Amelia Peabody Omnibus 1-4 (98 page)

Finally I reached a decision. ‘John,’ I said. ‘I have a task for you – one requiring unusual intelligence and devotion.’

The young man drew himself up to his full height. ‘Anything, madam.’

‘Thank you, John. I felt sure I could count on you. I suspect one of our workers is a vicious criminal. During the day he will be under my watchful eye, but at night I cannot watch him. I want you to be my eyes. Find out where he is living. Take up a position nearby. If he leaves during the night, follow him. Do not let your presence be known, only observe what he does and report back to me. Can you do this?’

John scratched his head. ‘Well, madam, I will certainly try. But I see certain difficulties.’

‘Such as?’

‘Won’t he see me if I am standing outside ’is ’ouse when he comes out?’

‘Don’t be absurd, John. He will not see you because you will be in hiding.’

‘Where, madam?’

‘Where? Well – er – there must be a tree or a wall or something of that sort nearby. Use your imagination, John.’

‘Yes, madam,’ John said doubtfully.

‘What other difficulties do you anticipate?’

‘Supposing someone sees me behind the tree and asks what I’m doing there?’

‘If you are sufficiently well hidden, you will not be seen. Good heavens, John, have you no resources?’

‘I don’t think so, madam. But I will do me best, which is all a man can do. Which of the chaps is it?’

I started to point, then thought better of it. ‘That one. Third from the end – no, curse it, second… He keeps changing position.’

‘You don’t mean Brother ’amid, madam?’

‘Brother
Hamid? Yes, John, I believe I do mean Brother Hamid. He is really a convert, then?’

‘Yes, madam, and I know where he lives, for he sleeps in a storeroom behind the mission house. But, madam, I’m sure you are mistaken about ’im being a criminal. Brother Ezekiel has quite taken to ’im, and Brother Ezekiel could not take to a criminal, madam.’

‘Brother Ezekiel is no more immune than other men to the blandishments of a hypocrite.’ John gave me a blank stare, so I elaborated. ‘Godly persons are more vulnerable than most to the machinations of the ungodly.’

‘I don’t understand all them long words, madam, but I think I take your meaning,’ John replied. ‘Brother Ezekiel is too trusting.’

‘That is a quality of saints, John,’ I said. ‘Martyrdom is often the result of excessive gullibility.’

Whether John comprehended this I cannot say, but he appeared to be convinced. No doubt he had also realised that spying on Hamid would bring him closer to Charity. Squaring his shoulders, he exclaimed, ‘I will do just what you say, madam. Shall I ’ave a disguise, do you think?’

‘That is an excellent suggestion, John. I am happy to see that you are entering into the spirit of the thing. I will borrow a robe and turban from Abdullah; he is the only one of the men who is anything near your height.’

John went off to assist Emerson and I remained where I was, keeping a close but unobtrusive watch over Hamid. After a while Abdullah came up to me. ‘What is the man doing, Sitt, that you watch him so closely?’ he asked.

‘What man, Abdullah? You are mistaken. I am not watching him.’

‘Oh.’ Delicately Abdullah scratched his bearded chin. ‘I was in error. I thought your keen eyes were fixed upon the foreigner – the man from Manawat.’

‘No, not at all… What do you know about him, Abdullah?’

The
reis
replied promptly, ‘He has not worked with his hands, Sitt Hakim. They are sore and bleeding from the pick.’

‘How does he get on with the other men?’

‘He has no friends among them. Those of the village who remain faithful to the priest are angry with the ones who have gone over to the Americans. But he does not even talk to the other new “Brotestants.” Shall I dismiss him, Sitt? There are others who would like the work.’

‘No, don’t do that. Only keep a close watch on him.’ I lowered my voice. ‘I have reason to think Hamid is a criminal, Abdullah; perhaps a murderer.’

‘Oh, Sitt.’ Abdullah clasped his hands. ‘Not again, honoured Sitt! We come to excavate, to work; I beg you, Sitt, do not do it again.’

‘What do you mean, Abdullah?’

‘I feared it would happen,’ the
reis
muttered, passing a shaking hand over his lofty brow. ‘A village of unbelievers, hateful to Allah; a curse on the very house where we dwell – ’

‘But we have lifted the curse, Abdullah.’

‘No, Sitt, no. The restless spirits of the dead are still there. Daoud saw one of them only last night.’

