The Falcon at the Portal: An Amelia Peabody Mystery (44 page)

When we were outside the house, Ramses drew my arm through his. "Mother, I'm sorry. I thought you knew."

"I know such things happen. I saw she was very young..." I was unable to continue.

"I should never have taken you there. Forgive me."

I gave myself a little shake. "It is for you to forgive
me.
I do not often yield to weakness, I believe. But it is one thing to contemplate such a vile act in the abstract, quite another to think of its being committed by a man one knows—a man whose hand one has taken."

"Yes," Ramses said. "I understand."

Shepheard's terrace was crowded, as it always is at teatime, but I never have any difficulty in finding a place. Mr. Baehler now owned the hotel, and his successor as manager was just as obliging. I went to freshen up; by the time I returned, Freddy was waiting to show me to a choice table near the railing. Ramses was slow in joining me. I presumed he had encountered an acquaintance, so I amused myself by observing the passing crowds, one of whom, as I was soon to discover, had also observed me.

Percy was not in uniform, so I did not notice him until he was almost at my side. Taken by surprise, I was unable to conceal the shock and disgust I felt, even supposing I had been inclined to do so. He read my countenance and hastened to speak.

"Aunt Amelia! I have been haunting Shepheard's this past week in the hope of seeing you. May I offer you tea?"

"No. You had better take yourself off before I express my opinion of you loudly enough to be heard by everyone on the terrace."

"Ah." His face took on a look of quiet suffering. "Then the rumors I have heard—"

"I don't know what you have heard. If they accuse my son of one of the vilest crimes a man can commit, they are lies. Had you not lost all semblance of decency, you would clear Ramses and avoid the company of those who know the truth."

"But that is what I want to do!" Percy exclaimed vehemently. "To clear myself with you, at any rate. Won't you hear my side of it? You did not used to be unjust."

Ostentatiously I consulted my lapel watch. "You have sixty seconds."

He had remained standing. He did not venture now to sit down, but he put both hands on the back of a chair and leaned forward, lowering his voice.

"The child may be mine. I don't deny the possibility. No— please let me finish! I knew nothing of it, I swear! When I was last in Cairo I was young and foolish and easily led, but the—the act that led to the present difficulty was a single aberration, and one of which I am bitterly ashamed. I will do anything in my power to put things right. Money—any amount you think proper—"

He broke off with a strangled gasp and straightened, staring over my shoulder at something. I knew what it was, of course, even before I turned my head.

"The tables are very close together, Ramses," I said. "If you strike him he will fall over and injure some innocent people. Percy, I warned you you had only a minute. You ought to have heeded my advice."

Ramses's fists uncurled, but I thought I had better take hold of his arm just to be on the safe side. Percy had backed away as far as he could—only a step or two—but he had apparently decided he could risk a few more words.

"I meant what I said, Aunt Amelia. Do you believe I spoke the truth?"

"I don't care whether you spoke the truth or not," I said. "What you did is indefensible, and your attempts to excuse yourself only make it worse. I really don't think I can restrain Ramses much longer, Percy, and I am not at all certain I care to. Go away and never darken my door again."

"Very well." He bowed and backed up another few steps, glancing behind him in order to avoid running into a tourist. "I had meant to call on Nefret to offer my felicitations, but..."

I almost lost hold of Ramses. Percy beat a hasty retreat, weaving a path among the closely crowded tables with an agility born of a strong sense of self-preservation.

"Sit down," I said. "A public scene would only fuel the gossip. I remember once you asked me for permission to pound Percy. I am sorry now I didn't let you."

"I shouldn't have given myself away," Ramses muttered. "He only suspected before. Now he knows."

"Oh, I'm sure he already knew how thoroughly you detest him."

"What did he say before I arrived on the scene?" The angry color began to fade from Ramses's cheeks.

"He admitted the child might be his. It was a single aberration that occurred when he was young and easily led."

