Amanda Grange & Jacqueline Webb (17 page)

“That is it exactly.”

She thought of all their duties and responsibilities at home, most of which fell upon Darcy's shoulders, but many of which fell upon her own. She was the first lady of the neighbourhood, and scarcely a day went by without an appeal of some kind: someone asking her to speak to her husband about preferment for their son or nephew or brother or a woman in the village who needed her help. Always someone and something, so that sometimes she did not see Darcy from morning 'til night, at least not without a whole host of other people present.

But now here they were, alone, save for the guards who kept a distance so discreet as to be invisible.

The camel began to walk more quickly and Elizabeth sat up, the better to keep her balance. Up ahead, the unbroken sand dunes gave way to the blues and greens of the oasis, which shone like a sapphire nestling in its golden setting. It was surrounded by tall palms, whose branches swayed and rustled in the breeze. Beneath them was a surprising carpet of ferns and wild flowers, and the whole glowing scene was reflected in the water.

The camel came to a halt beneath one of the palm trees. Darcy dismounted as the animal knelt, and then helped Elizabeth down, before tethering the animal nearby.

Darcy took Elizabeth's hand and they walked to the far side of the pool, taking the picnic hamper with him and setting it down beside a luscious fern.

Elizabeth breathed in deeply. Away from the camel the air was sweet, far sweeter than it was at the dig, and the coolness of the water and the whisper of the palms was reviving.

Elizabeth sat down beneath one of the palm trees and Darcy sat beside her. They sat in the shade and remembered anew why they had fallen in love with one another, thinking how lucky they had been to find each other, for although Darcy was not always the easiest of husbands, Elizabeth knew he was the only man she could ever have married. She loved to see him like this, away from the cares of Pemberley and away from the responsibilities of his life in London—away from his young cousin, too, and away from the children, for much as she loved them, there were times when Elizabeth wanted Darcy to herself.

He sat with one knee up, in an attitude he would never adopt at home, with one arm resting negligently across it. His cravat had been discarded and his shirt was open at the neck. His dark hair was disordered by the breeze and his face was tanned by the sun, making his teeth show white against it. She put her hand up to his cheek, stroking her finger across his finely chiselled cheekbone and then leaned toward him and kissed him.

He took her chin in his hand and they kissed for long minutes. Time stood still. They lived for the moment and the pleasure of being together. At last their lips parted and they talked of their love for each other as Darcy stroked Elizabeth's hair and she rested her hand on his thigh, feeling the strong muscle beneath the fabric, and then they kissed again.

Beside them, the picnic hamper laid untouched and ignored.

But by and by, as the day progressed and the light began to fade, they found themselves growing hungry. At last they turned their attention to the selection of food they had brought with them. Elizabeth took a ripe fig from the hamper and shared it with Darcy, the succulent flesh tasting exotic against her tongue. Then they shared some little cakes, feeding each other with the delicacies, which were rich with the sweet taste of honey and pungent with the aroma of nuts.

The evening passed in lazy delight, with no one to please but themselves, as they kissed and ate and relaxed, happy in each other's company—now talking, now silent; now looking at the stars that began to appear in the darkening sky; now having eyes only for each other, refreshing their spirits with the beauty of the oasis, which provided a calm haven for them in the everyday bustle of their lives.

Elizabeth felt her eyelids drooping at last as the evening turned to night and she lay back against her husband, falling asleep against his chest. He smiled and kissed her hair, reaching out toward the hamper carefully so that he would not wake her and pulling out a blanket which he laid gently over her. Then his head, too, drooped, and he fell asleep, his head resting on hers and his arms around her, holding her safe.

***

Darkness had fallen back at the camp, too, and Edward sat alone by the dinner table listening to the night sounds. He had just bidden Sir Matthew good night and was considering retiring himself when he saw a figure make its way toward him by the dim light of a candle.

“I think I may have left my shawl here,” said Sophie. “It is becoming cooler at night.”

“Here let me help you look for it,” Edward replied, springing up. They both searched around the table and chairs and eventually found it lying on the sand.

