Read Crocodile on the Sandbank Online
Authors: Elizabeth Peters
Tags: #Historical fiction, #Detective and mystery stories, #Mystery fiction, #Fiction, #General, #Mystery & Detective, #Women Sleuths, #Historical, #Suspense, #Crime & mystery, #Political, #Women detectives - Egypt, #Peabody, #Amelia (Fictious character), #Crime & Thriller, #Mummies, #Peabody, #Amelia (Fictitious character), #Egyptology, #Cairo (Egypt), #Mystery, #Detective, #Women detectives, #Emerson, #Radcliffe (Fictitious character), #Mystery & Detective - Women Sleuths, #Archaeologists' spouses, #Mystery & Detective - General, #Egypt, #Fiction - Mystery
Crocodile on the Sandbank (8 page)
"Evelyn is a saint," Lucas repeated more emphatically. "Only a saint
could have loved Grandfather. But
I could not help feeling sorry for
the old gentleman just then. It is pitiable to be dying and have no one
there who loves you.
"I was in a stronger position than my fellow scavengers, for I was the
heir, and the doctors and lawyers who surrounded my grandfather knew
this. While he was incapable of speech or movement, the authority was
mine, and I exercised it to rid the house of the family. If curses have
any effect, I am due to perish miserably. But I did not care for that;
and I cannot help but think that the silence and peace I produced
in
the castle helped Grandfather's recovery. For, to the astonishment of
the doctors, he began to mend. Within a few weeks he was tottering
around his room swearing at the nurses and
throwing crockery at
his valet as was his endearing habit. However, the
doctors had warned him that any exertion or emotion might bring on
another stroke and this one would certainly be fatal.
"One of his first acts, Evelyn, on your departure, was to call his
solicitor and make a new will. You know that; you know that he left you
five pounds with which to buy a mourning ring. He had made me his
heir—not through affection, but because he detested the other relatives
even more than he did me. When he recovered sufficiently, I at once
spoke to him of the impropriety of his treatment of you. I had no
objection to inheriting, but there was plenty for both of us, and I
could not enjoy my share if I thought you were in need.
"Needless to say, my interference was received without favor. Indeed, I
had to abandon the attempt for fear of bringing on another seizure.
Dear Grandfather hinted to me that I ought to leave, but I had the
concurrence of his medical advisers when I remained in spite of the
hints. He was still rather feeble, and
it was necessary to spare him as
much as possible. I was the only one with the proper authority to fend
off annoying visitors, and I exercised it to the full.
"I honestly did believe that he was beginning to soften toward you,
until----- It happened one afternoon when I was away from the house. It
was virtually the first time I had left, and I had business----- Ah,
well, let me be candid. I needed amusement. It had been a dreary month.
I blame myself; for in my
absence Grandfather dragged his poor old bones from his bed and set the
servants to packing your belongings. Nothing of any value, alas; only
your clothing and ornaments, and the dozens of little trinkets and
mementos he had given you. Not a single one was missed; I was told that
Grandfather stormed in and out of your rooms gathering up objects and
throwing them into boxes. A demonic energy had seized him; by the time
I returned home, the boxes had been packed, corded, and dispatched by
the local carter. The castle was swept clean of any object that could
remind him of you; and he had collapsed, like the old bundle of bones
he was. The house was in an uproar, with doctors arriving and
conferring, the servants
in hysterics, and snow falling heavily, as in
a scene from a dreary novel. It was frightful!
"From that evening, Grandfather never recovered. By morning he was much
worse, and although he tried once or twice to speak, he never uttered a
consecutive sentence. But, dearest Evelyn, I am convinced he wanted to
speak of you. I am sure he forgave you and wanted you back. I hope you
will believe that."
Evelyn's head was bowed. Crystal drops splashed down onto her hands.
"A very affecting narrative," I said drily. "Evelyn, you will spoil
that dress. Satin water-stains badly."
Evelyn took a deep breath and dabbed at her eyes. Lucas had the
effrontery to wink at me. I ignored him.
"Well," I said "that solves one problem, does it not, Evelyn? The
motives of our visitor become more comprehensible. The individual to
whom I refer had not heard of the final fatality, but was informed of
the preceding recovery. Hope springs eternal."
"You need not be so tactful," Evelyn said dully. "Lucas must know to
whom we refer. His manner has been generosity itself, but I will not
insult him by glossing over my dreadful— "
"You will insult me if you ever refer to the matter again," Lucas
interrupted. "The past is finished; unless
I should be fortunate enough
to encounter a certain individual someday hi a quiet spot----- Evelyn,
let me finish my narrative. You have heard the distressing part, let me
proceed to happier matters."
"Happier?" Evelyn smiled sadly. "Happier, I hope. I hope you cannot be
insensible to my actions, my feelings----- As soon as the obsequies of
our ancestors had been celebrated, I set out in pursuit of you.
And here I am, only waiting for your consent to share our fortune—I
cannot call it mine—and, if you
will, our title, our lives, and our
name!"
He leaned back in his chair, beaming on both of us like a youthful
Father Christmas.
I really did have a hard time maintaining my dislike of Mr. Lucas; my
prejudices struggled and were almost subdued. The offer was
magnificent, noble; and it was made with a delicacy I would not have
believed possible.
Then the meaning of Lucas's last phrase penetrated my brain, and I
exclaimed, "Sir, are you proposing marriage?"
"I don't think my words are open to any other interpretation," said
Lucas, grinning broadly.
Evelyn sat openmouthed and staring. Twice she tried to speak; twice her
voice failed her. Then she cleared her throat, and on the third attempt
succeeded.
"Lucas, this is too much. I cannot believe— you cannot mean— "
"Why not?" Leaning forward, he captured her hands in his. "We were
meant for each other, Evelyn. Common sense, worldly values and, I hope,
mutual affection design us for one another. Oh, I know you don't love
me. I know your heart is bruised and fearful. Let me offer it a refuge
in my heart! Let me teach you to love me as I adore you."
