The Snake, the Crocodile, and the Dog (2 page)

We had returned to England in April and settled down at Amarna House, our home in Kent, as usual. Not quite as usual, though, normally we would have set to work immediately on our annual excavation reports, for Emerson prided himself on publishing them as soon as possible. This year we would have less to write about than usual, for our expedition into the desert had occupied most of the winter season. However, after our return to Nubia we had put in several productive weeks in the pyramid fields of Napata. (In which activity, I must add, Nefret had been a great help. She showed a considerable aptitude for archaeology.)
I was unable to assist Emerson as I usually did. I am sure I need not explain why I was distracted. This placed a considerable burden on Emerson, but for once he did not complain, waving aside my apologies with (ominous) good nature. "It is quite all right, Peabody, the child's needs come first. Let me know if there is anything I can do to help." This uncharacteristic affability, and the use of my maiden name— which Emerson employs when he is feeling particularly affectionate or when he wishes to persuade me into some course of action to which I am opposed— aroused the direst of suspicions.
"There is nothing you can do," I retorted. "What do men know of women's affairs?"
"Hmmm," said Emerson, retreating in haste to the library. I confess that I enjoyed fitting the girl out with a proper wardrobe. When we arrived in London she had hardly a stitch of clothing to her name, except for the brightly colored robes worn by Nubian women, and a few cheap ready-made garments I had purchased for her in Cairo. An interest in fashion, I believe, is not incompatible with intellectual ability equaling or exceeding that of any man, so I wallowed (the word, I hardly need say, is Emerson's) in tucked nightgowns and lace-trimmed petticoats, frilly unmentionables and ruffled blouses, in gloves and hats and pocket handkerchiefs, bathing costumes and cycling bloomers, wrappers and buttoned boots, and a rainbow assortment of satin sashes with matching ribbons.
I indulged in a few purchases for myself, since a winter in Egypt always has a deplorable effect on my wardrobe. The styles in vogue that year were less ridiculous than in the past, bustles were gone, the balloon sleeves of the past had shrunk to a reasonable size, and skirts were soft and trailing instead of bunched up over layers of petticoats. They were particularly suited to persons who did not require "artificial additions" to assist in delineating certain areas of the body.
At least I thought the styles were less ridiculous until I heard Nefret's comments on them. The very idea of a bathing costume struck her as hilarious. "What is the point of putting on clothes that will get soaking wet?" she inquired (with some reason, I had to admit). "Do women here wear washing costumes when they take a bath?" As for her remarks on the subject of underdrawers . . . Fortunately she did not address them to the clerk, or to Emerson and Ramses. (At least I hope she did not. Emerson is easily embarrassed by such matters— and Ramses is never embarrassed by anything.)
She fit into our household better than I had expected, for all our servants have become more or less accustomed to eccentric visitors. (Either they become accustomed or they leave our service, usually at their own request.) Gargery, our butler, succumbed at once to her charm,  he followed her as devotedly as did Ramses, and never tired of hearing the (revised) story of how we had found her. Gargery is, I am sorry to say, a romantic person. (Romanticism is not a quality I despise, but it is inconvenient in a butler.) His fists would clench and his eyes would flash as he declared (forgetting diction in his enthusiasm)," 'Ow I wish I could 'ave been with you, madam! I'd 'ave thrashed those treacherous servants and fought those beastly Bedouins! I'd 'ave—"

"I am sure you would have been a great help, Gargery," I replied. "Another time, perhaps."
(Little did I know when that careless comment passed my lips that it was in the nature of prophecy!)
The only member of the household who did not fall victim to Nefret was dear Rose, our devoted housemaid. In Rose's case it was jealousy, pure and simple. She had helped raise Ramses and had a wholly unaccountable affection for him— an affection that was, or had been, reciprocated. Now Ramses's offerings of flowers and interesting scientific specimens (weeds, bones, and mummified mice) were bestowed upon another. Rose felt it, I could see she did. I found Rose a great comfort whenever the combined adulation of the male members of the household got too much for me.
The cat Bastet was no comfort, though she was female. She had been somewhat slow to discover the attractions of the opposite sex, but she had made up for her delay with such enthusiasm that the place was overrun with her progeny. Her latest litter had been born in April, just before our arrival, and Nefret spent some of her happiest hours playing with the kittens. One of her responsibilities as High Priestess of Isis had been the care of the sacred cats, perhaps this explained not only her fondness for felines but her almost uncanny powers of communication with them. The way to get on with a cat is to treat it as an equal— or even better, as the superior it knows itself to be.
