The Golden One (4 page)

I did not mention this conjecture to Emerson, for that would have inflamed his temper even more.

‘The devil with Smith,’ he declared. ‘What I want to know is – confound it, young man, what are you doing?’

‘Serving the next course,’ I said, as the youth fumbled with the plates. ‘That is his job, Emerson. Stop terrorizing him.’

‘Oh. Well. Sorry, my boy,’ he added, addressing the waiter, who went pale with horror.

I groaned. ‘And don’t apologize to him!’

It has proved impossible to train Emerson in the proper ways of dealing with servants. He treats prince and peasant, basket carrier and archaeologist the same – that is, he shouts at them
when he is out of temper and begs their pardon when he has been unjust. The waiter ought to have been trained in the proper way of dealing with Emerson, whose peculiarities are well known to the
staff at Shepheard’s, but he was very young and apparently he had not taken the warnings to heart.

With the assistance of the headwaiter he managed to get the soup plates off the table and the fish course served, and Emerson, who was unaware of having done anything unusual, resumed where he
had left off. ‘What’s Sethos doing in Cairo? What was the point of that impertinent encounter? Was it a challenge or a warning or – ’

‘Why should it have been either?’ Nefret asked. ‘We haven’t heard from him for months, and he knows we have good reason to be concerned about him. Perhaps it was only his
way of telling us he is alive and well.’

‘Bah,’ said Emerson.

Nefret laughed, and I said, ‘Now, Emerson, you mustn’t hold a grudge, my dear.’

‘Grudge! It is petty-minded, no doubt, to resent a man because he tried to kill me and seduce my wife and steal my antiquities.’

‘That was all in the past. The services he has rendered us and his country in the past few years attest to the sincerity of his reformation, and his recent – er – arrangement
with another lady should be sufficient assurance of his abandonment of an attachment that was, I do not doubt, occasioned as much by his resentment of you as by his interest in me.’

I paused to draw a deep breath, and Emerson, who had been stabbing at his fish, placed his fork on the table. ‘Peabody,’ he said mildly, ‘that was even more pompous and
pedantic than your usual declarations. Do not suppose that the complexity of your syntax can conceal the inaccuracy of your conclusions. He has not reformed. He as good as said so last year. As for
his arrangement with Miss Minton, for all you know that came to an end almost as soon as it began. Your attempts to communicate with the lady this past summer were unsuccessful, weren’t they?
Don’t deny that you tried, for I know you did.’

At this point
he
had to pause in order to breathe. ‘Ha!’ I exclaimed. ‘You did the same. And you learned, as did I, that after being incommunicado for several months she
had been accredited as a war correspondent and was in France. You also tried to get information about him from the War Office – without success, as you ought to have anticipated. Why
won’t you admit that you care about the man? After all, he is – ’

‘Mother, please!’ Nefret said. ‘You are becoming heated. And so are you, Father. Perhaps you might allow someone else to offer an opinion.’

‘Well?’ Emerson demanded of his daughter. ‘What have you to say?’

‘Nothing, really.’

‘Ah,’ said Emerson. ‘Ramses?’

He had remained silent, only smiling faintly as he looked from one speaker (Emerson) to the other (me). Now he shrugged. ‘Speculation about the motives of my uncle are surely a waste of
time. One never knows what he will do until he does it.’ Reddening, Emerson started to speak. Ramses raised his voice a trifle. ‘Thus far, all he has done is greet you. An encounter of
that sort would appeal to his peculiar sense of humour, and he couldn’t risk a face-to-face meeting, not if he is still working undercover.’

‘I don’t give a curse about that,’ Emerson declared forcibly, if not entirely accurately. ‘What I want to know is whether he is still in the antiquities game. Ramses,
supposing you and I make the rounds of the cafés tonight and interrogate the dealers. If “the Master” is back in business – ’

‘They won’t tell
you
,’ I said.

‘No,’ Nefret agreed. After the waiter had removed the plates without incident (Emerson’s attention being otherwise engaged), she planted her elbows on the table and leaned
forward, her blue eyes sparkling. ‘Your methods are too direct, Father. Do you remember Ali the Rat and his – er – young friend?’

Emerson choked on a sip of wine, and I said uneasily, ‘Ramses can’t be Ali the Rat again, Nefret. His masquerade was discovered.’