His intense dark eyes shone with an ardent light; his handsome features
were set in an expression of tenderness. I really did not see how a
girl could resist him. But, as I had learned, Evelyn was made of
sterner stuff than she appeared. And, as I was about to learn, the
sentiment that had entered her heart
was stronger than I had supposed.
"Lucas," she said gently. "I cannot tell you how much your offer moves
me. All my life I will honor and revere you as one of the noblest
gentlemen of my acquaintance. But I cannot marry you."
"If you fear censure— " Lucas began.
"I do fear it— for your sake rather than my own. But that is not why I
refuse your generous offer. I will never marry. There is an
image enshrined in my heart—"
Lucas dropped her hands. His expression was one of disbelief.
"Not that wretched— "
"No." Evelyn flushed. "Certainly not."
"I am relieved to hear it!" Lucas looked thoughtful. Then his face
cleared. "Dearest Evelyn, I am not disheartened. I was prepared for a
refusal, although the reason you cite does rather take me by surprise.
However, it does not alter the facts of the case. Such a sudden
affection— forgive me, Cousin, but it is
the truth— cannot be a deep
affection. With time, I will overcome it. In lieu of parent, I turn to
Miss Peabody, and ask her permission to pay court to you in the proper
fashion!"
He did turn to me, his hand on his heart and a broad smile on his lips.
I couldn't help smiling back, although it was a rather sour smile.
"I can hardly prevent you from enjoying the society of your cousin," I
said. "But you will have to work fast, Mr. Lucas; we leave tomorrow
morning for a trip down the Nile. So you have only a few hours in which
to press your suit."
"Tomorrow morning," Lucas exclaimed. "I have no undue modesty about my
powers of persuasion, but really —! "
"I am sorry," Evelyn said, in her gentle voice. "Lucas, I cannot
encourage you. I will never change my mind. But I regret that we will
not enjoy your company for a longer time."
"Really, Evelyn, we must discuss this," Lucas said. "I am as stubborn
as you are, and much louder; I do not intend to abandon my hopes. But
my dear girl, you don't suppose that I am making marriage a
prerequisite to the enjoyment of the rights that are morally yours,
even though they have not been established legally. Half of our
grandfather's fortune belongs to you. I will settle it upon you
immediately when we return home. That is where you belong, at home. You
can have your own establishment, anywhere you like— if the Dower House
at Ellesmere does not suit you, we will find another— "
He stopped speaking. Evelyn was shaking her head. "My grandfather had
the right to dispose of his property as he chose. I cannot take what is
not mine, Lucas, and if you try to give it to me, I will give it back.
Further, I have agreed to spend the winter with Amelia. One companion
has already deserted her;
I will not do so, she is depending on me."
"Then in the spring... ?"
"I do not promise that."
"No, but----- I see your argument with regard to Miss Peabody; it would
indeed be a poor return for her kindness to abandon
her now, at the last minute. Altogether, it is a good idea. Winter in
Egypt, recover your health and spirits; in the meantime we can work out
a good lie with which to confound our friends
at home when they wonder
where you have been all this time."
"No, Lucas, really— "
"A good lie is absolutely essential, my love. Never mind what they
suspect; together we will outface them."
"Lucas, you bewilder me," Evelyn exclaimed. "You pay no heed to
anything I have said— "
"I do, I do. But I do not take it as final. No, my dear cousin, Egypt
is a splendid place in which to spend the winter; I have always wanted
to come here. If I cannot convince you of my sincerity by spring, I
will abandon my hopes. Come, Miss Peabody, you are our Minerva, our
font of wisdom; what do you say?"
"Oh, I am to be allowed to say something? Well, my dear Lord Ellesmere,
then I must confess you have some justice on your side; and you,
Evelyn, cannot refuse your cousin's desire to assist you. If you will
not accept all the money he wants to give you, you can in clear
conscience accept a respectable annuity. If you wish to go home— "
"Oh,
Amelia, how can you say so?"
"Very well," I said, sniffing to conceal my pleasure.
"Then we will carry out our trip down the Nile. When it is over, you
will consider your cousin's offer. Does that seem fair to both of you?"
Lucas snatched my hand and shook it enthusiastically. Evelyn nodded.
She was not favorable to the
idea, but was far too fairminded to object.
"However," I continued, "Mr. Lucas will have to conduct his courtship
from a distance. I can hardly
offer him a room on our dehabeeyah. It
would not be proper."
"I had not thought you the sort of lady who worried about propriety,"
Lucas said, with a meaningful look. "However, I shall hire my own
dehabeeyah and be on your trail as soon as possible. You shan't escape
me so easily, ladies. I shall sail where you sail and moor where you
moor!"
"That sounds very romantic," I said coolly. "I hope you will not be
disappointed; it is not so easy to arrange these things in Egypt."
"So I have been informed.' Lucas rose, squaring his shoulders.
"Therefore I must get at the business immediately."
"You can do nothing tonight," I said.
"Ah, you underestimate me, dear lady! Tomorrow, when I accompany you to
your boat, I will hire one for myself. Nor is it too late, tonight, to
acquire a dragoman. The lobby still teems with the wretched fellows,
and I am told they are essential to travelers. Perhaps you could
recommend a good one."
"No," I said.
"Michael might know of someone," Evelyn said, with a smiling glance at
me.
"He has gone home," I said.
"He is sure to be somewhere about," Evelyn said gently. "He never
leaves until we have retired. Indeed,
I think the fellow sleeps here,
he's so devoted to you since you saved the life of his child. He would
do anything for you."
"You are the one he is devoted to," I said. "I cannot imagine where you
get these notions, Evelyn."
Michael had taken quite a fancy to Evelyn and was, as she had thought,
still in the hotel. We found him and, taking our leave of his lordship,
left the two of them in conversation.
