The Golden One (61 page)

It was the first remark he had addressed to her, for she had kept out of his way. Her expressive face brightened.

‘Thank you. You are very kind.’

By the end of the day she had recovered her good spirits. Whether she had had the decency to apologize to Bertie I did not know, but she was painstakingly polite to him and he responded like the
nice lad he was, with no evidence of hard feelings.

Several days passed without our hearing a word from the Albions, to the disappointment of Emerson, who had rather hoped they would notice that the stolen objects had been disturbed. If they
questioned the sufragi who had found him trying to open the lock they would know the identity of the intruder.

‘The sufragi wouldn’t betray the Father of Curses,’ said Ramses. ‘You ought to have left your card.’

Emerson curled his lip in acknowledgment of this touch of humour.

‘Why stir them up?’ Nefret asked. ‘They’ve abandoned their plans to excavate. Perhaps they’ve given up on finding the tomb.’

‘No, they have not,’ Emerson grumbled. ‘Selim says they have hired that rascal Mohammed Hammad as their dragoman. He came back from wherever he was as soon as he got the word
that Jamil was dead. He’s no more a dragoman than I am an opera singer.’

‘He’s a thief,’ I agreed. ‘But you may be sure he doesn’t know any more about Jamil’s tomb than we do. He’d have been looting it before this if he
did.’

The weather had turned unusually hot for that time of year. Even the nights were still and warm. We were all affected by it to some extent, except for Emerson, who never feels the heat and who
can sleep through an earthquake. Never would I relinquish the comfort of my husband’s presence, but I must say that lying next to him was rather like being in close proximity to an oven.
After several restless nights, I had just got to sleep – or so it felt – when he mumbled loudly in my ear. It was the too-familiar refrain: ‘Hand of the god . . . what . . .
where?’

I gave him a rather sharp poke. He rolled over, shoving me to the edge of the bed.

Wide awake and somewhat vexed, I abandoned any hope of repose. I went to the window and leaned out. The room was still dark but there was a freshness in the air that betokened the coming of
dawn. It cooled my warm cheeks, and my temper. I had been standing there for several minutes when I heard the creak of an opening door. It was the door at the far end of the courtyard. I had been
meaning to have Ali oil the hinges.

It was light enough by now for me to see dim shapes. There were two of them in the doorway, huddled close together. A whisper reached my ears; one form vanished, the other moved slyly and
quietly towards the house.

I saw no need to wake Emerson; it is a labourious process at best, and I preferred to deal with this myself. I waited until she had almost reached her window before I climbed out of mine. She
let out a stifled shriek and turned to flee, but I was too quick for her.

‘Where have you been?’ I demanded, seizing her in a firm grip.

‘I – I – ’ Invention failed; she gasped, ‘Oh, Sitt Hakim, you frightened me!’

‘Where have you been, Jumana?’

‘Only for a walk. It was hot. I could not sleep.’

‘You were with a man. Don’t lie, I saw him.’

‘I did nothing wrong. Please believe me!’

‘So you have said before. What precisely did you do?’

‘I – I promised I would not tell. I gave my word!’

Exasperation had caused me to raise my voice, and defiance, as I thought it, had caused her to raise hers. A grumble and a thrashing of bedclothes told me that we had wakened Emerson. These
sounds were followed by a shout: ‘Peabody!’ He always shouts when he reaches out and finds I am not beside him.

‘Here,’ I called.

Emerson stumbled to the window and looked out. ‘Is that . . . Oh, good Gad!’

Only the upper half of his body was visible, but Emerson is a modest man; he retreated, cursing, and began looking for his clothes. I knew it would take him a while, so I pushed Jumana towards
her window.

‘Go in. You are to remain in your room. If you leave the house without my permission, you need never come back.’

She obeyed without resistance, verbal or physical. I thought I heard a little sob. It did not soften my heart.

When I climbed back in my own window, Emerson was still searching for his trousers. ‘Never mind that, Emerson,’ I said. ‘You may as well bathe and dress properly, it is almost
morning. We have a serious problem on our hands. Jumana has been creeping out at night – possibly for several nights – and she was with a man. I am afraid it was Sebastian
Albion.’

‘Damnation,’ Emerson murmured. He ran his fingers through his dishevelled hair, pushing it back from his face. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Who else would it be? Unless,’ I added bitterly, ‘she has a whole string of them. How could I have been so deceived in her character? I am sadly disappointed,
Emerson.’

