The Golden One (34 page)

‘He selected a victim who would be particularly susceptible to flattery,’ said Emerson with a curl of his lips. ‘Grrr! As for the men, yesterday’s events must end any
influence he might have had with them. None of the Gurnawis would dare become involved with a murderous attack on
us
.’

‘That is probably true,’ I agreed.

‘There’s another angle we haven’t considered fully,’ Emerson went on. ‘He had made himself very comfortable. I cannot see our lad abandoning his cosy little den
unless he had another hiding place prepared.’

‘That is also true, and no help whatever,’ I said.

‘I thought you were the one who insists we must look on the bright side, Peabody. We are whittling away his assets, one by one, and his repeated failures to damage us will lead him, sooner
or later, into a false move.’

‘Such as trying to murder us again?’

Emerson let out a shout of laughter and threw his arm round me. ‘Precisely. It is time for tea. Let us go down. Are the children joining us?’

‘If you mean Nefret and Ramses, the answer is no. I suggested they might like to have tea alone for a change.’

‘Why should they?’ Emerson asked in surprise.

‘Really, Emerson, you of all people should not have to ask that question.’

‘Oh,’ said Emerson.

‘Jumana and Sennia will be with us. That should be entertainment enough for you.’

They were on the veranda, sitting side by side and looking very pleased with themselves.

‘Only see what Jumana has given me,’ Sennia shouted.

‘Unless the Museum takes it,’ Jumana warned.

‘Yes, you said that, but I know Mr Quibell will let me have it, he is a very kind man.’

It was the little stela with the two cats which I had seen Bertie copying. I admired it all over again, while Emerson smiled sentimentally at the two. Sennia had not been an admirer of
Jumana’s, perhaps because she was aware of Jumana’s admiration of Ramses. I gave Jumana credit for wanting to win Sennia’s friendship. A present is a sure way of influencing a
young child in one’s favour.

Fatima brought the tea and Emerson settled down with his pipe, and I began looking through the post. There was a several days’ accumulation of letters and messages, which I sorted, putting
aside the ones directed to Nefret or Ramses, and opening the envelopes addressed to Emerson before I handed them to him.

‘Howard Carter, by G— by heaven,’ Emerson exclaimed, extracting one of the letters. ‘High time we heard from him. Listen to this, Peabody, he says he won’t be
coming to Luxor for – ’

He looked up and stopped speaking in mid-syllable. ‘Peabody? What is it?’

‘Nothing,’ I said, forcing a smile. Sennia, quick to catch every nuance, especially the ones one hoped she would miss, demanded, ‘Is something the matter, Aunt
Amelia?’

‘Nothing,’ I repeated. ‘Have another biscuit, my dear.’

I handed Emerson the missive that had occasioned my lapse. It was a telegram, addressed to Ramses and bearing the stamp of the C-in-C of the Egypt Expeditionary Force.

We had to wait until dinnertime to find out what was in the cursed thing. I think that if I had not been watching him, Emerson would have ripped it open – and if he had
not been watching me, I might have done the same. Delivering it immediately to the addressee was also out of the question; if we had rushed off, Sennia would have been alarmed by our urgency. As
Emerson later confessed, the telegram felt as if it were burning a hole in the pocket where he had placed it. Fortunately for his nerves and mine, the children came early in order to say good night
to Sennia before she went to bed.

‘Whiskey and soda, my boy?’ Emerson asked, his manly voice gruff with the effort it cost him to keep from shouting and/or swearing.

‘Thank you, sir.’ Emerson’s perturbation would have been obvious even to an individual less perceptive than his son. ‘I see you and Mother are already one ahead of
me.’

‘Two,’ I said. ‘Yes, yes, Sennia, you have already kissed everybody; now run along.’

Darkness had fallen; the night breeze rustled the leaves. The lamps, enclosed in glass, burned with a steady flame. ‘What’s wrong, Mother?’ Nefret asked. ‘Has something
happened to Katherine or Cyrus or – ’

‘No, my dear; and your question is a salutary reminder of one of my favourite aphorisms – ’

‘Don’t say it, Peabody!’ Emerson exclaimed.

‘If you insist, Emerson. This is such a minor difficulty, compared with others, that we ought to be humbly grateful for – ’

‘And don’t paraphrase, either. Here.’ Emerson handed the telegram to his son.

‘Hmmm,’ said Ramses, inspecting the envelope.