I was really vexed with Evelyn for helping her cousin to further his
plans; if I had not known her so well, I would have imagined she wanted
to encourage him. But that was Evelyn's weakness. She was too kind, and
too truthful. Both, I have found, are inconvenient character traits.
departure next morning. I underestimated him. The rosy streaks of dawn
were scarcely brushing the sky when we descended into the lobby of the
hotel, to find Lucas waiting, with an armful of flowers for Evelyn and
a knowing smile for me. He insisted on accompanying us to Boulaq, and
as the little boat carried us across to the waiting dahabeeyah he
stood on the shore waving both arms like a semaphore and showing all
his teeth in a smile.
With much bustle and a babble of cheerful voices the men took their
places. The mooring ropes were loosed; the oarsmen pushed off from the
bank; the great sail swelled as it took the wind; and we were
off, with
a six-gun salute from our crew, answered by other boats along the bank.
We sat on the high upper deck, with an awning to protect us from the
sun. Rugs, lounge chairs, and
tables had transformed this area into a
comfortable drawing room, and the waiter, young Habib, at once appeared
with mint tea and cakes. Evelyn lost her thoughtful look and sat up,
pointing and exclaiming at the sights. The worst pessimist in the world
must have responded to the happiness of such an excursion on such a
day. The sun was well up, beaming down from a cloudless sky. The gentle
breeze fanned our cheeks.
The palaces and gardens on the riverbank glided by as smoothly as in a
dream, and with every passing minute new beauties of scenery and
architecture were displayed to our eager eyes. In the distance the
shapes of the pyramids were etched against the sky, the air was so
clear that they seemed like miniature monuments, only yards away.
We sat on the deck the whole of that day; the experience was so new and
so enchanting it was impossible to tear ourselves away. At dinner time
delectable smells wafted up from the kitchen near the prow. Evelyn ate
with a better appetite than I had seen her display for days; and when
we retired to the saloon as the evening fell, she performed Chopin
beautifully on the pianoforte. I sat by the window watching the
exquisite sunset and listening to the tender strains; it is a moment
that will always remain in my memory.
We had many such moments as the days went on; but I must curtail my
enthusiasm, for I could write another of those repetitious travel books
about the trip— the eerie singing of the crewmen as we lay moored at
night; the exchanges of salutes with the Cook's steamers plying the
river; the visits to the monuments of Dashoor (pyramids) and Abusir
(more pyramids).
Most travelers hurry up the river as fast as possible, planning to stop
at various historic sites on the return voyage. The voyage upstream is
the difficult one, against the current, which, as the reader knows,
flows from south to north; one is dependent upon the prevailing
northerly wind, and, when this fails, as it often does, upon the brawny
arms of the men. After we watched them tow the heavy boat through an
area of sandbanks in a dead calm, we could not bear to inflict this
labor on them any more often than was absolutely necessary. To see the
poor fellows harnessed to a rope, like ancient slaves, was positively
painful.
I had private reasons for wishing to push on as quickly as possible.
The energetic Mr. Lucas would find difficulty in hiring a dahabeeyah as
promptly as he hoped, but I did not underestimate his stubbornness, and
I fancied a few weeks of peace and
quiet before he caught us up.
However, my study of history had told me that the common method of
travel is the wrong way. The monuments near Cairo are among the oldest;
in order to see Egyptian history unroll before us in the proper
sequence, we must stop on our way south instead of waiting till the
return voyage. I wanted to
see Twelfth Dynasty tombs and Eighteenth
Dynasty temples before viewing the remains of the later Greek and Roman
periods. I had therefore made out an itinerary before we left Cairo and
presented it
to Reis Hassan.
You would have thought I had suggested a revolution, the way that man
carried on. I was informed, through Michael, that we must take
advantage of the wind, and sail where, and as, it permitted.
I was beginning to understand a little Arabic by then, and I
comprehended a few of the comments Michael did not translate. According
to the reis I was a woman, and therefore no better than a fool. I knew
nothing about boats, or wind, or sailing, or the Nile; who was I, to
tell an experienced captain how to run his boat?
I was the person who had hired the boat. I pointed this out to Reis
Hassan. I hope I need not say who won the argument. Like all men, of
all colors and all nations, he was unable to accept an unpalatable
fact, however; and I bad to argue with him every time I proposed to
stop.
Except for running aground on sandbanks, which is a common-enough
occurrence, we made admirable time. The wind was good. I therefore
encountered some stiff resistance from the reis when I told him we
would stop at Bern Hassan, which is some 167 miles south of Cairo.
Brandishing my copy of M. Maspero's history, I explained to him that
the tombs at Beni Hassan are of the time of Usertsen of the Twelfth
Dynasty; chronologically they follow the pyramid of Gizeh, where we had
been, and precede the antiquities of Luxor, where we proposed to go. I
doubt that he understood my argument. However, we stopped at Beni
Hassan.
The village was typical. I would have reported a man who kept his dog
in such a kennel. Small mud hovels, roofed with cornstalks, looked as
if they had been flung down at random on the ground. These huts are
clustered around an inner courtyard, where the cooking is carried on;
there is a fire, a stone for grinding corn, a few storage jars, and
that is all. The women spin, or grind, or nurse their infants. The men
sit. Children, chickens, and dogs tumble about in an indiscriminate
mass, equally dirty, equally unclad; and yet the children are pretty
little things when they are not disfigured by flies and disease.
When we appeared, the village seethed as if someone had stirred it with
a stick. We were besieged by outstretched hands— some empty, begging
for
the inevitable backsheesh; some holding objects for sale— antiquities,
stolen from the tombs, or manufactured by enterprising merchants to
delude the unwary. It is said that some Europeans and Americans
Evelyn recoiled with a cry as an indescribably horrid object was thrust
under her very nose. At first it appeared to be a bundle of dry brown
sticks wrapped in filthy cloth; then my critical gaze recognized it
for
what it was—a mummy's hand, snapped off at the wrist, the dried bones
protruding; black from the bitumen in which it had been soaked in
ancient times. Two tawdry little rings adorned the bony fingers, and
scraps of rotten wrappings were pushed back to display the delicacy in
all its gruesome reality.
The seller was not at all put off by our mutual exclamations of
disgust; it required Michael's added comments to convince him that we
would not own such a repulsive object. Many travelers buy such
mementos, even entire mummies, which are exported from the country like
bundles of wood instead of human remains.
