The Falcon at the Portal: An Amelia Peabody Mystery (28 page)

"Isn't it?" I inquired.

"Er—well. This was not long after the business at Denshawai, and we were all a bit on edge; I thought the discussion was getting somewhat heated and so I told them to go about their business. Your son refused—quite politely, and in impeccable Arabic, but quite decidedly. Like most of the others, he was wearing European clothes, but he wore them like an Egyptian, if you know what I mean."

"Yes, I do know."

"I wasn't accustomed to being talked back to by Egyptians, especially young firebrands like those. He appeared to be the leader—he was the one doing all the talking, anyhow—so I identified myself and told him to make himself scarce or I'd arrest him. He then gave me one of the most irritating smiles I have ever seen and identified
himself,
in English as impeccable as his Arabic had been! By that time the others had melted away except for one chap whom Ramses introduced as David Todros. The young devil—excuse me, ma'am—then invited me in the coolest manner to take drinks with them."

"That sounds like Ramses," I admitted. "He never mentioned the incident to me, Mr. Russell. Ramses is inclined to keep his own counsel."

"So I understand. I had heard of him—everyone in Egypt knows your family, Mrs. Emerson—and I was amused by his sangfroid, so I accepted the invitation. We had quite a long talk. I don't suppose he's ever considered taking up police work? I could certainly use a chap who looks like an Egyptian and speaks Arabic like a native."

Clearly Mr. Russell did not know of Ramses's escapades as Ali the Rat and other equally disgusting personalities. Devoutly I prayed he never would. I replied that my son was destined for a career in Egyptology and, the music ending, Mr. Russell gave me his arm in order to lead me off the floor.

"A word of warning, if I may," he said, in a low voice and in quite a different tone. "You may have wondered why I remembered the name of your son's friend. It is a name that appears in the files of the Cairo police, Mrs. Emerson. If young Todros is still a friend—"

"He is now related to me by marriage, Mr. Russell. He espoused my niece in November."

"What? Married?"

I gave him back stare for stare. After a moment he smiled wryly. "All the more reason to heed my warning, then. Try to keep the boy out of trouble. K won't stand for nationalist unrest."

"Thank you for the warning."

"Thank you for the dance, ma'am. If Ramses should ever change his mind about Egyptology, send him to me."

From Manuscript H

Ramses shared his father's dislike of formal dinners and balls. In a way these events were harder for him than for Emerson, who didn't give a damn about anything except Egyptology and refused to pretend that he did; who preferred the company of his Egyptian friends to that of officials, officers and "the best people," and made no bones about that either. Ramses had not attained that level of sublime rudeness; he doubted he ever would, not so long as his mother was anywhere around. He made a point of dropping by the Turf Club and the hotel bars from time to time, rather in the manner of an explorer investigating the bizarre customs of the Masai or the tribes of West Africa. He couldn't stand it for very long at a time. They set his teeth on edge, these arrogant outsiders, they were so convinced of their superiority to all other nations and races and persons of other social classes.

The ballroom filled rapidly. Ramses kept moving; he had become expert at eluding the determined matrons who bore down on unattached men, towing a recently arrived female. Many of the young women had failed to find a husband at home and were on their way to India where, presumably, men had fewer choices; since their aim was marriage and their requirements few, the damsels were perfectly willing to try their hands in Cairo first.

He danced with his mother and with Mrs. Vandergelt, observed Nefret looking extremely bored as she talked with the Finance Minister, and escaped to the Long Bar. Maude and her "set" had not turned up, but he had a horrible premonition they would. Nefret had mentioned that the family meant to attend, and he had seen Maude glance in his direction. Or was he becoming one of those egotistical asses who thought every woman he met was after him? Not in this case, he feared. She was an embarrassment, and he didn't know what to do about it. One couldn't tell a perfectly harmless girl point-blank that she was a bore and a bother, and demand she leave him alone. Women had it easier. They could be as rude as the occasion demanded if a fellow was a nuisance.

If they were ladies, that is. If they were not, they were fair game for worse than boredom. No, women didn't always have it easier.

He was brooding quietly over his whiskey when he heard a rustle of skirts and looked up to see Nefret.

