The Falcon at the Portal: An Amelia Peabody Mystery (11 page)

Nothing was what he got, and in a typical fit of temper he determined to—as he put it in his extravagant fashion—shake the dust of Thebes from his feet forever. Four hundred miles to the north, across the river from the modern city of Cairo, lie the ruins of the ancient capital of Memphis and the cemeteries that had served it for thousands of years, and it was this region to which Emerson proposed we should transfer our activities.

I was a trifle put out, since we had built a comfortable house in Luxor and I had finally got it arranged just the way I liked. However, there were compensations. I refer, of course, to pyramids. To claim that I have a passion for pyramids is one of Emerson's little jokes, but I would be the first to admit that they are my favorite monuments.

"Which one would you like, Peabody?" Emerson had inquired, when we first discussed the matter. "The Great Pyramid, or one of the others at Giza?"

I had endeavored, more or less successfully, to conceal my exasperation. "Don't offer me any pyramid I would like in that offhand manner. You know perfectly well that the concession for Giza has been divided between the Americans, the Germans, and the Italians. M. Maspero is not likely to remove any of them as a favor to you."

"Hmph," said Emerson. "Very well, Peabody, if you are going to take that attitude—"

"What attitude? All I said was—"

It would serve no useful purpose to report the remainder of that conversation. I was, of course, correct; we had not been allowed to work at Giza, nor did I have any reason to suppose that we would be able to do so this season.

"Guess?" I repeated. "What nonsense! I refuse to engage in these childish, irresponsible—"

"I will, then," Nefret said quickly. "Is it Abusir, Professor?"

Emerson shook his head. "Abu Roash?" Ramses suggested.

"Even better," said Emerson smugly.

I am by nature an optimistic individual. Hope rose from the ashes of resentment. "Dahshur, Emerson?" I cried eagerly. "Don't tell me you have got Dahshur?"

Emerson's superior smile faded, and his eyes fell. Rather than admit he was ashamed and regretful, he began to swear. "Hell and damnation, Peabody! I know how much you want to go back to Dahshur; do you suppose I do not? Those pyramids are far more interesting than the ones at Giza and the cemeteries around them have never been properly investigated. I would give ten years of my life—"

"Don't talk like a fool, Emerson," I said.

Emerson's face darkened. "She means," said Nefret, "that we wouldn't exchange ten years of your company for all the pyramids in Egypt. Isn't that right, Aunt Amelia?"

"Certainly. What did you suppose I meant?"

"Hmph," said Emerson. "Well. Maspero is holding on to Dahshur for himself, curse him."

"Everyone wants Dahshur," Ramses said. "Petrie and Reisner have also applied for it, without success. So, if not Dahshur, where? Lisht?"

Emerson shook his head. "I suppose I may as well tell you. It is really excellent news. I know you will be as pleased as I. Zawaiet el 'Aryan is the place. Pyramids. Two of them."

"Damnation!" I exclaimed.

"I am shocked to hear you use such language, Peabody. You told me once you were aching to excavate at Zawaiet el 'Aryan."

"Didn't Signor Barsanti investigate those pyramids in 1905?" Ramses asked, as I struggled to regain my composure and Emerson, avoiding my eyes, began to speak very loudly and very quickly.

"Barsanti is an architect and restorer, not an excavator, and the reports he published were shamefully inadequate. The pyramids at Zawaiet el 'Aryan may not look like much—"

"Ha!" I said.

"—but they have a number of interesting features. Remember the sealed, empty sarcophagus, and the—"

I cut Emerson short. "Have you got permission from M. Maspero?" I asked.

Emerson turned a cold blue eye on me. "I am deeply hurt that you should ask, Peabody. Have you ever known me to make a claim that was not true?"

I decided not to mention the examples that came to mind. "I was not questioning your word, only your—er—interpretation of what M. Maspero may have said. He
is
French, you know."

"But Reisner is not," said Emerson triumphantly and undeniably. "A blunt, straightforward chap, like all Americans. He was at Zawaiet el 'Aryan for a time last year, but he's got too much on his plate already, what with his concession in the Sudan and his work at Samaria, not to mention Giza. It was he who persuaded Maspero to let us have Zawaiet el 'Aryan."