Evelyn's sensitive face was pensive as we went on. "How strange and
pitiful," she said musingly. "To reflect that that horrid object was
perhaps once clasped ardently by a husband or lover! It was very
small, was it not, Amelia—a woman's hand?"
"Don't think about it," I said firmly.
"I wish I could stop thinking about it. My reflections should dwell on
the frailty of the flesh, on human vanity, and the other precepts of
Christian faith.... Instead I shudder at the horror of what is, after
all, only a bit of cast-off flesh— the discarded garment of the soul.
Amelia, if it had touched me I should
have died!"
We went up to the tombs. You may rest assured, dear reader, that I had
not wasted my time during the voyage. I had with me the Reverend Samuel
Birch's little books on the study of Egyptian hieroglyphs;
and my hours
of poring over these sources were repaid in full when I was able to
point out to Evelyn the group of hieroglyphic signs which spells the
name of the chief of this district during the Twelfth Dynasty. There is
no thrill equal to seeing the actual signs, painted on crumbling rock
walls instead of printed on a page; finding in them meaning and
sense....
But I fear I am being carried away by my scholarly enthusiasm. The
tombs had considerable interest even for casual tourists, the painted
scenes on the wall are gay and pretty, showing the activities in which
the dead man loved to indulge during his lifetime, as well as the
industries pursued on his estates. His serfs blow glass and work gold
into jewelry; they tend the flocks, fashion pottery, and work in the
fields.
Some years later these same splendid tombs were savagely mutilated by
native Egyptians extracting fragments of the paintings for sale to
antiquities dealers. But even when we saw them I was aware of some of
the abuses Emerson had talked about. Fragments of paint and plaster
were constantly flaking off the walls, which were dulled by the smoke
from the candles carried by the guides. Visiting travelers were no more
careful than the uninformed Egyptians; as we stood in one tomb I
watched an American gentleman calmly walk away with a fallen bit of
stone that bore a pretty picture of a young calf. I shouted at him, but
Evelyn prevented me when
I would have pursued him to retrieve the fragment. As she pointed out,
someone else would have taken it anyway.
The name of Emerson has now returned to the narrative; but the reader
must not suppose that it was absent from our thoughts during the
halcyon days of sailing. Evelyn did not refer to Walter, but when I
introduced his name the eager light in her eye, the unguarded way in
which she turned toward me told me that, though absent from her tongue,
the name was not far from her thoughts.
As for myself, I thought often of Emerson, though not, of course, in
the same way Evelyn regarded his young brother. No; the thought of
Emerson was a stinging mosquito, which produced an itching spot that
constantly demanded to be rubbed. (The Critic comments upon the
inelegance of this comparison. I insist upon leaving it in.) Emerson's
criticisms kept recurring to me; I saw evidence of neglect and
vandalism to the monuments wherever we went, and I itched (you see the
appropriateness of my analogy), I positively itched to be in charge of
the entire antiquities department. I would have settled things properly!
We got to know some of our crew quite well. The cook was an elderly,
toothless black gentleman from Assuan, who produced the most delicious
meals upon two small charcoal burners. The waiters, Habib
and Abdul,
were handsome boys who might have stepped straight out of an ancient
Egyptian painting, with their broad shoulders and long, slim bodies. We
got to be very fond of them, especially Habib, who laughed in the most
infectious manner whenever I spoke to him in Arabic. The crewmen I
could only vaguely distinguish by their complexions, which ranged from
black to cafe-au-lait; they looked identical otherwise, in their
flowing striped robes and white turbans.
I acquired a new name during the voyage. The Egyptians have nicknames
for everyone, and some of them are quite amusing and disrespectful.
Maspero told us of a friend of his, an American gentleman named
Wilbour, who is the proud possessor of
a magnificent white beard. The Arabs call him "Father of the Beard." My
name was equally descriptive; they called me the Sitt Hakim, the lady
doctor. I felt I deserved the title; scarcely a day went by when I was
not patching up some scrape or cut, although, to my regret, I was not
called upon to amputate anything. When we stopped in the native
villages I was always being approached by dark-eyed mothers, some no
more than children themselves, carrying their pitiful babies. I had
used virtually all my stock of eye medicines by the time we left Beni
Hassan— and knew, unfortunately, that my efforts were like a single
drop
of water in a desert. The key to the regeneration of Egypt lies in the
women. So long as they are forced into marriage and motherhood long
before they are ready for such responsibilities— sold to the highest
bidder like animals, untrained in even the rudiments of sanitation and
housekeeping,, untaught, unassisted, and degraded— so long will the
country fail to realize its potential. I determined that I would speak
to Major Baring about this as soon as we returned to Cairo. I didn't
suppose that the man had any notion of matters outside of his account
books; men never do.
With such reflections and studies the days passed delightfully.
Evelyn's companionship added immeasurably to my enjoyment. She was the
perfect friend: sensitive to beauty, responsive to my moods and to the
frequent distressing sights of poverty and disease; interested in
learning all she could of the history that unrolled before us;
cheerful; uncomplaining. I found myself dreading the spring. It would
have been so pleasant to look forward to years of Evelyn's company; we
could have lived like sisters, enjoying the domestic comforts of
England, and traveling whenever we got bored with domesticity. But that
was clearly not to be expected. Whether Evelyn yielded to her cousin's
suit or not, she would certainly marry one day; and I rather believed
that Lucas would prevail. He had every argument on his side. So I
decided to enjoy the moment and forget about the future.
After Beni Hassan, the next site of interest to historians is near a
village called Haggi Qandil. The region has a more famous name; it is
sometimes called Tell-el-Amarna, and it was the city of the heretic
king Khuenaten— if indeed he was a king, and not a queen in disguise,
as
some archaeologists have claimed.
I had seen copies of the strange
portraits of this monarch, and had to admit that his form bore more
resemblance to the feminine than to the masculine.