The only persons who knew Nefret's true story were Emerson's younger brother Walter and his wife, my dear friend Evelyn. It would have been impossible to conceal the truth from them even if we had not had complete confidence in their discretion, and indeed I counted on Evelyn to advise me in the proper care and rearing of a young female. She had had considerable experience, being the mother of six children, three of them girls, and she had the kindest heart in the world. I well remember one beautiful day in June, when we four adults sat on the terrace at Amarna House watching the children at play upon the lawn. The great Constable might have captured the idyllic beauty of the landscape— blue skies and fleecy white clouds, emerald grass and stately trees— but the talents of quite another sort of painter would have been necessary to limn the laughing children who adorned the scene like living flowers. Sunlight turned their tossing curls to bright gold and lay caressingly on limbs pink and plump with health. My namesake, little Amelia, followed the toddling steps of her year-old sister with motherly care, Raddie, the eldest of Evelyn's brood, whose features were a youthful version of his father's gentle countenance, attempted to restrain the exuberance of the twins, who were tossing a ball back and forth. The image of innocent youth blessed with health, fortune, and tender love was one I will long cherish.
Yet I fancy mine were the only eyes fixed upon the charming figures of my nieces and nephews. Even their mother, whose youngest child lay sleeping on her breast, looked elsewhere.
Nefret sat apart, under one of the great oaks. Her legs were crossed and her bare feet peeped out from under the hem of her dress— one of the native Nubian garments in which I had clothed her, for want of anything better, while we worked at Napata. The background color was a strident parrot-green, with great splashes of color— scarlet, mustard-yellow; turquoise-blue. A braid of red-gold hair hung over one shoulder, and she was teasing the kitten in her lap with the end of it. Ramses, her inevitable shadow, squatted nearby. From time to time Nefret looked up, smiling as she watched the children's play, but Ramses's steady dark eyes never left her face.
Walter put his cup down and reached for the notebook he had refused to relinquish even upon this social occasion. Thumbing through it, he remarked, "I believe I see now how the function of the infinitival form has developed. I would like to ask Nefret— "
"Leave the child alone." It was Evelyn who interrupted her husband, her tone so sharp I turned to look at her in amazement. Evelyn never spoke sharply to anyone, much less to her husband, on whom she doted with (in my opinion) uncritical adoration.
Walter glanced at her in hurt surprise. "My dear, I only want— "
"We know what you want," Emerson said with a laugh. "To be known and honored as the man who deciphered ancient Meroitic. Encountering a living speaker of that supposedly dead language is enough to turn the brain of any scholar."
"She is a human Rosetta Stone," Walter murmured. "Certainly the language has changed almost beyond recognition over a thousand years, but to a trained scholar the clues she can offer— "
"She is not a stone," Evelyn said. "She is a young girl."
A second interruption! It was unheard of. Emerson stared at Evelyn in surprise and some admiration, he had always considered her deplorably mild-tempered. Walter gulped, and then said meekly, "You are quite right, my dear Evelyn. Not for the world would I ever do anything to— "
"Then go away," said his wife. "Go to the library, both of you, and immerse yourselves in dead languages and dusty books. That is all you care about, you men!"
"Come along, Walter." Emerson rose. "We are in disgrace and may as well spare ourselves the trouble of self-defense. A woman convinced against her will— "
I threw a muffin at him. He caught it neatly in midair, grinned, and walked off, trailed unwillingly by Walter.
"I do beg your pardon, Amelia," Evelyn said. "If I have put Radcliffe in a bad humor . . ."
"Nonsense, your criticism was much milder than the sort he is accustomed to receive from me. As for being in a bad humor, have you ever seen him more pleased with himself, more cursedly complacent, more infuriatingly good-natured?"
"Most women would not find that a source of complaint," Evelyn said, smiling.
"It is not the Emerson I know. Why, Evelyn, he has not used bad language— not a single, solitary 'damnation!'— since we returned from Egypt." Evelyn laughed,I went on in mounting indignation, "The truth is, he simply refuses to admit that we have a serious problem on our hands."
"Or rather, under the oak tree." Evelyn's smile faded as she contemplated the girl's graceful figure. The kitten had wandered off and Nefret sat perfectly still, her hands in her lap, looking out across the lawn. Sunlight sifting through the leaves struck sparks from her hair, and the diffusion of light made her look as if she were enclosed in a golden shadow.
"She is as remote and beautiful as a young goddess," Evelyn said softly, echoing my own thought. "What is to become of such a girl?"
"She is willing and intelligent, she will adjust," I said firmly. "And she seems happy enough. She has not complained."
