After an interval we rounded a rocky spur and saw before us the curving bay that shelters the ruined temples of Deir el Bahri, near which the house was situated.

Most readers, I imagine, are familiar with the appearance of the now-famous Baskerville Expedition House, since photographs and engravings of it have been featured in numerous periodicals. I had never happened to see the place myself, since it was still under construction on the occasion of our last visit to Luxor, and though I had seen reproductions and plans, my first sight of the place impressed me considerably. Like most Eastern houses it was built around a courtyard, with rooms on all four sides. A wide gate in the centre of one side admitted visitors to the courtyard, onto which the chambers opened. The material was the usual mud brick, neatly plastered and whitewashed, but the size was enormous, and it had suited Lord Baskerville’s fancy to decorate it in ancient Egyptian style. The gate and the windows were capped by wooden lintels painted with Egyptian motifs in bright colours. Along one side a row of columns with gilded lotus capitals supported a pleasant shady loggia, where orange and lemon trees grew in earthenware pots and green vines twined around the columns. A nearby spring provided water for palm and fig trees; and in the brilliant sunlight the white walls and archaic decoration reminded us of what the ancient palaces must have looked like before time reduced them to heaps of mud.

My husband has no appreciation of architecture unless it is three thousand years old. ‘The devil!’ he exclaimed. ‘What a frightful waste of money!’

We had slowed our animals to a walk, the better to appreciate our first view of our new home. My donkey misinterpreted this gesture. It came to a complete standstill. I refused Karl’s offer of a stick – I do not believe in beating animals – and spoke sternly to the donkey. It gave me a startled look and then proceeded. I promised myself that as soon as I had time I would examine the animal and any others hired by Lord Baskerville. These poor beasts were wretchedly treated and often suffered from saddle sores and infections caused by inadequate cleanliness. I never permitted that sort of thing in my other expeditions and did not intend to allow it here.

The wooden gates swung open as we approached, and we rode directly into the courtyard. Pillars supported a cloisterlike walkway, roofed with red tiles, which ran along three sides. All the rooms opened onto this open-sided corridor, and at my request Karl took us on a brief tour of inspection. I could not help but be impressed at the forethought that had gone into the arrangement of the house; if I had not known better, I would have thought a woman had planned it. A number of bedchambers, small but comfortable, had been designed for the use of the staff and for visitors. Larger chambers, as well as a small room which served as a bath, had been reserved for Lord and Lady Baskerville. Karl informed us that his lordship’s room was now ours and I found the arrangements all I could wish. One section of the room had been fitted out as a study, with a long table and a row of bookshelves containing an Egyptological library.

Today such accommodations are not unique, and archaeological staffs are often large; but at that time, when an expedition sometimes consisted of one harassed scholar directing the diggers, keeping his own records and accounts, cooking his own meals and washing his own socks – if he bothered to wear them – Baskerville House was a phenomenon. One entire wing contained a large dining room and a sizable parlour or common room, which opened onto the columned loggia. The furnishings of this latter chamber were a curious blend of the ancient and modern. Woven mattings covered the floor, and filmy white curtains at the long French doors helped to keep out insects. Chairs and couches were of royal-blue plush; the picture frames and mirrors were heavily carved and gilded. There was even a gramophone with a large collection of operatic recordings, the late Sir Henry having been a devotee of that form of music.

As we entered, a man rose from the sofa on which he had been reclining. His pallor, and the unsteadiness of his gait as he advanced to meet us, rendered Karl’s introduction unnecessary; this was the ailing Mr Milverton. I immediately led him back to the sofa and placed my hand on his brow.

‘Your fever is gone,’ I said. ‘But you are still suffering from the debility produced by the illness and should not have left your bed.’

‘For heaven’s sake, Amelia, restrain yourself,’ Emerson grumbled. ‘I had hoped that on this expedition you would not succumb to your delusion that you are a qualified physician.’