Even more intriguing was the speculation on the religious beliefs of
this peculiar personage. He had abandoned the worship of the old gods
of
Egypt and given his devotion to the sun, Aten. Did he worship only this
god? Was he the first monotheist of whom history gives us a record? And
what connection could there be between this supposed monotheism and the
monotheism of the Hebrews? Moses was raised at the court of Egypt.
Perhaps the elevated faith of Yahweh derived, ultimately, from the
iconoclastic religion of an ancient Egyptian pharaoh!
could have loved Grandfather. But
I could not help feeling sorry for
the old gentleman just then. It is pitiable to be dying and have no one
there who loves you.
"I was in a stronger position than my fellow scavengers, for I was the
heir, and the doctors and lawyers who surrounded my grandfather knew
this. While he was incapable of speech or movement, the authority was
mine, and I exercised it to rid the house of the family. If curses have
any effect, I am due to perish miserably. But I did not care for that;
and I cannot help but think that the silence and peace I produced
in
the castle helped Grandfather's recovery. For, to the astonishment of
the doctors, he began to mend. Within a few weeks he was tottering
around his room swearing at the nurses and
throwing crockery at
his valet as was his endearing habit. However, the
doctors had warned him that any exertion or emotion might bring on
another stroke and this one would certainly be fatal.
"One of his first acts, Evelyn, on your departure, was to call his
solicitor and make a new will. You know that; you know that he left you
five pounds with which to buy a mourning ring. He had made me his
heir—not through affection, but because he detested the other relatives
even more than he did me. When he recovered sufficiently, I at once
spoke to him of the impropriety of his treatment of you. I had no
objection to inheriting, but there was plenty for both of us, and I
could not enjoy my share if I thought you were in need.
"Needless to say, my interference was received without favor. Indeed, I
had to abandon the attempt for fear of bringing on another seizure.
Dear Grandfather hinted to me that I ought to leave, but I had the
concurrence of his medical advisers when I remained in spite of the
hints. He was still rather feeble, and
it was necessary to spare him as
much as possible. I was the only one with the proper authority to fend
off annoying visitors, and I exercised it to the full.
"I honestly did believe that he was beginning to soften toward you,
until----- It happened one afternoon when I was away from the house. It
was virtually the first time I had left, and I had business----- Ah,
well, let me be candid. I needed amusement. It had been a dreary month.
I blame myself; for in my
absence Grandfather dragged his poor old bones from his bed and set the
servants to packing your belongings. Nothing of any value, alas; only
your clothing and ornaments, and the dozens of little trinkets and
mementos he had given you. Not a single one was missed; I was told that
Grandfather stormed in and out of your rooms gathering up objects and
throwing them into boxes. A demonic energy had seized him; by the time
I returned home, the boxes had been packed, corded, and dispatched by
the local carter. The castle was swept clean of any object that could
remind him of you; and he had collapsed, like the old bundle of bones
he was. The house was in an uproar, with doctors arriving and
conferring, the servants
in hysterics, and snow falling heavily, as in
a scene from a dreary novel. It was frightful!
"From that evening, Grandfather never recovered. By morning he was much
worse, and although he tried once or twice to speak, he never uttered a
consecutive sentence. But, dearest Evelyn, I am convinced he wanted to
speak of you. I am sure he forgave you and wanted you back. I hope you
will believe that."
Evelyn's head was bowed. Crystal drops splashed down onto her hands.
"A very affecting narrative," I said drily. "Evelyn, you will spoil
that dress. Satin water-stains badly."
Evelyn took a deep breath and dabbed at her eyes. Lucas had the
effrontery to wink at me. I ignored him.
"Well," I said "that solves one problem, does it not, Evelyn? The
motives of our visitor become more comprehensible. The individual to
whom I refer had not heard of the final fatality, but was informed of
the preceding recovery. Hope springs eternal."
"You need not be so tactful," Evelyn said dully. "Lucas must know to
whom we refer. His manner has been generosity itself, but I will not
insult him by glossing over my dreadful— "
"You will insult me if you ever refer to the matter again," Lucas
interrupted. "The past is finished; unless
I should be fortunate enough
to encounter a certain individual someday hi a quiet spot----- Evelyn,
let me finish my narrative. You have heard the distressing part, let me
proceed to happier matters."
"Happier?" Evelyn smiled sadly. "Happier, I hope. I hope you cannot be
insensible to my actions, my feelings----- As soon as the obsequies of
our ancestors had been celebrated, I set out in pursuit of you.
And here I am, only waiting for your consent to share our fortune—I
cannot call it mine—and, if you
will, our title, our lives, and our
name!"
He leaned back in his chair, beaming on both of us like a youthful
Father Christmas.
I really did have a hard time maintaining my dislike of Mr. Lucas; my
prejudices struggled and were almost subdued. The offer was
magnificent, noble; and it was made with a delicacy I would not have
believed possible.
Then the meaning of Lucas's last phrase penetrated my brain, and I
exclaimed, "Sir, are you proposing marriage?"
"I don't think my words are open to any other interpretation," said
Lucas, grinning broadly.
Evelyn sat openmouthed and staring. Twice she tried to speak; twice her
voice failed her. Then she cleared her throat, and on the third attempt
succeeded.
"Lucas, this is too much. I cannot believe— you cannot mean— "
"Why not?" Leaning forward, he captured her hands in his. "We were
meant for each other, Evelyn. Common sense, worldly values and, I hope,
mutual affection design us for one another. Oh, I know you don't love
me. I know your heart is bruised and fearful. Let me offer it a refuge
in my heart! Let me teach you to love me as I adore you."
His intense dark eyes shone with an ardent light; his handsome features
were set in an expression of tenderness. I really did not see how a
girl could resist him. But, as I had learned, Evelyn was made of
sterner stuff than she appeared. And, as I was about to learn, the
sentiment that had entered her heart
was stronger than I had supposed.
"Lucas," she said gently. "I cannot tell you how much your offer moves
me. All my life I will honor and revere you as one of the noblest
gentlemen of my acquaintance. But I cannot marry you."
"If you fear censure— " Lucas began.
