Amelia Peabody Omnibus 1-4 (6 page)

His eyes never leaving my face, Herr Brugsch explained, with affected modesty, that he was responsible for the detective work that had eventually discovered the mummies. Collectors had sent him photographs of objects bearing royal names, and he had realized that these must have come from a tomb. Since the known royal tombs were in Thebes, he had alerted the police to watch out for a peasant from that city who had more money than he could have come by honestly. Thus suspicion was focused on the Abd er-Rasool family; and, the thieves having fallen out in the meantime over the disposition of the loot, one of them betrayed the secret to Brugsch.

I did not care for this gentleman. His brother is a respectable and well-known scholar, and Mr Emil has been employed by Maspero and his predecessor, M. Mariette, for many years; but his bold stare and hard face affected me unpleasantly, as did his calloused description of the interrogation of the unfortunate Abd er-Rasool brothers. Not a muscle in his tanned face moved as he described beatings with palm rods, and heated pots being placed on the heads of the suspects. Yet I could not help but be fascinated by an eyewitness account of the incredible discovery. Brugsch admitted that his sensations, as he was lowered into the pit, were not wholly comfortable. He was armed, of course, but his weapons would not have availed against treachery, and all the inhabitants of the area hated the representatives of the government. And then his feelings, as he stood in the stifling gloom of the little cave, amid a jumble of royal dead… ! He knew the bodies must be moved at once, in order to prevent their being stolen, and he accomplished this difficult task in only eight days. He was describing the northward voyage of the barge – the banks of the river lined with mourning women, rending their garments and pouring dust on their heads as the bodies of the ancient kings floated by – when Maspero joined us.

The director of antiquities was a stout, genial man with twinkling eyes and a short black beard. A true Frenchman, he bowed over my hand and greeted Evelyn with admiration. He spoke of my father in the highest terms. Seeing how busy he was, we soon excused ourselves, and he begged pardon for not showing us over the museum himself. Perhaps he would join us later, he said, glancing at Evelyn.

‘You have made another conquest,’ I said softly to Evelyn, as we walked away. ‘M. Maspero could hardly keep his eyes away from you.’

‘Nor Herr Brugsch his eyes from you,’ Evelyn replied with a smile. ‘He was anxious to escort you; did you see his scowl when M. Maspero told him he had work for him to do?’

‘Don’t try to give your admirers to me,’ I retorted. ‘I am not in need of such mendacious flattery; and if I were, Herr Brugsch would not be my choice.’

I was glad the director was not with us when we began our tour. Courtesy must have prevented me from telling him what I thought of his museum. Not that the place wasn’t fascinating; it contained many marvellous things. But the dust! And the clutter! My housewifely and scholarly instincts were equally offended.

‘Perhaps you are not being fair,’ Evelyn said mildly, when I expressed my feelings. ‘There are so many objects; new ones are discovered daily; and the museum is still too small, despite the recent enlargement.’

‘All the more reason for neatness and order. In the early days, when European adventurers took away what they discovered in Egypt, there was no need for a national museum. Then M. Mariette, Maspero’s predecessor, insisted that Egypt should keep some of its national treasures. The cooperation between Great Britain and France, to regulate and assist this unfortunate country, has resulted in the French being given control over the antiquities department. I suppose they must have something; after all, we control finance, education, foreign affairs, and other matters. But we could do with a little English neatness here, instead of French nonchalance.’

We had penetrated into a back room filled with objects that seemed to be leftovers from the more impressive exhibits in the front halls of the museum – vases, bead necklaces, little carved ushebti figures, flung helter-skelter onto shelves and into cases. There were several other people in the room. I paid them little heed; in mounting indignation, I went on, ‘They might at least dust! Look at this!’

And, picking up a blue-green statuette from a shelf, I rubbed it with my handkerchief and showed Evelyn the dirty smudge that resulted.

A howl – a veritable animal howl – shook the quiet of the room. Before I could collect myself to search for its source, a whirlwind descended upon me. A sinewy, sun-bronzed hand snatched the statuette from me. A voice boomed in my ear.

‘Madam! Do me the favour of leaving those priceless relics alone. It is bad enough to see that incompetent ass, Maspero, jumble them about; will you complete his idiocy by destroying the fragments he has left?’

Evelyn had retreated. I stood alone. Gathering my dignity, I turned to face my attacker.