‘But the people who knew of it are dead,’ Nefret argued. ‘And I made a very pretty boy, didn’t I, Ramses?’

She turned to look him squarely in the eyes. He did not respond at once. Then he said equably, ‘Very pretty. I’d prefer not to risk Ali, in case some of the old crowd are still
hanging about, but we might try a variation of the same thing.’

I had been afraid of this, though I had not expected matters would come to a head quite so soon. Nefret was as courageous and capable as any man, and utterly devoted to her husband. He was
equally devoted to her, and I could only imagine what a struggle it must have been for him to admit she had the right to share his adventures and his danger. Naturally I was in full agreement with
her demand for equality; had I not demanded and (more or less) received the same from Emerson? That did not mean I liked Nefret’s doing it. Principles do not hold up well when they are
challenged by personal affection.

To my relief, Ramses went on, ‘Not tonight, though. It will take me a while to collect the appropriate disguises.’

‘Certainly not tonight,’ I said. ‘It has been a long day. We should retire early.’

‘An excellent suggestion,’ said Emerson, cheering up.

‘Yes, Mother,’ said Ramses.

We had a little private conversation, Emerson and I, sitting cosily side by side before the dying fire in the sitting room and sipping a last whiskey and soda. I summed it up by saying,
‘So it is agreed that we leave Cairo as soon as possible?’

Emerson nodded emphatic agreement. ‘It is worrisome enough having Ramses prowling the suks and the coffeeshops looking for criminals, without her going with him.’

‘Not so worrisome as having him take on another filthy job from the War Office. Smith’s presence this evening was highly suspicious, Emerson.’

‘Nonsense,’ said Emerson. ‘However . . . Good Gad, what with the intelligence services and my devious brother, Cairo is no place for a family of harmless archaeologists. But
you are worrying unnecessarily, my love. There is no way on earth Ramses could be persuaded to take on another assignment.’

Emerson’s tender affection did not miss the slight shiver that ran through my limbs. ‘Damnation, Peabody,’ he snarled, ‘if you are having one of your famous forebodings,
I don’t want to hear about it! Come to bed at once.’

While we breakfasted in our rooms, Emerson looked through the post (distractions of various kinds having prevented him from doing so earlier) and came upon a letter from Cyrus
Vandergelt that aroused such indignation he leaped to his feet, rushed to the door, and would have bolted out in his dressing gown had I not caught hold of him.

‘For pity’s sake, Emerson, where are you going?’

Emerson waved the close-written pages at me. ‘They’re at it again. Another tomb. Looted. The artifacts already at the Luxor dealers. Damnation! Ramses – ’

‘If you want to share this with Ramses,’ I said, interpreting his incoherent comments with the skill of long experience, ‘I will send the sufragi to invite him and Nefret to
join us. Sit down, Emerson, or, if you prefer, put on your clothes. A few more minutes’ delay cannot worsen a situation which – ’

‘Curse it,’ said Emerson, heading for the dressing room. He took the letter with him. Being accustomed to my husband’s impetuous behaviour, I dispatched the sufragi on his
errand and went on with my breakfast.

The children must have been already up and dressed, for they came almost at once. ‘Is something wrong?’ Ramses asked.

‘Why should you suppose that?’ I replied, over the cries of outrage from the adjoining room. Some of them had to do with his inability to find his shirts, whose location (in the
second drawer of the bureau) I had pointed out to him the previous night.

‘A summons at such an early hour – ’

Emerson came charging out of the dressing room, attired in trousers and shirt. ‘Ah, there you are. Good. Just listen to this.’

‘Finish your breakfast, Emerson,’ I said, deftly removing the crumpled pages from his clenched fist and handing them to Ramses.

I will summarize the account, which Ramses, at my request, read aloud.

A few months earlier, rumours had spread that a hitherto unknown tomb had been discovered by the indefatigable thieves of Luxor. It had contained objects of rare value and distinction: royal
diadems, vessels of stone and precious metal, and jewellery of all kinds. For once, the rumours were correct. Cyrus, who had heard the tales shortly after he arrived on the scene in November, had
gone straight to the shop of our old acquaintance Mohammed Mohassib, who had been dealing in antiquities for thirty years. The canny old scoundrel, looking as pious as only a Luxor dealer can, had
denied any knowledge of the reputed treasure. He always did, though it was well known that he had handled many of the big finds. There was nothing anybody could do about it, since he never kept the
valuables in his own house, but distributed them among his various relations, and when he was in the process of marketing the goods he conducted private negotiations with interested parties who
were not inclined to turn him in because they wanted the artifacts themselves.