I knew the cause of his ill temper. Mr Milverton was an extremely handsome young fellow. The slow smile that spread across his face as he glanced from me to my husband showed even white teeth and well-cut lips. His golden locks fell in becoming disarray over a high white brow. Yet his good looks were entirely masculine and his constitution had not been seriously impaired by his illness; the breadth of his chest and shoulders were those of a young athlete.

‘You are more than kind, Mrs Emerson,’ he said. ‘I assure you, I am quite recovered and have been looking forward to meeting you and your famous husband.’

‘Humph,’ said Emerson, in a slightly more genial tone. ‘Very well; we will begin tomorrow morning – ’

‘Mr Milverton should not risk the noonday sun for several days,’ I said.

‘Again I remind you,’ said Emerson, ‘that you are not a physician.’

‘And I remind you of what happened to you on one occasion when you disregarded my medical advice.’

A singularly evil look spread over Emerson’s features. Deliberately he turned from me to Karl. ‘And where is Lady Baskerville?’ he enquired. ‘A delightful woman!’

‘She is,’ said Karl. ‘And I have for you, Professor, a particular message from that most distinguished lady. She stays at the Luxor Hotel; it would not be proper, you understand, for her to inhabit this place without another lady to companion her, now that her esteemed husband – ’

‘Yes, yes,’ Emerson said impatiently. ‘What is the message?’

‘She wishes you – and Mrs Emerson, of course – to dine with her this evening at the hotel.’

‘Splendid, splendid,’ Emerson exclaimed vivaciously. ‘How I look forward to the meeting!’

Needless to say, I was quite amused at Emerson’s transparent attempt to annoy me by professing admiration for Lady Baskerville. I said calmly, ‘If we are dining at the hotel you had better unpack, Emerson; your evening clothes will be sadly wrinkled. You, Mr Milverton, must go back to bed at once. I will visit you shortly to make sure you have everything you need. First I will inspect the kitchen and speak to the cook. Karl, you had better introduce me to the domestic staff. Have you had difficulty in keeping servants?’

Taking Karl firmly by the arm, I left the room before Emerson could think of a reply.

The kitchen was in a separate building behind the main house, a most sensible arrangement in a hot climate. As we approached, a variety of delicious aromas told me that luncheon was being prepared. Karl explained that most of the house servants were still at their jobs. Apparently they felt there was no danger in serving the foreigners so long as they did not actively participate in the desecration of the tomb.

I was pleased to recognise an old acquaintance in Ahmed the chef, who had once been employed at Shepheard’s. He seemed equally happy to see me. After we had exchanged compliments and enquiries concerning the health of our families I took my leave, happy to find that in this area at least I would not have to exercise constant supervision.

I found Emerson in our room going through his books and papers. The suitcases containing his clothes had not been opened. The young servant whose task it was to unpack them squatted on the floor, talking animatedly with Emerson.

‘Mohammed has been telling me the news,’ Emerson said cheerfully. ‘He is the son of Ahmed the chef – you remember – ’

‘Yes, I have just spoken to Ahmed. Luncheon will be ready shortly.’ As I spoke I extracted the keys from Emerson’s pocket; he continued to sort his papers. I handed the keys to Mohammed, a slender stripling with the luminous eyes and delicate beauty these lads often exhibit; with my assistance he soon completed his task and departed. I observed with pleasure that he had filled the water jar and laid out towels.

‘Alone at last,’ I said humorously, unbuttoning my dress. ‘How refreshing that water looks! I am sadly in need of a wash and change, after last night.’

I hung my dress in the wardrobe and was about to turn when Emerson’s arms came round my waist and pressed me close.

‘Last night was certainly unsatisfactory,’ he murmured (or at least he thought he was murmuring; Emerson’s best attempt at this sound is a growling roar, exceedingly painful to the ear). ‘What with the hardness of the bunks and their extreme narrowness, and the motion of the ship – ’

‘Now, Emerson, there is no time for that now,’ I said, attempting to free myself. ‘We have a great deal to do. Have you made arrangements for our men?’

‘Yes, yes, it is all taken care of. Peabody, have I ever told you how much I admire the shape of your – ’

‘You have.’ I removed his hand from the area in question, though I confess it required some willpower for me to do so. ‘There is no time for that now. I would like to walk across to the Valley this afternoon and have a look at the tomb.’