"Kind of him," I murmured. Mr. Reisner was a friend and an admirable scholar, but if he had been present I might have lost my temper with him. His plate was indeed filled, with several of the most delectable sites in the Middle East. He was handing us the crumbs.

Well aware of my feelings, Emerson said, "The site is only a few miles south of Giza, you know, so a house there would be convenient."

"I am so glad you agree," I said sweetly. "After we have lunched with Miss Reynolds and her brother, we will have a look at the place she mentioned. I will tell Fatima to press your good tweed suit, and you can wear that pretty sapphire-blue necktie I gave you last Christmas. The one you keep misplacing."

The dimple (or cleft, as he prefers to call it) in Emerson's prominent chin quivered. "I neglected to pack that particular object of apparel, Peabody."

"I thought you might, so I packed it for you."

For a moment Emerson's temper hung in the balance. Then a twinkle replaced the glare. "Very well, Peabody. A compromise, eh? I will not appear in public in that damned tie, but I will go to luncheon and I will have a quick look at the damned house— on the Wednesday. Tomorrow we will visit the site."

"Tomorrow we have an engagement with Miss Reynolds, Emerson."

After a while Nefret said she was going to retire and fled from the room, carrying Horus. Finding he could not get a word in, Ramses soon followed suit, leaving me and Emerson to thrash it out. It ended as I had known it would, with Emerson apologizing for calling me an unreasonable bully of a woman, and demonstrating that in one area at least he was master in his own house. His attentions are particularly irresistible when he is in that irritated frame of mind.

Before we retired Emerson set fire to the sapphire-blue necktie and threw the blazing remains overboard.

At one time it had taken over an hour to reach the pyramids from the center of Cairo. Slow and dusty the trip may have been; but I have fond memories of jogging along in an open victoria, crossing the bridge over a river as yet uncontaminated by Mr. Cook's tourist steamers, and following the road that led past shady palms and green fields to the pyramid plateau. Now motorcars and cycles mingled perilously with donkeys and camels and carriages, and an electric tram carried passengers from the end of the Great Nile Bridge to the Mena House Hotel, near the pyramids. The suburb of Giza—not to be confused with the village of the same name—had become fashionable in recent years and was growing rapidly. As Emerson is frequently heard to remark, not all modern conveniences are improvements on the old ways.

The house the Reynoldses had taken was one of the new villas, with a view of the river and the Zoological Gardens. We were not the only guests; Miss Maude had invited several of what I must call the younger generation of Egyptologists. I felt certain this was meant as a delicate attention to Emerson, whose boredom with ordinary social engagements was well known. From what I had heard, Miss Maude's usual "set" consisted of the sort of people we took pains not to know—frivolous young women and supercilious young officials.

We were acquainted with most of the other guests—Jack Reynolds, of course, and another of Reisner's assistants, Geoffrey Godwin; Rex Engelbach and Ernst Wallenstein, a shy new member of the German Giza expedition, who was so paralyzed at finding himself in the presence of Emerson he never spoke a word the entire time. There was also a young classical scholar named Lawrence, who had done a bit of excavating in Syria and was spending a month with Petrie at Kafr Ammar. The only women present were Nefret and myself, Miss Maude, and a vague little old lady, an aunt or cousin who acted as nominal chaperone to the brother and sister. The Reynoldses treated her rather like a large fragile parcel, taking her out of one place and putting her down in another, where she remained, smiling dimly, until she was moved to another location. I could not imagine that she would prevent Miss Maude from doing exactly as she pleased.

At first the young men were frightfully deferential to Emerson, which depressed him a great deal. It was Mr. Lawrence who broke the ice—or rather, who jumped into the crashing hole Emerson had broken by criticizing Mr. Petrie.

"I consider it an honor to be working with Professor Petrie this season," he said stiffly. "He speaks of
you,
sir, with respectful admiration."