Knowing this habit of dear old Mohassib’s, Cyrus had persisted until Mohassib finally remarked that he had just happened to have acquired an interesting object – not from a tomb
robber, of course! It proved to be a heavy gold bar approximately two inches long, set with five small figures of reclining cats, two of which were missing; the surviving three were of gold and
carnelian. Cyrus knew his antiquities too well to remain long in doubt as to the meaning of what he saw. ‘The gold spacer was part of a woman’s armlet,’ he had written. ‘Had
to be a female’s because of the cats. It had the cartouches of Thutmose III. They’re saying there were three burials in the tomb, folks – queens or princesses related to Thutmose
III.’

Attempting (in vain, if I knew Cyrus) to conceal his excitement, he had immediately made Mohassib an offer. The old gentleman had regretfully declined. Another party had expressed interest, and
he was obliged to give him the first chance. What else could a man of honour do?

‘That’s how it stands,’ Cyrus ended his letter. ‘I’m pretty sure the “other party” is Howard Carter, acting as agent for Carnarvon or some gol-durned
museum. Mohassib is trying to raise the price by playing the bidders off against each other. You better get down here and talk to Mohassib, Emerson; he’s a wily old skunk and you’re the
only one he’s scared of.’

‘We are leaving Cairo at once,’ Emerson declared.

Ramses exchanged glances with his wife. ‘Excuse me, Father, but I don’t see the need for such haste. The tomb has been cleared and Mohassib isn’t going to admit anything, even
to you. It would make better sense to talk with Carter. Isn’t he working for the War Office? He may be in Cairo even now.’

‘Hmph,’ said Emerson thoughtfully.

‘We cannot leave immediately,’ Nefret said. ‘I must go to the hospital. I’ve been out of touch for months, and there are a number of matters I must settle with Sophia
before I go away again.’

‘Hmph,’ said Emerson again. Emerson’s grunts are quite expressive, to those who have learned to differentiate them. This one expressed disagreement and protest. The hospital
Nefret had founded for the fallen women of Cairo was in a particularly vile part of the city; as she had pointed out, the unhappy creatures she wanted to help would not have dared venture into a
respectable neighbourhood.

‘It’s all right, Father,’ Ramses said. ‘You don’t suppose I would allow my helpless, timid little wife to go alone to el-Wasa?’

Nefret put out her tongue at Ramses. She had never entirely abandoned such childish gestures. This one appeared to amuse Ramses a great deal.

‘Ah,’ said Emerson, brightening. ‘Good. What about you, Peabody? Are you going with them?’

‘I have other plans,’ I said, folding my napkin.

Emerson’s eyes narrowed into sapphirine slits. ‘Oh, no, you don’t, Peabody. You are coming with me. Or,’ he added, ‘to put it another way, I am going with
you.’

The children left us and I sent Emerson off to finish dressing. I knew the process would take him some time, so I went to see how Sennia and her entourage were getting on. She and Basima and
Gargery – and the cat – were still at breakfast. Sennia had a perfectly astonishing appetite for so small a person. When she saw me, she dropped her slice of toast – jam-side down
– and ran to throw her arms round me, demanding to know where we were going that day.

‘You and Gargery and Basima will have to amuse yourselves today,’ I replied, in the tone that brooked no argument. ‘The rest of us have errands. I suggest a visit to the
Museum, or perhaps you would like to hire a carriage and go out to Giza.’

‘I do not believe that is a good plan, madam,’ said Gargery, winking furiously and wrinkling up his face in a most alarming manner. ‘After what happened last year –
’

‘That was last year, Gargery. The people responsible for that incident are no longer a threat to us.’

‘But, madam! She will want to take the da– the cat with us.’

He scowled at Horus, who was sitting by Sennia’s chair cleaning his whiskers. Horus left off long enough to sneer at Gargery. All cats can sneer, but Horus did it better than most. He had
a very large head and the dark stripes on his face reminded one of a gargoyle.

‘Shall we go to Atiyeh?’ Basima asked. ‘Others of the family will want to see the Little Bird.’