The Falcon at the Portal: An Amelia Peabody Mystery (6 page)

"Oh, it was very pretty, no doubt, but all that praying became tedious. Why don't young people just go off and—er—set up housekeeping, as the ancient Egyptians did?"

Chalfont Castle, Evelyn's ancestral home, is a gloomy old pile of a place and the Great Hall is the oldest and gloomiest part of it. The fabric dates from the fourteenth century, but early Victorian enthusiasm for the Gothic had resulted in some unfortunate additions and restorations, including several hideous carved oak chandeliers. Rain clouds darkened the stained-glass windows but a fire blazed on the hearth, lamps and candles twinkled everywhere, and flowers and greenery brightened the hoary stone walls. The floor was covered with Oriental rugs. The long refectory table had been spread with food; melodious sounds issued from the gallery at the north end, where the musicians were stationed.

Katherine Vandergelt joined me at the table and accepted a glass of champagne from the servant. "You do have the most unusual friends, Mrs. Emerson," she remarked with amiable irony. "Egyptians in native attire, servants mingling with their masters on equal social terms, and a former spiritualist medium who was only saved from prison by your kindly intervention."

She was referring to herself, though she was guilty of a certain degree of humorous exaggeration. Financial need and the desire to provide for her fatherless children had driven her to take up that questionable profession, which she had been happy to abandon. Her marriage to our wealthy American friend Cyrus had resulted from mutual attraction, with only a little help from me. I had no reservations about my part in that affair, for they had been exceedingly happy together. Like ourselves, the Vandergelts were on their way to Egypt where they spent the winters, sometimes with and sometimes without Katherine's children from her first unhappy marriage.

"Not to mention the aunt and uncle of the bride, whose encounters with ambulatory mummies and master criminals have only too often been featured in the sensationalist press," I replied, with an answering smile.

"I notice none of your kinsmen are here."

"Good Gad, Katherine, you have heard enough about my brothers to understand why they are the last persons I would want. My nephew Percy, whom you met when he was out a few years ago, is typical of the rest of them. I suppose you've read his wretched little book. He sent copies to everyone."

"It is extremely entertaining," said Katherine, with a smile that rounded her cheeks and narrowed her slanted eyes. I had thought when I first met her that she reminded me of a plump-faced tabby cat; her smile had the same touch of cynicism that marks the countenance of a feline—most of whom are cynics by nature as well as experience.

"So I have been informed. I have not the time to waste with such stuff. As for Emerson's family, it consists solely of Walter. There was an estrangement, I believe; when I suggested this might be a suitable occasion for mending relations, Emerson informed me it was a bit late, since both his parents had passed on. Naturally I never pursued a subject that was clearly painful to my dear husband."

"Naturally," said Katherine.

Evelyn and Walter did not mingle in local society, and they knew quite well what their stuffy county neighbors thought of the match. That opinion was shared, alas, by most of our archaeological acquaintances, who regarded the Egyptians with whom they worked and lived as inferiors. Certain members of both groups would have come had they been invited, but only out of vulgar curiosity. We had decided, therefore, not to invite them. Only our closest friends and kin were there, and Katherine was certainly correct about the unconventional composition of the guest list.

Gargery was chatting with Kevin O'Connell and his wife. Kevin's quizzical blue eyes kept wandering from Daoud, almost seven feet tall in his towering turban, to Rose in a hat so loaded with fluttering silk flowers, it looked as if it were about to fly off her head. I did not doubt that he was mentally composing the story he would like to have written for his cursed newspaper. The gentleman and the journalist were always at war in Kevin, but I was certain that on this occasion the gentleman would keep his word, especially since Emerson had threatened to perpetrate various indignities upon his person if he published anything.

The children's laughing voices rose above the quieter tones of their elders. I still thought of them as children, but most of them were young men and women now; how quickly time passes, I thought with pleasurable melancholy. Raddie, the younger Emersons's eldest, had gone down from Oxford with high honors; a gentle, scholarly man like his father, he was chatting with Nefret, his head bent attentively and his mild blue eyes fixed on her face. The twins, Johnny and Willy, were in a corner with Ramses. Johnny, the comedian of the family, must have been telling some wild story, for I heard Ramses laugh out loud, which was a rare event. Margaret, Lia's younger sister, was romping with Bertie and Anna, Katherine's children. Evelyn was talking with Fatima, who had left off her veil and somber black in honor of the occasion. Emerson had taken Walter and Cyrus Vandergelt aside and was gesturing animatedly. I had no illusions as to the nature of their conversation.

Katherine laughed. "Isn't this typical—the men huddling together talking archaeology, and the women talking about.. . Stop me, Amelia; I feel an attack of matchmaking coming on."

"It is natural on such an occasion as this," I said. "Who will be next, do you suppose? Neither of yours; they are too young."

"Not too young to feel the first twinges. I am afraid Anna gave Ramses rather a bad time last year. He handled it very gracefully, I thought."

"He has had a good deal of practice," I said dryly. "I cannot imagine why they do it."

Katherine gave me a sharp poke in the ribs and I saw Ramses at my elbow. "I beg your pardon," he said. "Have I interrupted a private conversation?"

"Nothing private about it," Katherine declared, her eyes twinkling. "We were speculating about love affairs. What do you think of Nefret and Raddie, Amelia? He appears rather smitten."

"He appears absolutely hypnotized," I said, for I too had observed Raddie's bemused look and sentimental smile. "She is flirting scandalously with him."

"She's just keeping her hand in," said Ramses tolerantly. "Raddie's no match for her, though. I had better rescue the poor chap."

The musicians who had been playing softly in the background now struck up a waltz, and the bride and groom began the first dance. They were soon joined by Walter and Evelyn. Ramses had removed Nefret from her prey; her apple-green skirts flared as he spun her in a wide circle. Johnny was dancing with a young lady named Curtis or Curtin, who had been at Saint Hilda's with Lia.