"The devil he does," said Emerson, with the greatest good humor imaginable. "We have been friendly enemies for years, and I know precisely what he thinks of me. He can teach you a thing or two about excavation, if you don't die of ptomaine poisoning first. Why he has not long since expired is a mystery to me; he leaves half-eaten tins of food standing about until they turn green, and expects his people to finish the vile stuff. Peabody, do you remember the time Quibell staggered into our camp at Mazghuna asking for ipecacuanha?"

I stopped him before he could elaborate—descriptions of digestive disorders are not suitable for the luncheon table—but his jovial manner had put the young men at ease, and an animated archaeological discussion ensued, dominated, of course, by Emerson. When he announced where we would be working, Jack Reynolds, on my right, exclaimed in surprise.

"Zawaiet el 'Aryan? I knew Mr. Reisner didn't intend to put in another season there, but I cannot conceive why you should be interested in the place. We found very little of interest. Isn't that right, Geoff?"

There could not have been a greater contrast between two men—Jack, hearty and red-cheeked and sturdily built, Geoffrey as fair as a washed-out watercolor and as shy as Jack was outspoken. A delicate flush of embarrassment touched his pale cheeks at finding himself the focus of Emerson's fixed regard, which has a devastating effect on persons of a sensitive nature. "I must agree," he murmured. "The site is not worthy of your talents, Professor."

"Bah," said Emerson vigorously. "You have not the proper attitude toward archaeology, Mr. Godwin." And he proceeded to tell Geoffrey what his attitude ought to be. Nefret, seated next to the young man, took pity on him and distracted Emerson with a teasing question.

Realizing we had heard almost nothing from Ramses—an unusual circumstance indeed—I found him engulfed by Miss Maude, who had placed him next to her. The manners of young American ladies are very free and easy, but it did not take me long to realize that Nefret's hints about Miss Maude's interest in my son were unfortunately correct. She had turned her back on Mr. Lawrence, who was on her other side, and was chattering nonstop, without giving Ramses a chance to speak. This, as I could have told her, was not the way to win his regard.

After luncheon the ladies retired to the sitting room and the gentlemen went into Jack Reynolds's study. I never permitted this absurd variety of segregation in my own home, but I put up with it on this occasion because I was anxious to become better acquainted with Miss Maude. A closer examination of her person confirmed my earlier impression; she was dressed expensively and uncomfortably in the latest fashion, her dress having been made with a hobble skirt so narrow, she had to shuffle like a Chinese lady with bound feet. She appeared to be anxious to ingratiate herself with me and Nefret, whose neat but simple frock she studied interestedly. Her conversation was boring in the extreme, however; it consisted primarily of gossip about her friends and questions about Ramses. Nefret, as bored as I, let her sense of humor get the better of her. The stories about her brother with which she regaled Miss Maude became more and more outrageous, and I was finally forced to put a stop to them.

"If we are to look at the house this afternoon, we must be getting on," I announced. "What are the men doing in there?"

Drinking brandy and smoking was what they were doing. I was pleased to observe that Ramses's glass was untouched, and that Emerson had none. My husband was fidgeting, since the conversation had turned from Egyptology to a subject that interests him very little—firearms. Jack was showing off his gun collection, which was contained in a locked cabinet against one wall.

"What do you need all of those for?" I asked, contemplating with pursed lips the row of deadly weapons.

Jack was obviously not accustomed to having females invade his sacred male domain, much less ask absurd questions. "Why, for hunting, Mrs. Emerson. And protection, of course. Snakes, you know."

"My husband uses a teakettle," I said. "Emerson, are you ready to go?"

Grinning, Emerson came to join me. Cold-eyed and unsmiling, Ramses did the same. He disapproved of hunting for sport.

Everyone insisted on accompanying us to inspect the house Miss Maude had located. It was a pleasant walk of less than a mile, along a road shaded by lebbakh trees, with the rippling waters of the river on the left, but I do not think Miss Maude enjoyed it very much. Her narrow skirt and ankle-strap shoes made it necessary for her to cling to someone's arm, but she had to settle for that of her brother, since Nefret had taken possession of Ramses. It was pure malice that motivated Nefret, I believe, for she did not require assistance; her ankle-length skirt and low-heeled slippers made locomotion for her as easy as for a lad.