"I do fear it— for your sake rather than my own. But that is not why I
refuse your generous offer. I will never marry. There is an
image enshrined in my heart—"
Lucas dropped her hands. His expression was one of disbelief.
"Not that wretched— "
"No." Evelyn flushed. "Certainly not."
"I am relieved to hear it!" Lucas looked thoughtful. Then his face
cleared. "Dearest Evelyn, I am not disheartened. I was prepared for a
refusal, although the reason you cite does rather take me by surprise.
However, it does not alter the facts of the case. Such a sudden
affection— forgive me, Cousin, but it is
the truth— cannot be a deep
affection. With time, I will overcome it. In lieu of parent, I turn to
Miss Peabody, and ask her permission to pay court to you in the proper
fashion!"
He did turn to me, his hand on his heart and a broad smile on his lips.
I couldn't help smiling back, although it was a rather sour smile.
"I can hardly prevent you from enjoying the society of your cousin," I
said. "But you will have to work fast, Mr. Lucas; we leave tomorrow
morning for a trip down the Nile. So you have only a few hours in which
to press your suit."
"Tomorrow morning," Lucas exclaimed. "I have no undue modesty about my
powers of persuasion, but really —! "
"I am sorry," Evelyn said, in her gentle voice. "Lucas, I cannot
encourage you. I will never change my mind. But I regret that we will
not enjoy your company for a longer time."
"Really, Evelyn, we must discuss this," Lucas said. "I am as stubborn
as you are, and much louder; I do not intend to abandon my hopes. But
my dear girl, you don't suppose that I am making marriage a
prerequisite to the enjoyment of the rights that are morally yours,
even though they have not been established legally. Half of our
grandfather's fortune belongs to you. I will settle it upon you
immediately when we return home. That is where you belong, at home. You
can have your own establishment, anywhere you like— if the Dower House
at Ellesmere does not suit you, we will find another— "
He stopped speaking. Evelyn was shaking her head. "My grandfather had
the right to dispose of his property as he chose. I cannot take what is
not mine, Lucas, and if you try to give it to me, I will give it back.
Further, I have agreed to spend the winter with Amelia. One companion
has already deserted her;
I will not do so, she is depending on me."
"Then in the spring... ?"
"I do not promise that."
"No, but----- I see your argument with regard to Miss Peabody; it would
indeed be a poor return for her kindness to abandon
her now, at the last minute. Altogether, it is a good idea. Winter in
Egypt, recover your health and spirits; in the meantime we can work out
a good lie with which to confound our friends
at home when they wonder
where you have been all this time."
"No, Lucas, really— "
"A good lie is absolutely essential, my love. Never mind what they
suspect; together we will outface them."
"Lucas, you bewilder me," Evelyn exclaimed. "You pay no heed to
anything I have said— "
"I do, I do. But I do not take it as final. No, my dear cousin, Egypt
is a splendid place in which to spend the winter; I have always wanted
to come here. If I cannot convince you of my sincerity by spring, I
will abandon my hopes. Come, Miss Peabody, you are our Minerva, our
font of wisdom; what do you say?"
"Oh, I am to be allowed to say something? Well, my dear Lord Ellesmere,
then I must confess you have some justice on your side; and you,
Evelyn, cannot refuse your cousin's desire to assist you. If you will
not accept all the money he wants to give you, you can in clear
conscience accept a respectable annuity. If you wish to go home— "
"Oh,
Amelia, how can you say so?"
"Very well," I said, sniffing to conceal my pleasure.
"Then we will carry out our trip down the Nile. When it is over, you
will consider your cousin's offer. Does that seem fair to both of you?"
Lucas snatched my hand and shook it enthusiastically. Evelyn nodded.
She was not favorable to the
idea, but was far too fairminded to object.
"However," I continued, "Mr. Lucas will have to conduct his courtship
from a distance. I can hardly
offer him a room on our dehabeeyah. It
would not be proper."
"I had not thought you the sort of lady who worried about propriety,"
Lucas said, with a meaningful look. "However, I shall hire my own
dehabeeyah and be on your trail as soon as possible. You shan't escape
me so easily, ladies. I shall sail where you sail and moor where you
moor!"
"That sounds very romantic," I said coolly. "I hope you will not be
disappointed; it is not so easy to arrange these things in Egypt."
"So I have been informed.' Lucas rose, squaring his shoulders.
"Therefore I must get at the business immediately."
"You can do nothing tonight," I said.
"Ah, you underestimate me, dear lady! Tomorrow, when I accompany you to
your boat, I will hire one for myself. Nor is it too late, tonight, to
acquire a dragoman. The lobby still teems with the wretched fellows,
and I am told they are essential to travelers. Perhaps you could
recommend a good one."
"No," I said.
"Michael might know of someone," Evelyn said, with a smiling glance at
me.
"He has gone home," I said.
"He is sure to be somewhere about," Evelyn said gently. "He never
leaves until we have retired. Indeed,
I think the fellow sleeps here,
he's so devoted to you since you saved the life of his child. He would
do anything for you."
"You are the one he is devoted to," I said. "I cannot imagine where you
get these notions, Evelyn."
Michael had taken quite a fancy to Evelyn and was, as she had thought,
still in the hotel. We found him and, taking our leave of his lordship,
left the two of them in conversation.
I was really vexed with Evelyn for helping her cousin to further his
plans; if I had not known her so well, I would have imagined she wanted
to encourage him. But that was Evelyn's weakness. She was too kind, and
too truthful. Both, I have found, are inconvenient character traits.
4
I HAD thought to avoid Mr. Lucas by making an outrageously earlydeparture next morning. I underestimated him. The rosy streaks of dawn
were scarcely brushing the sky when we descended into the lobby of the
hotel, to find Lucas waiting, with an armful of flowers for Evelyn and
a knowing smile for me. He insisted on accompanying us to Boulaq, and
as the little boat carried us across to the waiting dahabeeyah he
stood on the shore waving both arms like a semaphore and showing all
his teeth in a smile.