"She has learned fortitude in a hard school, I fancy. But then, my dear Amelia, she has little to complain of so far. You have— quite rightly, in my opinion— kept her relatively sheltered from the outside world. All of us accept her and love her as she is. Sooner or later, however, she must take her rightful place in the world that is hers by birth, and that world is pitilessly intolerant of anything different"
"Do you suppose I am unaware of that?" I said, adding with a laugh, "There are some individuals who actually consider ME eccentric. I pay no attention to them, of course, but . . . well, I admit I have wondered if I am the best possible mentor for Nefret."
"She could not do better than emulate you," Evelyn said warmly. "And you know you can count on me to help in any way I can."
"We shall get on all right, I expect," I said, my natural optimism reasserting itself. "After all, I survived ten years of Ramses. With your help, and that of Walter . . . You were perhaps a little hard on him, dearest Evelyn. The decipherment of ancient unknown languages is not only his profession but his most passionate interest. Next to you, of course— and the children . . ."
"I wonder." Evelyn looked like a Raphael Madonna, golden-haired and sweet-faced, with the babe cradled in her arms, but her voice held a note I had never heard in it before. "How strangely the years change us, Amelia ... I dreamed last night of Amarna."
It was the last thing I ever expected to hear her say, and it had the oddest effect on me. An image flashed across my eyes, so vivid that it replaced reality: a scene of baking desert sands and frowning cliffs, as empty of life as a lunar landscape. I could almost feel the hot dry air against my skin, I seemed to hear again the ghastly moaning cries of the apparition that had threatened our lives and sanity. . . .
With an effort I shook off this seductive image. Unaware of my distraction, Evelyn had gone on speaking. "Do you remember how he looked that day, Amelia— the day he first declared his love? Pale and handsome as a young god, holding my hands in his as he called me the loveliest and most courageous of women? No crumbling papyrus or Rosetta Stone would have replaced me in his heart then. Danger, doubt, and discomfort notwithstanding, those were wonderful days! I even find myself thinking fondly of that wretched man and his absurd mummy costume."
I sighed deeply. Evelyn looked at me in surprise. "You too, Amelia? What can you possibly regret? You have gained everything and lost nothing. I can hardly pick up a newspaper without finding an account of some new escapade— pardon me, adventure— of yours."
"Oh, adventures." I gestured dismissively. "It is only natural they should occur. Emerson attracts them."
"Emerson?" Evelyn smiled.
"Only consider, Evelyn It was to Emerson Lord Blacktower appealed for assistance in locating his missing son, Emerson who unmasked the criminal in the case of the British Museum mummy. To whom else would Lady Baskerville come when seeking a man to continue her husband's excavations, but to Emerson, the most preeminent scholar of his time?"
"I never thought of it that way," Evelyn admitted. "You have a point, Amelia. But you have only strengthened my argument. Your life is so full of the excitement and adventure mine lacks—"
"True. But it is not the same, Evelyn. Dare I confess it? I believe I do. Like you, I often dream of those long-gone days, when I was all-in-all to Emerson, the only, the supreme object of his devotion."
"My dear Amelia— "
I sighed again. "He hardly ever calls me Amelia, Evelyn. How well, how tenderly, I remember his snarl when he addressed me by that name. It is always Peabody now— my dear Peabody, my darling Peabody . . ."
"He called you Peabody at Amarna," Evelyn said.
"Yes, but in such a different tone! What began as a challenge has now become a term of complacent, lazy affection. He was so masterful then, so romantic— "
"Romantic?" Evelyn repeated doubtfully.
"You have your fond memories, Evelyn, I have mine. How well I remember the curl of his handsome lips when he said to me, 'You are no fool, Peabody, if you are a woman', how his blue eyes blazed on that never to be forgotten morning after I had nursed him through the crisis of his fever, and he growled, 'Consider yourself thanked for saving my life. Now go away.'" I fumbled for a handkerchief. "Oh, dear. Forgive me, Evelyn. I had not meant to succumb to emotion."
In sympathetic silence she patted one hand, while I applied the handkerchief to my eyes with the other. The mood was passing, a shriek from Willie and an answering shriek from his twin brother betokened one of the rough-and-tumble encounters that characterized their affectionate relationship. Raddie rushed to break up the fight and staggered back, holding a hand to his nose. Simultaneously Evelyn and I sighed.
"Never believe that I repine," she said gently. "I would not exchange one curl on Willie's head for a return to that life. I love my children dearly. Only— only, dear Amelia— there are so many of them!"
"Yes," I said forlornly. "There are."
Ramses had moved closer to Nefret. The image was irresistible and unnerving: the goddess and her high priest
And they would be with me, day and night, summer and winter, in Egypt and in England, for years to come.