Children of the Storm - Elizabeth Peters [102]
“The wrath of the Father of Curses is more dangerous than a sandstorm in the desert,” Daoud agreed.
EMERSON IS ALWAYS IN A better state of mind after he has been fed. After Fatima’s excellent luncheon he agreed without demur to the dispersal of his staff. Ramses said he would stay to finish excavating the trench, and I returned to my rubbish heap, with Lia to help. When we returned to the house that afternoon I fully expected Emerson would retreat to his study with Bertie’s plan and his own field notes, but he declared he did not want to miss his time with the dear children.
“We don’t see enough of them,” he complained, returning from the bath chamber and hastily assuming clean garments. “You won’t let them take breakfast with us, and they go to bed so early—”
“The amount of time we spend with them is entirely up to you, Emerson. If you would give up a few hours each day we could take them sightseeing and visiting, arrange little games, teach them to ride, and so on. Evvie and Dolly haven’t been to the Castle, or to Selim’s house, or even to Luxor.”
“You are an absolute genius at putting the blame onto a fellow,” Emerson grumbled.
I went to the veranda, where Evelyn was chatting with Fatima as she set out the tea things. Walter was sorting through a pile of letters.
“I hope you don’t mind, Amelia,” he said. “I was looking to see if there is anything for Evelyn or me.”
“Pray continue sorting it, Walter. The post has rather piled up the last few days. I haven’t had time to look at it.”
After extracting several letters, one of which he handed to Evelyn, he passed the basket with its overflowing contents to me.
“From Raddie,” Evelyn said, and began reading with a happy smile.
“A brief note from Willy,” said Walter. “And a letter from Griffith. He wants more Meroitic inscriptions.”
“Why the devil does he suppose we will find them in Luxor?” Emerson demanded.
“One never knows what the dealers may have,” Walter said mildly. “I’ve given up Meroitic, as you know, so anything I find will go to Frank.”
“You and Mr. Griffith have a remarkably cordial relationship,” I remarked, handing Emerson a pile of letters. “Most Egyptologists are quarrelsome and possessive.”
“If that was meant for me, Peabody, I flatly deny it,” said Emerson, hastily looking through his letters and tossing them back into the basket.
“Wasn’t that a letter from Mr. Winlock?” I asked.
“I don’t care what the bastard has to say.”
Shrieks of childish anticipation prevented me from asking what Mr. Winlock had done to incur Emerson’s ire. The twins burst in, accompanied by their parents, and I lifted the post basket high in the air, out of reach of Davy, who loved letters and believed everything that came was directed to him. Emerson took the children on his lap. I handed Ramses and Nefret their messages and began opening my own.
“Nothing from . . . ?” Emerson asked.
“No. Most of these are the usual thing.”
“The usual thing?” Evelyn inquired.
I read a few aloud, for the amusement of the others. “ ‘My dear Mrs. Emerson. You don’t know me, but my brother is the son-in-law of Lady Worthington, and I would like to make your acquaintance. At what time would it be convenient for me to call on you?’ “
“Who is Lady Worthington?” Nefret asked.
“I have no idea. ‘My dear Mrs. Emerson. It would be a great privilege to be shown round the sites of Luxor by your husband. We will be at the Winter Palace this week.’ “
“More letters from impertinent visitors?” David asked. He and Lia came in with the two children and Sennia. Evvie ran to Davy and embraced him fiercely. He hugged her back, twittering melodiously, while Charla scowled at both of them.
“We get that sort of thing all the time,” said Sennia in a worldly manner. “Read some more, Aunt Amelia, they are quite amusing, really.”
“This is a particularly charming example,” I said. “ ‘We are two young American ladies who are anxious to meet your son. Mr. Weigall, whom we met in