"I thought you'd be here," she said. "Move over."

Before he could stand up she had squeezed in next to him on the curved banquette. He slid over and raised a hand to summon the waiter. That unfortunate individual looked wildly toward the bar, where Friedrich, the head steward, stood in lordly splendor. Friedrich shrugged and rolled his eyes. Women were not allowed in the Long Bar except on New Year's Eve, but Nefret went where she pleased and few people had the courage to try and stop her. Certainly not Friedrich. Or Ramses.

"What were you brooding about?" she asked, stripping off her gloves.

"Women."

"Any woman in particular or women in general?"

"What would you like to drink?"

"Champagne."

"You had quite a lot at supper."

"And I am going to have more now."

"All right, one glass. You aren't supposed to be here, you know; some stuffy sahib is sure to complain and then Friedrich will be in trouble." He waved the waiter away and looked closely at her. The alcove was dark, lighted only by a candle on the table, but he could read Nefret's feelings by the curve of her lower lip or the tap of a finger. "What's wrong, Nefret?"

"Nothing's wrong. What makes you suppose ... Oh, curse it!"

The officer standing in the doorway was in mess kit—gold and crimson, sword and epaulets. He appeared to be looking for someone.

Ramses pushed the table away and stood up. "What are you doing?" Nefret hissed.

"What has Percy done, to make you so intent on avoiding him? It's not like you to cower in corners."

"I do not cower in corners!" Nefret got to her feet. She hadn't answered his question, but he thought she clung rather more tightly than usual to his arm as they made their way to the entrance of the bar.

Percy greeted them effusively. "I saw the Professor and Aunt Amelia in the ballroom, so I thought you must be somewhere about. Miss Reynolds is looking for you, Ramses, old chap. You'll give me a dance, won't you, Nefret?"

"I promised the next one to the Professor." She tugged at Ramses. "He'll be looking for me."

Percy followed them back to the ballroom. Emerson was nowhere in sight; he had probably gone out of the hotel looking for more congenial company among the vendors and beggars in the street. Ramses saw his mother dancing with Thomas Russell of the Alexandria police, and wondered if she was up to her old tricks, lecturing Russell about the inexplicable narrowmindedness of the police in refusing to hire women.

Then he caught sight of Maude, dancing with Geoffrey. They did not appear to be enjoying themselves; Maude's eyes wandered, and Geoff looked bored. He hadn't often accompanied the young Reynoldses on their social rounds, and Ramses wondered what had brought him out that night. He knew the answer, though. When Geoff saw Nefret his remote face brightened, and the moment the music ended he led his partner toward their group.

"I wasn't aware that you were acquainted," Ramses said, watching Percy click his heels and kiss Maude's hand. Geoff looked as if he wanted to kiss Nefret's, but didn't dare.

"Oh, yes," Maude said. "Imagine my surprise when Lieutenant Peabody introduced himself and told me he was your cousin. You don't see much of each other, do you?"

"Percy has his duties," Ramses said. "And we our work. He's not interested in Egyptology."

"Now, old chap, you know that's not true. I came to the conclusion that I could be of more use to my country in the military, but there were personal reasons why I had to abandon the study of Egyptology." Percy sighed. "My dear aunt and uncle don't care much for me."

"Really?" Maude exclaimed. "Well, I'm sorry if I spoke out of turn. I surely don't want to bring up a painful subject."

"It is painful to me," Percy said softly. "But you couldn't know that, Miss Reynolds. I fear Aunt Amelia has never forgiven me for certain boyish pranks. Mothers are like that. God bless their dear, prejudiced hearts!"

Nefret made a rude noise.

"It was a long time ago," Ramses said.

"I felt sure
you
didn't hold a grudge, old boy." Percy clapped him on the shoulder. "But they are playing a waltz, and I don't see Uncle Radcliffe anywhere about. Nefret?"

"This one is mine," Ramses said. "Excuse us."

They circled the floor in silence, to the saccharine strains of the waltz from
The Merry Widow.
Nefret was the first to speak.

"Uncle Radcliffe! He wouldn't dare call him that to his face."