It is no insult to me to admit that the prospect of archaeological investigation is the one thing that can distract Emerson from what he was doing at that moment.

‘Hmmm, yes,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘It will be hot as the hinges of Hades, you know.’

‘All the better; the Cook’s people will have gone and we will enjoy a little peace and quiet. We must leave immediately after luncheon if we are to dine with Lady Baskerville this evening.’

So it was agreed, and for the first time in many years we assumed our working attire. A thrill permeated my being to its very depths when I beheld my dear Emerson in the garments in which he had first won my heart. (I speak figuratively, of course; those original garments had long since been turned into rags.) His rolled-up sleeves bared his brawny arms, his open collar displayed his strong brown throat. With an effort I conquered my emotion and led the way to the dining room.

Karl was waiting for us. I was not surprised to find him prompt at his meals; his contours indicated that a poor appetite was not one of his difficulties. A look of faint surprise crossed his features when he saw me.

In my early days in Egypt I had been vexed by the convention that restricted women to long, inconveniently trailing skirts. These garments are wholly unsuited to climbing, running, and the active aspects of archaeological excavation. I had progressed from skirts to Rationals, from Rationals to a form of bloomer; in my last season I had taken the bull by the horns and ordered a costume that seemed to me to combine utility with womanly modesty. In a land where snakes and scorpions abound, stout boots are a necessity. Mine reached to the knees and there met my breeches, cut with considerable fullness, and tucked into the boot tops in order to avoid any possibility of accidental disarrangement. Over the breeches I wore a knee-length tunic, open at the sides to allow for the stretching of the lower limbs to their widest extent, in case rapid locomotion, of pursuit or of flight, became desirable. The costume was completed by a broad-brimmed hat and a stout belt equipped with hooks for knife, pistol, and other implements.

A similar costume became popular for hunting a year or two later, and although I never received any credit for my innovation, I do not doubt that it was my example that broke the ice.

When he heard of our plans for that afternoon, Karl offered to accompany us, but we declined, wishing to be alone on this first occasion. There is a carriage road, of sorts, leading through a cleft in the cliffs to the Valley where the royal dead of Egypt were entombed; but we took the more direct path, over the high plateau behind Deir el Bahri. Once we left the shady grove and the gardens the sun beat down upon us; but I could not repine, as I remembered the dreary winter weather and tedious routine we had left behind.

A brisk scramble up a rocky, steep incline brought us to the top of the plateau. There we paused for a moment to catch our breath and enjoy the view. Ahead lay a rough waste of barren stone; behind and below, the width of the Nile Valley lay spread out like a master painting. The temple of Queen Hatasu, cleared by Maspero, looked like a child’s model. Beyond the desert the fields bordered the river like an emerald-green ribbon. The air was so clear that we could make out the miniature shapes of the pylons and columns of the eastern temples. To the south rose the great pyramid-shaped peak known as the Goddess of the West, she who guards the ancient sepulchres.

Emerson began to hum. He has a perfectly appalling singing voice and no idea whatever of pitch, but I made no objection, even when words emerged from his drone.

… from Coffee and from
supper rooms, from Poplar to Pall Mall,
The girls on seeing me exclaim, ‘O what a
champagne swell!’

I joined in.

Champagne Charlie is my name, good for any
game
at night, boys, who’ll come and join me in a spree?

Emerson’s hand reached for mine. In perfect harmony of soul (if not voice) we proceeded; and I did not feel that our melodies profaned that solemn spot since they arose from joyful anticipation of a noble work.

At the end of our stroll we found ourselves on the edge of a cliff looking down into a canyon. Rocky walls and barren floor were of the same unrelieved drab brown, bleached by the sunlight to the colour of a pale and unpalatable pudding. A few small patches of shadow, abbreviated by the height of the sun, were the only breaks in the monotony – except for the rectangular black openings that had given the Valley of the Kings its name. They were the doorways of royal tombs.