‘Open it this instant!’ I exclaimed.

He put the glass down before he did so, remarking in his usual cool voice, ‘Have you two been hoarding this all afternoon? I am surprised you should get yourself worked up over . .
.’ His voice checked briefly, and then he read the message aloud. ‘ “Your assistance required in important matter. Please report soonest.” Good of him to say
“please.” ’

‘Smith,’ Emerson said through his teeth.

‘No. It is signed by Cartright. You remember he – ’

‘That visit was a reconnaissance,’ I said. ‘Though I cannot explain what he learned from it.’

‘Are you going to answer it?’ Nefret demanded.

‘Courtesy requires an answer, surely.’ He took up a sheet of paper and a pencil. Nefret, looking over his shoulder, read the message as he wrote it. ‘Sorry cannot comply.
Needed here.’

‘Ah,’ said Emerson.

‘Thank you, darling,’ Nefret murmured.

‘What for? Can’t leave Luxor, can I, with Jamil on the loose?’ His voice changed; he sounded exactly like his father when he went on. ‘And I don’t jump when someone
like Cartright cracks the whip.’

‘I’ll send Ali to the telegraph office at once,’ Nefret said. She picked up the paper; hesitated for a moment; then took the pencil and crossed out a word.

Ramses laughed. ‘Quite right. I’m not at all sorry.’

The following day brought a discovery that kept us fully occupied for a time – a cache of mummies, several in their original wooden coffins. To Cyrus’s annoyance we
found them, not in a tomb but in the cellar of one of the houses.

The rock-cut space, which had served for storage, had been enlarged just enough to contain the remains. They were arranged neatly but so tightly that it was impossible to enter the small
chamber. Squatting on the steps, Emerson moved his torch slowly over the assemblage. One detail after another emerged from the darkness: the calm face of a woman, crowned with a painted diadem; the
brightly coloured form of a hawk-headed god; a still form uncoffined and wrapped in intricate patterns of bandages.

‘Roman,’ said Emerson.

‘How do you know?’ Cyrus demanded, from the top of the stairs. ‘Let me have a look.’

Emerson and I went up and gave Cyrus the torch. ‘The cartonnage masks are unquestionably first century,’ Emerson said. His enthusiasm had faded as soon as he realized this, for he is
not interested in Greek and Roman Egypt. ‘Can’t be more precise about the date until we have a closer look. Come up from there, Vandergelt, and let’s get them out. The local
thieves will tear the coffins and mummies to pieces if we leave them unguarded.’

Cyrus scrambled up the rough steps and passed the torch on to Ramses. ‘Pretty fancy coffins,’ he said enviously. ‘In good condition, too. Maybe there’s more stuff at the
back . . .’

‘I couldn’t see anything,’ said Ramses, returning to us. ‘They are definitely Roman or very late Ptolemaic. The most important question is what they are doing here. The
settlement was abandoned after the Twenty-first Dynasty, when conditions became unsettled, and the inhabitants moved to the greater security of Medinet Habu, with its stout walls. This discovery
may force us to reexamine our assumptions about – ’

‘Quite,’ said his father. Ramses had almost given up his old verbosity, but archaeological enthusiasm sometimes inspired him to lecture. ‘Er – we will discuss the
historical implications at another time, my boy. Just now we need to concentrate on a somewhat tricky problem of excavation. How do you suggest we proceed?’

I left them to it, and joined Cyrus. ‘They are only Roman mummies, Cyrus,’ I said, in an effort to console him. ‘And commoners, too.’

‘A Roman mummy is better than nothing,’ Cyrus grumbled. ‘I swear to goodness, Amelia, I feel as if I’m under some kind of curse. You folks were good enough to let me have
the tombs here, and where do we find the first burials? In the town! Unless Emerson needs me, I’m going back up the hill.’

I watched with some uneasiness as he stalked off, kicking at pebbles. One could only hope temper would not lead him into carelessness. Another accident was the last thing we needed.

Thanks to Emerson’s meticulous methodology, we were all day clearing the cellar. Nefret and Jumana took photographs at every stage of the way and Ramses found an inscription that gave an
exact date for at least one of the interments: the seventh year of the emperor Claudius. There was not much for me to do and I was tempted to join Cyrus in his search for tombs, but since I knew
Emerson would take a poor view of that, I remained, watching and thinking.