“Thank you,” said Sophie. She hesitated. “It seemed strange not to have Elizabeth and Darcy with us tonight.”

“Yes, it did. I especially missed Elizabeth. She has a way of dealing with Mrs Bennet… well, let us just say that Mrs Bennet is better when Elizabeth is here.”

Edward was out of humour with Mrs Bennet, for she had spent the time since dinner making arch comments about Sophie and Paul, who had returned to the camp arm-in-arm, oblivious to the obvious discomfort of the parties concerned and oblivious to Edward's irritation. Worse still, Mrs Bennet had let drop that Paul had told her he had been approached by a wealthy patron in Cairo. She had said it as a means of self-aggrandisement, to show how important he was and therefore how important his portrait of her was, but it had affected Edward in a different way, for he knew that if Paul acquired a wealthy patron, one who intended to sponsor him for years, he would be in a position to take a wife. That thought had made Edward morose.

What
does
she
really
think
of
him
? thought Edward, glancing at Sophie and trying to read the answer in her face.
Does
she
prefer
him
to
me
?

Sophie blushed. “Mrs Bennet means well.”

“No doubt,” he said shortly.

Sophie turned to leave and he felt ashamed of his bad temper. He asked her forgiveness, saying, “I have not been very good company this evening, I fear.”

Sophie hesitated. “I think something is troubling you. If you have a problem I hope that you feel you can speak to me—as a friend,” she hastily added.

“As a friend,” he said in a hollow tone. Then he rallied and said, “Very well, then, as a friend. Since you ask, the past few days have not gone as well for me as I had hoped. I sometimes wonder if Darcy is right and if my obsession is becoming unhealthy. I feel as if something has taken hold of me, something outside myself, something that is driving me on. I almost wonder…”

He stopped himself just before saying something ridiculous: that he almost wondered if the strange doll he had found in the attic had something to do with it. He had known a little of her story before leaving England, but a souk seller in Cairo had told him more: that Aahotep had been apprehended soon after her wicked deed by a powerful magician named Ptah, who had been hired by the family of the murdered lovers. Ptah had trapped her spirit on the mortal plane and doomed it to walk the earth, “where it will remain until she can find a way of making amends.” Edward had smiled at the notion and asked, “And how is Aahotep to make amends for her crimes?” To which the souk seller had said, “In the usual way, of course; she must find some innocent to transport her to the tomb so that she can beg the forgiveness of the two lovers she so cruelly murdered, and then she will be allowed to rest.”

It was nonsense, of course, but even so, Edward could not shake an uneasy feeling that Aahotep was indeed returning to the tomb of the murdered lovers and that both he and the innocent Margaret were helping her.

Shaking aside his strange thoughts, he said, “Darcy is not pleased with me.”

“Are you surprised?” she asked, and Edward found himself forced to shake his head in agreement.

“No. No, I am not. I should have told him about the map. But I did not because I knew how he would view it. He would have told me that the map led my father astray and it would do the same to me.”

Sophie sat down at the table again.

“And in a way I cannot fault him because he is right,” he said. “Even so, I hoped… but yesterday was a disaster.”

“Was it?”

“We spent all day in the desert, following the map and searching for the tomb in the missing portion of the map. I was so sure we would find it. But we found nothing,” he said in a dejected voice.

Sophie reached out to him impulsively, but before she could touch him they were both distracted by a noise coming from the tents behind them. There was a white blur and Sophie let out a cry, then she laughed a little shamefacedly.

“Oh dear, I thought it was a ghost! But it is only Margaret. I believe she is sleepwalking again. Quietly, Edward; we must not disturb her in this condition.”

They reached Margaret, whose eyes were wide open but clearly seeing nothing. She held the doll cuddled up to her face and seemed to be murmuring to it, and although her words seemed like nonsense, she moved with a purpose that belied her sleeping state. Edward and Sophie followed her a little way behind so they could catch her if she came in the way of any harm, but she walked round objects as though she were awake. It was only the blankness in her eyes that refuted this.