"He's good," Ramses said with grudging admiration. "He admits the truth only when he's backed into a corner, and then twists it to the best advantage."

"Well, my dear, we can be sure he will avoid us in future. I believe I made my feelings clear. Shall we order now? I could do with a nice hot cup of tea."

Two days later the body of a young woman was found caught in the reeds along the riverbank just above the barrage. We would probably not have heard of it had not Ramses's persistent inquiries made the Cairo police aware of our interest in any such discovery. It was Mr. Russell, the assistant commissioner, who informed us—or Ramses, to be precise. Ramses did not tell us until after he had seen the remains. A certain identification was impossible, since the body had been in the water for several days, but the general description matched that of Rashida, and twisted round the neck was a string of cheap beads like one she had owned. She had been stabbed a number of times. The police attributed the killing to a hashshaheen, for similar cases were known; excessive use of the drug may induce a homicidal frenzy.

We were unable to find any trace of Kalaan. Emerson believed he had left Cairo and was lying low. Ramses appeared to have lost interest in him. "There are too many others like him," he said with a shrug.

The next few weeks were without incident. I found this very alarming. Emerson scoffed at me when I expressed my forebodings (he always scoffs at my forebodings) but as I pointed out to him, an enemy who has already perpetrated several violent attacks, and a murder, is not likely to change his skin. This prompted another rude remark from Emerson on the subject of mixed metaphors, but I knew what I meant, and so did he.

When I say all was quiet I do not mean that a great many things were not going on. We dined with the Vandergelts and they dined with us; I gave a series of quiet but elegant dinner parties to welcome David and Lia and to honor the other young couple. All four of them, not to mention Emerson, had argued against my original idea of a large reception at one of the hotels, so I had been forced to give in. I do not enjoy such large social events, but I had wanted to outface the gossips. All in all, we had provided the narrow little world of Cairo society with a good deal of gossip that season, and I felt sure "they" were now engaged in malicious speculation on the suddenness of Nefret's marriage. When I mentioned this to Emerson he gave me one of the coldest looks I had ever received from that quarter.

"What sort of speculation?" he demanded.

"You know, Emerson. They will be counting the days."

"Until what?"

"Don't glower at me that way and don't pretend you don't understand."

"I do understand," Emerson snarled. "Confound it, Peabody, are all women so prurient and judgmental?"

"Yes, I think so. They were happy to believe 'the worst,' as the saying has it, of poor Maude Reynolds, and in their narrow little minds there is only one reason why a young woman would give up an elaborate church wedding with all the attendant fuss and ceremony. You know I don't believe it, Emerson, I only wanted..."

"I know." His stern face softened. "You wanted to indicate your love and support for Nefret and tell the gossips to go to the devil. Never mind, Peabody. She doesn't give a curse about the opinions of such people and neither should we."

So I sent out my invitations and in succeeding days we entertained practically every archaeologist in the Cairo area, and some from farther away. The Petries were not among them. The fact is, I did not get on with Mrs. Petrie any better than Emerson got on with her husband. Since women are more courteous than men (or greater hypocrites, according to a source I need not name), Hilda Petrie and I expressed our antipathy by being frigidly polite when we were forced to meet and by offering specious excuses for meeting as seldom as possible. I invited her, she wrote back to say she had a touch of catarrh or a slight sprain or nothing suitable to wear. Thus the civilities were maintained to the benefit of all.

M. Maspero also declined my invitation. I knew why
he
avoided us. It was shame, pure and simple! To see Emerson's superb talents wasted on a site as dreary as Zawaiet, while selfishly retaining the pyramids and cemeteries of Dahshur for lesser men, might have shaken even Maspero's superb French sangfroid.