With much bustle and a babble of cheerful voices the men took their
places. The mooring ropes were loosed; the oarsmen pushed off from the
bank; the great sail swelled as it took the wind; and we were
off, with
a six-gun salute from our crew, answered by other boats along the bank.
We sat on the high upper deck, with an awning to protect us from the
sun. Rugs, lounge chairs, and
tables had transformed this area into a
comfortable drawing room, and the waiter, young Habib, at once appeared
with mint tea and cakes. Evelyn lost her thoughtful look and sat up,
pointing and exclaiming at the sights. The worst pessimist in the world
must have responded to the happiness of such an excursion on such a
day. The sun was well up, beaming down from a cloudless sky. The gentle
breeze fanned our cheeks.
The palaces and gardens on the riverbank glided by as smoothly as in a
dream, and with every passing minute new beauties of scenery and
architecture were displayed to our eager eyes. In the distance the
shapes of the pyramids were etched against the sky, the air was so
clear that they seemed like miniature monuments, only yards away.
We sat on the deck the whole of that day; the experience was so new and
so enchanting it was impossible to tear ourselves away. At dinner time
delectable smells wafted up from the kitchen near the prow. Evelyn ate
with a better appetite than I had seen her display for days; and when
we retired to the saloon as the evening fell, she performed Chopin
beautifully on the pianoforte. I sat by the window watching the
exquisite sunset and listening to the tender strains; it is a moment
that will always remain in my memory.
We had many such moments as the days went on; but I must curtail my
enthusiasm, for I could write another of those repetitious travel books
about the trip— the eerie singing of the crewmen as we lay moored at
night; the exchanges of salutes with the Cook's steamers plying the
river; the visits to the monuments of Dashoor (pyramids) and Abusir
(more pyramids).
Most travelers hurry up the river as fast as possible, planning to stop
at various historic sites on the return voyage. The voyage upstream is
the difficult one, against the current, which, as the reader knows,
flows from south to north; one is dependent upon the prevailing
northerly wind, and, when this fails, as it often does, upon the brawny
arms of the men. After we watched them tow the heavy boat through an
area of sandbanks in a dead calm, we could not bear to inflict this
labor on them any more often than was absolutely necessary. To see the
poor fellows harnessed to a rope, like ancient slaves, was positively
painful.
I had private reasons for wishing to push on as quickly as possible.
The energetic Mr. Lucas would find difficulty in hiring a dahabeeyah as
promptly as he hoped, but I did not underestimate his stubbornness, and
I fancied a few weeks of peace and
quiet before he caught us up.
However, my study of history had told me that the common method of
travel is the wrong way. The monuments near Cairo are among the oldest;
in order to see Egyptian history unroll before us in the proper
sequence, we must stop on our way south instead of waiting till the
return voyage. I wanted to
see Twelfth Dynasty tombs and Eighteenth
Dynasty temples before viewing the remains of the later Greek and Roman
periods. I had therefore made out an itinerary before we left Cairo and
presented it
to Reis Hassan.
You would have thought I had suggested a revolution, the way that man
carried on. I was informed, through Michael, that we must take
advantage of the wind, and sail where, and as, it permitted.
I was beginning to understand a little Arabic by then, and I
comprehended a few of the comments Michael did not translate. According
to the reis I was a woman, and therefore no better than a fool. I knew
nothing about boats, or wind, or sailing, or the Nile; who was I, to
tell an experienced captain how to run his boat?
I was the person who had hired the boat. I pointed this out to Reis
Hassan. I hope I need not say who won the argument. Like all men, of
all colors and all nations, he was unable to accept an unpalatable
fact, however; and I bad to argue with him every time I proposed to
stop.
Except for running aground on sandbanks, which is a common-enough
occurrence, we made admirable time. The wind was good. I therefore
encountered some stiff resistance from the reis when I told him we
would stop at Bern Hassan, which is some 167 miles south of Cairo.
Brandishing my copy of M. Maspero's history, I explained to him that
the tombs at Beni Hassan are of the time of Usertsen of the Twelfth
Dynasty; chronologically they follow the pyramid of Gizeh, where we had
been, and precede the antiquities of Luxor, where we proposed to go. I
doubt that he understood my argument. However, we stopped at Beni
Hassan.
The village was typical. I would have reported a man who kept his dog
in such a kennel. Small mud hovels, roofed with cornstalks, looked as
if they had been flung down at random on the ground. These huts are
clustered around an inner courtyard, where the cooking is carried on;
there is a fire, a stone for grinding corn, a few storage jars, and
that is all. The women spin, or grind, or nurse their infants. The men
sit. Children, chickens, and dogs tumble about in an indiscriminate
mass, equally dirty, equally unclad; and yet the children are pretty
little things when they are not disfigured by flies and disease.
When we appeared, the village seethed as if someone had stirred it with
a stick. We were besieged by outstretched hands— some empty, begging
for
the inevitable backsheesh; some holding objects for sale— antiquities,
stolen from the tombs, or manufactured by enterprising merchants to
delude the unwary. It is said that some Europeans and Americans
Evelyn recoiled with a cry as an indescribably horrid object was thrust
under her very nose. At first it appeared to be a bundle of dry brown
sticks wrapped in filthy cloth; then my critical gaze recognized it
for
what it was—a mummy's hand, snapped off at the wrist, the dried bones
protruding; black from the bitumen in which it had been soaked in
ancient times. Two tawdry little rings adorned the bony fingers, and
scraps of rotten wrappings were pushed back to display the delicacy in
all its gruesome reality.
The seller was not at all put off by our mutual exclamations of
disgust; it required Michael's added comments to convince him that we
would not own such a repulsive object. Many travelers buy such
mementos, even entire mummies, which are exported from the country like
bundles of wood instead of human remains.
Evelyn's sensitive face was pensive as we went on. "How strange and
pitiful," she said musingly. "To reflect that that horrid object was
perhaps once clasped ardently by a husband or lover! It was very
small, was it not, Amelia—a woman's hand?"
"Don't think about it," I said firmly.