‘Now, Peabody, don’t jump to conclusions.’ He sat on the side of the bed and pulled me down next to him. ‘There may be an innocent explanation. Have you given her a
chance to explain?’

‘She refused to answer my questions. She said she had given her word. Her word! To a vile deceiver like that!’

‘Give her another chance.’ A horrible idea struck him. In quavering tones he asked, ‘You don’t want me to question her, do you?’

‘No, Emerson, you are hopeless about such matters. I will give her another chance to confess, naturally. I will leave her locked in her room today and speak to her again this evening,
after she has had time to repent.’

‘And you have had time to cool off,’ said Emerson, putting an arm round my shoulders. ‘My dear, I don’t blame you for being hurt and disappointed, but – er –
you aren’t going to starve her, I hope?’

‘Certainly not. I will take her breakfast to her myself. Later.’

I felt calmer after a nice long bath, but I was not ready to face Jumana. I would be the first to admit that my maternal instincts are not well developed – they had been stunted, I
believe, by the raising of Ramses – but I had become rather attached to Jumana. I had had such high hopes for her. To find that she was a sneak and a liar and – and worse, perhaps
– had left me not only disappointed, but hurt. Yes, Emerson was right about that. I had believed she had become equally attached to us.

When I went to breakfast, the Great Cat of Re was sitting on my chair, its chin on the table, its large green eyes fixed on the platter of bacon. ‘This is beginning to be like the house of
the Three Bears,’ I said. ‘It sits on our chairs, it sleeps on our beds, and now it is about to eat my porridge.’

Sennia found this very witty, but nobody else did, including the cat. Ramses’s keen black eyes detected the perturbation behind my attempt at normalcy; brow furrowing, he started to speak,
glanced at Sennia, and remained silent. It was Sennia who asked about Jumana. I explained that she was not feeling well and would spend the day in bed. ‘You are not to go in her room,’
I added. ‘She needs to rest. Do you understand?’

‘Shall I take her a tray?’ Fatima asked.

‘I will see to that,’ I replied. ‘Later. Thank you, Fatima. Where is Gargery? It is time Sennia left for her lessons.’

Gargery entered at that moment to announce we had guests. ‘Mr Bertie and Mr Cyrus. You didn’t tell us they were expected for breakfast, madam.’

‘Stop trying to put me in the wrong, Gargery,’ I said somewhat snappishly. ‘They were not expected.’

‘But we are always glad to see them,’ Fatima said, adding plates and cups and silverware to the table, and bustling out for more food.

‘Sorry to disturb you folks,’ Cyrus said. He did not look at all sorry. Bliss – delight – happiness . . . The words are too weak for the emotion that transformed his
face. The only other time I had seen that glow was on the day he and Katherine were wed.

‘What is it, Cyrus?’ I cried, jumping to my feet.

‘It’s for Bertie to make the announcement,’ Cyrus replied. He was puffed with pride.

Bertie looked round the table. ‘Where’s Jumana? She should be here.’

‘Oh my goodness,’ I gasped. ‘You aren’t . . . you two aren’t engaged?’

Bertie’s boyish laugh rang out. ‘Better than that, Mrs Emerson. We’ve found it, Jumana and I. Jamil’s tomb.’

Pandemonium ensued. Even Gargery, who had only the vaguest notion of what Bertie meant, clapped his hands and joined in the cries of excitement and congratulation. As the
others gathered round Bertie, all talking at once, I slipped out of the room.

Jumana was sitting on her bed, her hands folded and her face smeared with dried tears. Now that I got a good look at her, I realized she was not dressed for a romantic rendezvous. Her shirt and
trousers were torn and dusty, her boots were scuffed, and her hair straggled over her face.

‘Bertie is here,’ I said.

She jumped up. ‘Then it’s all right? He told you? I promised I would not, it was to be a surprise, his surprise. May I go now?’ She let out a peal of laughter. ‘I am very
hungry!’

Ah, the resilience of youth! From despair to delight in the twinkling of an eye! I could have let her go without further delay; I was tempted to do so, but justice compelled me to make what
amends I could.

‘First, I must apologize,’ I said.

‘Apologize? To me? Why?’

‘For misjudging you. I was wrong, and you were right to keep your promise to Bertie. I deeply regret the injustice I did you and I hope you will forgive me.’ I held out my hand. She
would have fainted with sheer surprise if I had attempted to embrace her, and anyhow, she was very grubby.