"Are you sure there's nothing you want to tell me?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"He was suspiciously polite to me. And he's obviously gone out of his way to make Maude's acquaintance."

"They're part of the same 'set.' Idle, superficial snobs." She rested her head against his shoulder. "I'm tired. Will you take me home?"

"Of course."

When they went to his mother to announce their departure they found Emerson had already declared his intention of leaving: "And if you don't come along peacefully, Peabody, I shall pick you up and put you in a carriage. Carter is arriving at some ungodly hour in the morning, and we have two dozen people for dinner. And what is more ... Oh. You are ready? Oh. Well, why the devil didn't you say so?"

Even the indefatigable Vandergelt was yawning, so they all left together. While they were waiting for the servants to bring their wraps and hats, Maude and her brother caught them up.

"Hey, you aren't leaving so early?" Jack exclaimed. "It's the shank of the evening, and you haven't given me a dance, Nefret."

Nefret made her excuses. Maude said nothing. She just stood there looking mournful. There was no sign of Percy.

Howard arrived in time for breakfast Christmas morning, and afterward we all sat down round the rather spindly tree in the sitting room to open our family gifts. Evelyn had sent a parcel and so had Lia and David, so we were quite some time about it. I had not expected Ramses would be enthusiastic over my Christmas gift to him—a dozen nice shirts, the buttons reinforced by my own hands—but any other offering would have paled by comparison with the one Howard brought him.

The contents of the wooden box would certainly not have roused many people to rapture—two battered, broken tablets of wood covered with a thin layer of plaster on which a hieratic text had been written—but Ramses flushed with pure excitement after he had removed the cotton wool and unwrapped the layers of paper.

"Are these the tablets Lord Carnarvon found a few years ago? Does he want me to ... Will he allow ..."

"He wants you to translate and publish them if you are interested." Howard burst out laughing. "I gather the answer is yes. Well, well, I feel like Father Christmas! I wish I could please all my friends as easily."

"I suppose he is calling them the Carnarvon Tablets," Emerson muttered. "Such vanity!"

"One must call them something," Howard said tolerantly. "It is a delicate attention to name a text after the person whose money financed the discovery—and it may inspire additional contributions!"

It was a very sensible attitude. I don't know why I should have remembered the night so many years ago when we had dined at Mena House with a very young, very idealistic scholar who said he was not interested in working for wealthy dilettantes.

"What is the text about?" I asked.

"It dates to the reign of Kamose and seems to describe the war against the Hyksos. Right up your alley, eh, Mrs. E.? The story of Sekenenre and the hippopotami which you so ably—er—interpreted a few years ago precedes the events of this tale by only a few years. Perhaps you can write a sequel."

"Not for a while. My next task will be a revision of the story of Sinuhe. I was not entirely satisfied with my earlier—er—interpretation."

Howard laughed and accepted a honey cake from the plate Fatima offered him. "Poor old Sinuhe! But what was wrong with your earlier—er—interpretation, Mrs. E.?"

I had not meant to mention it, for that would have seemed like boasting, but since he asked ...

"An American publisher has just offered me a considerable sum of money for my little fairy tales," I explained modestly. "David and me, I should say, for it was his sketches that were the attraction, I believe. He dashed off a set of them for 'The Tale of the Two Brothers,' just for the sake of amusement, and the reaction was so enthusiastic, we have gone into partnership! He has recently sent me the drawings for Sinuhe, so I decided to take advantage of the opportunity to correct some of my interpretations. I do not believe Sinuhe was guilty of—"

"You are mistaken, Peabody," said Emerson. "But," he added quickly, "I refuse to discuss it now."

We sat down two dozen to dinner, for I had asked all of our archaeological acquaintances who were separated from home and loved ones. They came from as far away as the Delta and the Fayum and included Petrie's lot, as Emerson called them; Mr. Petrie was still in hospital, and in any case the Petries were not noted for their lavish hospitality. Turkeys were easily obtainable in Egypt, and Fatima had learned to make an excellent plum pudding, so we had all the good old English fare, and Cyrus's champagne flowed freely. As I looked round at the smiling faces I was humbly grateful that I had been able to perform an act of Christian kindness on such a day.