"I wish I could stop thinking about it. My reflections should dwell on
the frailty of the flesh, on human vanity, and the other precepts of
Christian faith.... Instead I shudder at the horror of what is, after
all, only a bit of cast-off flesh— the discarded garment of the soul.
Amelia, if it had touched me I should
have died!"
We went up to the tombs. You may rest assured, dear reader, that I had
not wasted my time during the voyage. I had with me the Reverend Samuel
Birch's little books on the study of Egyptian hieroglyphs;
and my hours
of poring over these sources were repaid in full when I was able to
point out to Evelyn the group of hieroglyphic signs which spells the
name of the chief of this district during the Twelfth Dynasty. There is
no thrill equal to seeing the actual signs, painted on crumbling rock
walls instead of printed on a page; finding in them meaning and
sense....
But I fear I am being carried away by my scholarly enthusiasm. The
tombs had considerable interest even for casual tourists, the painted
scenes on the wall are gay and pretty, showing the activities in which
the dead man loved to indulge during his lifetime, as well as the
industries pursued on his estates. His serfs blow glass and work gold
into jewelry; they tend the flocks, fashion pottery, and work in the
fields.
Some years later these same splendid tombs were savagely mutilated by
native Egyptians extracting fragments of the paintings for sale to
antiquities dealers. But even when we saw them I was aware of some of
the abuses Emerson had talked about. Fragments of paint and plaster
were constantly flaking off the walls, which were dulled by the smoke
from the candles carried by the guides. Visiting travelers were no more
careful than the uninformed Egyptians; as we stood in one tomb I
watched an American gentleman calmly walk away with a fallen bit of
stone that bore a pretty picture of a young calf. I shouted at him, but
Evelyn prevented me when
I would have pursued him to retrieve the fragment. As she pointed out,
someone else would have taken it anyway.
The name of Emerson has now returned to the narrative; but the reader
must not suppose that it was absent from our thoughts during the
halcyon days of sailing. Evelyn did not refer to Walter, but when I
introduced his name the eager light in her eye, the unguarded way in
which she turned toward me told me that, though absent from her tongue,
the name was not far from her thoughts.
As for myself, I thought often of Emerson, though not, of course, in
the same way Evelyn regarded his young brother. No; the thought of
Emerson was a stinging mosquito, which produced an itching spot that
constantly demanded to be rubbed. (The Critic comments upon the
inelegance of this comparison. I insist upon leaving it in.) Emerson's
criticisms kept recurring to me; I saw evidence of neglect and
vandalism to the monuments wherever we went, and I itched (you see the
appropriateness of my analogy), I positively itched to be in charge of
the entire antiquities department. I would have settled things properly!
We got to know some of our crew quite well. The cook was an elderly,
toothless black gentleman from Assuan, who produced the most delicious
meals upon two small charcoal burners. The waiters, Habib
and Abdul,
were handsome boys who might have stepped straight out of an ancient
Egyptian painting, with their broad shoulders and long, slim bodies. We
got to be very fond of them, especially Habib, who laughed in the most
infectious manner whenever I spoke to him in Arabic. The crewmen I
could only vaguely distinguish by their complexions, which ranged from
black to cafe-au-lait; they looked identical otherwise, in their
flowing striped robes and white turbans.
I acquired a new name during the voyage. The Egyptians have nicknames
for everyone, and some of them are quite amusing and disrespectful.
Maspero told us of a friend of his, an American gentleman named
Wilbour, who is the proud possessor of
a magnificent white beard. The Arabs call him "Father of the Beard." My
name was equally descriptive; they called me the Sitt Hakim, the lady
doctor. I felt I deserved the title; scarcely a day went by when I was
not patching up some scrape or cut, although, to my regret, I was not
called upon to amputate anything. When we stopped in the native
villages I was always being approached by dark-eyed mothers, some no
more than children themselves, carrying their pitiful babies. I had
used virtually all my stock of eye medicines by the time we left Beni
Hassan— and knew, unfortunately, that my efforts were like a single
drop
of water in a desert. The key to the regeneration of Egypt lies in the
women. So long as they are forced into marriage and motherhood long
before they are ready for such responsibilities— sold to the highest
bidder like animals, untrained in even the rudiments of sanitation and
housekeeping,, untaught, unassisted, and degraded— so long will the
country fail to realize its potential. I determined that I would speak
to Major Baring about this as soon as we returned to Cairo. I didn't
suppose that the man had any notion of matters outside of his account
books; men never do.
With such reflections and studies the days passed delightfully.
Evelyn's companionship added immeasurably to my enjoyment. She was the
perfect friend: sensitive to beauty, responsive to my moods and to the
frequent distressing sights of poverty and disease; interested in
learning all she could of the history that unrolled before us;
cheerful; uncomplaining. I found myself dreading the spring. It would
have been so pleasant to look forward to years of Evelyn's company; we
could have lived like sisters, enjoying the domestic comforts of
England, and traveling whenever we got bored with domesticity. But that
was clearly not to be expected. Whether Evelyn yielded to her cousin's
suit or not, she would certainly marry one day; and I rather believed
that Lucas would prevail. He had every argument on his side. So I
decided to enjoy the moment and forget about the future.
After Beni Hassan, the next site of interest to historians is near a
village called Haggi Qandil. The region has a more famous name; it is
sometimes called Tell-el-Amarna, and it was the city of the heretic
king Khuenaten— if indeed he was a king, and not a queen in disguise,
as
some archaeologists have claimed.
I had seen copies of the strange
portraits of this monarch, and had to admit that his form bore more
resemblance to the feminine than to the masculine.
Even more intriguing was the speculation on the religious beliefs of
this peculiar personage. He had abandoned the worship of the old gods
of
Egypt and given his devotion to the sun, Aten. Did he worship only this
god? Was he the first monotheist of whom history gives us a record? And
what connection could there be between this supposed monotheism and the
monotheism of the Hebrews? Moses was raised at the court of Egypt.
Perhaps the elevated faith of Yahweh derived, ultimately, from the
iconoclastic religion of an ancient Egyptian pharaoh!
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