I had been expecting something of the sort – or if I had not expected it, I was not surprised that it had occurred. As Emerson says, most men are superstitious, but Egyptians have more reason to believe in ghosts than do men of other nations. Is it any wonder the descendants of the pharaohs feel the presence of gods who were worshipped for over three thousand years? Add to them the pantheons of Christianity and Islam, and you have a formidable phalanx of mixed demons.

I was about to explain this to Abdullah when we were interrupted by a hail from Emerson. ‘Peabody! Oh, Peeebody! Come here, will you?’

‘I will talk with you later,’ I said to Abdullah. ‘Don’t yield to fear, my friend; you know the Father of Curses is a match for any evil spirit.’

‘Hmmm,’ said Abdullah.

We had moved the scene of our operations again that afternoon. As Emerson put it (rather unfortunately, in my opinion) we had enough mouldy Christian bones to last us. What we were doing, in archaeological terms, was making a series of trial trenches across the area in order to establish the general nature of the remains. Critical persons, unacquainted with the methods of the profession, have described this as poking around in the hope of finding something interesting, but of course that is not the case.

I found Emerson standing atop a ridge of rock staring down at something below. John was with him. ‘Ah, Peabody,’ said my husband. ‘Just have a look at this, will you?’

Taking the hand he offered, I stepped up onto the ridge. At first glance there was nothing to justify his interest. Half buried in the sand, half exposed by the picks of the workers, was a wrapped mummy. The intricacy of the bandaging indicated that it was another Ptolemaic or Roman mummy, of which we already had a sufficiency.

‘Oh dear,’ I said sympathetically. ‘Another cursed Roman cemetery.’

‘I do not think so. We are still on the edge of the Christian cemetery; two other burials of that nature have turned up.’

John cleared his throat. ‘Sir. I have been wanting to speak to you about that. These ’ere pore Christians – ’

‘Not now, John,’ Emerson said irritably.

‘But, sir, it ain’t right to dig them up as if they was ’eathens. If we was in England – ’

‘We are not in England,’ Emerson replied. ‘Well, Peabody?’

‘It is curious,’ I agreed. ‘One would expect such a carefully wrapped mummy to possess a coffin or a sarcophagus.’

‘Precisely, my dear Peabody.’

‘Was that how it was found?’

‘You see it,’ Emerson replied, ‘just as the men found it – a scant two feet below the surface.’

‘These intrusions do sometimes occur, Emerson. Do you want me to take a photograph?’

Emerson stroked his chin and then replied, ‘I think not, Peabody. I will make a note of its location and we will see what turns up as the work progresses.’

‘Sir,’ John said. ‘These ’ere Christians – ’

‘Hold your tongue, John, and hand me that brush.’

‘It is almost time for tea, Emerson,’ I said. ‘Will you come?’

‘Bah,’ said Emerson.

Taking this for acquiescence, I made my way back to the house. Ramses was not in his room. The lion cub ran to greet me when I opened the door, and as I tickled it under its chin I noticed it had eaten Ramses’ house slippers and reduced his nightshirt to shreds. Restoring it to the cage, over its piteous objections, I returned to the parlour and put the kettle on.

We took tea alfresco, as the Italians say, arranging tables and chairs in a space cleared for that purpose before the house. The bits of sand that occasionally sprinkled tea and bread were a small inconvenience to pay for the fresh air and splendid view.

When Emerson joined me he was grumbling as usual. ‘How often have I told you, Amelia, that this ritual is absurd? Afternoon tea is all very well at home, but to interrupt one’s work when in the field …’ He seized the cup I handed him, drained it in a gulp, and returned it to me. ‘Petrie does not stop for tea. I won’t do it, I tell you. This is the last time.’

He said the same thing every day. I refilled his cup and said what I said every day, namely that an interval of refreshment increased efficiency, and that it was necessary to replenish the moisture lost from the body during the heat of the afternoon.

‘Where is Ramses?’ Emerson asked.

‘He is late,’ I replied. ‘As to precisely where he may be, I cannot answer, thanks to your refusal to let me supervise his activities. You spoil the boy, Emerson. How many children of his age have their own archaeological excavations?’

‘He wants to surprise us, Peabody. It would be cruel to thwart his innocent pleasures… Ah, here he is. How very tidy you are this evening, Ramses.’

Not only was he tidy, he was clean. His hair curled into tight ringlets when damp. Drops of water still sparkled in the sable coils. I was so pleased at this demonstration of conformity – for bathing was not something Ramses often engaged in of his own free will – that I did not scold him for being late or even object to the presence of the lion. Ramses secured its lead to a stone stub and began devouring bread and butter.

