Journey to the Lost Tomb (Rowan and Ella Book 2) (9 page)

           
He
picked up the kitchen phone. His mother answered on the second ring.

           
“Hey,
Mom,” he said.

           
“Darling,
I’ve been sitting here thinking of you,” she said. “How are you? Have you heard
from her yet?”

           
“No.
It looks like I’m going to have to go on over there and see what happened.”

           
“What?
You’re going to
Egypt
? Don’t be
ridiculous, Rowan. That’s crazy! Did you talk to her father?”

           
“He
hasn’t heard from her, Mom.”

           
“Well,
that’s just another blatant example of her thoughtlessness. Not to even tell
her poor father!”

           
“Unless,
of course, she’s lying hurt and unidentified in some foreign hospital.”
 

           
“You
said she had her identification on her…”

           
“If
she was assaulted, her identification would have been stolen along with her
purse.”

           
“You’ve
created a fantastic scenario, Rowan! It’s like you’ve been watching too many NCIS
episodes or something.”

           
“You’re
right, Mom. I don’t have any idea why she didn’t come back.”

           
“Exactly.”

           
“So
I gotta go find her.”

           
“This
is just manipulation, Rowan, can’t you see that?” His mother’s voice was becoming
shrill. “She’s moving herself to the center of attention, that’s all this is.”

           
“Yeah,
I don’t think so, Mom,” Rowan said tiredly. “I just wanted you to know what I
was doing. I’ll call you when I get back.”

           
“And
there’s nothing I can do to change your mind? I heard on the news that there
are more protests going on in Cairo.”

           
“I’ll
be careful. Love you, Mom. Hug Dad for me.”

           
Rowan
hung up feeling like there was a hundred pound weight hung around his neck. He
picked up his overnight bag and walked to the front door. The phone started to
ring and he glanced at the screen before letting it go to voice mail.

           
He
took one last look around before leaving and found himself thinking:
If I come back alone, I’ll have lost her for
good.
He turned out the lights, locked the dead bolt and headed for the
car. His flight was out of Birmingham in three hours time.

           
As
he drove away he couldn’t help but think what a good thing it was they never
got a dog.

Chapter Eight

Cairo 1922

           
Lady
Julia Digby shook out a long silk dress with a drop-waist that came to just
above Ella’s knees. Julia frowned and picked up the telephone to call the hotel
concierge and have a seamstress sent up.

           
Damn
, Ella thought.
The hotel has seamstresses on call
? She was sitting on the room’s
huge double bed in one of Julia’s silk dressing gowns and watched her new
friend create a new identity for Ella. Until she could figure out how to find
either the crack behind the bakery or some other way to get back to 2013, Ella
was grateful for clothes, shelter and food. It seemed little enough if she had
to pretend to be someone Lady Digby needed her to be.

           
Ella
did, of course, draw the line at contract killing.

           
“I
don’t mean murder him, of course,” Julia had said. “But I’ve made a frightful
mistake marrying him. Papa said I had but you know how it is to be the youngest
child. Once you’ve had your way for twenty years, it’s hard to quit having it.”

           
“Why
did you marry him?” Ella asked. Her stomach had been steadily growling for an
hour and she hoped Julia was about to order room service or say it was time to
go down to the dining room.

           
“I
married him,” Julia said, as if speaking to a simpleton, “because he was Lord
Carnarvon’s best friend—or so he said—and because he was part of
Howard Carter’s party. Oh, please, Miss Stevens, you can’t be so ignorant as to
not know about the dig at the Valley of the Kings?”

           
Ella
shrugged. “Sorry,” she said. “Guess I was busy doing other things.”

           
“He
made it sound so romantic. Egypt! Buried treasure! Pyramids! And I was so dying
for some adventure.”
 

           
“Do
you love him?” Ella couldn’t imagine Julia could possibly love him if she was
scheming to find a way to get rid of him.

           
“I
thought I did. But he changed after the wedding. Or, more precisely, after we
arrived in Egypt.”

           
Ella
looked around the room. “When is he due back?”

           
Julia
looked at her with confusion and then shook her head. “We don’t share a room,
if that’s what you’re implying,” she said.

           
“Do
married people not do that in your…er, your world?” Ella was open to believing
just about anything at this point.