She moved away from the camp, out of the comforting circle of light cast by the lamps, and both Edward and Sophie began to grow concerned as they followed her deeper into the desert.

“Are you sure we should not wake her?” Edward asked. “She moves as though she means to walk all night.”

“I am not sure,” Sophie confessed.

“I do not think we should let her go much farther, Miss Lucas,” Edward said uncertainly as Margaret ascended a sand dune and proceeded to slip down the other side. “Even if it means picking her up. I shall be as gentle as I can, but—”

Suddenly he realised Margaret had stopped and was now sitting cross-legged on the sand, her doll pressed close against her cheek—her wooden doll, which she had somehow managed to reclaim. Then she began to draw a wide circle around herself, all the while muttering something under her breath. Edward was close enough now to touch her and so he heard her words, softly spoken and almost immediately lost on the night breeze: “Ammon, Husn, Ammon, Husn.”

She whispered them several times before sighing and closing her eyes. Then she dropped gently to the ground, fast asleep.

“Edward!” Sophie cried in alarm. “Is she all right?”

“There is nothing to be alarmed about; she is just sleeping,” Edward replied, picking the little girl up in his arms and carrying her back over the dune. “She is exhausted no doubt by her midnight ramble.”

He was nevertheless relieved when Sophie ran over to him and examined Margaret carefully.

“Well?” he asked.

“It is as you say,” said Sophie, for Margaret was soundly sleeping, her breathing even and regular, her cheeks barely flushed with her exertions.

“Let us get her back to bed,” Sophie said, taking the sleeping child and cradling her against her shoulder.

Edward nodded and then, on a sudden impulse, and with the memory of Margaret's whispered words in his ears, he took out his pocket watch and dropped it unobtrusively to mark the spot. Then he followed Sophie back to the camp, where she tucked Margaret once more into her little bed.

Sophie sat down beside her, and Edward's heart lurched at the tender sight.

“I do not think she has come to any harm,” he said reassuringly.

“I will stay with her anyway,” she said. “But thank you for helping me.”

“I will always help you, whenever you need it. Sophie…”

“Yes, Edward?”

He hesitated, and in the silence a great deal passed between them. But he could not say the words he wanted to say and so at last he said, “Good night.”

“Good night, Edward,” Sophie said, but he was gone before the words left her mouth.

He walked about outside for some time, wondering how much it would cost to set up an establishment and if he could afford to offer a life to Sophie even if he never found any treasure. She did not need a great deal to live on, he was sure, but the thought of condemning her to a life of penury did not satisfy him, and that was what it would be, for his father would not approve the marriage and would not help him. So unless by some miracle he found the tomb…

He thought of his pocket watch, marking the spot at which Margaret had whispered,
Ammon, Husn
, and seized by an irresistible compulsion, he knew he had to go back straightaway and begin digging. With a determined air, he took a large shovel from the pile of tools in the tool store and walked out into the night.

It is nothing but a fantasy
, he told himself as he walked.
There is no tomb… it is not intact… Margaret's words mean nothing…

But it was no use. Something had taken hold of him and all he could think about was the eerie tomb awaiting him beneath the desert.

The night was cold and he walked briskly, guided by the starlight. To begin with, the going was easy, as he trod the paths which had been made firm by prolonged use. But by and by he passed into the desert proper and his feet began to sink into the soft sand. Walking became more difficult but it did not deter him. Quite the opposite. He walked with more determination, his eyes seeking the ground for the glint of metal that would tell him he was in the right place.

He walked for some time without seeing anything and he began to be afraid that the sands had already covered his watch, but then he caught sight of something metallic at a distance and hastened toward it. There, lying on the sand, was his watch.

He picked it up and put it in his pocket, then began to dig. He worked feverishly, feeling the sweat break out on his back as he threw the piles of fine golden sand to one side, digging a hole which grew ever deeper. When it was knee-deep he jumped into it and began to dig from the inside, piling the sand on all sides around him until it was shoulder high. And still he dug.