He was a tall man with shoulders like a bull’s and a black beard cut square like those of the statues of ancient Assyrian kings. From a face tanned almost to the shade of an Egyptian, vivid blue eyes blazed at me. His voice, as I had good cause to know, was a deep, reverberating bass. The accents were those of a gentleman. The sentiments were not.

‘Sir,’ I said, looking him up and down. ‘I do not know you – ’

‘But I know you, madam! I have met your kind too often – the rampageous British female at her clumsiest and most arrogant. Ye gods! The breed covers the earth like mosquitoes and is as maddening. The depths of the pyramids, the heights of the Himalayas – no spot on earth is safe from you!’

He had to pause for breath at this point, which gave me the opportunity I had been waiting for.

‘And you, sir, are the lordly British male at his loudest and most bad-mannered. If the English gentlewoman is covering the earth, it is in the hope of counteracting some of the mischief her lord and master has perpetrated. Swaggering, loud, certain of his own superiority…’

My adversary was maddened, as I had hoped he would be. Little flecks of foam appeared on the blackness of his beard. His subsequent comments were incomprehensible, but several fragile objects vibrated dangerously on their shelves.

I stepped back a pace, taking a firm grip on my parasol. I am not easily cowed, nor am I a small woman, but this man towered over me, and the reddening face he had thrust into mine was suggestive of violence. He had very large, very white teeth, and I felt sure I had got a glimpse of most of them.

A hand fell on his shoulder. Looking up, I saw Evelyn with a young man who was a slighter, beardless copy of my adversary – dark-haired, blue-eyed, tall, but not so bulky.

‘Radcliffe,’ he said urgently. ‘You are alarming this lady. I beg you – ’

‘I am not at all alarmed,’ I said calmly. ‘Except for your friend’s health. He seems about to have a fit. Is he commonly subject to weakness of the brain?’

The younger man now had both hands on his companion’s shoulders. He did not seem concerned; indeed, he was smiling broadly. He was an attractive young fellow; from the way Evelyn looked at him I suspected she shared my opinion.

‘My brother, madam, not my friend,’ he said cheerfully. ‘You must forgive him – now, Radcliffe, calm yourself. The museum always has this effect on him,’ he explained, looking at me. ‘You must not blame yourself for upsetting him.’

‘I certainly should not blame myself if my harmless behaviour brought on such a violent, inexcusable breach of common courtesy – ’

‘Amelia!’ Evelyn caught my arm as a roar of rage burst from the bearded person. ‘Let us all be calm, and not provoke one another.’

‘I am not provoking anyone,’ I said coolly.

Evelyn exchanged a glance with the young man. As if some message had passed between them, they both moved, the young fellow tugging at his agitated brother, Evelyn using a gentler but equally firm grip to pull me away. The other visitors were watching us with ill-bred curiosity. One lady pulled her companion out of the room. Another couple followed, leaving a single spectator, an Arab in flowing robes, headcloth, and bright-green goggles, who continued to watch the antics of the incomprehensible foreigners with amused contempt.

Rapid footsteps in the hall heralded the arrival of M. Maspero, who had apparently been alarmed by the uproar. When he saw us his pace slowed, and a smile spread over his face.

‘Ah, c’est le bon Emerson.
I should have known. You have met one another? You are acquainted?’

‘We are not acquainted,’ said the person called Emerson, in a slightly modified shout. ‘And if you make any attempt to introduce us, Maspero, I shall fell you to the ground!’

M. Maspero chuckled. ‘Then I will not risk it. Come, ladies, and let me show you some of our finer objects. These are unimportant – a miscellany only.’

‘But they are most interesting,’ Evelyn said in her gentle voice. ‘I admire the soft colours of the jewellery.’

‘Ah, but these trinkets are not valuable – no gold, only beads and amulets, made of faience, common as sand. We find such bracelets and necklaces by the hundreds.’

‘Faience?’ Evelyn repeated. ‘Then the lovely coral, the delicate blue-green which resembles turquoise, are not the real stones?’

The black-bearded male person had turned his back on us and was pretending to sneer at a collection of ushebtis; I knew he was eavesdropping, however. His brother was not so rude. The young fellow stood looking shyly at Evelyn, and when she asked about the jewellery he started to answer. The ebullient Maspero anticipated him.

‘Mais non, mademoiselle,
they are imitations of coral, turquoise, lapis lazuli, made from a coloured paste common in ancient Egypt.’