           
“Common
folk may do. My kind of people are civilized enough to have their own rooms. Heavens,
I can’t imagine!”

           
“So
do you, er, I mean, have you at least, you know, consummated it?”

           
“Miss
Stevens, really. To even ask such a thing! That is so coarse and lowbrow.
And
none of your business.”

           
“Sorry.
I apologize.” There was an awkward pause.

           
“We
have not yet had…relations,” Julia said. “There hasn’t really been an
opportunity. Thank God.”

           
“But
eventually,” Ella said. “That’s probably somewhere in his plans, don’t you imagine?”

           
Julia
looked at her with such alarm and fear that Ella couldn’t help but wonder if
there wasn’t something else going on beyond a virgin’s jitters.

           
“Anyway,”
Julia said, as she picked up a square of netting from the bed where she had
tossed it a few minutes ago in search of a pair of gloves for Ella. “You’ll
meet him and see for yourself tonight. Perhaps you will like him for yourself.”

           
“I’m
taken,” Ella said.

           
Julia
made a face. “Your fiancé back in America?” she said sarcastically.

           
Hmmm. She had a point
. Ella probably
couldn’t use Rowan as an excuse for anything in this timeline. In any case, the
brief thought of him made her bottom lip tremble a little.

           
“Are
you all right, Miss Stevens? You look so sad all of a sudden.”

           
“I’m
okay,” Ella said. She forced herself to push thoughts of Rowan away. She would
see him again. She reminded herself that she was only two taxi rides and one
flight away from being right back there on the couch with him in Dothan, watching
the
Military Channel
or some boring
documentary on how the Pharaohs built the stupid pyramids. Right now, that
sounded absolutely wonderful. She would find the crack in the wall tomorrow
morning after she’d rested and had a decent meal.

           
And
oh what a great story this would all make later.

           
The
Shepheard Hotel’s main staircase fanned out to a wide base in the famous lobby.
Thickly carpeted in a royal blue to mirror the celestial ceiling of
gold-studded starry heavens, the staircase had ornate gold-plated railings decorated
with intricate finials.
 
When Ella
stood at the landing before the final dramatic descent, her arm looped in Lady
Julia’s, she realized why such effort had gone into creating the commanding staircase.
The sheer drama of such an entrance was undeniable. Every face looked up, every
eye admired. “Remember,” Julia had told her, “Don’t smile. Americans are always
too eager to be pleased with themselves.”

           
Got it
, Ella thought, as she slowly
walked down the staircase.
No smiling. I
am but a thing of beauty to be admired and lusted after from afar
. She
caught the eye of a handsome young man in a British uniform who was watching
her descend. For one mad moment she imagined a knife and fork in each hand and
a napkin tied around his neck as he hungrily devoured the vision of her.
I think this age has the whole woman-on-a-pedestal
thing down,
she thought as she stood a little straighter and pushed her
chest out a little more.
And I like it.

           
With
the help of the hotel’s seamstress and Julia commandeering the process every
step of the way, Ella had been outfitted in a gown that hugged her curves and
draped off them in what even she could see was suggestive yet demure.
This is an art that has, unfortunately, not
survived the decades
, she thought sadly. Right now, she would give
absolutely anything if Rowan could see her in this dress.

           
When
they entered the hotel dining room, Ella gasped at the opulence. Designed to
look like the inside of an Arabian temple, the room was lined with two dozen hand-painted
pillars. They supported, not the ceiling, but the recessed rim of the ceiling
which was the largest skylight Ella had ever seen. Every square inch of the
skylight had been etched with swirls and scrolls that flickered and danced with
the movement of the light from twin gigantic crystal chandeliers that
illuminated the entire room with electric light.

           
Every
head turned as they passed. Julia’s maid had dressed Ella’s hair for the
evening. She was thankful that her hair had grown enough from her Heidelberg
adventure—where she had found it necessary to crop it short to pass for a
boy—to be twisted into the chignon she now wore. Two long glittering
needles topped with semi-precious stones held the coif in place. As they
approached their table, the two men seated there tossed down their napkins and
stood up.

           
I could totally get used to this,
Ella
found herself thinking. She glanced at Julia to see if it was okay to smile yet
but she found her new friend looking stern and wooden.