To make matters worse, the disposition of the vast cemetery field of Giza was still in debate. Originally it had been broken up into three sections which were allotted to the Germans, the Italians and Mr. Reisner, but a few years later Signor Schiaparelli of the Turin Museum had abandoned the Italian concession. In theory this was divided between the other two, but they were still arguing about precisely who got what. The obvious solution—to hand over at least part of the Italian area to the most distinguished excavator of this or any other century—I believe I need not name names—was ignored by all those concerned. Emerson flatly refused even to mention the matter to Maspero and threatened me with divorce if I did so. This was, of course, just one of his little jokes. However, I decided not to speak to M. Maspero.

The temporary loss of his son had not improved Emerson's disposition. For the past fortnight Ramses had been working at Giza in place of Geoffrey. He had very properly announced his intentions to Emerson, whose noble nature had prevented him from objecting. There may have been just a slight touch of ignoble pride involved as well; it would not have been in character for Emerson to admit he would miss not only Ramses's professional skills but Ramses himself. Secretly, Emerson had hoped that Mr. Fisher, who was in charge at Giza until Mr. Reisner returned, would refuse to countenance this somewhat unorthodox arrangement without consulting his superior. Unfortunately, Fisher knew Reisner's high opinion of my son and fell upon the scheme with shameless enthusiasm. He wrote at once to Reisner, who was messing about in Middle Egypt, and eventually received approval, but not until after Ramses had already been at Giza for over a week.

It did not comfort Emerson to know, as he did, that the Harvard-Boston expedition was working in an area where they had already discovered wonderful things. Shortly after Ramses began, the Americans came upon a new tomb containing beautifully painted and carved scenes, a fine limestone statue, and other interesting items. It was enough to make Emerson's mouth water, especially when he returned each morning to scattered bones and broken pots. He knew Ramses's motives for abandoning us were not selfish; he knew it, but he envied him all the same.

One useful result of this arrangement was the reestablishment of relations with Jack Reynolds. Though he had straightened himself out (with a little help from me), he had rather avoided us. It is difficult to work in close proximity to a man who has accused you of murdering his sister; I had no fear for Ramses's safety, since I knew he was quite capable of looking after himself, but I took the earliest possible opportunity of asking him how he and Jack were getting on. He assured me Jack had been perfectly civil and helpful. I therefore invited Jack to one of our little dinner parties so I could see for myself.

Jack was on time, suitably dressed, and apparently sober. He had brought two large bouquets, one for each of the brides, which he presented with appropriately flowery speeches. As usual there were more men than ladies present; Howard Carter was in town, and young Mr. Lawrence, who had been working with Mr. Petrie, and who was loud in his praises. I must say that tact was not one of the young man's strong points. Fulsome praise of one's host's chief rival does not endear one to the said host, and he committed another faux pas by insulting the Egyptian workmen he had encountered. I heard a few words: "... horribly ugly, dull, lowspirited, foul-mouthed and fawning..." before Ramses interrupted with a polite inquiry about Mr. Petrie's health.

Jack, whom I had placed across the table from me so I could watch him, had also overheard. "That is certainly not true of our people," he announced. "Perhaps it has something to do with the attitude of the man in charge. Mr. Reisner has always been on the best of terms with his workmen."

I gave him an approving smile. "Quite true. There have been no problems with the theft of antiquities, have there?"

"There are always problems with theft," Emerson grumbled. "Especially with Maspero refusing to heed accusations against his favorites. That disgraceful business at Sakkara—"

I was unable to administer a little kick to Emerson, since he was at the other end of the table, so I raised my voice to a particularly penetrating pitch and dragged the conversation back onto the track—with, I admit, something of a jolt.

"I suppose you have all also heard about the sales of antiquities this past summer purporting to have come from the collection of our late reis Abdullah? Some of you may not know that these objects are fakes, and that they were sold by a man who had assumed the name and identity of David here."

The first time I made this announcement at a dinner party Emerson had choked on a morsel of food and I had had to trot quickly round the table and pound him on the back. When he complained later that I ought to have warned him, I replied that I would have done so had I known in advance what I was going to do. In fact the idea came to me all of a sudden, as clever ideas often do, and I had seized the moment, so to speak.