I had not given up my intention of speaking with Yusuf. He had been doing his best to avoid us, which was suspicious in itself; his frequent visits to the mosque were also suspicious, though not
necessarily for the reason Emerson had mentioned. Repetition of the daily prayers is one of the Five Pillars of Islam, but a man may pray wherever he chances to be. Jamil would not dare come to the
house. They would have to meet elsewhere.

I decided to wait until evening, after the sunset time for prayer, before paying my visit. If Jamil had been reluctant to show his face near the village before this, he would be even more wary
now. He would wait until after dark before meeting his father.

I did not explain my intentions to Emerson until later that day. Bertie and Cyrus, who was still sulking a bit, had set off for home, and Emerson was down in the cellar with the last of the
mummies. He did not want to come up, but I insisted.

His initial reaction was sceptical. ‘There are a good many ifs in your theory, Peabody. It may be a complete waste of time.’

‘If we succeed in proving Yusuf innocent of complicity, it will not be a waste of time,’ I retorted. ‘What was it you said about whittling away Jamil’s
supports?’

‘Oh, bah,’ said Emerson. He cast a longing look at his mummies, which Selim was loading onto a cart. ‘Careful with that, Selim.’

‘Emerson, please pay attention.’

‘What? Oh. It can’t do any harm, I suppose. Tomorrow.’

‘Today. We must strike while the iron is hot.’ Eyes fixed on Selim, Emerson tried to pull away from my grasp of his sleeve. ‘If you won’t go with me, I will go
alone,’ I added.

As I had expected, this drew his attention back to me. His brows drew together. ‘No, you will not. What’s this about irons? Another of your confounded aphorisms?’

‘A very apt one, my dear. Yusuf must have learned of Jamil’s latest and most serious crime. We must talk with him, and reinforce the gravity of the matter, before the boy has a
chance to tell his version, which will be a pack of lies but which a doting father might believe.’

‘Hmph.’ Emerson fingered the cleft in his chin. ‘Oh, very well. But not until I have seen our find safely back at the house.’

‘Selim and Daoud could manage it perfectly well, as you know. However, there is no hurry. It won’t be dark for another hour.’

With a little encouragement from me, the carts were loaded in good time and we set off for home, where the men carried our new acquisitions into the storeroom. The shelves were filling with a
variety of objects, none as impressive as the new coffins, but, Ramses assured me, of much greater interest. Emerson studied them with satisfaction.

‘Time for tea, eh?’

‘No, Emerson, we must go at once. As I told you – ’

‘You’ve told all of us, so don’t do it again. Come on then.’

‘Do you mean us to come, Mother?’ Nefret asked.

‘Yes. We will employ a combination of intimidation – Emerson and Ramses – and gentle persuasion – you and I and Jumana.’

Emerson snorted in derision – presumably at the idea of me employing gentle persuasion. Jumana gave me an apprehensive look.

‘But, Sitt Hakim – ’

‘No objections, if you please.’ I added, in a kindlier tone, ‘You were of great assistance yesterday. If your father does possess information about Jamil, you may be able to
add something. If he does not – well, in my opinion it is high time he got over his annoyance with you. We may not be able to effect a complete reconciliation today, but it will be a
beginning. You would like to be reconciled with him, wouldn’t you?’

‘He is my father,’ the girl said in a low voice. ‘I did not leave him, it was he who told me to leave.’

‘I am sure he has regretted that, Jumana. Words spoken in anger – ’

‘Damnation, Peabody!’ Emerson shouted. ‘This is no time for more of your meddling in other people’s feelings. Let’s get it over.’

The luminous dusk of Upper Egypt had fallen when we climbed the hill towards Yusuf’s house. The first stars shone in the eastern sky and the afterglow flushed the cliffs; pale grey ghosts
of smoke, swaying in the evening breeze, rose from the cooking fires.

We were met at the door by Mahira, whose scowl made her look even more like a medieval witch.

‘It is high time you came. What did you do to my husband?’

‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

She hurried us through the house, talking all the while. ‘It was the medicine you gave him. At first he was better, but this morning . . .’ She flung open the door of the old
man’s room. ‘See for yourself. He has been like this all day.’

The lamp she carried showed the form on the bed. Yusuf was twisting and twitching and talking to himself – or rather, to Someone else – repeating the same words over and over.
‘Lead us in the right way of those to whom you have shown mercy . . .’

‘He’s delirious,’ Nefret whispered, her eyes shining with pity. ‘What did you give him, Mother?’