           
“Good
evening, my dear,” said one of the men as he took Julia by the elbow. He leaned
over and kissed her on the cheek but his eyes locked with Ella’s.

           
So this was Viscount Digby.
Ella pretty
much disliked him on sight. He was thin with a pale complexion and strawberry
blond hair combed in greasy waves. His nose was pronounced and strong with a
nearly invisible blond mustache beneath it and his lips were thin and mean. He
looked at Ella like he wanted to take a very large, meaty bite out of her.

           
“Edward,
this is Miss Stevens.”

           
Viscount
Digby bowed and held out his hand to Ella. She reached out to shake it and was
surprised when he brought her hand to his mustachied lips and kissed it.
Feeling the skin under her long gloves crawl, she forced herself not to snatch
her hand away.

           
“Charmed,”
he said, his eyes dropped to the bodice of Ella’s gown.

           
Hey, bub, my eyes are up here,
Ella
thought, finally pulling her hand back.
 
“Pleased
to meet you,” she murmured.

           
“And
Mr. Howard Carter,” Lady Julia said. She turned from her husband and Ella to
shake hands with a tall, middle aged man standing patiently at the table.

           
“Good
evening, Lady Julia,” he said. “Very pleased to meet you Miss Stevens.”

           
Julia
seated herself, which cued Ella to do the same. The men sat down.

           
“Miss
Stevens is an American,” Julia said, “who has responded to my father’s advertisement
for a traveling companion for me.”

           
Ella
was in the process of tugging off her gloves when Julia spoke and she was sure
her reaction was as dramatic as a vaudevillian double take.

           
I
did what?

           
“Oh,
very good, Miss Stevens,” Digby said. “So you will be accompanying us to the
dig site?”

           
Ella
stared at Digby in astonishment.

           
Julia
deftly removed her own gloves in a single movement. “Oh, yes, she’s very
excited to be a part of it all,” she said.
 
“She has read all about your work, Mr.
Carter, and is an Egyptian aficionado. Isn’t that true, Miss Stevens?’

           
Ella
looked at Julia and tried not to register on her face the solid nudge Julia
gave her shin under the table. “Er, yes,” she said. “Very excited.” She gave
Julia a return nudge with her foot and hoped it would be interpreted correctly
as
what the hell?!

           
“The
Americans, especially, seem to love all the excitement happening in
archaeological circles in Egypt today,” Digby said. “Especially at KV62.” He
gave a nod in Carter’s direction but Carter merely signaled for the waiter to
fill the ladies’ wine glasses.

           
“Miss
Stevens has read all about Lord Carnarvon’s interest in the Valley of the Kings,”
Julia continued, ignoring Ella’s angry glare. “I’m sure she will be thrilled to
meet him. I mentioned to you, did I not, Miss Stevens, that my husband is good
friends with his lordship?”

           
“Yes,”
Ella said. She glanced at Digby who was doing a good impersonation of a slathering
dog in front of a bone as he stared at her breasts. “Very impressive,” she
said.

           
“Mr.
Carter is only briefly in Cairo,” Julia said, “to meet with us and escort us to
the dig site across from Luxor. I just love saying
dig site
. I can’t thank you enough, sir.”

           
Carter
picked up the menu and frowned briefly at Julia.

           
“Not
at all, Lady Digby,” Carter said. “It is my honor.”

           
“Lord
Carnarvon gave us entrée, you see,” Julia said to Ella. “As I am sure you know,
his lordship, who is presently in London, has the license for the dig and is
convinced that we shall find the tomb of King Tutankhamun there. Oh, my, did
you hear what I just said? I said ‘we.’ It appears I too am caught up in the
archaeological fervor. I am as bad as the Americans.”

           
With
that comment and one final, determined nudge against Ella’s lightly slippered
foot, Julia steered the conversation away from Ella’s credentials or background
and firmly into the realm of subjects of unfailing interest to the men:
themselves.

           
Later
that night, as they prepared for bed, Ella confronted her.

           
“I
can’t go, you know,” she said. “Whatever you’ve got planned for us doing away
with your husband—”

           
“Shhhhh!”
Julia said, looking over her shoulder. “My maid is still in attendance.”