It was a pleasant domestic interlude; and I confess I shared Emerson’s sentiments when he let out an exclamation of annoyance. ‘Curse it, we are going to be interrupted again. Doesn’t that Frenchman do anything except pay social calls?’

The approaching figure was indeed that of de Morgan, mounted on his beautiful steed. ‘Ramses,’ I began.

‘Yes, Mama. I t’ink dat de lion has had sufficient fresh air for de present.’ There was only time for him to thrust it into the house and close the door before de Morgan was with us.

After greetings had been exchanged and de Morgan had accepted a cup of tea, he asked how our work was going.

‘Splendidly,’ I replied. ‘We have completed a survey of the area and are proceeding with trial excavations. Cemeteries of the Roman and Christian periods have been discovered.’

‘My commiseration, dear friends,’ de Morgan exclaimed. ‘But perhaps you will come upon something more interesting in time.’

‘Commiseration is not needed, monsieur,’ I replied. ‘We dote on Roman cemeteries.’

‘Then you will no doubt be pleased to receive another Roman mummy,’ said de Morgan, twirling his moustache.

‘What the devil do you mean?’ Emerson demanded.

‘That is the reason for my visit,’ de Morgan replied, a Machiavellian smile curving his lips. ‘The stolen mummy case has been discovered. The thieves abandoned it a few kilometres from my camp, where it was found this afternoon.’

‘How very strange,’ I said.

‘No, it is easy to understand,’ said de Morgan patronisingly. ‘These thieves are ignorant people. They committed an error, taking the mummy case; having discovered its worthlessness and tiring of its weight, they simply abandoned it.’

Emerson shot the Frenchman a look of blistering contempt. I said, ‘No doubt the baroness is glad to have her relic back.’

‘She will have nothing to do with it.’ De Morgan shook his head.
‘Les femmes,
they are always illogical… That is, madame, I do not refer to you, you understand – ’

‘I should hope not, monsieur.’

‘“Take it away,” she cries, waving her arms. “Give it to Herr Professor Emerson, who has scolded me. I want nothing more to do with it, it has brought me terror and distress.” So,’ de Morgan concluded, ‘my men will fetch it to you later.’

‘Thank you very much,’ said Emerson between clenched teeth.

‘Not at all.’ De Morgan patted the damp curls of Ramses, who was crouched at his feet like a puppy. ‘And how is your study of mummies progressing,
mon petit?’

‘I have given it up for de present,’ said Ramses. ‘I find I lack de proper instruments for such research. Accurate measurements of cranial capacity and bone development are necessary if one is to reach meaningful conclusions regarding de racial and physical – ’

De Morgan interrupted with a hearty laugh. ‘Never mind,
petit chou;
if you are bored with your papa’s excavations you may visit me. Tomorrow I begin a new tunnel which will surely lead me to the burial chamber.’

Emerson’s countenance writhed. Catching my eye, he said in a muffled voice, ‘Excuse me, Amelia. I must – I must – ’

And, leaping from his chair, he vanished around the corner of the house.

‘I take my leave of you, madame,’ said de Morgan, rising. ‘I came only to tell you that the stolen property has been recovered and to give you the baroness’s farewells. She sails at dawn.’

‘Good,’ I exclaimed. ‘That is – I am glad she is recovered enough to continue her journey.’

‘I thought you might feel that way,’ said de Morgan with a smile. ‘You know that her little pet escaped after all?’

‘Did it?’

For the past several minutes a muffled undercurrent of thumps and growls had issued from the house. De Morgan’s smile broadened. ‘Yes, it did. Possibly the thieves opened the cage by mistake. Ah, well; it is a small matter.’

‘Quite,’ I said, as a howl of feline frustration arose and claws attacked the inside of the door.

After de Morgan had left, grinning like a Gallic idiot, I went in search of Emerson. I found him methodically kicking the foundations of the house, and led him back to the dig.

The rest of the day went quietly, and Emerson’s temper gradually subsided under the soothing influence of professional activity. After dinner he sat down to write up his journal of the day’s work, assisted by Ramses, while John and I went to the darkroom and developed the plates we had taken that day. Some had turned out quite well. Others were very blurred. John tried to take the credit for the good ones, but I soon set him straight on that, and pointed out where he had gone astray in focusing the camera.