‘They are lovely, all the same,’ I said. ‘And the very age of them staggers the imagination. To think that these beads adorned the slim brown wrist of an Egyptian maiden four thousand years before our Saviour was born!’

Blackbeard whirled around. ‘Three thousand years,’ he corrected. ‘Maspero’s chronology, like all his work, is inexcusably inaccurate!’

Maspero smiled, but I think his next act was prompted to some extent by the annoyance he was too courteous to express directly. Lifting a necklace of tiny blue and coral beads, he handed it to Evelyn with a courtly bow.

‘Keep it as a memento of your visit, if you treasure such things. No, no’ – he waved away Evelyn’s protests – ‘it is of no consequence; I only regret I have nothing finer for such a charming lady. For you, too, Mademoiselle Peabody’ – and another string of beads was pressed into my hand.

‘Oh, but – ’ I began, with an uneasy glance at the black-bearded person, who was shaking like an engine about to burst.

‘Do me the honour,’ Maspero insisted. ‘Unless you fear the foolish tales of curses and avenging Egyptian ghosts – ’

‘Certainly not,’ I said firmly.

‘But what of the curses of M. Emerson?’ Maspero asked, his eyes twinkling.
‘Regardez
– he is about to say unkind things to me again.’

‘Never fear,’ Emerson snarled. ‘I am leaving. I can only stand so many minutes in this horror house of yours. In God’s name, man, why don’t you classify your pots?’

He rushed off, pulling his slighter companion with him. The young fellow turned his head; his gaze went straight to Evelyn and remained fixed on her face until he had been removed from the room.

‘He has almost the Gallic temperament,’ said Maspero admiringly. ‘One observes the magnificence of his rages with respect.’

‘I cannot agree with you,’ I said. ‘Who is the fellow?’

‘One of your fellow countrymen, dear lady, who has interested himself in the antiquities of this country. He has done admirable work excavating, but I fear he does not admire the rest of us. You heard his abuse of my poor museum. He abuses my excavation methods with the same ardour. But, indeed, there is no archaeologist in Egypt who has been spared his criticism.’

‘I don’t care to speak of him,’ I said, with a sniff.

‘We think your museum is fascinating, M. Maspero,’ Evelyn added tactfully. ‘I could spend days here.’

We spent several hours more inspecting the exhibits. I would not have said so for the world, but I felt a certain sympathy for the odious Emerson’s criticisms. The exhibits were not arranged as methodically as they might have been, and there was dust everywhere.

Evelyn said she was too tired to go down to the boat that day, so we took a carriage back to the hotel. She was pensive and silent during the drive; as we neared Cairo, I said slyly,

‘Mr Emerson’s young brother does not have the family temper, I believe. Did you happen to hear his name?’

‘Walter,’ said Evelyn, and blushed betrayingly.

‘Ah.’ I pretended not to notice the blush. ‘I found him very pleasant. Perhaps we will meet them again at the hotel.’

‘Oh, no, they do not stay at Shepheard’s. Walt – Mr Emerson explained to me that their money all goes for excavation. His brother is not supported by any institution or museum; he has only a small yearly income and, as Walter says, if he had the wealth of the Indies he would consider it insufficient for his purposes.’

‘You seem to have covered quite a lot of ground in a very short time,’ I said, watching Evelyn out of the corner of my eye. ‘It is a pity we can’t continue the acquaintance with the younger Mr Emerson, and avoid his insane brother.’

‘I daresay we shall not meet again,’ Evelyn said softly.

I had my own opinion on that score.

In the afternoon, after a rest, we went to shop for medical supplies. The guidebooks advise travellers to carry a considerable quantity of medicines and drugs, since there are no doctors south of Cairo. I had copied the list of suggested remedies from my guide, and was determined to do the thing properly. If I had not been a woman, I might have studied medicine; I have a natural aptitude for the subject, possessing steady hands and far less squeamishness about blood and wounds than many males of my acquaintance. I planned to buy a few small surgical knives also; I fancied I could amputate a limb – or at least a toe or finger – rather neatly if called upon to do so.

Our dragoman, Michael, accompanied us. I thought he seemed quieter than usual, but I was occupied with my list: blue pills, calomel, rhubarb, Dover’s powder, James’s powder, carbolic acid, laudanum, quinine, sulphuric acid, ipecacuanha…. It was Evelyn who asked Michael what the trouble was. He hesitated, looking at us in turn.