I saw no more of the others at that time, for my husband seized me in his masterful grip and led (or, to be more accurate, lifted) me onto the floor. Waltzing with Emerson requires one's full attention; it is the only step he knows, and he performs it with the energy that marks all his activities. Fortunately my dear Evelyn had instructed the musicians to play a great many waltzes.

Since there were fewer ladies than gentlemen present, we females were much in demand. During the course of the afternoon I danced with most of the men, including Gargery and, to my amused surprise, Selim, who was looking very pleased with himself and very handsome, despite the beard he had grown in order to command more respect from his men. He explained he had got Margaret to instruct him, and meant to get in all the practice he could while in England, for he liked this new activity very much and meant to teach his wives how to do it.

I cannot recall a happier day. Later, I wondered if some shadowy premonition had touched us all, inducing not the pain of future loss but a greater joy in the present. Had we but known this was the last time we would all be together.

It was late in the afternoon before the newly married couple retired in order to change into their traveling attire. We got them off at last, with much laughter and more tears and the usual ceremonies of farewell; and after the carriage had driven off through the foggy darkness to "an unknown destination," we returned to the Hall.

"Rather like a funeral, isn't it?" said Emerson. "As soon as the body or bodies of the participants have been sent away, everyone starts to have a good time."

The only person who heard this inappropriate remark was Cyrus Vandergelt, who had known Emerson too long to be surprised at anything he said. His lined, leathery face stretched into a broad smile. "I've already had a real good time. Never attended a wedding that was so much durned fun! I'll never forget Selim dancing Egyptian-style, with the bridegroom beating on a kettle and the best man blowing a toy whistle and the rest of us gathered in a circle clapping our hands."

"Neither will I," I said ruefully. "Perhaps we all had a little too much champagne."

"Have a little more, then," said Cyrus. "And let's finish up the occasion in style. Strike up the band! Wheel"

From Manuscript H

Ramses had no difficulty persuading his parents they should not tell Nefret about the scarab until after the wedding. They left it to him to break the news; Selim and Daoud and Fatima had returned to Amarna House with them, and his mother and father were fully occupied with entertaining their guests and completing the preparations for departure. At least that was their excuse. They knew how Nefret would react to an accusation against her friend. So did Ramses. He decided it would be better to get her away from the house when he told her, in case she started shouting, so he suggested they take two of the horses out.

It was a gray, blustery day, and the wind whipped color into Nefret's cheeks. They turned an even brighter shade as she listened to what he had to say.

The explosion was less intemperate than he had expected, though she employed several expletives she had learned from Emerson and a few more Ramses hadn't realized she knew. Then her eyes narrowed in a look he had learned to dread even more than her fits of temper. "Have you spoken with the bloody damned dealer?"

"There hasn't been time. I thought I'd run up to London tomorrow."

"Not tomorrow. I promised to take Fatima to the shops."

"But—"

"You're not going to London without me, Ramses. We'll go the day after tomorrow."

It was late morning before they got off. Nefret didn't complain once about how slowly he was driving. That was a bad sign, and so were her furrowed brow and tightly clasped hands. She was off on one of her crusades, and when she got the bit in her teeth she could be as passionately illogical and unreasonable as his mother. They were in the city and across the bridge, heading for Bond Street, when Ramses felt obliged to remind her of something he knew she wouldn't like.

"You did promise you'd let me do most of the talking."

"I did." A flash of blue eyes. "But I wish to go on record as remarking that I do not agree with the method you have decided to follow."

"You've already gone on record," Ramses said. "Several times and at length. Look here, Nefret, I don't agree with it either. I tried to convince Mother and Father that we ought to tell David at once, and failing that, confront Esdaile with the truth. But you know how they are."

"Still trying to protect us and David." She sighed. "It is so dear of them, and so infuriating!"

"They aren't as bad as they once were."

"No. Once they wouldn't have told you about the scarab. All right, we'll try it their way, but I'm damned if I know how you are going to extract any useful information without admitting it wasn't David who sold him the thing."

"We'll see."

The shop was pretentious and the merchandise was overpriced, and the proprietor fawned on them like Uriah Heep at his most unctuous. Having members of the "distinguished family of Egyptologists" patronize his establishment was an honor he had never dared expect. It was well known that "the Professor" disapproved of dealers. Of course he was not like other dealers. The firm's reputation for integrity had never been questioned ...

Extracting the information they wanted without giving away their real purpose was a delicate and prolonged business. While examining practically every object in the shop, Ramses managed to extract a description of the man from whom Esdaile had purchased the scarab. It was vague in the extreme, since Ramses didn't dare inquire about such details as height and hair color; as a close friend of Mr. Todros, he might reasonably be expected to know them already. Finally Esdaile offered them a sizable reduction on a string of amethyst and gold beads Nefret had admired— "as a token of goodwill, my dear young friends"—and Ramses felt it would be expedient to buy it.

"Have you found a customer for Mr. Todros's scarab?" he asked, counting out banknotes.

"And the other antiquities." Esdaile smirked and rubbed his hands. "They were unusually fine, as you know."

Nefret's mouth opened. Ramses jabbed his elbow into her ribs. "The others, yes," he murmured, realizing he ought to have anticipated this. "I hope they went to collectors who would appreciate them."

"Yes, indeed." Esdaile hesitated, but only for a moment. "Professional etiquette prevents me from mentioning names, of course. He is, however, an old acquaintance of your father's, and I don't doubt he has already—"

"Who?" Nefret barked, and then produced a particularly sickening smile as Esdaile stared at her in surprise.

"I shouldn't... But the ushebtis will soon be placed on exhibit."