‘Forgive? You?’ She stared wide-eyed at my offered hand.

‘I did you an injustice,’ I repeated. ‘Shake hands, if you will, and then go to the others.’

She did not shake my hand. She kissed it, fervently and damply, gave me a radiant smile, and ran out of the room.

I would not have blamed her for taking advantage of her role as heroine – misjudged, falsely accused heroine at that! Instead she insisted that all the credit belonged to Bertie. It was he
and he alone who had deduced where the tomb must be.

‘But where is it?’ Emerson shouted, tugging at his hair. ‘Bertie won’t say. Jumana, where – ’

‘We want to show you,’ Bertie explained. ‘You’ll never believe it otherwise.’

‘They’re entitled,’ Ramses said, smiling in sympathy. ‘Lead the way, Bertie.’

He led us to Deir el Medina.

Our men were there, waiting to begin the day’s work. Ramses called them to gather round, explaining that Bertie had an important announcement to make. The truth had begun to dawn on
Emerson by then. ‘It can’t be,’ he mumbled. ‘I don’t believe it. Damnation!’

‘Father, if you please,’ Ramses said. ‘Bertie, you have the floor.’ He added, with a grin, ‘Make the most of it.’

‘Oh, well,’ Bertie said, blushing. ‘It was an accident, really, you know. I sat here for days with my foot up and nothing much to do but stare at the scenery. I got to know it
pretty well. Look up there.’

He pointed.

Straight ahead, the walls of the temple occupied the opening of the little valley, with the fields and the river stretching out to the north and the cliffs rising up on either side. The ruined
tombs of the workers were scattered along the western slope. Bertie’s extended arm indicated the highest point, to the left of the temple. We stared in silent bewilderment for a time. We were
all looking for a sculpture – the figure of a god, weathered by time, shaped by the hand of man.

A divinity had shaped it – nature herself. As I have had occasion to mention, the rock formations of the western mountains assume bizarre forms. This might have been a giant fist, gripping
the crest of the hill – four regular, rounded, parallel shapes, with a small spur of rock next to them like the end of a thumb. It was a prominent landmark, rising high above the lower, less
precipitous part of the hillside, and once the eye had defined it the resemblance was unmistakable.

‘There!’ I exclaimed in wonderment. ‘Emerson, do you see?’

Emerson removed his pith helmet and flung it onto the ground. I gave him a warning frown and a little poke. It was sufficient; his better nature triumphed over envy. ‘Well, well,’ he
said hoarsely. ‘Hmph. That is – congratulations, Vandergelt.’

Cyrus slapped him on the back. ‘It belongs to both of us, old pal. All of us, I should say.’

‘No, no.’ Emerson drew himself up. ‘We made an agreement, Vandergelt. The tombs of Deir el Medina are yours, and it was Bertie who found this one. Congratulations, I
say.’

Never had I admired my dear Emerson more. He looked so noble, his shoulders thrown back and his tanned face wearing a strained smile, it was all I could do not to embrace him. Cyrus was equally
moved. He took out his handkerchief and blew his nose.

‘That’s darned decent of you, Emerson. But no more than I expected.’

‘And no less than you deserve,’ Emerson said gruffly. ‘So where is the damned tomb?’

‘In that crack between the first and second fingers,’ Bertie said. ‘It took us several days – nights, I should say – to find it. Fortunately the moon has been full.
We haven’t been inside. We thought Cyrus ought to have the privilege,’ he added, wincing as Cyrus seized his hand and wrung it vigorously.

‘Are you sure the passage is open?’ I asked. ‘I know Jamil has been in and out of the place, but he is – was – slightly built and agile and foolhardy.’

Naturally the men ignored this sensible comment. Emerson’s eyes glittered like sapphires. ‘What are we waiting for? Let’s go!’

We restrained Emerson while we discussed the best way to proceed. Bertie explained how he and Jumana had managed it, scaling the cliff and lowering themselves from above by means of a rope.
Emerson was pleased to approve this plan, though if I had not kept hold of him he would have started straight up the sheerest part of the cliff.

We all went, of course, including Selim and Daoud. Their assistance was invaluable, for it was a tricky climb. When we stood atop the rounded ‘finger’ looking down, I addressed
Jumana, who had stuck to me like a burr.

‘You did this at night? Really, my dear, was that wise? You ought to have told the Professor, or Cyrus, of your theory.’